#this is a playlist I’m making to see if I can maybe predict some of s5s vibe via music possibilities
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Over halfway done with the ST5 vision playlist and… Just came across the most terrifyingly ST5 coded song and I’m 🫢
Like at first I was like, “okay, nothing really— wait no. that’s interesting… actually?… wait, what??— WAIT!
#stranger things#byler#st5 vision playlist#this is a playlist I’m making to see if I can maybe predict some of s5s vibe via music possibilities#sacred heart by dio#song came out on 1985#they have another song called rainbow in the dark which is another interesting one#album covers for both of these are also kinda cool#don’t know anything about this band#i know like top hits from the 60-80’#I’m on song 133 btw…#67 more to go?#my criteria for song choices is the year it came it (pre 1989 bc in don’t think st will go past the 80’s in this universe)#I also look at the lyrics to see if I can find context that matches the shows context#also they have to be somewhat known otherwise the audience wouldn’t be as interested if every song was unheard of#also ideally they’re good#this one isn’t really a bop for me tbh#I just thought lyrically it was painfully parallel to the context of s5’s plot and so I had to share!!#SoundCloud
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I guess it’s never really over
mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers
chapter three -
This has got to be the longest crush ever
Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.
warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚
wc: 6.3k
authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡
series masterlist | series playlist
June -
Would you believe me if I said I’m in love?
Baby, I want you to want me.
You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.
All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week.
When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught.
Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.
”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.
“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”
Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming
Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out.
Oh no.
Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too.
“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.
No, no, no, NO.
You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.
Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack.
Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.
He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.
”Psst, hey.”
The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.
”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.
”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.
You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes.
“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.
”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.
”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.
Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.
”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.
Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.
”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”
“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.
”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.
”Is it?”
”Absolutely.”
“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.
”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name.
Yeah… you were fucked.
“I’ve got a date tonight!”
Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again.
“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.
”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”
“Yeah, okay, Steve.”
It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh.
“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”
Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics.
“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.
“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”
Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.
”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.
”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.
”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.
”Robin.”
”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.
If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.
”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.
”Maybe.”
”Maybe?!”
”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.
”What?”
”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.
Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.
The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.
The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours.
Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around.
The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.
”Buckley residen-“
”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”
“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.
”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“
”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.
”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.
”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance.
”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.
Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:
Eddie and Steve.
You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.
You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along.
It only rings twice.
“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.
”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.
“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.
“Yeah, the middle schooler.”
“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“
“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-”
“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”
”My shoes are already on.”
After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries.
Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.
The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.
One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.
You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.
He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.
”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.
When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.
”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”
”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.
”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.
Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump.
There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.
A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.
”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.
”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”
He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry.
“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.”
He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit.
Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change.
It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips.
“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop.
She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.
“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”
Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.
Got me up all night
all I’m singing is love songs.
“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”
Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek.
“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”
”Shut up!”
”Will you stop?!”
You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm.
“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.
“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?
”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.
“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”
Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.
”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”
Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.
”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”
You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.
”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’
His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.
”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.
“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.
“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”
It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.
But Robin does.
With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself.
With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.
Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.
You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.
Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.
A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible.
The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real.
He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.
It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again.
The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.
You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist
“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”
Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs.
“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”
His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.
Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight.
“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.
”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”
”What?”
”Last week,”
”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”
“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.
“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.
“What about now?”
“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.
”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.
”If you want me to.” He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours.
Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.
”Please tell me you want me to.”
The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.
“Kiss me, Steve.”
A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.
He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.
Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.
“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.
It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.
He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.
”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.
”Steve -“
”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.
”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.
”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.
🌻 chapter four
#my writing#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington x reader smut#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington fic#steve harrington x y/n
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My Good Omens Season 3 Predictions
Based on the Amazon Playlist and Established Patterns in S1 and S2
I’ve been listening to the songs on the official playlist that Amazon released in December, and I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. It’s been long enough, and now I feel like I have a solid enough footing to have ideas about season 3 based on the information given to us by the playlist (especially the songs Neil provided). Keep in mind that this is my speculation only. I may be entirely wrong, this post may age poorly, but I am okay with that. At the end of the day, I know for absolute fact that I will be THRILLED with whatever season 3 actually brings (But please – for my sanity – let there be a happy ending for Crowley and Aziraphale).
First of all, we know the season was outlined back in 2005, and I would assume (for the sake of this post if nothing else) that by the time the s3 announcement came, Prime had the general outline. And so, in the spirit of how this show does things, the playlist is full of Clues.
GIF by fuckyeahgoodomens
I’ll put the songs in parenthesis as I go.
Between “Before the Beginning” and “In the Beginning,” i.e. Flashback 1:
We’re going to start the season with Crowley’s Fall (Midnight Rain). Neil has said that he’s not going to ever tell us Starmaker’s name, so I’m not expecting that. But we know that each season starts with a prologue, and we also know that these flashback mirror the current events. Crowley’s Fall makes a lot of sense to start with because it is the first thing that pulls him and Aziraphale apart. And where are we starting from in present day? The Divorce.
How Are Crowley and Aziraphale Doing?
Bad (I’m a Mess). Crowley presents fine to the world, but we, who know him, can see he is struggling. I don’t know if he’ll actually go to therapy, but I would adore it if we got a glimpse of Crowley trying it and being like “NOPE” when it got too hard. He keeps expecting Aziraphale to walk around every corner, and keeps replaying the divorce in his mind (Just My Imagination).
Aziraphale isn’t doing well either. The Kiss, and by extension his last conversation with Crowley plays on his mind all the time (Could’ve Been).
Very soon after the playlist was released, one of my Good Omens friends on Discord (I forget who it was, I am so sorry), suggested that maybe Aziraphale is communicating with Crowley through his dreams. Honestly, I am so on board with this. With the number of songs that mention dreams and daydreams in this playlist, there is no way that Crowley’s dreams and/or imagination won’t play some kind of role in this season (In Dreams, Just My Imagination).
Minisodes
The Titanic
I think the most interesting thing is that we’re going to have at least one minisode about them alone through time. It’s something that we haven’t seen before, and it parallels their current journey.
That being said, I think one of these will be the Titanic (My Heart Will Go On). Here’s how I see it happening:
Crowley is the one on the ship. He’s not there to sink it, he’s just there to enjoy himself. Maybe he plays around with the kids a bit, maybe he makes friends. Point is, the humans have built this supposedly-unsinkable ship of dreams and he just has to see it. He’s there when it sinks. Maybe he even tries to save people or get the other ships to come faster, but he can’t save everyone.
Heartbroken, he returns home to his dark flat. He doesn’t turn on any lights. There are two envelopes waiting for him. He sits at the table to read them in the dark. The first is a commendation from Hell:
“Great job sinking the Titanic! Downstairs are Very Impressed with your work, as always!” He scoffs and tosses it aside. The second one is from Aziraphale.
Oh great, he thinks, Just what I need, a little ‘oh how dare you drown all those people you evil demon you.’ when I’m already feeling like shit. He opens it anyway. The first lines read:
“My Dear Crowley,
I heard that you were aboard the Titanic when it sank. Are you alright?”
Crowley breaks down and cries. ~End Scene~
1941
The playlist has Heart and Soul on it, but not a recent version – it’s specifically one that was recorded in 1939. So we’re almost definitely getting 1941 Part 3.
GIF by mimisempai
We’re going to find out what happened to cause their huge shift in dynamics from Date Night to 1967, and I think it’s a kiss. Maybe a kiss on the cheek? I’m not entirely sure. I do hope they get to slow dance to A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square though.
The Reunion
My friends, it will not go well. This is one of the songs that Neil chose – Cry Me a River. It just reeks of Aziraphale coming back and Crowley being (understandably, and rightly) being bitter towards him. Aziraphale will, eventually, I’m sure, get back in his good books, but he’s gonna need more than an I Was Wrong Dance to do it.
(Actually?) Saving the World
Okay so being perfectly honest, the only reason either of them are the lead characters in this series is because they’re so freaking loveable. They are very bad at their jobs. Anathema, Newt, and Adam saved the world in S1, and although the Husbands gave Adam a little pep-talk, I think he’s smart enough that he could have managed it on his own if he had to.
So, this time they actually need to save the world and have an actual plan. This is where I think a second body swap will happen – hear me out! First of all, remember that no one aside from Gabriel (who is Someone Knows Where), none of the angels or demons have figured out their trick from the first time. So I don’t think it is the plan, but I do think it will be part of the plan. Where am I pulling this idea from? The Show Must Go On, another one of Neil’s choices. It sounds like it’s from Aziraphale’s perspective, but Queen songs are usually associated with Crowley. Seems odd, right? Maybe because it is. Maybe because they swap.
The Book of Life
I think we’re going to see The Book of Life, and I think it’s going to basically be The Book of Love. I think this is where we’re going to get the Main Thesis. The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything, if you will. Love. It’s supposed to be Love.
The Book of Love – another of Neil’s choices.
Epilogue
I predict they get their South Downs cottage (Neil said “not yet,” which implies it’s coming). And there’s also a wedding, though I’m not sure whose it will be (The Book of Love). I REALLY hope that it’s Crowley and Aziraphale, because they deserve that kind of happy ending, and Neil is too much of an Ally not to realize how important it is that they get to Live Happily Ever After.
One Last Thought
I still have no idea what to make of I’d Rather Go Blind. That’s it. That’s the last thought I wanted to share that doesn’t really fit in anywhere else.
Thanks for going on this journey with me. Let’s make our Bingo cards and see if I managed to get anything right in 3-4 years.
#good omens#good omens meta#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#good omens 2#good omens season 3#season 3 predictions#season 3 speculation#aziraphale x crowley#good omens fandom#i'll be fine as long as they get their south downs cottage ending#season 3 playlist#playlist analysis
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Team Player 3/7
Hangster. Jake's cousin plays for the Sydney Roosters and gifts him with merchandise regularly. Bradley has an unexpected realization.
PART ONE PART TWO
THREE
“Where am I going to take him?”
“You really need to calm down.”
“Nat, I asked him out and he said yes.”
“Mmm. A complete surprise. Shocking. Truly.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, he’s sort of the type that thinks poking fun of someone is a way of letting them know he likes them… most boys outgrow it before they leave high school.”
“What?”
“He likes you. Has liked you for years. Just… you never seemed to like him back. And now… you do.”
“I want to fuck him, I think liking him back might be stretching it a little.”
“You want to do more than just fuck him. You’re lying to yourself and it isn’t making you look good. You only wanted to fuck him when you saw him plastered with your call sign. You want him to be yours. Like, locked down and married type shit.”
“What?”
“I know, I know. You’re going on your first date, but just let me call dibs on being your best man when you get married.”
“What?”
“Are you broken? You seem broken. You’re saying what a lot.”
“I’m not broken. You’re talking about me and Hangman getting married.”
“Just calling it like I see it. Feel free to try and prove me wrong, although I think you’ll be happier if you just go with my prediction.”
“Can we focus please! Where should I take him?”
“Dinner? Movies?”
“Wow, really original…”
“I can leave.”
“No! Sorry. I’m just…”
“Nervous. I get it. You like him.”
“I do. Fuck. What’s wrong with me?”
“Well, did you want a list or a pie chart?”
“Nat!”
“Sorry. You’re allowed to like him. Apart from his justifiable large ego, he’s actually a decent guy.”
“Okay, yeah. I know. Okay. I think I might take him to Belmont.”
“I thought you said before that you didn’t want anything competitive?”
“We can just do the rides.”
“You both fly fighter jets for a living and you’re going to go thrill seeking at Belmont? Huh. That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Yeah? You think he’ll like it?”
“Seriously, you could suggest watching infomercials and getting pizza delivered and he’d do it, and like it…”
Bradley pulls a face, because he fucking doubts it, but he feels like Belmont Park will be okay. Fun. He lets Natasha leave, insists he doesn’t need her help anymore. He’s decided, even if he’s a little jittery thinking about the fact that he didn’t leave himself more time between asking Hangman out and them deciding the next day was a good day and time. He showers and dresses, pulling on his darkest jeans and oh fuck… maybe he should have kept Natasha here after all. He picks up his phone, opens it up to send her a message and there it is. A message telling him what to wear and he laughs. God she knows him so well. Not a Hawaiian shirt, he can manage that.
He blasts his rev me up playlist on the way to pick up Hangman, hoping it might fill him with some confidence, and it all slips away anyway as Hangman walks down the steps toward him. He looks relaxed, also wearing jeans though his are lighter colored, and he’s wearing a hoodie, something he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hangman wear.
“Am I dressed okay? You’re wearing a proper shirt…”
“Uh, you’re fine. Thought we could go to Belmont.”
“Oh cool, I haven’t been to Belmont in years.”
“Yeah, I thought we could do some rides, eat overpriced food, maybe do some games. I didn’t want to pick anything solely competitive…”
“Afraid of losing to me?”
Bradley rolls his eyes, but Natasha’s words from earlier and running through his head, that this is Hangman’s way of flirting.
“Already got a date with you, pretty sure that’s all the winning I need.”
Jake blushes. Fucking blushes and Bradley looks away and grins, realizing he can throw Jake off with sincerity. He can do that, especially because Jake is even more gorgeous when he looks a little flustered. He reverses back onto the road and heads out, wonders if it’s going to be awkward but Hangman is filling the silence, asking questions about what he’d done with his day off today and talking about what he’s done. The twenty-minute drive goes by quickly, easily, and it makes him feel better about the date ahead. He parks the car and gets out, locking it and then looks up, Hangman has his back to him, is staring up at something, he can’t look because his eyes are fixed on the back of Jake’s back, the word Roosters stretched between his shoulder blades.
He is so fucked.
PART FOUR
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songs/artists i’d force TWST Housewardens to listen to
— Riddle Rosehearts aka Rizzle Smoulderheart
Mans would probably be like, making me study or some shit, hopefully helping me or just around me in general. And I just whip out the nasty ass phone Daddy Crowley gave me and boot up whatever version of Spotify there and bat my eyes at Riddle saying, “Oh, music helps me focus more when studying!” When we all know that is a full on lie.
So he would be around or something and I would just start blasting the most inappropriate music ever. Probably something like Man Areas or Squidwards Nose. One of those, y’know? Just cause I think it’d be funny seeing him get all red and angry, like a raspberry.
He’d prolly yell “Off with your head” at me but that would be useless because I’m magic-less
— Leona Kingscholar aka Mr. Worldwide
Me, personally, me, personally, I’d be rockin’ to take a nap with this homie. He’d prolly hate it, but I would! And y’see, I’d come up with some bullshit that like, music helps with dreams or some shit, just anything to convince him to let me play a playlist as he sleeps.
And it’d be full of Tyler the Creator. But specifically the genre of his songs like, See You Again, What a Day, Earfquake, BEST INTEREST, songs of his like those. Now I think Leona would probably like Tyler, idk, they both have them vibes and them two my favorite men.
But yeah, I’d make him listen to Tyler, he seems like he would like at least one or two songs of his, and I sure as hell know that I would be down on my knees just to hear him sing a song.
— Azul Ashengrotto aka ‘Baka Tako’
I would literally sell my soul to him just to make him listen to every single FNAF song. It has to be FNAF. I want to get at least two or three stuck in his head, so he feels cringe and ashamed to admit liking the songs.
It would be so worth it though, seeing Azul all dripped up for Board Game Club (azul + idia club card when—) and just him humming like, Join Us For A Bite, and Idia slow head turning to him as he experiences flashbacks.
I’d be soulless for the rest of my life just to hear Azul singing Five Nights At Freddys, but god, wouldn’t that be a sight to see.
— Kalim Al-Asim aka the most nicest boy ever
I could not do anything mean to this boy, I would introduce him to like, Kali Uchis or Laufey. This man deserves all the pretty women music. I’d also just give him genuine song recommendations for like, parties too.
Maybe some like, Odetari type of music for like movin’ & groovin’. Definitely some Pitbull, Daddy Yankee, y’know all the good body mover ones. Songs that just make ya wanna swing your hips and drop it down white boy style.
Kalim is such a precious boy I would make it my life’s goal to give him all the classic bangers and new shit. Also Peso Pluma. No words. Just Peso.
— Vil Schoenheit aka the IT Girl
He scares me. I don’t want him calling my music taste ugly 😭 I’d get like, Rook to get him to listen to any of my recommendations. Or literally any one else but me. I’m sensitive :(
Anyways onto the songs/artists, ahhhh, probably K-pop. I like a lot of songs but I also heard that the dances are pretty sick too. So he can like, have fun with that. Maybe specifically like, Red Velvet, or like the BTS members but only their solo songs because I like them better like that.
Also giving him like, serious recommendations because I don’t want him to curse me if I made him listen to like a fucking Lorax song.
— Idia Shroud aka the loser gamer boy
I’m making him listen to every single Tom Cardy song I know. If there is any one in the goddamn school that could appreciate him, it would be Idia. And I wouldn’t go for the obvious choice of making him listen to Hatsune Miku because he has his little Fates idol group thing, and also because it would be too predictable.
Tom Cardy on the other hand, he is extremely unpredictable and I love him for that. Specifically showing Idia all the more funny and mainstream songs of Tom Cardy like Red Flags, Mixed Messages, and Perception Check.
Making him hum Perception Check as he beats the hell out of Azul on online Uno as Azul screeches and everytime he gets a +2 or +4 making him say ‘Nat 20 let’s fucking go’
— Malleus Draconia aka …who?
I think my more modern music taste would kill him, so I’d just give him the entire Nutcracker ballet to listen to because it is such a banger ballet, dude.
Or just ballets in general, I think he’d enjoy them in the background as he does whatever he does in his little Gargoyle club thingy.
Me and him when that beat drops in the Knights Dance from the Romeo and Juliet ballet.
{This is not at all supposed to be close to canon, this is just for funsies. I’ll prolly do the first years next…}
#twst wonderland#twisted wonderland#twst riddle#riddle rosehearts#twst leona#leona kingscholar#twst azul#azul ashengrotto#twst kalim#kalim al asim#twst vil#vil schoenheit#twst idia#idia shroud#twst malleus#malleus draconia#twst imagines#?
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Being predictable and asking Oromë/Celegorm for the ship bingo (too late to think of something out there ✌🏻) maybe also Celegorm/Curufin if we're feeling funky?
Listen… it may be predictable but thank GOD you asked it anyway… these two have me in a CHOKEHOLD right now. The implications being the beloved of the god of ritual killing 😩 the idea that Oromë bears some responsibility for Celegorm ending up Like That simply because he favoured him so much that he spoiled him rotten and inadvertently caused him to believe that anything he wants is his for the taking 😩 the unhinged hot sex they can have 😩 Oromë is doing things to Celegorm that he previously didn’t even know sex could BE. Vana’s place in it… jealousy 😩 and then they are SO divorced like WHAT a divorce😩 but I’m delusional and I do think they will get back together SOMEHOW like I BELIEVE. I like to think of Celegorm still secretly worshipping Oromë a bit in Beleriand and being very conflicted about it. And his relationship with Oromë being a real beserk button for him in Beleriand… like do NOT needle him about it unless you want to lose a limb. Also their relationship can be so full of dog motifs…..,,,,,,
They make me feel sick. Manifesting someone asks me about my slightly unhinged playlist for them (it has Charli XCX on it.)
C/C… unfortunately I can see it. Probably like an awful one time thing after Nargothrond when they are both SO ill. Just claustrophobic and nauseating and hideous. Also Ruindis is there and she’s making it worse
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as a folie a deux stan, would you share your thoughts & feelings about the album
A chance to ramble about one of my all-time faves?? ooOOO SAY LESS MY FRIEND ♥️🧸💛
I think Folie finding a place in my heart was a perfect storm — I’m a new fan falling into obsession with FOB during my mid-teens, and they’re starting to get into the hayday of the post-hiatus SR&R era. So of course, I’m looking through wiki pages, poking through fan pages, seeing interviews here and there (doing research for my sophomore year’s mandatory big research essay, and also satisfying my need to Know Everything™️ ), and I start wondering about how hiatus happened. What’s up with Folie? Why is it listed as not being well-received by fans and painful for the band (at that time)?
It becomes this situation where you’re handing 16-year-old me this misfit outcast album, one with bears on the cover (I’m predictable and easy to please shhhh) and an openly experimental vibe set apart from their previous work (more collaborative iirc, the four of them drawing on stuff they were inspired by to try new things). Pair that outcast magnetism (impulse to show love to wounded birds and rejected things) with lyrics that speak to the liminal space I existed in with my own adolescent identity (lyrics speaking to madness in complex dependent relationships, to not knowing yourself, to wanting to know yourself, to wanting to know the world, to trying to figure out morals and love and worth amidst your missteps and lost sense of self and unspeakable depression), and I was sunk. Listened to some YouTube video rip of the full album (or playlists that also included pavlove and lullabye) to fall asleep at night, while showering, really whenever I had a chance in my downtime (since I didn’t have headphones and listened to more of the futct/ioh/sr&r hit singles when with friends). Something about Pete’s devastating lyrical angst and Patrick/Joe/Andy’s artistry and the heavy feelings surrounding the album (from the minor bits the fans/public know about the time and the stories weaved throughout the album) started hitting in a specific way that had me imprinting on Folie and the band like a baby bird. Yeah, I started having that feeling of being understood by music with other bands (MCR, Paramore, P!atD, classic emo trinity stuff) along with some of the more pop punk stuff I was already into (PtV, ATL, you know the era), but for whatever reason, Folie maintained its place as my heart and soul album (along with Soul Punk for PStump-related reasons, but we’re not talking about her right now 🏃🏻♀️)
We’d be here all night if I tried to list favorite songs or lyrics, but I can ramble a bit about what hit me most when I started going “oh yeah, this is my album” as a teen:
I mean like, of course, right? “What a Catch, Donnie” is the pinnacle ballad, from all the lyrical callbacks and cameo features to the somber/hopeful music video, plus the interviews out there noting the song as lyrically important to the band. I think you can find stuff from back in that era (‘08-‘09) talking about it as almost a “swan song,” a final message that’s as close as you’ll get to personal convictions in a less-autobiographical album. For me, it felt like a love letter to their past selves in the unstoppable march forward in time. It felt like grief, the kind that comes with change and it’s inevitable losses, but it also felt like hope. Imagine not seeing goodness within you, not recognizing yourself, feeling stranded and pushed by the tides and not sure where you’ll end up. Then, imagine finding a lifeline through hanging on to someone else with the same type of stormy muddled mind, finding them and becoming their looking glass, their mirror, their guide — helping someone apathetic and listless find a spark again after giving up on themselves. It makes you wonder if you’ll find clarity through connection too, if you’ll be saved over and over again by people who see you and make sense of it all, or maybe don’t make it all better/comprehensible but care for you anyway. It became an anthem for me to hang onto my friends and budding new interests to help make me feel whole and keep going at a time where everything felt overwhelming and impossibly complicated (the curse of being 15/16/etc). Something about learning about hiatus, learning about the peaks and valleys of the band, looking at it all while having the fortune of knowing they find their ways back to each other to create more music and memories and get to keep growing together — that was big for me in a way I couldn’t articulate at the time but still felt deeply. We can be lost, but still found; flawed, but still loved. That’s important to hear when you’re stumbling through those early formative years, and important to be reminded of when we stumble through evolving our identities again and again and again.
There’s a lot of nostalgic love for the album now that I’ve held onto it for a decade, but it’s still so fun to revisit and holds up for me amidst all of the new music I listen to now. SM(f)S wriggled it’s way into my heart this past year and sits in there holding onto Folie’s hand, speaking on heavy themes and channeling that same motivation to experiment and create a legacy through music. Getting to see FOB live this year (!!!) playing Folie songs live (!!!!!) and eventually revisiting the whole album throughout the duration of tourdust (!!!!!!!) was an amazing experience, and it’s great to see Folie get her flowers in the many years since her release. Happy 15 years, Folie!! 🩵🐻💙
#folie a deux#late night catherine lore time#hold on let me just talk your ear off real quick <3#tldr: I just think she’s neat#unrelated side note: folie a bleu recolor is so pretty. like yeah the original deep reds are everything but BLUE!!!!#song stuff#I should probably have a FOB tag. since. y’know. I’m so casual chill normal about them#anyway#thanks for asking!#celesteeal
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Post 5 songs in your current song rotation and tag 10 people
Oh my god, yesssss. I was tagged by @lets-try-some-writing and @spreadwardiard, and adored the latter’s wee Megop/Megaop take on things so I feel like I could maybe rustle up a few wee songs that I adore for the disaster duo as well (and those ones that help me write, too, especially!)
1.) I See Fire - Celtic woman
I actually stumbled across this pretty recently (probably less than a month ago) and honestly this is so beautiful. I think it serves well to foreshadow and then kind of elucidate a world falling apart to the flames. It’s got a great narrative flow, and personally as far as my tf writings go, this I find is perfect for Orion starting to see those small breadcrumbs that all is not well with the bot he’s so frequently calling his brother 👀…(fun fact: it’s written by Ed Sheeran)
2.) On My Soul - Tobe Nwigwe, Nas & Jacob Banks
I mean…this is probably predictable, right? The film for me personally could have been a bit tighter plot wise (I did like it btw!), but honestly…this song slaps! I remember they released this a week or two prior to the film and I wasn’t as invested with it, but damn the bass of this shakes my car the right amount 🫶🏼
3.) Maria Maria (sped-up) - Santana [feat. The Product G&B]
Now if this isn’t Megop, heh, I don’t know what is. This is totally like someone exterior creating a bit of gossip and narrating about the higher caste archivist taking all his leave to go and see the gutter-born gladiator a little too regularly. I mean, the lyrics: “…Stop the looting, stop the shooting. Pickpocketing on the corner. See, as the rich is getting richer. The poor is getting poorer. See me and Maria on the corner. Thinking of ways to make it better…”
4.) Mary On A Cross - Ghost
Because this is completely original and didn’t take over most social media platforms a few months ago 💀🫶🏼. No, but for real, this is such a class driving song, oh my god! Probably a good pre-war Megop song, too! Like I see this very much as Orion finishing up with the week, and rushing to catch the transport to Kaon as fast as he can with all his datapads he’s bringing for revolution research.
5.) 4 minutes - Madonna [feat. Justin Timberlake & Timbaland ]
Again, this is just a recent feel-good song that I pray plays when I’m driving with my driving playlist. It’s just got a good beat. I think I’d heard the intro tune on a video online and had to find what song it was and well…here we are. (Sidenote: there’s a trend online at the moment where a certain music piece plays and all your favourite characters just walk on all badass to the tune…this could be one of those songs fr. Like the intro really does slap!!!).
Tagging:
@malika-carnelian @wolfkid22 @lesbianambulon @sugarand-everythingnice @thebrokenbean @justawannabearchaeologist @rewindedart @echoblaze5 @letslipthehounds @melishade + anyone else who would like to have a whirl ;) (no pressure to those tagged btw! <3 )
#|| ooc •#|| all aboard the queue queue ~! •#|| unprompted •#|| jess speaks •#|| mun shenanigans •#tfp#transformers prime#Megop#megaop#@legitconcrusher
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So this had more of a teamwork feel than the last few episodes. It could belong in any season, really. Makes me feel that maybe starting the season the way they started it really was just bad scheduling.
If you want to know how bad CityTV is at scheduling, guy made a joke about the killer dressed in a superhero costume "like it's Halloween", and the episode aired a day after Halloween. So yeah. The only episode that shouldn’t have aired close to Halloween, aired on Halloween. Good job, CityTV.
Standard superhero/vigilante crime show episode with a twist. You can’t reinvent the wheel by following the same path others have made. But it’s okay, I don’t expect it from this show, or any formulaic crime show. I mean, you’d have to be an idiot at this point to expect that.
I keep seeing similarities between the Moonknight and the Night Keeper costumes. At least the Night Keeper costume is black.
I was hoping that Sarah had some kind of family story when she mentioned that she had experience with delusional disorder but of course it’s one of her multiple degrees.
The fact that Charlie and Sarah mentioned that they’d meet at dinner and then we didn’t see the dinner is A CRIME. But at least they remind us (in their own distant way) that they’re still together.
I’ll put a BOLO out for Charlie’s house, by the way. I’m hoping the reason it’s missing is because Charlie and Sarah are moving together in another house (now who has a delusional disorder, lol).
I was hoping for a comment about reboots. Come on, guys, you are a reboot yourselves.
As soon as the nephew pulled up with that car I knew he was the killer. Unsurprising.
Well, at least they put the murder weapon inside a cylindrical evidence tube. I'm saying that because I just watched a show where they put it inside a nylon evidence bag. In the year of 2023.
I love Verdi’s Dier Irae and its remixes. I have one in my playlist (mine is a 2WEI remix). Remixing classical music and mixing it with modern tunes is my jam. Although I kinda pity all those who will watch without headphones (which is probably most of the audience).
Damn, the house is great. And a secret compartment? Come on!
Jesse bragging about his skills. You go, Jesse.
Charlie sending Rex with Sarah like he won’t be the one to need him (I knew before I saw it, they like being predictable lol), because he wants her to be safe.
Thank you, killer, for tasing Charlie. It’s literally the only whump he’s had for ages. Bless you, kind killer.
By the way, I think Charlie has gotten too comfortable having a dog watch his six that now basically anyone can sneak up to him when he doesn't have Rex with him.
Charlie stumbling and trying to get up. Yes. I want more of that.
Googling how long it takes to get over an electric shock from a taser.
Okay, so it takes a few seconds. Maybe Charlie was a bit dramatic lol
Rex running because he knows his trouble magnet partner is in danger. I love it.
I was kinda hoping that Sarah would save him, but when you have Rex and the Night Keeper, eh, I wasn’t holding my breath.
“I've got my superpower right here” SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP oh my god this was so corny I loved it (this user is not immune to grown men being soft with dogs, it’s a very specific illness, non-curable).
I think they had like fifty team shots in this episode. It was like someone was annoyed by the lack of team screen time in the previous episodes and overcompensated. Also, do decide what the temperature is in the room. Some wore coats, and Sarah (who is always cold) wore a sleeveless shirt?
Overall, fun but unsurprising episode, in the tone of Hudson and Rex as a show. The level of enjoyment very much depends on whether someone cares at all about superheroes, in my opinion, because they got the characters and “actors” involved quite a bit. Easily rewatchable, more enjoyable than I thought (I audibly groaned when I saw the promo for this, mind you. CityTV call me, you need me). Plot loses cohesion in the third act but it’s okay because you’ll have figured out the killer way before that.
PS: It seriously helps to remember what the show is about. I’m talking to both the fandom and the writers here, but especially to the writers.
PPS: How many German shepherds next week? I’m assuming Diesel’s entire family are actors by now.
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Wonder Girls - Reboot
So traditionally, I listen to the album, then decide which songs to add to my playlist after I’m done. This time around I figured I’d add songs as I go, so I don’t forget any of them later on. I ended up adding 10 out of 12 to my main playlist. So I did in fact add the remaining two to my playlist just to make sure.
It’s hard not to compare this album to Pink Tape for me, but I don’t actually think it’s all that similar? It did have a Toy moment in Oppa, but I think it stuck to its sound and its genre a lot more than Pink Tape does. It explores a lot within that sound and genre though; I didn’t get bored at all, which is good for a 12 song album. I also didn’t totally understand what to make of a lot of the songs. Like, they were Good, but I feel like I didn’t Get them. I’ll have to go back and relisten to a lot of these before I feel like I can have a solid opinion about them.
A couple of 9’s, several 8’s, but no 10’s. Nothing did that for me; I keep saying that Oppa had a “Toy moment”, which it did, but the positioning in the album and the type of song that it was made it surprisingly predictable. Like, when it happened, I didn’t freak out; I was like “oh yeah, I guess it’s about time for this isn’t it?” Plus the change was like, from one type of hip hop to another type of hip hop, as opposed to whatever Toy does with its rap rock to dubstep. The 9’s were both really good, but again, they didn’t do that for me.
Average score of 7.8 which … maybe a bit low? I’d round up to an 8 but it’s close enough that I’ll let the literal average do the talking. I think I will definitely grow to enjoy this album more though; there’s a Lot here to learn to appreciate, and a first listen can only do so much.
-
Baby Don’t Play
Welp this sure was intended to be listened to with stereo audio
Yeah this definitely Feels 80’s
Dude the synths in the chorus here
Are they strings? Or just string-inspired?
Haha I’m reminded of Apink’s What A Boy Wants for some reason in this post-chorus
Back to distorted stereo vocals I guess
Yeahh I’m not a fan of that kind of alternating from side to side thing
It feels … kinda tacky to me?
7/10, nice solid start, pretty good
Candle (feat. Paloalto)
Who’s Paloalto I wonder?
Yep, we are still 80’s
Oh is this supposed to be a sexy song?
I don’t think 80’s music will Ever feel sexy to me
Mkay, we’re rapping now
The rapping definitely doesn’t feel 80’s in this context
Yeah I dunno about the rapping yet. It’s fine but I don’t know if I like it
That said I do think I’ll be adding this song to my playlist, it’s very unique
Here he is
(who is he again?)
I don’t think he added too much but it was alright
7/10 but I suspect I may grow to like it more
I Feel You
Jay Whay Pee!
And the Wonder Girls! We’re Back!
Lmao
This isn’t the title track is it?
Oh it is! Why doesn’t it have the most listens then?
I did intend to not watch the MV regardless, on average I think I can analyze songs better when I don’t see the MV
Speaking of analyzing the songs, this song is kinda crazy
Like the synth chime thing with the melody is fun
I think I like this actually?
8/10
Rewind
Okay, this is the one with the most streams on Spotify. Plus the name makes it sound like it should be the title track
This feels suspiciously like a ballad
The ooh’s are cute
Mkay, not a true ballad
I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling though
Dude those string hits in the bridge are Kinda annoying imo
Oh wait there’s a rap section?
I really have no idea how to feel about this song
7/10 I guess?
Loved
Kind of a chip bass
Opening with a rap
Mkay and now we’re singing
The background synth here is super nice
The “you know / I know / we know” is really cool
Mmmm yeah, I like this
The bridge is kinda … underwhelming? I think I want more here
Yeah I guess it builds a bit
The vocals in the last chorus are Excellent tho
8/10
John Doe
Sparkles!!
Wowowooowooooowowowommmp
And now we forget about both of those
Oh ok we get the sparkles back
Haha the horn section, that’s nice
Hey wait, who’s their rapper? Like what instrument does she play live?
And likewise, who’s the drummer?
More sparkles!!
So many of these songs feel like, somewhere between a 7 and an 8
8/10
One Black Night
Cute drums
80’s noir or something? This is an interesting sound
The chorus is Soaring though
Mmmm the “you and I” is so good
Yeahhh and then that high synth up there, that’s pretty
Post-chorus rap, let’s go
“Getting dark dirty naughty” oml
Did they just meow??
No lol that’s a synth
This is so funny though
Like I don’t know what to make of this song, but in a good way
9/10 I guess??
Back
Woah, all metallic ig
And now we’re all hip hoppy
And this is like, proper 80’s hip hop
Yes I understand how to spell back thanks
You’re only 24, this late into your career? Jeez
Actually fair enough, I know a couple of them were 14 at debut
Certainly Hyuna was anyway
“I’m not a doll” has to be one of the most cliched cliches in kpop
I’m so curious what the Korean is bc the chorus is So generic
Maybe that’s intentional though?
Bruh the bell out here like
Okay the vocals at the end are really nice, fair play
Oh apparently this is the least listened-to song on the album
7/10, I do not know what to make of this song
OPPA
…huh?
The hits, whatever they are, feel like firecrackers
The english though is So generic omg
This is another song that I just don’t know how to feel about
It’s enjoyable to listen to but like … what??
I heard ‘molla’, that’s like my favorite Korean word or something
Yeah the english is like, almost painful to listen to omg
Oh okay
Nmixx moment
This 100% elevates the song
Wait okay hold on what?
I guess that was supposed to be the Toy moment of this album then?
8/10 ?????
Faded Love
Love this soundscape
Mmmmm and here’s the beat, god man this synth is So good
If you asked me to grade this set of sounds then it would get an A+
Dude the vocals wait what
Da da da da da da… mmmm
I love the strings
Both the violins and the guitar
This bass is having wAY too much fun
Was that a ritardando for a second there?
9/10, this was purely enjoyable to listen to
GONE
It’s kind of amazing that Twice debuted in the same year as this album
Like how Red Velvet are older than 4 Walls, it just feels kind of Wrong for some reason
Oh as far as this song goes, this is Gamer
The synth runs are fun
Pretty vocals
You can tell I’m mentally fried by this point though by how little I’m trying
8/10
Remember
The second least listened-to song on the album
Feels kinda Disney in the intro
Oh no
That “clink”
I’d know that clink anywhere
That’s the slow jam clink
Yep haha, the drum groove, the vocals, the background music
But y’know what? They definitely earned it, both in this album itself and in terms of their career as a whole
I really like the “Baby I’ll always remember your love” lines, those are sweet
Yeah, we did in fact earn this. If the whole album was this then I’d hate it, but in context it actually fits so well
8/10
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Hiiii your holiday pal here<3333
I’m truly sorry for being late my work is killing me recently > <. Nevertheless, I’m very happy and excited to become your holiday pal and hopefully we can get to know each other and have some real fun!!
Because I’ve been fully occupied with my work so the only thing I could do is listening to music. I want to share the album I’ve been obsessed with this week. It’s Siamese Dream of the smashing pumpkin and btw Luna is my favorite! This album gives me much comfort whenever I feel stressed out. Hope you can find it relaxing too!
Maybe it’s not that necessary but I want you to know English is not my first language and I haven’t communicated with ppl in English a lot before. I’m a little worried at first because I’m an introvert and afraid of making mistakes. Anyway in the last minute I made up my mind to step out for more communications! You can ask me anything here. :)
Hope you have a happy December!! Xxxx
Yours,
M
hey hi hello, m the mysterious! it’s so lovely to meet you. 🌬❄️🤍
i am sorry to hear that december has started off busy, but so glad to hear that music has helped you through it! an old friend of mine was a big fan of the smashing pumpkins, so this was a lovely blast from the past (and a reminder to stalk his socials soon to see how life is treating him dgdgdg). i read your message shortly after waking up and put on your favourite song whilst snuggled up in bed. i can see why it’s brought you so much comfort, the last verse is very soothing! it’s like a lullaby. 🛌🎶
i have also been listening to a lot of music so far this month. lots of love songs, as always. 😌 some of my favourites have been being seen by ariyel and dusk by alice phoebe lou. they’re very soft and help to relax me on my way into work. maybe they’ll do the same for you! i have enjoyed looking at people’s spotify wrapped songs & stealing them for my own playlists, too. my top artist this year was harry styles and the song i listened to most was mfasr. very predictable dhdgf. do you use spotify? if so, i’d love to know what your top song of the year was. 🤲✨
i also signed up very last minute because i was nervous so we’re in this together, okay!? i know approximately 5 phrases in a different language, so i promise you that there’s no reason to worry about your english. there’s also never any pressure to reply quickly, or at all! i am more than happy to wait to hear from you, mental health is always the priority. if there’s anything i can do to help ease some of your anxieties, do let me know! 🫂
your festive friend,
bug 🐛🤍
#keeping my fingers crossed you have time to rest soon#and sending a squeeze as motivation to make it through this month 🫂#festive friend 🌨🤍
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Task Management:
Creating + Maintaining a Schoolwork Schedule
Key elements
Your schedule suits your individual time/task management preferences.
It is flexible enough to accommodate sudden changes, plus fluctuating energy levels, states of concentration, symptoms and moods.
Daily tasks are not over-whelming; they are small enough that they are achievable.
You do not get “burned out.”
It allows you to be consistent.
Steps to create your schedule
Decide if you want your planner to be paper or digital
Find an “order” that’s logical and achievable for you (more on this later)
Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all the assignments, tests and other events taking place that week/month (and their due-dates).
Then break these down, assigning tasks to each day of the week (more on this later).
Break down your tasks even further (more on this later).
Decide if you want to follow a simple daily to-do list or a timed schedule (more on this later).
Find your “order(s)”
Mandatory: Schedule assignments around other commitments (work, social, hobbies, etc.).
Do the hardest task first to get it out of the way (so that the rest of your tasks are less daunting, and because your smaller tasks require less energy therefore can be done even after completing the hard task).
Do the easiest task first to build momentum (give yourself a feeling of accomplishment which will motivate you to continue, and boost your self-confidence early in the day to establish a positive mindset for the rest of the day).
Do the task that’s due first to minimize deadline stress, and so your assignments don’t fall through the cracks (causing you to get discouraged and lose momentum).
Plan according to your energy level throughout the day and week: Do you have Pilates once a week? Maybe you can reserve that day for easier assignments. If you know you’re going to be tired for whatever reason, account for that in your planning.
Consider your state of concentration: If you know you’re too groggy or spaced out for the first hour of your day, you can either schedule easy tasks in that time, or none at all. If you take a medication in the afternoon/evening that makes you tired, schedule easier tasks or none, and get harder tasks done earlier/later in the day. If you have ADHD and crowded places mess with your concentration, but you like studying at a café, go when it’s not busy.
Be mindful of your emotions and symptoms: If you have depression, or are prone to depressive episodes, you’ll need to consider that when scheduling. You might have to rework your entire schedule when you get into a depressive episode (like adding lots of breaks). If suddenly you’re going through a big life event (like a breakup), you need to account for that when scheduling. For instance, if you can’t stand to be alone, maybe you can go out instead of staying in, and if your motivation is low, you may need to up your reward-system or break down your tasks even more.
Break down this week/month’s tasks
Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all your due dates for the time period you’re scheduling for.
Based on due dates, outside commitments, predictions of energy/mood/symptoms, assign assignments to the days of the week/month that make most sense for you.
Break down daily tasks into sub-tasks
You can do this (in advance) for your full week/month’s assignments, or do it every morning/evening.
Generally, your assignments will follow a variation of this formula: brainstorm, create an outline, research, write rough draft, edit and revise. Test/exam prep will look something like: check to see what the test is based on, pinpoint important sections, review to see how well you know the material, create a list of items to study, rewrite select notes, make flash cards, study topic 1, study topic 2, etc.
What are the individual components of these steps? Here are some examples. Brainstorm: what should my topic be, what should my thesis be, what points can support my thesis, what do I need to research, what questions do I need to ask my prof? Outline: topic, thesis, points, conclusion. Research: write down all the important parts from each source (separately), then sift through to sort into Supporting Point 1, Supporting Point 2, etc. Rough draft: opening statement(s), intro, point 1, point 2, etc., conclusion, closing statement(s). Edit/revise: read and check for grammar only, then read again and check for spelling only, read again and check for cohesiveness only, etc. Topic 1: Part A, Part B, etc.
Each of these small components can be individual items on your to-do list. Big tasks like, “write essay” are too big for most people. Even “write rough draft” is daunting. If you start with something specific and small like brainstorming, and work your way up, it’s a lot easier to approach. Plus, being able to check off tasks more often and more easily will boost your confidence and your sense of competence, thus building momentum.
Here is a sample to-do list: Research X for Point 1 of Literary Essay, create outline for History Essay, Edit/Revise Assignment 1, study Topic 1 and Topic 2 for Test 1.
To-do list or time-based schedule?
To do list: Write down all your assignments for the day. Put them in the order you want to do them, or go through them intuitively (based on what you feel like doing, or what’s most practical at the time/place you’re at).
Timed-based: Write down all your assignments, then write down the time you’re going to do each of them. You could set reminders or alarms if you want, or simply refer to the list. There’s an awesome app I recommend if this is your thing. It’s called Structured (iOS only).
Curate your study environment for maximum focus
Eliminate distractions such as uncomfortable clothing, sounds (or silence), phone and computer notifications, clutter in the room and on your desk, people who may try to talk to you (shut your door and/or inform them that you’re busy).
Designate a space to doing homework only and avoid spaces that you associate with other things (do not study in bed, as you will want to relax or sleep, and/or you will mess with your sleep by weakening the bed’s association with sleep).
Build associations: Incorporate other events and items into your study/homework routine that you only use while doing that, so that you associate those things with studying/homework (examples: specific playlists, pencils/pens, cups/bottles, scents, rituals, decor, etc.).
Ensure good lighting (preferably including daylight).
Get dressed in clothes that make you feel good about yourself. They don’t have to be “professional” and they should definitely be comfortable. Do not stay in your pyjamas. Believe me, I know this can be hard, and I love PJ’s. But they are not good for productivity.
Don’t “multi-task.” It may feel like you’re getting more done this way, but by splitting your focus, not only do tasks take longer, they also diminish in quality. Commit to the task you’re doing.
Meditate: You can even meditate for just 1-5 mins right before studying, homework and/or classes.
Practice self care (daily!)
Sleep (enough, well, and regularly).
Daylight: Get outside, work by windows, use a light therapy box. These can help regulate your sleep, improve and maintain mental health, and boost energy.
Fresh air: Getting outside even for a couple minutes can help you refresh and reset, and feel good about yourself and your life. Fresh oxygen can help you wake up and is great for your health. Even just opening your window can do a lot for your mood, energy and motivation.
Movement: Try to move at least once per day. The benefits of exercise are numerous and immense.
Healthy and consistent eating: Avoid spikes in insulin levels by eating regularly so you don’t have extreme dips in your energy level. Also, brain power uses calories too, so make sure you’re eating consistently, and try to eat healthy. There are so many other reasons eating consistently is good for your health (and by extension, your productivity).
Relaxation and leisure: Make time for fun and socializing, as well as intentional relaxation. Hobbies, movies/tv, time with friends/family, meditation, baths, progressive muscle relaxation, etc.
Therapy: Your therapy sessions are not daily, but you can do 5 minutes of inner-work per day based on what you and your therapist are currently working on. Working with a therapist is a great way to stay on track with your goals, and develop the skills and positive mindset required for success in school.
Reward yourself
Track progress: Reflect on all the assignments you’ve completed and your grades to remind yourself that you’re capable!
Completing to-do lists daily maintains a sense of accomplishment which keeps your momentum going. Check those items off! Or give yourself gold stars! ⭐️
Treat yourself with non-food rewards: Tie completed school work with fun tasks like video games, or take yourself out for coffee, or some other small (non-food) outing. What I’m trying to do right now is not do my leisure activities until my daily tasks are done.
Develop a positive mindset
Take promises you make to yourself seriously. The more you break promises to yourself, the easier it will get to continue breaking promises. You will lose respect for yourself which lowers motivation, and you will lose trust in yourself which can become debilitating as well. The more you keep promises, the easier it will get, the more motivated you’ll become, and the more you’ll trust and respect yourself. Your confidence will improve, and you’ll feel better about yourself. Productivity is choosing yourself. Discipline is choosing what’s best for you instead of what you feel like doing in the moment. Discipline is a muscle, and like any muscle, it can be strengthened, and it can atrophy.
Remember your “why.” What is the end goal of being in school? What’s your career path, and why did you choose it? What will your life be like when you have that career? What would your life be like if you gave up and didn’t make it to your goal? Aiming for your dream while running from your nightmare is a great strategy for maintaining motivation. Lighting a fire under your *** can be a huge motivator.
Remember how good you feel when you get schoolwork done, and let this motivate you to stay consistent. You can also remember how you feel when you don’t get work done, but definitely focus more on the positive!
Go to therapy and/or hire a coach. There are SO many benefits to therapy and I’d honestly need a whole other post to get into it. You don’t need to be depressed or mentally ill at all in order to benefit from talking to a therapist. They can even help you with time management, procrastination, motivation and more! If you can afford it, please do it. It’s such a worthwhile investment.
Be consistent
No “zero days.” Do at least a bit of homework or studying every day so you don’t slip into vacation mode. Make schoolwork a daily part of your life, so it just becomes the norm.
Build productivity momentum (track progress, check items off your to-do list daily, treat yourself, keep promises to yourself, remember your “why,” remember how success feels).
Stay on top of projects. Your assignments are made up of smaller tasks you assign yourself across time. “Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.” - Robert Collier
Avoid burnout (more on this later).
Keep it interesting (more on this later).
Avoid burnout
Self-care: shower and/or bathe regularly, maintain proper sleep habits, stay hydrated, take care of your skin, do relaxation activities like meditation and reading, do fun activities, pamper yourself every now and then with face masks or foot baths, take your meds as prescribed, eat well and regularly, get outside often, move daily, etc.
Break up study/homework sessions into small, manageable chunks of time, with constructive (refreshing) breaks in between.
Break assignments down into even smaller tasks so that you aren’t over-working yourself during the course of a day, and so that you don’t overwhelm yourself (the stress can lead to burnout).
School-life balance: Keep up with your social life as best as you can, make time for your hobbies, maintain self-care, say no to things that don’t serve you, etc. Try to follow through with scheduled schoolwork 100% of the time, but know that you won’t. Sometimes you’ll need to prioritize mental health over schoolwork (be careful though, this is a very fine line, and a slippery slope). Sometimes things will come up and it’ll be out of your control. But more than anything else, there will be times when you just decide to prioritize something else like fun and socializing over schoolwork. This is why your schedule needs to be flexible: to accommodate sudden invites to hang out and random decisions to skip a homework/study session, but more importantly, flexibility will reduce the odds that you’ll skip in the first place. If your schedule includes hobbies and socializing, and anything else that’s important to you, then you won’t feel deprived. If you have school-life balance, you’ll have more of yourself to devote to schoolwork when it’s time to.
Keep it interesting
Romanticize your life by putting effort into making all of your daily tasks a special occasion.
Make meals and drinks special by using your favourite dinnerware and cutlery. Perhaps even incorporate extra elements such as: a beautiful tablecloth, napkins, candles and/or dim lighting, music, wearing your favourite clothing, etc.
Pretend you’re the main character in a movie about a successful, productive student (because you are the main character in your life).
Make games out of studying if this is something that interests you (the Forest app comes to mind).
Use lots of colours in your notes and buy colourful stationary! 🌈
Vary your approach/methods if needed to avoid boredom.
Study with friends (online or in person).
Reward yourself often.
Remember your “why.”
#bella escuela#studyblr#study#study tips#study hacks#study advice#studying#adhd studyblr#adhd study tips#adhd study hacks#adhd study advice#adhd#adhd student#study motivation#study inspiration#task management#time management#executive dysfunction#productivity#productivity hacks#brain hacks#school planner#planner#assignment tracker#school tips#self discipline#success#adhd tips#adhd hacks#adhd advice
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we're building our own promised land
Eddie sighed, closing his eyes for a second. He hadn’t necessarily spoken these words aloud, just yet – not to Buck, or Hen, or anyone else – and he was afraid of the implications the words might make about him, and his newfound relationship status. But Eddie knew, know, that these things, if they went ignored, only festered, and became toxic and Eddie Diaz refused to ruin another relationship, refused to ruin the great love of his life, because he wasn’t able to say the words out loud.
“I,” Eddie paused, taking a steadying breath. “I don’t think I’m fully okay with the fact I like men, Frank. And I want to be. I just don’t know how to get from here, to there.”
- or, coming out, unlearning his shame, and processing his religious trauma takes a lot more time and support, and therapy, than eddie had imagined it would have.
complete with a queer eddie inspired playlist, here. this one felt a bit like ripping my heart out and putting it on the internet so, uh, enjoy.
read the full fic on ao3 here.
“I don’t want to be here,” Eddie huffed, shifting in his seat, the leather squeaking against the rough material of his jeans.
Frank had particularly comfortable chairs, and Eddie had always felt as though that was part of the trap – a ruse, to get you relaxed, and comfortable, and spill your guts. Eddie wasn’t falling for it.
Frank, to his credit, didn’t look offended, a hint of a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “I know,” he reassured, because apparently Eddie was close enough with his therapist that Frank knew what to expect from him, during these sessions. That was something to have a crisis about later. “But – just to remind you, Eddie, you did book this session out of your own free will. It’s not department mandated, anymore.”
Eddie sighed. “I hate when you do that, you know – point out something really obvious in that quiet, therapist-y way you do.”
“I know,” Frank repeated, and Eddie could sense a lecture about deflection tactics brewing, Frank predictable, in some ways – and never predictable, in others. It was what made him such a frustrating man, Eddie had long since decided. “But that doesn’t change the fact you made the appointment yourself and that coming back to therapy was something you decided to do, of our own free will, Eddie.”
Eddie glanced out the window, a passing helicopter catching his eye for a second. It was for a news channel, maybe – or it could have been the police. It was loud, either way, the chop of the blades distracting Eddie from the topic at hand. “I’m – queer, I guess,” he began, the word still foreign, and unfamiliar as he voiced it aloud, tasting strange as he spoke it in reference to himself. “I haven’t figured out my word, yet. That’s part of why I’m here.”
“To figure out your word?” Frank prompted, after a few too many minutes of silence on Eddie’s part.
Eddie shook his head. “Yeah,” he tried, the answer not sounding quite right. “No,” he tried again, and the answer didn’t feel like the one he’d been searching for, for the entire drive over, for the weeks leading up to him making this appointment. Eddie wasn’t sure if the not having a word, of it all, was the part that was weighing on him – not when he’d had plenty of reassurances from Hen, and Karen, and Buck, that he didn’t need to have a word if none felt like the right fit.
“I’m not an expert on LGBT issues, by any means,” Frank said, and Eddie waited, to see if Frank would do the unthinkable, and share something about himself. He didn’t, of course, because he was a therapist, and a deeply professional man, but Eddie could hope. “But I want to help you in any way that I can. You need to try and articulate your feelings for me to be able to do that though, Eddie – you know that.”
Eddie knew that. He’d been through this, with Frank – after the shooting, and months later, when Eddie came back, finally ready to talk about the shooting, and the aftermath, and everything that had come before, the army, Death Valley, the first time he’d felt a bullet rip through his shoulder, and all the ways that had broken him. Shannon, and the end of their marriage, and those harrowing months between El Paso, and finally moving to LA. All the ways he’d let Christopher down, as a father. The PTSD. Eddie had spent months finding the words, and articulating the feelings, and he’d done the hard work, and life was supposed to be easy, now.
Except it wasn’t.
“I don’t want to be here,” Eddie repeated, his voice tiny, as he made the admission a second time.
“I know,” Frank’s reassurance was gentler, this time. “But you’re here now, Eddie, and I’m here to listen. Or we can sit here in silence if that’s what’s going to help you.”
Eddie sighed, closing his eyes for a second. He hadn’t necessarily spoken these words aloud, just yet – not to Buck, or Hen, or anyone else – and he was afraid of the implications the words might make about him, and his newfound relationship status. But Eddie knew, know, that these things, if they went ignored, only festered, and became toxic and Eddie Diaz refused to ruin another relationship, refused to ruin the great love of his life, because he wasn’t able to say the words out loud.
“I,” Eddie paused, taking a steadying breath. “I don’t think I’m fully okay with the fact I like men, Frank. And I want to be. I just don’t know how to get from here, to there.”
#911 fox#eddie diaz#evan buckley#buddie#911fic#in which i ramble#in which lorna writes fic#soooooo i am off to vomit now#pls enjoy#and if you don't its okay but don't tell me i'm already traumatised ]
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Clean /// Sakusa x f!Reader (18+)
Summary: [College dorm AU] Sakusa can’t stop thinking about you in the shower.
A/N: Indirectly inspired by @seita and @bakatenshii, who made me think about soap and Sakusa’s cum in conjunction…thanks guys :P
Tags/warnings: masturbation, mild cleanliness fetish if that’s a thing?, Sakusa wants you and is in deep denial about it
It’s not like he started doing it on purpose. Not at first.
On weekdays, you wake up at the same time that Sakusa gets back from the gym: 7 AM exactly. He timed it that way because they clean the dorm bathrooms at 6:30—they’re still revolting, but they can’t be as bad as the ones at the gym. He can avoid touching the stall walls if he has to, and…he has to. 7 is the perfect time—even the students with 8 AM class can’t be fucked to wake up that early, so he gets the row of mirrors and stalls to himself.
Except for you.
Your room is right next to the stairwell; when Sakusa jogs up the stairs (two at a time, blood still pumping from his workout even though the sweat is already cooling on his back) he can hear your alarm through the thin wall. Always 7 on the dot: your phone blares an obnoxiously loud ringtone, there’s a muffled protest from you and your roommate curses at you to turn that shit off, it’s seven fucking AM. By the time he’s standing at the bathroom sink brushing his teeth, you’re usually pushing through the door in your pajamas, holding your towel in one hand and rubbing your puffy eyes with the other.
So it’s not like Sakusa plans this. It’s a coincidence. Mostly.
“G’morning…Kiyoomi.” You interrupt yourself with a yawn in the middle of the sentence. Your voice sounds heavy with exhaustion and he wonders, not for the first time, why you bother waking up so early. You don’t seem like a morning person.
The toothbrush is still in Sakusa’s mouth, so he just nods to greet you. You smile sleepily and then bend down to reach your bathroom locker, and—fuck, fuck, you’re wearing the shorts again, the threadbare cotton ones you wear whenever the weather gets a little warmer. They’re thin (so thin he can see the high cut of your panties underneath when they’re stretched over your ass, not that he’s looking), and they’re short.
Do you know how much you’re showing off when you bend over like that to rummage through your locker? You’re basically showing your ass off, the smooth muscle of your thighs rising up into those perfect cheeks, and between them, the dingy cotton stretched tight over your mound—
He’s not looking. He shouldn’t be looking. Sakusa lowers his gaze in the mirror to spit the toothpaste into the sink.
“Hey, can I borrow some of that?”
You’re standing at his elbow now, blinking up at him. Pleading. When he wordlessly hands over the tube, you grin, eyes crinkling up at the corners like he just offered to take your hand in marriage rather than letting you have some toothpaste that he wasn’t going to miss anyway. “Thanks! You’re the best.”
You barely know him. Sakusa’s pretty sure that these early-morning bathroom encounters are the only times you two interact.
“How was your workout?” you ask when you’re done brushing your teeth.
Sakusa has to grip the edge of the counter to tear his eyes away from you when you spit it out—white foam dribbling out of your mouth and down your chin—but that’s beside the point. “It was fine.”
“Yeah? Did you run or go to the gym?”
“Gym.” Why are you so curious? You’re too friendly.
You hum appreciatively, rubbing foamy circles of cleanser into your skin. The smell of it is light—floral, but barely. Lavender, maybe. That’s step one of your morning skincare routine, which Sakusa’s pretty certain he knows as well as you do by now. Next will be toner, and then you’ll save the rest for after your shower—but before you reach for the next little bottle in the row you’ve lined up on the bathroom counter, you turn toward him. “I should get back on a regular gym schedule too. Maybe one day I’ll go with you?”
“If you can wake up that early.” The remark must come out harsher than Sakusa intended, because you raise your eyebrows and your mouth drops open—but a second later you’re smiling again, turning back to the mirror so you can pat the toner into your skin.
“You’re probably right. I don’t know how you wake up at six in the morning every day.”
5:45, he wants to correct. But if he keeps talking to you, you’re going to notice he’s staring. So he just finishes washing his face without answering, puts his stuff back into the locker, and makes his way over to the shower stalls, leaving you and the scent of lavender behind.
There are five stalls. All open, of course. Second from the left has the best water pressure, and the one on the far right has a removable shower head and heats up the quickest. But Sakusa chooses the middle stall. For no reason. Not because he knows exactly which stall you’re going to pick, and he wants to be sure he’s in the stall next to yours when you do. He takes his time—undresses slowly, folding his dirty gym clothes even though they’re going straight into the laundry; sets his shampoo and conditioner and body wash out on the bench in the order that he’s going to use them; turns the knob to just the right angle to get the right temperature and waits for it to heat up until he can see the steam saturating the air.
By the time Sakusa’s under the water, massaging shampoo through his hair and feeling the sweat slough off his skin along with the shower spray, you’re done with your pre-shower skincare, padding over from the sinks to the stalls and picking—predictably—the one next to his. He has to strain himself to hear it over the sound of splashing water but he does hear it: your cheap pink flip-flops slapping against the tile floor, the relieved yawn in your breath as you stretch (you always stretch) and the soft rustling of fabric as you take off your clothes and deposit them in a heap on the bench.
Sakusa tilts his head up into the shower spray and feels the stray drops clinging to his eyelashes and wonders how much he’d be able to see if the walls were made of glass.
Today is Wednesday, and that means you’re going to wash your hair today because you always wash it on Wednesdays. Sakusa can already smell the shampoo you use filtering into the air. What is it? Sharper and more bitter than mint, medicinal almost—he’s considered asking you a few times what it is, but he can’t figure out a way to phrase the question.
Hey, (Y/N), tell me what product you use to wash your hair. Ever since I started jacking off in the shower to you, I can’t get off unless I’m smelling it.
That probably wouldn’t go over well.
Fuck, he’s already hard. The heat of the shower is nothing compared to the heat of his blood pumping down to his cock. Sakusa rinses through his hair quickly, freeing up his hands so he can palm his shaft and give it a tentative stroke.
Through the shower wall you give a light, soft sigh of appreciation, and Sakusa feels his cock jump in his hand. You prefer your showers hotter than he does—white puffs of steam are rising up over the gap between the stall divider and the ceiling, and you always come out flushed. The heat must feel nice, hm? He can almost see you, standing naked under the shower head in just your stupid pink flip-flops, letting rivulets of water drip down from the crown of your head to flow lower…over your shoulders, your back, your tits; your fingers lathering the shampoo through your hair, soap bubbles washing the grease away from you, draining away yesterday’s grime so you’re all fresh and squeaky clean.
You sigh again, and your voice is pushing out behind the breath. A moan, almost. Do you ever touch yourself in the shower? He’d be a hypocrite to think you shouldn’t be able to take advantage of this rare moment of privacy…it’s so hard to get time to yourself in the dorms, he can sympathize… So maybe you let your hands dip lower while you wash, shift your thighs apart so you can fit your fingers between them. Pet that puffy little cunt, push your fingers inside, feel your slick wash off in the water just to be replaced with more.
Sakusa wraps his fingers around his cock and slides his hand up the shaft, moving slowly so he can savor the light friction. Your hands would be soft, wouldn’t they? Softer than his. You don’t have calluses like he does—all that lotion you use must be doing you some good. And your hands are a lot smaller than his are…you’d probably have trouble getting one hand all the way around. You’d have to use both hands to hold him, hold his cock and pump him, jack him off…
If your hands are too small for him, what about your mouth?
The shower is so warm and you’re so close. Sakusa closes his eyes so he can breathe in that sweet medicinal smell and imagine you in here with him.
Your mouth. Soft lips, no makeup, just your natural color dampened from the water and your spit and his precum, closed around him, stretched around him to accommodate for the mass of his cock sitting in your mouth. Little pink tongue flicking out to tease the tip, lapping flat at the underside and then kissing it. You’d be a tease, a fucking tease. Looking up at him with those eyes, batting your eyelashes over your dewy-wet cheeks as you try to swallow him a little deeper. He’d tangle his fingers around the back of your head, push the strands of wet hair away from your face, pull your mouth up and down on his cock while the water splashes down around the two of you—
There’s a click of a cap popping shut and your shoes smacking wetly against the floor while you reach over to grab another bottle. You’re humming to yourself—a song Sakusa’s heard on his friends’ playlists and at parties but he doesn’t know the lyrics. Sometimes you sing in the shower (always softly, under your breath, so quiet he’d barely be able to hear if he wasn’t listening) but today you just hum. Maybe you’d sing out loud if he wasn’t there?
You’re probably being considerate to him...you do seem like the type. After all, you must be as aware of his presence three feet away from you as he is of yours. You probably think about him in the shower too.
Sakusa’s hips buck forward, pushing his dick through his hand as he pumps it with no real technique or rhythm, just trying to match the pace of his breathing to what he can hear of yours. The heat of his impending climax is coiling low in his belly, even though it hasn’t been long—it never takes long when he’s thinking about you. You’ve practically become a part of his own morning routine, to the point where he couldn’t even get off when he went home for spring break a few weeks ago. When the two of you move out of the dorms and go your separate ways, it’s going to be annoying. He should really stop this, wean himself off you while he can…not that he really wants to.
Your voice isn’t bad when you sing, but it’d be a lot better moaning his name.
People fuck in the showers. Sakusa knows that, he’s heard them himself and always been acutely disgusted at the filth of it all. Dorm bathrooms are notoriously foul—there’s a reason people wear shoes when they’re showering, and the thought of people actually fucking in here makes his skin crawl. But with you? He can see it, he can feel it—the soft fat of your thighs in his hands, skin dimpling under his grip as he holds you up; your arms twisted around his neck hugging into him; the hot water streaming over both of your bodies as his cock slaps into your pussy, burying into that tight wet heat.
Sakusa grits his teeth to stifle a groan and wonders if you heard it, and then he’s feeling around for the memory of your sleepy “Good morning, Kiyoomi” and warping your voice in his mind until he can almost hear your lips wrapping around his name, panting it, whimpering it, choking it out between pleas for him to fuck you harder—Kiyoomi, please, fuck me fuck me just like that, fuck my little pussy til I can’t walk straight Kiyoomi I need you!
God, he wants to hear it, he wants to say your name, wants you to know he’s jacking off to you. Sakusa’s hand speeds up and his hips are thrusting into his fist, the water making wet clicking noises every time his cockhead moves up past his fingers as he imagines fucking you right here in this shower. He’d make you cum, make you clench and tighten around him, make you wake up the entire goddamn floor with your screaming, and—fuck, he’s mouthing out the syllables, and then he can hear his own voice out loud and he’s saying your name—
“K-Kiyoomi?”
Your actual voice—lifted, high and clear as a bell ringing even stifled by the stall and the rushing water hits Sakusa and he flinches—and cums, cock jerking under his grip as the sticky white fluid shoots out to coat his hand. It’s good, so good, so fucking good, you said his name, you said it, fucking perfect—the release passes over him so forcefully that he has to hold his breath to bite back the stuttered hiss of pleasure from deep in his throat.
“Kiyoomi?” you ask again from the other stall, voice uncertain. “Did you say my name? I thought I heard you…”
It takes him a long moment to catch his breath, and another to work up enough control to straighten and raise his hand to the spray, letting the cum wash off his skin and down the drain in cloudy white trickles. “I didn’t.”
“Oh, sorry! Guess I imagined it.” You’re back to your cheerful self, humming that brainless melody and soaping yourself up without a care in the world. So gullible. Like always. And it’s not like Sakusa wanted to get caught, but…he can’t help wondering what you’d do if you knew.
Maybe you’d hate him. Maybe you’d call him a creep, stop showering when he does, avoid his gaze when you pass each other in the halls.
Or maybe you’d be into it.
Sakusa finishes his shower at the same time you do, so he can catch you just as you step out of the stall. “Oh—“ you start, barely keeping yourself from bumping into his chest. “Oops!”
Your face is stained pink from the heat of the shower…or maybe it’s the way you’re staring at his bare chest that’s making you blush. Sakusa’s not flattering himself—he knows he’s good-looking, knows what the years of athletics have done for him, and you are staring—but just for a moment before you catch yourself and right your gaze back up to his face, absently watching him towel off his hair. The fact that you let your eyes stray a little gives him permission to do the same, so he takes a moment to examine the lines of your shoulders, your soaked hair sticking to your neck, the dip of your cleavage under the fluffy white robe you’re wearing.
You smell good, all soft and wet and clean. Sakusa can’t help imagining if you taste that good, too.
“Um…s’cuse me,” you say after a moment when he doesn’t move to let you pass through the walkway. You could try to skirt around him, but he’s so big.
“What shampoo do you use?”
You blink and pat your hair self-consciously. “It’s, uh, tea tree oil? It has peppermint and lavender and stuff too I think, it’s really good for waking up in the morning—sorry, I know some people don’t like the smell—“
“No, it doesn’t bother me.” Sakusa’s eyes narrow before he steps out of the way to let you walk past.
I like it, he wants to add. But he doesn’t.
#sakusa kiyoomi x reader#sakusa x reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagines#hq x reader#haikyuu#sakusa kiyoomi#sakusa#hq#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader#haikyuu!! imagines#hq imagines
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Let me preface this by saying once again...filming can be extremely misleading. We can't know for sure what's going on until we see it pieced together on screen. But after all the info that's come out recently, I have a theory.
We know 11C is building up to the Daryl and Carol spinoff, which means they're going to have to bring up the possibility of "running away" together at some point. Maybe it'll have to be brought up a few times, maybe one of them (Carol) will have reservations for a little while because angst. Of course eventually, they'll reach an agreement (with their lips?) that they want to finally make it happen. They only have to fight one more fight and they're off. But then...Judith getting hurt throws a wrench in everything.
Don't hurt me, but those "wedding" scenes in Alexandria...maybe they're part of a dream sequence that Judith has while she's in the hospital, mirroring Rick and Carl who also dreamt about a possible future in Alexandria. And hey, maybe Daryl and Carol are married in her dream. I just think it's interesting that Alexandria seems to have been rebuilt and not Hilltop. But anyways, after having almost lost their niece, I can see them talking it over some more and deciding to hold off on their plans just a little bit longer to make sure everybody is safe and thriving, aka no longer requiring their services, before they go (accounting for the song "One More Year" on the prop team's playlist perhaps?)
Cue time jump which may just be a year after all ("One Year Later" is also on that playlist. Throwing that out there). We see that the CW is under new leadership (I'm predicting Mercer will be at the helm) and peace has been restored. If I remember correctly there were only a select number of characters who weren't seen at the park location and it could very well be that they just weren't seen.
OR what if Carol really isn't there and only Daryl is around to observe and exchange some hellos/goodbyes before jumping on his bike (he could also be riding in on his bike and trading it for the jeep? Hard to know where and when the jeep might factor in). Regardless, we're of course left wondering what the hell happened to Carol until...Daryl pulls to the side of the road where Carol is waiting for him. He could say something like "Need a ride stranger?" to parallel Carol's line to him in 9x06 or "I ain't got all day" as a callback to season 2. Carol smirks, kisses him, hops on the back (or in the jeep?), and then they ride off. Basically, it would pay homage to NR's comments throughout the years about wanting their characters to slip away quietly. Not that they wouldn't give their family a heads up, not that they wouldn't have the kids' blessings, just that it wouldn't be made into a huge ordeal.
Just thought I'd share where my head is now. My thoughts will most likely change and evolve as we go along. Hell, they could change in the next five minutes if someone else on the crew decides to post Caryl sailing away on a boat or flying away in a helicopter. One thing I'm not wavering on? That Caryl will go canon by the end. Again, do NOT take filming "spoilers" at face value. There's an entire story we're not seeing, and that's because they don't want us to yet. Hold onto your sanity, friends. We're almost there.
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title — the things i know
pairing — soccerplayer!jisung x female reader
genres — angst, fluff, high school au, strangers to lovers au, first love au, long distance relationship, hurt and comfort, coming of age
overall warnings — underage drinking, cancer, character death, language, mentions of hickeys, fainting, mentions and descriptions of hospitals, soccer inaccuracies, lots of angst (you’ve been warned!)
word count — 14.8k
summary — jisung has never been keen on growing up, or even understanding what adulting means. at seventeen, all he knows is: he loves soccer (and he’s damn gifted at it), and girls are very pretty but also plenty scary. then he met you, his first love who turned his life upside down and made his stomach roll like the soccer balls he loved to kick around the field. but when your cancer comes back after years in remission, jisung thinks, he doesn’t really want to grow up anymore.
playlist — falling, harry styles ; your guardian angel, red jumpsuit apparatus ; my first and last, nct dream ; bye my first, nct dream ; orchid, jeremy zucker
additional — for the heartbreak hotel collab hosted by @nct-writers. my concept in the five stages of grief was “acceptance and hope.” thank you to my babes @suh-insane and @astroboy-lele for proof-reading!
The thing about knowledge is that you never know when or what you’re going to learn. There’s no way for you to predict what will be of your mind when you fall into bed that night, surrendering to the moon. In the morning, there’s no telling what knowledge your brain will choose to store away for remembrance over the course of the night, and what your brain will decide is unnecessary. What you decide not to remember is a memory you can’t even miss.
When you wake up every morning, you don’t know if you’ll go to bed having met someone who will change your life forever.
At seventeen, there are two things that Park Jisung knows. One, he loves playing soccer (and he’s damn good at it, the way his long legs carry him across the field in what seems to onlookers like seconds). Two, girls are very pretty but plenty scary as well.
The day starts out normally, like any other away game that the team plays.
He wakes up at six o’clock on the dot, and eats a large breakfast to hold him over for the game, then packs a few granola bars into his soccer bag and lets his sister know he’s leaving before he jogs the way to the park where the bus is waiting for his team. The ride is normally an hour long, so he either tucks his earbuds into his ears and tries to get in a short nap or he converses with his teammates.
Today though, the bus ride is three hours long. Crossing his hoodie-clad arms across his chest to act against the cold air of the bus, he focuses his gaze outside and watches as the town goes by.
“Yo, Jisung, check this out!”
At the sound of his name he turns his head, blinking when he sees a number of his teammates in the surrounding area nudging him closer. A few of them are leaning in towards a particular teammate, who displays a proud expression. “What’s up,” asks Jisung as he too leans forward toward his team member, curiosity slightly piqued.
Jaemin, the teammate in question, tugs the collar of his jersey down to reveal his skin. On the milky white curve of Jaemin’s collarbone, he sports a dark purple bruise, surrounded by a perimeter of yellow where the skin seems to be healing. There’s no question as to where that mark came from, and it definitely wasn’t from soccer.
“Ew, man, that looks sick!” comes from Donghyuck, along with a few comments from others, either approving or disturbed.
“Where’d that come from?”
Renjun slaps Mark on the chest, eyebrows furrowed at him. “Obviously, it was from Anne! Didn’t you see the way they were all over each other at last week’s game?” Jaemin grins, eyes going lovesick at the thought of his girlfriend.
Jisung’s expression contorts into one of disgust. “That’s disgusting, man,” he comments, nose still scrunched in distaste as he leans back into his original spot on the bus seat. Another thing he’ll never understand is why people are so desperate to grow up, as if giving hickeys and sneaking vodka into their Hydro flasks makes them somehow more adult.
He slips his earbuds into his ears, playing some light muzak to lull him to sleep with his head leaned rather uncomfortably against the cold window.
-
Jisung doesn’t think that he’s exceptionally smart; he’s gotten passing to above average grades his entire life. He’s not musically talented, nor is he particularly a smooth talker.
But hearing people call him gifted is a feeling he relishes every time.
With his long legs and strangely large and spacious lungs, soccer called the boy’s name from the time he could run. He dominated the peewee league, then the club teams until this point, at the ripe age of seventeen waiting to be scouted for college teams.
He wasn’t usually one to brag but today, he had shot the winning goal.
Everyone has their thing, the one thing that they excel at. For Picasso it was painting, for Yiruma it was piano, for Renjun it’s spending four hours every night researching alien conspiracy theories. For Jisung, it’s soccer. But he’s never been exceptionally good at speaking to people.
“What’s your name?” He hears a voice, cheery and upbeat, behind him as he’s grabbing his bag on the side of the field. The game is over, and the crowd begins to dissipate while the team members are gathering their things to return to the bus. Turning over his shoulder he sees you, wearing a bright smile. Cautiously he responds, “Jisung Park.”
“Oh, so you’re Korean then. I’m gonna write that down, okay? How long have you been playing soccer?” You ask next, and now Jisung’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“Write what down?” He asks, trying to keep his tone as polite as possible. Even so, how is he supposed to react to a random person at a game suddenly appearing to ask him questions? As he wipes his forehead with his towel he adds, “Who even are you?”
Quickly you say, “I write in the high school newspaper, and wanted to get a close-up of today’s star.” It’s then that Jisung realizes the camera slung around your neck and the notepad in your hands.
“Why are you writing about me? I don’t even go here.”
“Because,” you say, a slight sigh creeping into your voice now. “Our team sucked today. You straight up stole the show, and no one wants to read about a team that lost. I’d rather give them a peek at the star.”
“14!” His coach yells his number once, causing Jisung to look over his shoulder to the source of the voice, where his teammates are already beginning to pile onto the bus. The boy in question slings his bag over his shoulder and tucks his soccer ball under his right arm before finally getting a good look at you. “Shouldn’t you be writing something to raise your team’s spirit or something? Giving them support, maybe?”
You shrug. “I don’t like underdogs. Don’t like writing about them. I’d rather read about the heroes. So how long have you been playing soccer again?”
“Jisung!” Now it’s Chenle calling after him, and he really needs to go. Eyes flickering to the street where his teammates are gesturing for him to hurry, he looks back to you. Your eyebrow is raised expectantly, right hip popped out as you wait. Before he starts to run off, he manages a small, “I’ve been playing eleven years. Um… bye.”
Then he turns away and his long legs carry him to the bus a few meters away. Even so, behind him he can hear your loud, proud voice yelling after him with the name of your high school: “Check the online newspaper! You’ll see my article!”
What a weirdo, he can’t help but think as the team cheers for their star player getting on the bus back home.
-
A week later, it’s another Saturday night following a victorious win against another team in the local area when Jisung gets a call from Chenle. “What’s up,” he asks immediately, leaning back in his desk chair to throw his soccer ball up in the air and catch it with one hand.
“Wanna party tonight? Celebrate our win a bit?”
“Where?” asks Jisung. He’d never been big on parties. For one, his long legs that were great for running weren’t exactly skilled in dancing or anything of the like. Secondly, he’d definitely be expected to talk to girls and he’s not really in the mood to make a fool of himself.
“Taeyong’s house. Me, Mark, Hyuck, and Jaemin are going. Renjun’s busy, and Jeno wants to spend time with his cat. What do you say? Wanna join?”
Jisung sighs. He was honestly just exhausted. “Think I’ll pass. My sister’s been getting on me about my bio grade.”
Chenle groans on the other line. “Lame.”
“Next time, promise,” says Jisung.
“Fine. Have fun studying, looooser!” This is the last thing Chenle says before hanging up, leaving his best friend alone to shake his head with a small laugh. Then he remembers something, some words that a stranger had yelled out to him a week before.
Sitting up at his desk, Jisung opens his laptop and types in the name of your high school, along with your town. A few clicks around the website finds him at the online news section, plus a scroll or two past some questionable articles, there it is: a picture of him mid-kick, the winning one if he remembers well enough. His nose is scrunched in concentration and strands of dark hair cling to his forehead.
Soccer Superstar from the opposing team steals the show and the win!
A small scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, trying to humble himself as he reads over the first few paragraphs.
Our school’s boys soccer team faced a devastating loss on Saturday in the face of the opposing team’s ace player (pictured above). The game ended promptly when the superstar player confidently kicked in the final shot, though the result had been clear from the first half of the game.
A short interview with the hotshot player revealed that he has been playing soccer for eleven years! A senior from Neo Culture Prep, it is clear as day that the school is very lucky to have such a prodigy on the team.
Who is this superstar player, you ask?
His name is Jisung Park.
Geez, Jisung thinks. He knew he was good but not that good. The article did a good job of spicing him up, making him look like he was a lot better than he really was. There’s too much fluff; sure, he’s skilled and he knows it, but—he touches his cheeks. They’re warm—the article makes him sound like a soccer god, and it’s beyond embarrassing. Who even are you?
A scroll to the bottom of the page tells him all he needs to know.
Article written by: (Name) (Last Name).
-
He doesn’t return to your town for almost two months. There’s a tournament today, the hours lurching between games giving him more than enough time to psych himself out about how he’ll play.
It’s noon, the sun shining overhead causing a sheet of sweat to amass on Jisung’s forehead. His team has just won their second match of the day, and in waiting for their next game, his eyes are scanning the bleachers set up for observers on the side of the field. It’s not hard to find you, same camera hanging around your neck.
With his long legs, he jogs over to you towel in hand. You’re not at all focused on him, eyes pressed into the camera’s viewfinder as you attempt to capture a good shot of the current game.
“I don’t like the stuff you said about me in your article.”
His deep voice suddenly intrudes your thoughts, and you jump in your place. As you turn to him and drop your camera from your face, he catches sight of the way your eyes widen at his appearance. A flood of recognition replaces the shock before you tilt your head. “Why? It was all good stuff.”
Patting at his forehead with his towel, Jisung responds, “Yeah, exactly. I’m not that good. I could’ve played better that day.” This brings a small snort from you. “Really! They were narrowing the angle on me, I should have flanked or lofted.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s—”
You cut him off before he can explain. “You’re good. Why are you so shy to accept that?”
“Why do you keep trying to paint me as the main character of the team? Everyone works hard together.” He questions, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because you are,” you respond matter-of-factly, focused enough to press your eye into the viewfinder again. A few seconds pass, and Jisung recognizes the click of the camera as you capture something on the field. “You’re clearly the best player on the team by a long shot. You’re the main character, the hero.”
At your response, Jisung shakes his head in disbelief and scrunches his nose. There’s really no getting through to you. “I’m more than the hero you think I am.”
You turn to him, facial features contorted into a mischievous expression. “I’m sure you are.” Jisung realizes then that you’re holding something out to him. Taking it, he observes it. A… business card? With your name and number on it. “(Name). Aspiring journalist.”
“You have a business card? Aren’t you like, seventeen?”
You shrug, smile tugging on your lips. “Never hurts to be prepared. Call me.” It’s the last thing you say before you flitter away on quick feet, leaving to interview the team which has just won their match. He watches you leave, wondering if you know what kind of effect you have on people.
-
“I don’t know, man. She seems kinda crazy,” says Hyuck from the seat next to him, leaning his head back. However, a sudden bump in the road causes the bus to jump, startling the boy a bit. Jisung had just shared his thoughts about asking you out with his friend, who immediately made a face and shook his head.
“Crazy?” Sure, you’re a bit forward and maybe slightly reckless, but he doesn’t think you’re… crazy. It’s been a few weeks since he last saw you and from the conversations you’ve shared over text and phone… he thinks he likes you. Like, really likes you. It’s goddamn terrifying.
“Yeah, we all saw her article,” Chenle speaks up from the seat behind him. “She’s obsessed with you.”
Jisung rolls her eyes. “It was one article. That doesn’t mean she’s obsessed.”
“I think you should do it. It’d be funny to get on camera in case you fail,” snorts Renjun.
Jaemin pipes in from in front of them. “But if you do ask her out, she lives three hours away. That’s a lot of distance.” He’s the only one in a relationship, so maybe he has the only opinion that Jisung trusts.
“Other people have done more distance.”
Now, it’s Jeno’s turn to pipe in. “But you’re not other people, you’re Jisung Park. You’ve never had a girlfriend.” Should he feel insulted? Chenle also adds, “Jeno’s right. You’re a senior! It’s your year, and you wanna spend it tied down to some girl who lives three hours away?”
But you’re not just some girl. Mark’s the only one who hasn’t spoken, and most of the time, he’s the most level headed. Jisung turns to him with a sincere expression and asks, “What do you think?”
Though he had been trying to stay quiet throughout the conversation, he stretches a bit in his seat before finally saying, “I think you should go for it.”
“I think you should too!” Jaemin says. “But I think you should be prepared for what it means.”
“Whatever you decide to do, we’ll hype you up.”
“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Jisung asks. “If she rejects me, at least she’s three hours away, right?” There’s murmurs of agreement around the seven of them. He tries to sound relaxed, but the thought of asking a girl out for the first time causes his heart to thump loudly in his chest. Oh god… should he do it?
“So?” asks Hyuck after a few seconds of silence, and it’s then that Jisung realizes everyone’s looking at him. “Are you gonna do it?”
He gulps. “... No idea.”
A collective groan emerges from the group of boys. Hyuck, ever the genius, straightens his back with a glint in his eye. “How about this? If we win, you ask her out. You’ll be riding on a winning spree and it’ll give you confidence. If we lose then… there’s more girls back home.”
That… doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But oh god, he doesn’t know which option he wants.
-
For the first time, Jisung feels like his legs are knotting into each other, tumbling over his feet.
Soccer had always come easily to him, like breathing. But for some unknown reason, he’s totally off his game today. He knows the play, his strengths, and even the weaknesses of his opponents, but he trips over his feet.
No, that’s a lie. He definitely does know the source of his nervousness, and it lives in the form of a girl with a camera and a notepad sitting in the bottom corner bleacher. His breath is frantic as he zips back and forth across the field. The sounds of the game are ringing loud in his ear, and he can hardly even focus on the black and white ball being kicked around, let alone what the coach is screaming at them. They’re so close, one more goal should do it.
He knows what’s going to happen. Jisung Park had always been known for his ending kicks.
But what if he messes it up? What if he fumbles the kick or whiffs it?
Then again, does he even want to win? That’s a dumb quesiton—of course he does—but the question is: is he ready for what comes with the win? He really shouldn’t look, shouldn’t peek for just one look at you, but he does. You’re scribbling in your notepad, and he swears in that millisecond that you look so pretty.
Yeah, he wants it. He really wants it.
He’s ready, and—oh god, Sungchan is passing the ball to him. Suddenly Jisung is on high alert, winding up toward the goal. He captures Sungchan’s ball with ease, no longer tripping over himself as he makes his way to the end goal.
One kick, just nail this one kick.
He winds up, turning his body to the correct angle; he kicks it and…
Please go in, please go in, he’s begging.
The ball flies in straight past the goalkeeper, who jumps toward it but there’s no use. It all happens so quickly, and suddenly his team erupts into celebration when the referee blows his whistle. Still standing there, Jisung catches his breath and stares into the goal.
He won.
That means… He glances at you. You’re wearing a huge smile on your face, and without noticing it himself, Jisung has his own proud smile on his. His momentary peace is interrupted by his friends running toward him, nearly knocking him over in their celebration.
“Yeeahhh, Jisung Park, you’re the man!”
A few minutes later, Jisung tries to calm his nerves after thanking the opposing team for a good game. When he returns to the sidelines where his stuff is, he can barely get some water down his throat before Chenle is pushing a soccer ball into his hand. “Good luck, dude,” he says, and Jisung can feel the others’ eyes on him. Oh no, it’s time.
He steals a glance at you, and—Oh. You’re looking at him too. A bashful smile spreads over your lips and you turn away, focusing back to your conversation with your friend. His heart is beating so loud, but Jisung doesn’t think it’s because of the soccer game. Turning back to his friends, he groans, “I need a pep talk.”
“Okay, uh,” Mark attempts. “You got this, you know you’re the man. Um… if she rejects you, then it’s okay, there’s other fish in the sea!” A groan erupts through the group. “That’s not a pep talk, Mark!”
“Listen,” says Chenle suddenly, grabbing Jisung’s shoulders to stare at him. “She’s not gonna reject you. You’re Jisung freaking Park! The star of the team and my best friend! Go get ‘em, and don’t take no for an answer!” With this, he gives Jisung a small push in the girl’s direction.
“Actually, uh—I think no means no,” pipes in Jisung but everyone cuts him off with a collective, “JUST GO!”
Pink spreads across his cheeks as he slowly walks in your direction. At a good distance away, he places the coveted soccer ball down on the ground and winds himself up for a kick. Okay, he just shot the winning goal of the game. If he can do that, he can do this. Running forward the slightest, Jisung gives himself a silent pep talk as his foot taps the ball. It goes moving from its spot, flying through the air… and that’s when Jisung realizes his mistake. Instead of gently tapping against your ankle like he had planned, the ball flies straight in the air, knocking the side of your head rather harshly.
“Not that hard, genius!” Chenle chastises from behind him, and Jisung has to hold back the desire to actually groan in that moment. He immediately runs toward you, hands out in surprise. “Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, reaching out for you. You’re rubbing the spot on the side of your head where the ball had hit, and he wants to disappear right there.
He never should have done this.
Why was he born again?
“I’m so sorry,” he says again for the nth time, feeling shame and humiliation speed up his spine at the way you wince when you touch the side of your head. “Oh my god, go get me an ice pack,” he demands over his shoulder at his friends.
“No, no I’m okay,” you reassure everyone. Now all the eyes are on the two of you.
A few moments of silence pass as you eye the soccer ball which has rolled some distance away, crouching down to pick it up. Ball in hand, you scan the outside of it… and destroying all of Jisung’s hopes and expectations, you burst into laughter.
You laugh so hard, the boisterous sounds leaving your lips so vehemently that you have to cover your mouth with your hand. Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “I just kicked you in the head and you’re laughing?” Oh god, he must have done more damage than he thought. You don’t answer, the only sounds leaving you are giggles and guffaws. It’s only making him feel worse; geez, he wishes he wasn’t so tall so he could positively disappear right now.
You finally look up at him and meet his gaze, your own eyes crinkled in delight. Flipping the ball over in your hands, you present to him the ball. Written on one of the large white spots reads a firm, “Go out with me?” in black marker.
“This is why you kicked me in the head?” You ask, still chuckling the slightest. Bashfully, Jisung nods. You laugh again. Every time you do that, he feels like getting smaller and smaller. “Of course I’ll go out with you.”
Wait, really?
He says these words aloud, eyes wide at your ease. He hadn’t expected you to actually say yes! “Sure,” you respond with a smile. “Though I could’ve gone without the head injury.”
This brings a laugh from the both of you. He really had been worrying so much about nothing. His frame instantly relaxes, taking the ball back from you. “You sure you don’t need the ice pack?”
“No, I could definitely use an ice pack.”
-
The first date happens two weeks after that game, and it’s his first real date so he has no idea how to act. Everything goes fine—he takes you to the local arcade in your town, and though he’d deny it to the ends of the earth, you beat him in foosball.
“Ha!” You had screamed. “Superstar soccer player Jisung Park, and you can’t beat me in table soccer?” His cheeks had burned pink at the sound of your voice reverberating around the public arcade, but honestly the mirth in your eyes was worth it.
His cheeks are red but the air is cold on the walk home to your house. He had promised to have you home by nine, and it’s—he checks the time on his phone—8:45.
A look at you, holding the giant stuffed teddy bear that you had won (he hadn’t won it for you, because lord knows he’s horrible at skee-ball), and Jisung can see the air leaving your lips. “Hey, you cold?”
“Nah,” you shake your head, though you scoot closer to him on the sidewalk. His tongue laves over his bottom lip quickly, and he almost wants to hold your hand. But that wouldn’t do much to keep you warm.
He purses his lips, then immediately his hands are working at taking off his hoodie. That’s a cute thing, isn’t it? Boyfriends giving hoodies to their girlfriends? “Here, take this.”
When you take one look at the hoodie in his hands and roll your eyes, Jisung knows he’s in for it. “Seriously? You can’t fool me with some cheesy rom-com moves,” you laugh.
Ouch.
That hurt his pride. He was just trying to be nice, maybe a tad bit romantic, but you clearly weren’t having it. He should have known you would be so tsundere, and maybe he does.
He knows you act strong, like there is no way on the face of the earth that you would ever swoon for his lame attempts at flirting. But when you reach upward on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before you step into your house, he knows you like it just as much as he does.
-
For the longest time, it’s been just him and his sister Naeun.
His parents passed away shortly after his birth, so they stayed under the custody of their aunt. When his sister became an adult, she became his legal guardian. Since then, it’s been the two of them against the world.
Though kids had sometimes made fun of him for not having a mom or a dad, Jisung never paid those kids much attention. Sure, he didn’t have a dad to teach him how to drive or a mom to attend his parent-teacher conferences, but he had his sister and she was all he’d never need. Naeun gave up everything for him: she didn’t go to college, she traded nights out with her friends to help him with her math homework, she worked two jobs so he could play soccer. She had worked so hard, perhaps sheltered Jisung so much that he had always lived a comfortable life.
It never occurs to him just how much she had struggled until the morning she asks him to get a job.
She sits across the dining table at breakfast, and over his cereal, Jisung notes how shaken and guilty she looks. There must be something on her mind, but that’s how his sister’s always been; she doesn’t like to worry him, and speaks up when she’s ready. When she finally tells him, he blinks, confused.
“I can’t pay the bills alone. Not with soccer getting more expensive, and the landlord raising the rent—that bastard,” she mumbles under her breath, surprising Jisung. She hardly cursed. “It’s… It’ll just be for a short time. I promise.” She has tears in her eyes. Jisung furrows his eyebrows; she must feel guiltier about this than he thought. Immediately he nods in understanding. “It’s fine, Noona. Don’t worry about it. I’ll, uh, go out looking this weekend.”
He takes another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, thinking that the conversation will end there. But it doesn’t, his sister’s quiet voice reaching his ears. “Promise me you’ll go to college, Sung. Promise me you’ll make it. Make it all worth it.”
And it’s in that moment, in the way that his sister’s voice is on the edge of breaking, that it occurs to him just how much his sister has sacrificed for him. How quickly she had to grow up, having become his parent at eighteen, just a few months away from how old he was now. And he was nowhere near as responsible as her.
He swears in that moment that he’ll uphold his promise. He’ll get a scholarship, he’ll help his sister out. He’ll pay back everything she’s given up for him.
-
Finally, today you’re in town.
It’s the first time you’ve come to visit him in his town, and he’s so excited to show you everything: his school, his favorite ice cream place on the corner of the street from his apartment building, and even the park he grew up kicking soccer balls at. Even after all these years, him and his friends still came here to practice their soccer technique.
Today, the two of you are sitting underneath a tree at said park, his head in your lap. You’re running your hands through his dark hair, and wow, he’d never admit that it feels so good.
There’s a small laugh heard from you as you comb through his locks. “You should dye your hair.”
“Suddenly?” He asks. “I don’t even know what color I’d dye it.”
“You should do like, a blue or something. Oh, purple! Purple would be nice!” Your excitement causes him to roll his eyes promptly, sitting up. “I’ll dye my hair purple if you dye your hair purple,” he retorts to you.
“Maybe I will,” you say, standing onto your feet now that he’s gotten off of you. Wiping the grass from your legs briefly, you nod toward his soccer ball a few feet away. “C’mon, let’s play.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna play soccer.”
“Yeah, is that so surprising?”
“Um, yeah, a little bit considering the fact that you said it’s boring and that you complain having to get up to go to the fridge at two in the morning,” quips Jisung with a laugh. You only roll your eyes in response. “I never said soccer was boring, I just said it’s only interesting when you play. And you’re gonna teach me right now, so stand up,” you say, extending a hand to him.
He takes your hand, rising to his feet before picking up the ball. “Fine,” he relents, a smirk making its way onto his face. “Try to keep up.”
For fifteen minutes, the two of you race up and down the park’s open grass field, chasing the ball in every direction. He evades you, long legs carrying him and the ball while you chase after him.
“Wait,” you say mid-sprint, slowing to a stop. Your chest is heaving, and slowly Jisung stops his running also. “You good?” He asks from a few feet away.
“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, reaching a hand up to wipe at your forehead. “Just… gimme a sec.” A minute passes of you catching your breath, but Jisung doesn’t pay it much attention—a person who didn’t play soccer and have trained lungs like him would struggle.
“Okay, okay,” you finally say, shaking your head a bit. “Let’s go again.”
“Are you sure?” He asks, worry seeping into his tone.
“Yeah, yes! Just—just go.”
So he does, beginning to kick the ball down field as he chases after it, stopping past center field to pass the ball to you. You’re racing after him, and though the ball is coming your way, you trip over it, falling straight onto the floor.
Your head hangs low, and he immediately rushes over to you.
“Hey, hey! You okay?” He asks, kneeling down but your eyes are closed. He swipes a hand over your forehead, and it’s that moment when he realizes your eyes are closed. Did you pass out? Had he pushed you too far? “(Name)?”
No response. Oh god, what is he supposed to do?
Is he supposed to check if you’re breathing? Where can he check for a pulse again? In his moment of inadequacy, he pulls out his phone and calls his sister.
She’ll know what to do, but it pains him that he doesn’t.
His sister arrives quickly, and immediately takes you to the hospital. According to her, you do have a pulse and you probably just had heat exhaustion. He sure hopes so…
For a few hours he sits in the waiting room as he awaits the arrival of your parents. They rushed over from your town, four hours away, and this definitely was not the impression he wanted to have on them. Head in his hands, he can’t help but worry about you.
You do wake up, eventually but he can’t see you until your parents arrive.
They take you back home. You’re walking and talking again, but as you shoot him a weak smile from over your shoulder, walking down the hall and out of the hospital, Jisung can’t help but feel that something has gone terribly wrong.
-
He swears he’s never been so tired.
Working at McDonald’s isn’t horrible, per se, it’s just different. But it definitely takes more out of him than soccer ever did. The second he walks into his room Jisung drops his backpack on the bean bag next to the door and almost collapses on his bed. Throwing his work cap on the floor, he runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his phone.
The best thing about coming home from work, is coming home to you.
He immediately fishes for his phone from his pocket and opens it to speed dial. Pressing on your contact, Jisung presses the phone to his ear and waits for his girlfriend’s voice on the other end. The line picks up.
“Hey,” he says, a smile spreading over his lips without him even knowing.
“Hi…”
Something’s wrong. Your voice is missing its signature excitement, the snarkiness he had grown accustomed to. He sits up in bed, eyebrows furrowed. “Is everything okay?”
Yes, you’re supposed to say. Everything’s fine. Everything’s just peachy.
But you don’t. “I got a call from the hospital.”
After you had fainted the other day playing soccer with him, the hospital had run a few tests to make sure you were okay. He knew this, you both did. They were supposed to say that you had been dehydrated, that you hadn’t eaten in a few hours. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Jisung…”
“What, what is it?”
There’s a momentary silence on the other side, then a shaky breath. “When I was ten… I got really sick. I was always having nosebleeds, always tired—some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed. They took me to the doctor and they told me that… I had leukemia.”
Jisung releases a heavy breath, staring into his sheets. No… don’t say it.
“I fought it for two years, and I beat it. God, it was… it was really hard, and I got through it. It’s been five years now but—but the hospital called and…” Please, no. “My cancer came back.”
Jisung’s never felt this way before; like all the air in his lungs have been pulled from his chest, lost to the universe. Not even when he sprinted across the soccer field, not even when he had gotten punched in the chest. All those times, his chest burned with fire, be it anger or passion. But now… his chest feels empty and hollow and numb. He manages to spit out a few words.
It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re supposed to be okay, you’re supposed to go to prom together. Graduate. He’s supposed to get a soccer scholarship, you’re supposed to study journalism at the same school, and the long distance would cease to exist. You were supposed to be happy. “But it’s gonna be okay, right? You’ve fought it before, you can do it again.” Perhaps it was a bit selfish of him to ask for consolation when you were the one with the illness. But you were a journalist, never a liar. Your voice is weak, like you’ve already given up.
“I don’t know.”
-
“What’s up with you?” Chenle’s voice is almost worried, but Jisung wouldn’t be able to tell because his eyes are focused on the ground. He’s been kicking a soccer ball around with Chenle and Mark for a while now, but there’s clearly something very off about the teenager today.
“Yeah, is something wrong?” Mark asks.
Jisung blows some air into his cheeks. Should he tell them? It’s your private information but technically, you’re his girlfriend right? The news has been troubling him for a few days now, and he’s had no one to talk to. Surely, he can’t talk to his sister about it.
He should just spit it out. “(Name) has cancer.”
It’s like the world stops, his friends taking in his words. “W-What? What did you just say?” Chenle speaks first, then Mark quickly follows. “Did you say (Name) has cancer?”
Keeping his gaze on the ground, Jisung nods and gives the ball a small kick in Mark’s direction. “Yeah. She had leukemia when she was younger, and… the other day she went to the hospital and they said that it came back. Her cancer came back.” When he looks up, both his friends are looking at him with genuine concern etched across their faces.
“Seriously? Cancer? And you’re still dating her?” Mark asks, causing Jisung to raise an eyebrow in confusion. Did he just insinuate what he thinks he did?
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Chenle speaks up next, trying to defuse the sudden tension. “Jisung, you guys have only been dating like, a couple months. It was just like yesterday that you kicked her in the head asking her out!”
“And?” Jisung asks pointedly. Suddenly he’s in front of Chenle, and though he technically towers over the latter in height, Chenle’s chest is straight as he makes his point.
“Is it really worth it to stay on a sinking ship?”
Jisung’s voice reaches a new level of low, erupting from a place deep inside of him that he’s hidden away. It’s a place of rage, of anger sizzling and bubbling in his stomach. Suddenly they’re both chest to chest, unwilling to back down. “Now, I know you’re not talking about my girlfriend.”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Mark interrupts, hands coming between them to tear the two boys apart. “Calm down. Both of you.”
“He started it,” accuses Jisung quickly, dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “My girlfriend is not a sinking ship. Neither is my relationship, and I don’t need you to comment on it.” He looks to Mark for guidance. Mark had always been the most logical one, the one he would look to for help, and though he thinks that Mark will agree with him, he almost looks guilty.
“But it’s true, Jisung. We’re worried about you. She’s just a girl. Is she really worth hurting yourself over?” He had trusted Mark to be on his side, but now Jisung just releases a scoff. He had been hoping for his friends’ support, but it seems like he’ll be going through this alone, then.
-
You’ve been avoiding him.
Of course, there’s not much that can be done to avoid him when you live hours away from each other. But you haven’t been responding to his texts, and when you do, they’re mostly short and taut. You’ve been cutting your phone calls short, often saying that you’re tired. Maybe you really are, but it hurts hearing the line cut off, not knowing how you’re really feeling.
Jisung can’t help but feel like he’s failing. He should be doing better.
It’s like your relationship is an hourglass, running out of time with every day that he spends going to school, work, or soccer practice. Like you’re getting further and further away with each short text message.
His entire life has been spent running. Speeding forward center field like a lightning bolt, long legs carrying him far ahead everyone else. But for the first time, Jisung feels like he’s falling behind.
-
It only takes a three hour bus ride (four, with the added stops) but in Jisung’s mind, it’s all worth it. It won’t be the first time he’s gone over to your house, but it is indeed the first he’s ever showed up unannounced, which is a strange appearance given that he lives three hours away. But with everything happening, he’s willing to give up the day and six hours worth of travel for you.
Sitting on the bus, he pulls out his phone. It’s early, like nine in the morning, but he knows you have a doctor’s appointment in a few hours so you’re definitely awake. He presses the facetime button, but you quickly reject his call. His eyebrows furrow, but lighten with an incoming text from you.
[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : jisung, i’m using the bathroom rn. call you back in a bit.
He nearly rolls his eyes, but it’s a sweet one. You’re always so candid.
[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : you act like you’ve never facetimed me on the toilet before.
[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : wow, call me out more why don’t you
[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : pick up my call, brat ♡
[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : no, You pick up My call :p
Seconds later, his phone is lit up with an incoming facetime screen. A laugh almost leaves him at your tenacity before accepting the call.
The call opens up to the visual of his girlfriend, you in your PJs fixing the phone up against the mirror in the bathroom. He sees himself reflected in the mini screen, hoodie on and earbuds in wearing a boyish grin. “Hey pretty girl. Make sure you wash your hands.”
You roll your eyes at his remarks. “Hey ugly boy. I’m already doing that. What are you doing?”
“Just making sure, because I don’t think you brushed your teeth after you fell asleep on call the other night,” he teases, clicking his tongue as you’re the only person he can tease so easily. “I’m on the bus to practice.” A lie, but a white one at that. “What are you up to?”
You wack your still dry toothbrush in front of the camera, nose scrunching up in the slightest. It’s a habit of his that you’ve picked up. “I’m also doing that right now.” You wet the brush, putting some toothpaste on it. “I thought you didn’t have practice this Friday? Or was that next Friday?”
Your actions bring a low laugh to his lips, and his eyes momentarily focus on the passing landscape outside the bus window as he’s now three hours out of his normal perimeter. “Uh, Coach wanted to add in a practice today. Don’t you have a doctor’s appointment today?”
You nod at his answer, toothbrush in mouth. “I do, I think it’s like, in a hour or something.”
“Oh, okay,” he replies simply as the bus comes to a stop, your house only a short walk away. He stands, gathering his bag. “Gotta go, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, pumpkin honeysuckle,” he snorts, making his way to the front of the bus.
Your brows furrow as you give him a disapproving look through the screen, shaking your head slightly before moving to rinse your mouth. “Talk to you soon, don’t get hurt at practice or I’ll fight you.”
He scoffs as he steps out of the bus, into your neighborhood. “Like you could take me. Later.” You probably could, given your determination, but he gives you a nose scrunch before ending the call. He’s only taken a few steps when his phone rings with a text message.
[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : you and i both know i could take you :)
A snort leaves him. Classic (Name).
When he arrives a few minutes later, he hesitates at the door, only praying that the person who opens up is you, not your parents or god forbid, your brother. It only takes a few hard knocks before he hears your voice on the other side, determined to see just who the hell had the nerve to interrupt your laziness this early in the morning. “Who the fu—”
He tsk’s in distaste. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the first words to leave his girlfriend’s mouth are cuss words. “You potty mouth. I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says, opening his arms.
Jisung’s not quite sure what he expected. For you to jump in his arms? What a delusional boy. You blink for a few seconds, then suddenly you’re throwing yourself at him, fist first to land a deserved punch to his arm. “I thought you had practice? What are you doing here and why do you look so much cuter than when I last saw you?”
“Well, I lied,” he snickers, patting your head. “I’m here to annoy you, obviously. But you look too. For a—” A person dying of cancer, but he can’t say it. He won’t. “—person who barely got up twenty minutes ago.”
Your hand immediately begins rubbing the spot that your fist landed, worried that it might actually bruise in a bit. Jisung asks, “So are you gonna invite me in, or?”
“What are you, a vampire or something? I’m pretty sure you weren’t given permission when you entered my heart so just come in and cuddle me before my appointment.”
Your response catches him off guard so he blinks before entering in silently, sticking his hands back into the loose fitting pocket of his hoodie. Even after six months, he’s still not used to you saying those kinds of things. Hell, he still gets sweaty holding your hand.
“Hey Mom! Dad!” You’re grabbing onto his arm, tugging him into the kitchen. “Jisung’s here!”
-
After a small breakfast and conversation with your parents, he’s given the permission to go with you to your doctor’s appointment. The two of you take the bus, hands interlaced as you sit, and Jisung smiles awkwardly when an elderly woman compliments the two of you, calling you a cute couple.
He’s never really been in a hospital before.
For an arduous soccer player, he’s lucky enough to never have suffered a pain great enough to warrant a visit to the hospital, nor had he ever been sickly enough to send him there. It’s for that reason that he feels slightly out of place, tucked in his hoodie whilst trying his best not to gaze at the others in the waiting room. Instead, he tries to keep his gaze focused upon his girlfriend as you remain bright despite their surroundings. Your hands intertwined, he feels a comfortable warmth seeping into his veins, gold in color and feeling. Gold like the ring on your finger, and like your heart.
He’s so lucky to have you.
“I don’t really have anything planned,” he says softly, giving your hand a slight squeeze. It’s true that your itinerary is next to nonexistent for this impromptu date, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. If anything, a hospital is a strange starting destination for a date but your relationship is a bit strange. Quietly, he says to you, voice low in the hopes that no one overhears, “Don’t hospitals scare you?”
He knows that you spent a good portion of your time here; surely you must have grown accustomed to it, but Jisung was not. Hospitals were cold… white and bleak and much too quiet.
“Nah, not really,” you answer with a shake of your head. “Except for all the souls wandering around.”
Jisung blinks. “Souls?” He gulps.
“Yup. The souls of the passing.” You click your tongue, along with a wink in his direction now that you’ve successfully managed to creep him out. Do you ever stop making jokes?
The door to the waiting room opens and a medical assistant calls your name. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” you tell him, standing and releasing his arm. He gives a hesitant nod, watching as you leave through the door and disappear down the hall.
When you emerge, some forty-five minutes later, the mirth is gone from your eyes.
He knows right away: you didn’t get good news. His heart is pumping in his chest, like he’s waiting for you to collapse right there. Years could pass, and Jisung swears he’d never be able to erase that memory of you. “Are you—” Okay, he wants to ask. But you just give him a small smile and shake your head. It’s not the time. He cuts himself short, reaching a hand out to you with a small, albeit forced, smile. “Let’s go on our date.”
-
It’s a long afternoon, spent in the arcade where you had had your first date—this time, for memory’s sake, he gets another ring from the claw machine—then McDonald’s and ice cream. He treats you to lunch, courtesy of his employee discount, and the entire day is filled with laughter and mutual teasing. Everything feels like it’s okay again.
Jisung enjoys these moments the most.
The moments where he doesn’t feel like he has to be anybody: not the star soccer player, not the kind understanding younger brother, or a kid trying to look grown up at an adult party. With him he’s just you, awkwardness and quirks altogether. You’ve never hid yourself from him, and now he doesn’t have to hide himself either.
Now that the day is touching evening, the two of you sit at a park, relaxing mindlessly on the swings next to each other. Now that the romantic buzz is gone, the two of you have fallen into a comfortable silence.
“Thanks for coming this far, Ji. This was… nice.”
A small smile spreads over his lips. “It was nothing. I wanted to do it for a long time.”
“No, really,” you say, turning to him with a thankful smile. Your eyes are serious now, and Jisung feels the sunlight seep into his skin. “I really missed you.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. This moment feels heavy, like he’ll remember it for years to come. “... I missed you too. A lot.” You both turn back to face the sunset, watching the sun fade behind a hill. It’s setting, streaks of gentle reds and soft-spoken oranges staining the empyrean firmament. It’s then that Jisung feels his heart begin to sink, like the sun, into the pit of his stomach.
“Are you scared?”
A moment passes without you saying anything, then you speak up beside him. “Not really. I mean, it’s just the hospital. The only thing that’ll suck is not being able to leave. I never thought I’d say it but, I’m really gonna miss going to school.”
Did you think you were never going to return? “Are your chances good?”
The implications from earlier at the hospital return. What are the chances that things aren’t looking up? “They say so,” you breath out.
That’s not good enough. Anything could happen. Jisung needs clarification, confirmation. He doesn’t want to lose you. “What if you—”
“I might.”
A beat of silence.
Jisung feels like crying. It gathers in the back of his throat. “What would I do without you?”
There it is: the implication that you’ll be gone. That one day, Jisung will have to wake up and face a world without you in it, a world with less happiness and less passion. A world where there isn’t someone who will call him ugly when really they think he’s the cutest to walk to the earth, or where there isn’t someone to make fun of him the way you do. A world with less love.
Your voice is dry as you speak.
“You’d move on.”
“I don’t know if I’d ever love anyone like you,” he finds himself saying.
“L-Love?” You suddenly say, voice the smallest he’s ever heard. You’ve always had the loudest voice, most prominent in his brain, but his words seem to have caught you off guard. “Do you? Love me?”
He doesn’t know what love feels like. He’s just a teenager, what is he supposed to know about love? About loss? Is it all-consuming, like in the movies? Is it meant to hurt? “... I think I do. I think I love you.”
There’s a sniffle next to him, and he turns immediately, alarmed that he may have made you cry. There are tears in your eyes, but they don’t fall. Being a writer, you talk too much. Your words are eloquent and true, though sometimes Jisung has a hard time getting you to stop talking. But this time, you choose to abandon words altogether, instead leaving your swing to stand in front of him. Compelled by nature, he stands too. Instead of speaking, you reach upward on your tiptoes once more. Except this time, you kiss him.
Your lips meet, and everything is golden.
And against the backdrop of the setting sun, it feels like the closing scene of Jisung’s very own romance movie. But this isn’t the end, he knows.
-
When he walks you home, he offers his sweater again.
This time not out of obligation or the desire to appear more romantic than he is, but because you’re cold. Really cold. You’re shivering, arms wrapped around yourself not giving enough warmth.
“Here,” Jisung says, already beginning to take off his hoodie, but you stop him with a hand and a pointed look, though your chattering teeth cause you to stutter. “S-Still trying to woo me with cheap rom-com tricks?”
You’re stubborn. You’re so stubborn and he hates it.
“Just take it,” he says, pushing it into your arms.
“No,” you argue. “You have a three hour ride home, it’s late and you’ll be cold.”
It’s obvious your illness has made you even more sensitive to the cold, and for that reason, Jisung’s fine facing the biting cold as long as you’re okay. “You’re freezing, please just take it.”
“Jisung, I said no.” Your voice is stern now, and he gets the feeling that he’s upset you. He gives up, gnawing on his bottom lip in deep thought. He just wants to make you feel better, doing what he thinks will help but with you, it never does. You’re so independent, too much so and much too stubborn to admit you need his help… “Fine,” he says before putting his hoodie back on. If you won’t take his warmth, then he’ll give it to you.
He lifts his arm, placing it fully around your shoulders and pulling you to him so your bodies meet. “At least let me hold you,” he mumbles. Your frame freezes in his for a moment, until you wrap your arms around the circumference of his chest.
Burying your face into his side, you relent into him. “Okay, fine.”
And later, he finds that you’re right. When he sits alone on the dimly lit train, he realizes that the warmth he had been feeling earlier, bathing in the sun’s rays with your lips, is long gone. All he feels now, is cold.
-
“You skipped practice the other day.” Jisung looks up from where he had been sitting on the bleachers, tying his shoes after practice. It had been a tough practice; he had missed quite a few passes and whiffed more than just a couple shots. He can only blame himself. He’s been distracted; alongside his worries about you, he also has a job to attend to and even more, the results for his dream school’s soccer scholarship is supposed to come out soon. His gaze falls on all six of his closest friends, looking down at him.
“Yeah, something came up,” he says easily.
“More like, someone,” retorts Donghyuck easily. “We know you ditched to go see your girlfriend.”
“And what about it?”
“I don’t know what’s happened to you, man. You never want to play ball with us anymore, you don’t want to hang out with us. Whenever you invite you to a party, you raincheck. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” Chenle spits out, arms crossed over his chest.
“Chenle,” says Renjun carefully.
“No,” interrupts the boy in question. Chenle looks straight at Jisung, who stands now to meet the others’ heights. “He needs to hear this. Ever since that girl came around, it’s like you’ve lost your way. You used to be all about soccer and friendship. Now you always have her on your mind, and—did you see the way you played earlier?—she’s messing you up. Your head’s not on straight.”
“Chenle, stop.” Donghyuck speaks up now, voice low as he tries to stop the younger from going off. “You’re not the same Jisung I met in peewee camp, and I don’t know if I like who I’m seeing,” Chenle finishes.
That’s enough for him. His voice comes out before he can stop it.
“You know why I never party with you anymore?” Jisung suddenly says, voice booming and clearly at his limit. “Because I’ve always hated partying. Because I have a job now, and because I don’t want my sister to stay up worrying about me while I’m getting piss drunk. I hate drinking, I hate trying to look cool while actually looking fucking stupid, because I don’t know how I can even think about partying when my girlfriend is fucking dying.”
A hearty scoff leaves his lips, as though he can’t even fathom the words he’s faced today. “You don’t even know me anymore? That’s where you’re wrong, because you never knew me. Not all of me. You only see me as the star player who’s gonna get you your win. She knows me, she knows all of me, and she doesn’t try to change me. Well, sorry that I’m not the same kid you met years ago who let everyone walk all over him. I thought you guys were my friends, but clearly you only want me around for as long as I can play.”
Those are the last fiery words to leave Jisung’s mouth before he turns on his heels, storming off the field and away from everyone else. He just needs to get out of here, away from everything before he ruins it. Mark and Hyuck follow after him, while Jeno and the rest hold Chenle back.
“Don’t listen to him,” Mark says, ever level headed. “We know what you’re going through.”
Though he appreciates their concern, Jisung spits, “No, you don’t.”
Both of them stop walking, no longer chasing after him as Jisung pulls out his phone.
A new email.
He immediately opens it, eyes glazing over the text.
Dear Jisung Park,
Thank you for applying to our university’s soccer scholarship. We reviewed every application with our utmost dedication and attention. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept your application at this time. Our soccer program is one of the most competitive at this school, however we encourage you to reapp…
What a load of shit.
-
The past few weeks have been horrid.
Soccer is as tense as ever, though Jisung would be lying if he said that his fight with Chenle didn’t fuel him to work even harder during practice. His job sucks, especially after someone spilled a bucket of old oil on him (it was cold, thank goodness but still gross nonetheless). So far he’s gotten another rejection. Who knew that getting into college would be this hard?
He wishes that he could say his relationship with you is the saving grace, but it’s really not. You’re in the hospital now, and the two of you have been talking less and less. Even now with his feud between his friends, he feels even more alone. Today when he calls, you sound even more tired than usual.
“Hey, chocolate honeycomb bunny,” Jisung says, giving his absolute worst at giving a cringe-worthy nickname. It seems you’re too tired to even give a repulsed response.
“Hey.” You’re quiet for a moment, only your breathing heard across the line. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” sighs Jisung, running a hand through his dark locks. “Just exhausted. My coworker is getting on my last nerve.”
“The same one you talked about last week?”
“Who spilled the dirty oil on me? Yeah,” he responds with a roll of his eyes. “We’ve both been working the same amount of time, I just want to know why he’s so slow to pick it up.”
It’s characteristic of you to agree, seeing as complaining is one of your favorite past times. But you don’t, voice only coming out softly across the call, “Maybe just give him some time.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” he sighs. “How about you? Are you feeling better?”
“About the same,” you respond truthfully. God, you sound so tired. He almost feels bad for making you talk to him when you clearly sound exhausted. “Any more results?” You ask, regarding his college acceptances.
“No,” he shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. He’s a good student, he’s done community service. Just what more do they want from him? “You said I was special, but I don’t think the colleges see that.”
He can almost see your small smile in his mind. “You are special. Just ‘cause they don’t see it doesn’t you aren’t.”
“Eh, I don’t know,” Jisung says, playing with a loose thread on his bedsheet.
What you say next catches him off guard. “Maybe we can both be college-less, together.”
“What?” He asks, brows tightening in confusion. “Didn’t you get into the journalism program at that one university?” He’s caught you. You’re silent on the line for a few long seconds, but the quiet is deafening for him.
“I did, but Jisung, I…” You hesitate. “I’m not going.”
“What do you mean you’re not going?” He asks.
“I… I don’t know if I want to.” In a small voice, you continue, “I don’t know that I’ll make it that long.” What are you saying? What are you implying? Heart racing, Jisung tries to decipher these words in his mind. To him, it just sounds like the end.
“You’re giving up already, I hear it in your voice.”
“I’m not,” you say, a broken promise. “I just… want to be prepared for the worst.”
“The worst isn’t coming. You’re going to get through this. You’re going to beat it. I know you are.” It becomes blatantly clear in this moment that the person Jisung is trying to convince, is himself.
His pleas fall upon deaf ears, because you argue back in what seems like the strongest voice you’ve made in months. As though you’ve amassed all your remaining energy for this conversation. “I’m not a hero, Jisung. I’m not cut out for this. The doctors said it’s not looking good.”
“Then prove them wrong. You’re gonna beat it.”
“I don’t want to be the underdog either, Ji. You know I hate them.” What you say next has his blood boiling. “I don’t deserve it anyways, no one would want me to come back.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jisung raises his voice now, volume growing with each word.
“No one likes me,” you spit out across the line, and he doesn’t need to see you to imagine how incensed you are at the moment. “I’m rude, I’m loud, I cross boundaries and I say things that hurt without caring about who it touches. And before you yell at me that no one thinks of me like that, these are things I’ve heard from other people.” Your voice breaks, as does Jisung’s heart. “If this were a movie, no one would root for me to survive.”
“I do,” Jisung says, voice strong. “I’m rooting for you. Every. Single. Day. And who cares about how other people see you? You’re rude? You’re crass? I like you because of those things, because you’re different from me. Am I not enough?”
“You’re different,” you relent, voice tired. “You’re the only one who matters. But I—“ You choke up. “I’m just tired of fighting. I don’t want to go to sleep every night not knowing if I’ll wake up the next morning. I want to be strong, and I want to face every day knowing that it could be my last… I don’t want to leave anything behind—”
“You’re not leaving,” he cuts in.
“—and I can’t go through every day letting you think that everything is okay, because they’re not. But I’m ready to let go, Ji. Because I’m happy with what I had, with what we had, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
Tears are falling down his cheeks now, suiciding off the surface of his face and staining his bed sheets. He doesn’t know if the tears are the result of sadness, anger, or the pain of loving someone the universe would never let him have, yet it hurts all the same. “But I love you! I told you that I loved you.”
“I love you too,” you cry, and the sound is heartbreaking. “But I just wish that were enough.”
A pregnant silence consumes both of you. All that can be heard is the sound of your mutual crying, along with your breathing that Jisung had learned to fall asleep to. When you speak again, your voice is steady. You had always been the stronger one. “I don’t think you should call anymore.” A few sniffles. He can’t even speak. “Goodbye, Jisung.”
Then the line dies.
-
It’s Christmastime. He knows it’s cold, probably even colder in the hospital where you are.
Now, Jisung knows you don’t want anything from him. You don’t want him around. In the past weeks he must have become someone even he wouldn’t want around. And though he gets the feeling that you’ll never need him again, he figures you could use a sweater. It’s nothing much, and really he thinks it could be better.
A hoodie, not fit to your size but slightly larger because he knew you well enough to know you’d like it like that. On one sleeve, near the wrist, a patch of a soccer ball. He had learned how to sew it on himself. On the other, his initials. JS.
He sends it in the mail, in a box to the hospital with your name and room number on it. There’s no letter, nothing. Just his bare soul in the form of an oversized cotton hoodie. He’d send it himself, appearing at the door to your hospital bed, but something tells him he’s run out of things to say.
-
His phone rings at three in the morning.
He knows what it means.
February 2nd, at 2:39AM. The world lost you.
It would never be the same again, and neither would he.
-
Grief is an interesting thing, someone once told him.
He doesn’t quite remember who it was, whether it was his sister comforting him after the death of their goldfish, the guidance counselor at his school giving him a required appointment after the passing of a student, or yourself. But as the hours go by, it feels more and more like a weight in his chest that has been sitting on a hollowed place in his heart.
Grief is indescribable, and Jisung doesn’t know if this is because his limited seventeen year old vocabulary hasn’t collected enough fitting words to even begin to verbalize his emotions, or if because it really is indescribable.
The first few days had been hell.
He had almost become someone that he didn’t know, barely stepping out of bed and perhaps worrying his sister out of her mind. It was his way of ignoring the world, dissociating himself from the irrefutable truth that you weren’t really gone. You were still laying in bed, three hours away as usual, struggling but still fighting. If he could lay in bed, sleeping the days away and ignoring his text message condolences from his friends, he could pretend for some time that things were the way they were, eight months ago.
Eight months before it.
Eight months before he lost you. Before your relationship, a burgeoning dandelion in the nook of spring. But dandelions represent rebirth, the reappearance of hope like a beacon after an arduous winter, and you would never have another spring.
He could not pretend, because every morning the sun rose again, and he would have to reach his head out from the burrow of blankets he had buried himself in. He would need to face it for himself that he woke up, and you didn’t. His friends texted. His sister knocked on his door and begged him to eat, even going as far as to cook his favorite foods as a means to lure him from the darkness of his corner. He ate. But it was never the same.
Messy bedheads, earbuds tucked in with muzak playing gently like the thrum of his heart which beat enough for the both of you, tear-stained pillow cases, knees to the chest, light failing to shine in through the blinds which remained closed, counting the seconds between each breath, dreaming insubordinate dreams.
The first few days went like that. Empty.
Then he was angry.
Angry because the world had given him a love worth changing for, then ripped it from his inexperienced hands. He had never had anything in his life! Not a mother, not a father. Could he not have this one lily, this flower which sought to remind him of the fragility of life? And even more so, he was angry for you. You were a fire—you were a bottle of passion bursting at the seams, a well of untapped potential, a boldness which no one else could emulate—and the universe crushed you beneath its foot.
And suddenly, the emptiness of your hollow space reflected upon him.
He should have been better, should have done more. A soccer ball proposition? A sweater? It was laughable; that was the least he could give? If only he had called, if only he hadn’t listened to you like the meek child he was, things could be better.
And above all, he was sad.
What would he do without you?
Moving on seemed useless. A light at the end of a dark tunnel which stretched for ages. An epiphany that you would never reach.
He just hoped that it was not cold. That you left the world in a ball of light, surrounded in the warmth of family and love, not the rigidness of the unforgiving world. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he hoped that the soccer ball sleeve had been clutched to your chest, and that his hoodie could have provided just a little bit of that warmth.
-
The walking pattern outside his bedroom door is different from his sister’s. So is the knock on the door; his older sister’s is much more quiet, reserved, as though she was afraid to wake him. This one is harsh, and it reverberates through the room before the door opens.
The air in the room is still for a moment.
“Jisung.”
It’s Chenle. And Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, as well as Jaemin. They all take their seats either on the end of his bed, the floor, or his beanbag, but Jisung doesn’t move from his place underneath the blankets.
“What do you want?” He manages to groan out in a small voice.
Someone places a hand on his leg, a comforting gesture. He thinks it’s Jaemin from the gentle touch. “We’re here for you.”
Donghyuck comments, “You haven’t been to practice this week.” Of course that would be what they would mention first. Jisung scoffs. “I’m kind of going through something.”
“And we’re here.” Mark’s voice.
“We wanted to apologize.” Chenle speaks now, and despite being best friends since they were five, he’s the last person Jisung expected to say sorry. In their decade-long friendship, Chenle was the confident one, the one who charged forward without consequence while Jisung trailed behind, cleaning up his mess. “We’ve been… assholes, simply put.” Had he been in higher spirits, Jisung would have snorted. “We thought we understood what you were going through, and we thought it was dumb. To let yourself get hurt over some random girl… but we were wrong. We didn’t understand your point of view.”
“Not even a little bit,” says Donghyuck, head hanging low.
“Yeah, we’re supposed to be your friends. Your team! We’re supposed to lift you up when you’re down and… well, we haven’t been doing that. And we’re sorry. I’m sorry.” Chenle says. Slowly, Jisung lifts his head from below the blanket to face his friends. They all wear a variety of expressions, all somber. “And we know now… she’s not just some random girl.”
Yeah, they’ve all been assholes, some more than others, and Jisung can’t exactly say that they were any help in his struggle. But perhaps this was something he needed to go through alone. At the time, he needed you. But now… he just really needs his best friends.
Tears sting at his eyes for the nth time.
“Come here, you crybaby,” says Jaemin, opening his arms.
-
It’s Monday, meaning he has to go back to school today. He’s not ready, how could he be? It hasn’t even been a week since you… left, but he knows he has to go back. His sister, God bless her, had let him take the first few days off but now that the weekend has ended and school has rolled back around, he has no choice.
“You look like shit.”
Donghyuck has always lacked a filter. It would hurt if Jisung didn’t know that Donghyuck meant that in the best way possible. You look like shit, he says. So I’m glad you found it in you to come to school, is what he doesn’t say.
Jisung closes his locker with a sigh. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” snickers his friend, and Jisung turns his head to find Mark and Jaemin approaching. “Morning,” greets Jaemin as he taps the top of Jisung’s head, despite being shorter.
“Hi,” responds Jisung quietly, clutching his chemistry textbook to his chest. The three of them look at him with quiet and somber eyes, but don’t say anything. Mark places a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a small rub.
“You got this.”
The truth is, he can’t do this. The world feels quiet and empty, lacking a particular passion that you used to always embody. It could be worse. Thank goodness your relationship was rather private; he doesn’t know how he’d be able to function at school had there been curious eyes on him, if you had gone to the same school as him.
The day goes rather slowly, and Jisung busies himself with catching up on his work that he had missed. He could almost pretend like things are normal. It’s not until fifth period calculus that something strange happens.
An office TA pokes her head in and scrambles over to the teacher, who was in the midst of a very enthralling lecture on integrals that Jisung was definitely not paying great attention to. The TA whispers something into the teacher’s ear, then hands her a piece of paper. Mrs. Huang nods, then suddenly Jisung finds her eyes on him. “Jisung, Mr. Moon wants you in his office.”
Him? Why him of all people?
Mr. Moon is the guidance counselor at their school, and Jisung has a moment of internal panic—had he somehow found out about you? Should he prepare himself for a lecture about grief and moving on?
With a gulp, he nods.
Mr. Moon is a fairly nice man, with a friendly smile and a reputation for being a pushover teacher. Jisung had met with him a few months ago to discuss his desire to pursue a soccer scholarship but he highly doubts that’s the case now.
When Jisung enters Mr. Moon’s office, the first thing he sees isn’t Mr. Moon but a tall man with a stoic expression standing behind his desk. In contrast to the stranger, Mr. Moon wears his trademark smile. “Jisung, good to see you. Still getting a kick out of that old ball?”
Of course, Mr. Moon doesn’t know that Jisung skipped practice all last week to mope in his bed, but Jisung nods politely. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” responds the teacher with a smile. “Take a seat.”
He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and cautiously does Jisung take a seat. The tall, bruff man is still standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, having not yet said a single word. Somehow the atmosphere is tense, and Jisung’s quite sure he knows what this is about.
“Now, Jisung, I’ve called you in today because—”
“Is this about (Name)?” Perhaps it’s a bit rude of him, but Jisung doesn’t want to be prodded at, at least not by people who think they know him. The last thing he wants is pity.
Mr. Moon’s eyebrow raises just the slightest, and he leans forward on his desk. “Why, yes, it is. How did you know?”
A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, but it’s much weaker than he would like. “My question is, how did you know? Who told you?” Who was it that shared information on his personal life? Was it his sister? His friends?
“Nobody had to tell me, Jisung. (Name) sent the letter to me herself.”
Wait… what?
Jisung blinks, hands falling slack on his lap. “W-What? What letter?”
Perhaps his staring is a bit too obvious, for Mr. Moon gestures to the stranger in question with a hand. “Jisung, this is Johnny Seo.” Finally, the intimidating stranger has a name. “Johnny is the head coach of the soccer team at Greenwood University—” Wait, Greenwood University? That’s Jisung’s dream school—well, it was his dream school, until they rejected his application for a soccer scholarship. What would they want to do with him? “—and he wants to offer you a full-ride scholarship.”
What?
Jisung’s mouth falls open. What? What the hell? Hadn’t they just rejected him three months ago? His eyes must be bugging out of his face, so he blinks repeatedly, trying to find the words to say.
“W-Wait, what? A… A full ride?” He stammers, unable to find his tongue.
The man named Johnny only nods. “Full ride. Covered tuition, dorming, and soccer costs. All you have to do is keep your grades up and keep scoring those fancy goals of yours I’ve heard about.”
“But—But, you rejected me… why now?”
For the first time, Johnny gives a small smile. “Because of the letter.” There it is, that letter again that Jisung has no idea about. He looks to Mr. Moon for guidance. All the counselor does is open his desk drawer and pull out an envelope, which he slides across his desk. “(Name) (Last Name) wrote a recommendation letter to the university, and honestly, it was stunning. It was enough to make the admissions board… bend a little, to say the least.”
Reaching forward, Jisung grabs the envelope and examines it in his hands. It’s opened, but yes, on the front is your handwriting. He’s cried so much this past week that he doesn’t know how many times tears have touched his eyes, but they sting once more. This time, he doesn’t let them fall.
“She… wrote a letter. For me?”
“That she did,” responds Mr. Moon.
“She’s right,” says Johnny suddenly. “In our work at the university, we’re always looking for the best of the best. We should look deeper, sometimes.” The words sink in the room, and Jisung finds himself staring down at the envelope in his hands. What things had you had to say about him?
Honestly, all he can think about is his failure. How he failed to be there for you, how he cowarded in your presence when you told him to leave you alone. He bites down on his lip.
“So? Will you accept our offer?”
Jisung looks up again, meeting Johnny’s expectant eyes. “I…” His mouth suddenly runs dry. “I don’t know, I… I need to think about it.”
“You’re not graduating for another four months. Take your time.” Slowly, still in glassy-eyed disbelief, Jisung nods. His fingers find the edge of the envelope, tracing its pointed edge. You wrote that for him. From across the desk, Mr. Moon speaks up. “You should read that letter, Jisung, and realize what’s coming for you: good things.”
-
To Whom It May Concern,
Hello. My name is (Name) (Last Name), and I am a high school student writing this letter to appeal a rejection by your university. Not of my own application, but of an extraordinary person with the name Jisung Park. In my humble opinion, I believe that your institution has made a grave mistake in not offering a scholarship to Jisung. So, I write this letter to appeal such a rejection, and to do something that he hated, though it was what I always did best: write about Jisung.
Now, Jisung is a humble person who never speaks up about his struggles, but the truth is that of all students, I believe he is the most in need of this scholarship. His parents passed when he was young, and he grew up in the care of his older sister who raised him. Their small but strong family made sacrifices, gave up luxuries, and endeavored to survive.
In the midst of this crisis, Jisung found his one savior: soccer.
He is, without a doubt, the best soccer player I have ever seen in my entire life. He can sprint across the field in half a normal player’s time, and I’ve never seen him miss a goal or a pass. But his soccer prowess isn’t what makes him great. Moreover, Jisung is the person you want on a team. He believes in teamwork, but is always striving to be better. He doesn’t want to stand out, but does so anyways. He is never arrogant, nor boastful. If there is one person who deserves this, it’s him.
But, I am sure that you are thinking: why should this letter mean anything to you? I’m not a highly valued individual in the community, nor have I done anything significant for my name to mean anything. I’m only a seventeen year old student, a struggling journalist.
The answer to that question is, I know Jisung Park. You only see his grades, the shallow things on his application. You will never get to see the Jisung Park that I knew and loved.
In my time alive, Jisung Park made an impact on my life that will never be forgotten. Even when life seemed the darkest, not a beam of light in the field's view, Jisung picked me up and made me see the sunset. I know now, the sunset is beautiful, warm, and comforting—everything that Jisung is. He never left my side, and never for a single moment did I ever feel alone in his presence. The world often overplays the saying “a heart of gold,” but the truth is that Jisung has one.
I used to think that love would be red, like the burning of one’s lungs racing down a soccer field, or black and white, made to be simple. But the truth is, love is golden. Golden like the sunset painting streaks against the floor, golden like Jisung. It’s a warmth that covers you from head to toe, relenting into a future that you don’t know.
He is my golden boy, and he can be yours too.
I may not have a future, but if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that Jisung deserves one.
I’m a journalist. I don’t write love letters, but perhaps this is the closest I can ever get. And should Jisung ever read this letter, I hope he knows that with this, I dedicated my last spark of sunlight to him.
Sincerely,
(Name) (Last Name)
-
Your funeral occurs on February 13th, a week and four days after your passing.
Jisung stands in front of the bathroom mirror, nose scrunched in concentration as he makes a feeble attempt on his necktie. This is surely not as easy as throwing on a soccer jersey. “Ugh,” he groans, fingers getting confused again.
“Need help?”
His sister’s dainty voice calls him from the bathroom door. Dressed in all black, she’s ready too. Turning his head, Jisung sighs. “Please.” She makes his way toward him, fingers coming to work on his tie already with steady hands.
“You’re too tall now,” she says softly, with a chuckle. It’s true; he used to look up to her, physically and figuratively, but now he’s an entire head above her. “You’ve grown up a lot.”
It was his eighteenth birthday just a few days ago but to be quite honest, he hadn’t had the heart to celebrate it. If anything, he had always thought that his eighteenth birthday would be like an epiphany for him. As though he would wake up the morning of, feeling like an adult with all the answers to the world.
The truth is, he’s eighteen now and he still feels like he has no idea what he’s doing.
“I don’t feel any different,” he admits. “I thought eighteen would mean something.”
“You’ll get there, trust me. And anyways, I always told you not to grow up too fast.”
For a moment there’s a silence as his sister swoops the tie in and out, weaving it to form the perfect knot. Feeling something scratch at the back of his throat, Jisung speaks. “... I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for, silly? I was the one who never taught you how to knot a necktie,” she chuckles.
“Not for that,” he says. “For last week. I… probably scared you.”
Suddenly, his sister is wearing that demure smile of hers again. The one that is small and polite, but always seems to carry more weight in it than he can see. “No. It’s okay, I knew you’d be better.”
Naeun finally finishes the knot, tightening it the slightest around Jisung’s neck. “There you go.” He offers her a small thanks as he turns to look in the mirror, and she begins to leave. A sigh leaves him; there’s no avoiding it now, he’s ready to go.
“You know, Jisung,” she suddenly speaks up from the doorway. “I’m glad that you met her. Even if it ended up like this… you’re different. In a good way, and I think she had a lot to do with it. Even if you don’t feel different… you are.”
-
In the months of your relationship, Jisung had come to learn your insecurities. You were loud and proud, but with that confidence came an unwavering insecurity that you were unliked by those you spilled your tongue to. At the funeral, Jisung sees that that’s not at all true.
People give speeches for you, place flowers on your grave. The school newspaper had even written an article to commemorate your presence on their team, and the president of the club reads it aloud. A number of hospital staff make their appearance.
Even Jisung’s friends show up, despite the clear memory of them calling you crazy early on. Maybe they were right, maybe you were crazy. But he probably was too.
It doesn’t rain a single drop, though it had been pouring for three days before. Instead, the sun peeks through the overcast clouds, gifting sunshine.
Jisung smiles.
He probably looks like an idiot, carrying the soccer ball around the entire funeral but he knows what it means to him, and what it means to you. When he places it on your grave, the grass still fresh, his eyes catch the carefully written words on a singular white spot.
I love you.
He knows that he means it.
At eighteen, there a lot of things that Jisung still doesn’t know. But even so, there are a handful of truths that he can hold onto forever. One, he’s still an incredible soccer player and girls are still very scary. But like soccer, maybe that just takes time and practice.
Two, growing up isn’t about a number. It’s not about partying or drinking, nor is it about rushing into relationships that have little meaning. For years Jisung had wanted to grow up, to face the world with no fears and be able to cruise through. But he knows now that growing up is about being strong in the face of sadness, pain, grief. About waking up every morning even if you feel like you have no reason to.
Love is the same.
Love isn’t about making out on the bleachers after practice or trying to copy the coy clichés seen in romance movies. It’s about the sacrifices, like four hour bus rides. It’s about communication and connection, like a recommendation letter traced in gold. Because of you, he’s moving forward. He can go to college, and the day will never come when he stops being grateful toward you and everything you’ve done. That’s love, and he will spend the rest of his life loving you. Maybe the love will change but it will always be love.
It hurts that you’re gone, it really does. Jisung doesn’t think it’ll ever stop hurting.
But the last thing he knows is that things will be okay.
Life moves on, and he will too.
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