#while writing my fucking master's thesis
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I'm so in love with this couple holy crap, you're truly one of the greatest writers I have seen so far
I really can't get enough of this, I adoooore this series, and their story, the characters, your writing as a whole and omg I could keep going for hourssss (but srs, I can, if you're not uncomfortable with receiving praise, I gladly will pull out the list of some of my favorite moments and phrases so far, just say the word)
it's like 🥺 they are my babies, born, raised, polished, and released into the world 🥺 and you tell me you're welcoming them with as much love as i am 🥺 i love you so much 🥺
tell me everything, my love, i will cherish it my whole life 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍
#ask#anonymous#taexual; sleepwalking#they are the fruit of my womb (brain)!!!!#they almost didn't even happen!!#(this is going to be phrased like that long introductory story in recipe books before you get to the actual recipe lmao)#so i was on bed rest from a severe anemia#while writing my fucking master's thesis#just feeling miserable#i accidentally read something about sid vicious and nancy spungen#fell down the sex pistols hole#and thought 'huh wouldn't it be interesting to write about a messy rockstar'#the plot just Came 🤌🏻#but writing it was a different thing 🥴 i'm blessed to have my own Luna though who was there with me all through it 🤍🤍#but all along the story was so close to never seeing the light of day (coming out of my word doc)#so the fact that this is happening?? surreal!!!#the fact that i have you now!!!! and you enjoy this as much as i do!!!! it'S CRAZY BABE
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i need to write but i cant write i need to do research but i cant do research i need to get into doing this but it is not working
#wHY do i have to write a huge ba thesis and other countries dont even make you write them :))#two of my friends do their masters in ireland rn and their ma thesis has to be as long as my ba thesis:)))))))))))#fuck this fuck academia and FUCK me how the fuck do you write a thesis when youre panicking and overthinking evryhting#i also DO NOT undertsand how i will explain agency like.#its my main topic (agency and rebellion in the hunger games)#and i have a GREAT book on agency in thg but she defines the whole thing within 3 pages and half of that is already examples#buT no german papers must be HARD WHY if no one cares no one will care that i have a ba and ma from a random german uni#i hate this i hate this i hate this#christ . thank you for listening#oh ALSO i am feeling burnt out and depressed as FUCK (yes i wILL be getting my period TOMORROW and i AM WORKING THE WHOLE WEEKEND)#oh ALSO yesterday an old woman came into work while we were closed and i said sorry were closed and she screamed at me??#bc she thought i was being rude to her ????? and she mocked me ????? wtf WTF#bye#i just want to be at the sea and live in a cottage by the sea and have tea every morning and hang out with my friends and do crafts#:(
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*writes a smaller thesis abt queer(coding) in magical girl anime into my actual thesis on queer narratives in she-ra*
#FORGIVE ME FOR I AM WRITING A MASTERS AFTER ALL#like i could leave it as a fkcin footnote but i have watched too much and know too much and have too many thoughts here!!!!!!!!!!#slaps my board its all connected u cannot talk abt one without mentioning the other#fuck nd stevenson (affectionate) for making that rgu reference at the end forcing me 2 try n explain rgu IN SHORT. doomed#all while im still at the cringe chapter building stage. cannot wait 2 actually go ham soon..#elia txts#thesis blogging
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#hmm starting to question my decision of doing hrt while writing a thesis#not only the physical changes are distracting#but i severely underestimated the psychological effects#so it's also emotionally distracting and is straight up fucking up my focus#i feel like a teenager boy trying to do a masters#but it has pros and cons#there's not a perfect time to start hrt#might as well just do it now#it's going to be okay
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"Thank you so much for taking me to your lovely home, Mr. Schultz! It's so nice to see you! I had a feeling if I worked my hometown I might run into a few familiar faces...."
"The pleasure's all mine, Josie. Look at you! My, my, last I saw you, you were a skinny, nerdy girl who could barely land a date. I almost didn't recognize you strutting up and down my block, flagging men down for money to take a spin with that big, sexy pregnant body of yours."
"Awww, thank you! I'm glad you like pregnant girls! But I actually don't get paid."
"Oh, just providing some community service? My niece is about your age and she volunteers herself at the homeless shelter downtown."
"Mmmm, good for her! I'm actually working on my thesis. I guess you could say...."
"Oh? This I've got to hear."
"Well, I'm a Sexual Health Major and I'm trying to get my Master's. As soon as I started college they told me about my assignment. It's so time consuming it's almost all I do for college...."
"Does your college have you out working the streets, getting that belly pumped full of kids for the sake of experience, or is it more of a written project you need the experience for?"
"Both, kind of. I'm to fuck twelve new men a day. Every day, until I graduate. No exceptions. That's eighty-four men a week. Three hundred thirty-six men a month, at least. Over four thousand a year."
"That's quite a daunting amount of work. You have to catalogue them?"
"Yep! Get their names, or a pseudonym, their cock length, time they lasted, the positions they tried on me, what got them off the most, and summarize my findings about guys' sexual performance. I'm supposed to write an essay about it and share it with the university in a couple years."
"My oh my, seems you've been at this a while then. Already over ten thousand guys who fucked that curvy body of yours?"
"Yep! Closer to twenty thousand, at this point."
"And what wisdom can you share? You must be so experienced, darling...."
"Well, most guys are total perverts, but they won't just come out and say it. They're all porn addicts. The second one gets limp fucking my juicy, swollen pussy I have to roll my eyes, reminding them to fuck my ass instead to emulate the grip they use on their own cock. Then when they're about to cum take that dirty cock out of my ass and cram it in my pussy, cum inside it, and piss in it too, cause that's really all a girl's pussy is good for. Not getting men off, just a filthy toilet to do your business in and get out. Wipe your cock off my my labia. I'll lick the guys clean if there's any mess left....."
"Wow, and that works for almost every guy?"
"Well, most. Some like to fuck me doggystyle, others like me to ride them. But lots of guys have their own quirks. If it's an older guy I'll ask if they have a daughter my age, and if so to use her name as picture that I'm her as we fuck and that works every time. If the guy's my age I ask if they have a sister. Same deal. Oh, and other guys if they still have trouble getting all the way to an orgasm I tend to assume they must be into really extreme porn. So I just tell them to start beating me up. Punch my belly, my boobs, strangle me, give me a black eye. And boom, the second they start going to town beating on me they cum like crazy."
"Sounds like you must get that sexy body of yours beaten to a pulp fairly regularly, if my experience with the newer generations of men are anything to go by."
"Ohhh, you bet! But I'm a good girl, I get used to it. I just sit there writing about what gets them off in my little notebooks and I encourage them to keep escalating their aggression until it's enough for them to cum."
"Such a perfect student. I hope they're giving you extra credit for all the brutality..... and STDs, I'd wager."
"Nope, it's just considered part of the project! I have pretty much every std you can imagine, my pussy is so swollen and red from all of them it's starting to look like a balloon. And I'm sure having it treated like a toilet isn't helping either, but oh well. In my opinion, this is what a girl's sex is supposed to look like."
"I take it I won't be at risk of contracting anything with you?"
"Not at all, silly! My college gives me an unlimited prescription for the male-only std-prevention pills."
"Shame they don't make one for girls like you."
"Why? My pussy should be super swollen, red, irritated, and deformed from all the wonderful STDs men give me! Like I said, that's what a girl's pussy is there for..... Plus, the government would never fund an anti-std pill for girls!"
"Ah, good point, dear.... So, enough chatter, I guess I'll be the next entry into your notebook. Hope you enjoy yourself."
"I always do. And even if you don't really want to you can try out hitting me while we fuck, you'd be surprised how fun it is!"
"I think I just might, sweetheart.... Seeing you like this makes me feel like I'd be letting you down if I didn't."
Josie bit her lip. "That's good to hear. Do whatever you want to me, it's what my body's for.❤️"
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sidewalks we crossed [side B: him.] (pt. 1)
this is broken into parts because tumblr has a limit of 1000 blocks.
side A found here!
author's note:
oh goodness. it's been a while.
i really did intend on posting this soon after i published the first part, but then life kind of got in the way. i graduated from grad school, moved to south korea, and have been here since. i'm still a carat, and i really do think about this fanfiction all the time, mainly because this story is truly me bearing my soul to the internet and my friends who have access to the original google doc.
this one is a lot less edited and looked over, but it's because this portion of the fic reminds me of something i'm still in deep grief for. so, for those of you who will read this, i was originally going to have a third installment, but i think i'll leave it at this two. it feels good and true to leave it here.
this was supposed to be published yesterday on seventeen's anni, but i was busy spending time with my korean host family who i've not been able to see that often since moving out :')
maybe i'll write short stories including these two because they are so special to me, but this main story has come to a close. the real final push was jihoon releasing "what kind of future?" officially, the very song that inspired this fic, in honor of his beautiful friend and human, moonbin. bin-ah, i hope you're sailing among the stars and looking over all of those who love you and who you love in return.
and to you, who may be reading this, thank you for being here.
✧⋆°｡☾☼꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ‧ ⨯ ς(>‿<.). ⁺ ✦ * . ˚ ⨯ ੭ * ‧☼☽⋆｡°✧
tagging @fiantomartell since you asked me to whenever i published this. it's been a long while, but.
pairing: lee jihoon/woozi (seventeen) x f!reader
genre: romance, fluff
summary: an accidental like, an off-chance comment, a purposeful message. you were in an unrequited love with your childhood best friend and decided to run away from him and your feelings and years later you find yourself in the same city with the same feelings when he stalks your instagram.
rating: 13+
length: 30k (bro WHAT LOL)
tags: idol!jihoon, childhood friend!reader, unrequited love (but not really), reconnection through instagram, this is just different scenes pieced together (including a ton of flashbacks), reader’s nicknames are all bug-themed, reader has depression and it manifests as suicidal ideation sometimes, this is basically real life (aka seventeen exists and debuted 150526), but the years are a little bit off for the trainee period, jihoon left busan later and trained for shorter for the sake of my story hehe, cursing, pining, mamamoo + ateez are the besties of reader, member x member pairings, jihoon and reader are both dumbasses, reader is extremely book smart but has one brain cell when it comes to romantic feelings, jihoon writes music like he’s been divorced 12x, word genius lee jihoon, idk how doctoral degrees work, i only got my masters and it was a non-thesis track lol, also idk how trainee auditions work either, miss communication is a lady we all know too well, super cute soft shit too tho tbh, no beta we die like men, i spent 5 hours trying to format this for tumblr and i’m still unsure
inspired by “drivers license” by olivia rodrigo and “what kind of future?” by woozi
inspo spotify playlist found here!
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side b: him.
The rapid beating in his chest drowned out the slam of the door behind him as he rushed down the stairs of your home, desperate to just get away as soon as possible. Your parents weren’t home, so he didn’t have to worry about looking like an absolute fool in front of them.
You knew. You fucking knew.
You knew how much he was in love with you and this was your way of rejecting him.
He was stupid, so stupid. If he just put his feelings aside then you wouldn’t leave. You wouldn’t have to leave. But this was all his stupid hormones and brain chemistry and his fucking heart. He knew that it wouldn’t pan out. You never saw him as anything more than just a dear friend, a brother. You made that clear.
Since the beginning, your pinkies intertwined promised a forever, but you both had different ideas of what that was. And he was stupid to believe there was a chance.
He ran.
He ran so far and so hard that he couldn’t make sense of left or right or forward or backward. All he knew was that he needed to get away from you.
But he couldn’t.
He passed by Old Man Park’s home with a winding tree you were convinced held fae people that would only come out when the entire town was asleep (there was a 50km radius, you said).
He ran by the rusted bars of the playground you two snuck off to instead of going to cram school where you attempted a flip and promptly landed on the crown of your head, wood chips tangling themselves into your hair, tears mixed with laughter and pain streaming down your cheeks.
The library where you would spend more time in the children’s section than anywhere else because you would practice your ‘reading voice’ for your future children’s bedtime stories.
The baseball field where the realization that he was in love with you hit him harder than any fastball pitch ever could.
You were everywhere.
And he needed to get away.
He went to your house to share the news of passing the trainee audition, that was the whole purpose of seeing you.
However, that wasn’t the only thing he planned on confessing.
If you asked him to stay, he would have.
But instead, you rejected him before he even got one word out.
So, he packed his bags up for Seoul, a place untarnished by you. A city that not even your light could reach, no matter how radiant you were.
──────────────────
Years later.
“Jihoon-ah, aren’t you working too hard?”
He glanced up at Jeonghan who was probably let into the studio by Bumzu. Jihoon glanced at the clock to notice a bright 4:02am glaring back at him. “Ah, hyung. I didn’t even notice the time.”
“I figured. I brought you some food.”
Jihoon glanced down at the two bags in his hands. His eyes narrowed. “Hyung, I don’t eat as much as you think I do.”
“I’ve seen you eat three full meals in one sitting. Get away from your desk and we can eat.”
Jihoon sighed before he reluctantly left the seat he hardly moved from for over seven hours. “Thanks.”
“Of course,” Jeonghan replied happily, snapping the wooden chopsticks into two. He started chewing on one of the danmuji, the sound of its crunch reverberating in the studio. “Oh. And also, the wi-fi’s down at the dorm, so.”
“So, you’re here to steal my bandwidth.”
“I brought you food. I paid my toll.”
Jihoon rolled his eyes. “Alright, sure.”
“So, are you in the composing stage or the writing lyrics stage?”
“...Lyrics.”
“Hm. What are you writing about? Or rather, who are you writing about?”
Jihoon stabbed the grilled fish. “...You know who.”
“She’s really got a grip on you, huh.”
Jihoon grunted in response. Obviously.
Jeonghan continued, “I saw that one of the local newsletters interviewed the group home that she volunteers at. She was voted as volunteer of the year. Again. She smiles with her entire body. Seems like a good person.”
The younger of the two picked away at the fish, not bringing it onto his makeshift plate. “Yeah.”
“Do you still stalk her on Instagram?”
Jihoon let out a loud sigh.
“That’s a yes, then.”
“You know it’s not as bad as it used to be. I used to check, like, every few weeks, but now it’s gone down to just a couple times a year.”
“She hasn’t blocked you yet?”
“Hah. I don’t think she even knows that my account is reactivated.”
“Well, you never needed to reactivate before. Her Instagram used to be public. The rest of the members and I used to scroll through wondering how a bright girl like her could be associated with such a deadpan guy like you.”
“Wow. Thanks, hyung.”
Jeonghan merely brushed off Jihoon’s sarcasm, already used to it. “She only made it private this last year, right? Since she complains about her program being out to kill her on her story. To be honest, I’m surprised she didn’t realize you’ve been watching her stories.”
“I don’t think she checks who watches her story since she has over a few thousand followers.”
“She attracts people, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, she always has.”
“Can I see her profile again?”
“You’re not going to do something weird, right?”
“Ey, Jihoon-ah.”
“That makes me really not want to.”
“Ey.”
Jihoon rolled his eyes before pulling out his phone. He opened Instagram and clicked on the “Search” feature and saw your profile appear at the top without even needing to type anything. He signaled for Jeonghan to scoot down the couch so he could sit down and handle the phone in his own hands. Jeonghan peered over his shoulder as he scrolled through your profile.
“Oh, is that Japan?”
“Yeah.”
Jihoon clicked on your post.
But it wasn’t opening.
So, he clicked again. And then again.
And his phone decided to catch up with his thumb’s movements.
The once white heart was now red.
His grip loosened on the device of betrayal and it clattered to the ground. “Oh shit.”
Jeonghan bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He placed his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder and squeezed slightly. “I’m sorry, but. This is karma for not letting me see her profile on my own.”
“Hyung. Hyung. What should I do?”
“Just unlike it? I’m pretty sure that Instagram doesn’t send a notification as long as you unlike it before she sees it.”
“How do you know?”
Jeonghan shrugged. “Jihoon. It’s not the end of the world if she happens to see it. If she blocks you, then you know, and you end up writing another heartbreak masterpiece—” Jihoon couldn’t even appreciate the comment. “—but. Who knows what’ll happen?”
“...”
“Uh. I’ll just… do it for you, then.”
Jeonghan picked up the phone, facing the screen towards Jihoon, the camera scanning his frozen features to unlock and Jeonghan tapped the red heart to empty it again. He placed the phone back on the younger man’s thigh, but Jihoon remained in the same position as earlier, eyes glazed.
“Jihoon-ah.”
“Hyung.”
“Let’s just wait, yeah? The food’s getting cold. So, let’s finish eating.”
“...Okay.”
──────────────────
Jihoon picked at the rice bowl in front of him, his mind light years away, chest filled with concern for the future. Was auditioning for a company worth it? Even if he started the process now, wouldn’t it still take a while to even hear back?
“Jihoonie.”
His heart constricted once he heard the voice of the person who made him unsure. He caught you blinking owlishly at him. “Y/N.”
“Hrmm. You seem quite a bit down, my friend. You’ve barely touched your first bowl of rice. It’s concerning.”
“Just thinking.”
“Oh, don’t do that. We know that usually ends badly for people.”
“Well, someone between the two of us has to have brain cells.”
“I pride myself in simultaneously never thinking and also being the top student of our school.”
“You work miracles, Y/N.”
“Hey, now I know you’re down because you didn’t call me a flipping nerd. Your best moods are usually accompanied by your worst words.”
“You make me seem like an asshole. You slander me to other people, don’t you?”
“Of course. I can’t have them know just how utterly wonderful and fantastic you are. I’d rather you have that butthole reputation if I get to keep my best friend all to myself. I’m a selfish lady, you know.”
Did you even know how much your words affected him?
“You’re neither selfish nor a lady.”
“Oh, but I am. I’m a selfish lady who’s only checking on you because I refuse to be wrought with worry for the rest of the day. So, come on, Jihoonie. Let’s go play darts.”
“Last time we played you almost stabbed my hand.”
“Your fault for reaching for the board when I was about to own you. Come on. Let’s go. I’ll make a pinky promise with you.”
Jihoon snorted. “Of what?”
“I promise to do whatever you want if you win.”
Jihoon scrunched up his nose in response. You were always so naive with him, trusting him wholly. But a part of him was grateful that you did. He merely sighed and stood up.
He might as well use your promise to his advantage.
──────────────────
“She didn’t block me.”
“Oh, really?” Jeonghan glanced up at Jihoon who suddenly broke the silence.
“Who’s she?” Soonyoung’s ears perked up.
“You know. His firefly,” Jeonghan replied.
“What? Why would she block you?” Seungkwan directed his question at Jihoon, who was simply trying to edit lyrics in his own studio, which was being occupied by several SEVENTEEN members.
“Jihoon accidentally liked one of her posts last night, but we unliked it. Oh, sorry. I unliked it because he was completely frozen.”
“The notification probably didn’t go through,” Seungkwan supplied. “I’m pretty sure unliking a post makes the notification go away.”
Jihoon had set his phone aside earlier in hopes of not constantly checking it. His mind may be unsteady, but he was always self-disciplined.
Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Soonyoung glance down at his own phone screen that buzzed a second prior.
“Oh. Jihoon-ah, she liked one of your posts.”
Before his mind could even catch up, Jihoon flung himself to his phone, his self-discipline be damned. He frantically clicked on the notification and it redirected him to his Instagram page, where he saw your name among the list of likers. He wasn’t sure whether his heart was racing or whether it stopped completely because the buzzing in his ears overtook all of his other senses.
He even ignored the boys’ laughter around him.
“Is… Is social media actually facilitating real connection right now? Are we about to prove all of the ahjussi and ahjumma wrong? Are we about to witness history?”
“Seungkwan-ah.”
“Sorry, Jeonghan-hyung.”
“She… She didn’t block me. She saw me. What is this? What do I do? Do I just ignore it? Or should I let her know I saw it?”
Soonyoung snorted. “Yah, I’ve never seen Jihoon this nervous for any performance ever.”
“His heart’s probably racing more than it did the Golden Disc Awards.”
“WHAT DO I DO.”
“Jihoon-hyung,” Seungkwan started. “I think the first thing you need to do is breathe.”
So, he did. In. Out. In. Out.
After what seemed like years, Soonyoung spoke up. “So… Are you gonna message her?”
Jihoon sat in contemplation for a moment before he decidedly shook his head. “No. It’s time to write a song.”
Soonyoung’s eyebrows rose at that. “You’re gonna go back to work after all of this?”
Jihoon bit his lip. “No. This is gonna be a solo song.”
The corners of Jeonghan’s lips curled up at his dongsaeng. “I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.”
Jihoon nodded almost mindlessly.
Everything about her usually is.
──────────────────
“Jihoonie~ Wake up~”
He groaned loudly under the bed covers.
He heard you snicker, the only warning before you landed with a loud thump as he let out an “oof!” from beneath you.
“Get off me. You weigh like a million pounds.”
Rather than listening, you spread your limbs and trapped the adolescent boy beneath you, nuzzling further into the outer casing of his cocoon. “Nope. Just yesterday you yelled at me for not eating enough when you flung me off of the couch by accident because I stole the remote. So.”
“I’m suffocating. You’re killing your best friend.”
“Oh, but to die with a beautiful girl on top of you, isn’t that the way to go?”
There was a moment of silence where Jihoon contemplated catapulting your entire being off of his bed before, “Pretty sure that’s your dream, you damn pervert,” came his muffled reply.
“Huh. You might be right there.”
“Get! Off!”
His hand easily found your weak point between your first and second rib and you cried out as you toppled down onto his bedroom floor. He emerged from the confines of his sheets with hair sticking up every which way.
You grinned lazily up at his disheveled state and he glared right back at you. “Why are you in my bedroom?”
“Because your mom said to come and get you! We’re going to Muju today, remember? In time for the Firefly Festival!”
“Right. It’s your yearly family reunion.”
“Yes, I will become one with the bugs. My fursona will arise again. Or is it bugsona?”
“Is a buggy better than a furry?”
“You’re asking me to choose between two evils, my dear Jihoonie. Come on, get up. I’m excited to spend an entire weekend with our family.”
It was way too early for his mind to whirr as fast as it did at the simple implication of ‘our’. “Alright, firefly. Get out of my room so I can get ready.”
“Okay! I’ll go help Mama downstairs.”
You were committed to calling Jihoon’s mom as Mama instead of Eomma, as the latter held a tone for you that was nothing less than stressful.
Jihoon smiled at your joy, but stopped when he noticed you freeze in place. “...What?”
You shifted the weight in your feet before speaking. “Mm. Just had a thought. With a smile like yours, who would ever need the summertime?”
You grinned at him while his heart stopped. You always spoke without a care in the world; never carefully crafting your thoughts before speaking them aloud. You were spontaneous. Wild, even. Sometimes it ended with you in some kind of trouble, while other times, like this one, ended with him in trouble instead.
You scurried out of his room before he could respond.
He released a dragged out sigh as he felt his cheeks warm.
Forget summertime.
He wondered whether the earth could be sustained through all of the seasons at the sheer brilliance of your smile.
But he ought to thank the summertime.
Because it meant, every year, without fail, he would wake up to you, he would smell the breakfast you helped his mother cook, he would hop on a plane to travel to a different province and see the night sky alight with hundreds of fireflies, your face aglow with soft awe and wonder.
Yeah.
He needed the summertime.
──────────────────
“What? Jihoon-hyung is talking to the girl that just upped and left him and fled the country?”
“Chan-ah, your wording needs work,” Seungcheol chastised. The other members that were near enough to hear nodded, while others were distracted by their own activities.
Jihoon buried his face in his hands. “Eugh, I don’t even know anymore. It’s not like we’re actually talking; she just reliked one of my posts. It’s like, she went back and let me know that she saw me. But is that supposed to be a warning? Is it supposed to be a white flag?”
The youngest member of SEVENTEEN shrugged. “Hyung, I think that you’re putting a lot of meaning behind something that was just a small gesture.”
“Nah, Chan,” Seungcheol interjected. “Jihoon has been in love with this girl since he was a kid. This is more than just a small gesture, after what she did to him.”
Wonwoo spoke up. “Hey, don’t forget Jihoon was the one who left Busan first.”
The accused groaned.
“Wonwoo, you’re just biased towards her because you think that she and Jihoon would make a good couple and you believe in an ideal love.”
“Hyung, I just think that if Jihoon can write what he writes about her, there’s something there.”
“You romanticist.”
Wonwoo shrugged. “Jihoon-ah, I think you’ve tried to reach her with your words time and time again, but maybe it was never made clear that she was the one it was for. You mentioned that she really thought you were in love with your noona—” Jihoon grimaced at the memory. “—so, maybe she’s just unaware.”
“She can’t be that oblivious,” Soonyoung interrupted. Jihoon knew Soonyoung was almost fiercely protective over him because he was the one who witnessed Jihoon’s aftermath firsthand. Soonyoung may be over-the-top some days, but whenever Jihoon needed it, he would help ground him.
Wonwoo’s eyes flicked between the two of his fellow 96ers. “We were all kids once, Soonyoung. We were all so focused on ourselves we couldn’t really see what was happening around us.”
Soonyoung pursed his lips. “...I guess. Jihoon, what do you think?”
Jihoon stared at his hands. “Does it matter whether she knew back then or not?”
They all collectively raised a brow.
“Whattaya mean?” Seungcheol asked.
“I can make a ton of assumptions about her. That she was actually in love with me and was scared. That she was rejecting me in her own cruel, yet kind, way. That she had no idea and the timing was just completely off. But all of that, I don’t actually know. All I do know is that… I want to see her. And not just from afar anymore. But part of me also hates her. But all of me misses her. I don’t know. I guess I’m just too stupid to figure this out.”
A heavy silence passed over the group.
Soonyoung broke it. “If you’re stupid, then I’m the biggest idiot on this planet.”
“That’s not comforting, that’s just a fact.”
“Hoon, you wound me.”
──────────────────
Award shows were weird.
At first, everything was an out-of-body experience for him and could barely process what was happening. He even couldn’t believe that he and his twelve members managed to earn their matching pinky rings and the right to produce and perform, let alone be nominated for an award. When they went on the stage, they did their best to be as refreshing of idols as they could be.
But it was much more daunting than they were used to.
Their debut year went by, and although there were many nominations, they remained only that.
In middle school, he would often tell you that you had a strange fixation on being number one in your graduating class. He said that he didn’t get it, that being in the top 5 was already something that was admirable.
He would never forget the look you gave him when you said, “One day, you’ll know what it’s like. You’ll know what it’s like to almost have something and then not. It’s the kind of feeling that eats away at you, Jihoon. The feeling of, ‘But what if I did more?’”
He merely rolled his eyes and called you dramatic.
That is, until he experienced it firsthand.
The first time ever was when he was doing a music competition for clarinet and compared himself to his bandmate, who received several achievements while Jihoon found that he simply didn’t have the body to be able to hold the same lung capacity.
Then he felt it: that driving force.
You both pushed yourselves further, to higher heights.
And it ended with him sick and bedridden.
And you, heartbroken and unsure of life.
The two of you would reprimand each other for trying too hard, but even with accountability, that envy, that desire for an indisputable win, that fear of failure, would still sneak its way into you both. You, with your academics. Him, with his musical endeavors.
For several years after their debut, at award shows, Jihoon would clap, the rhythmic beating of his hands echoing that in his chest, his smile lined with bitterness, his ears rang with the whispered voices.
‘Those people didn’t deserve it. You worked so much harder. These people don’t even produce their own music. Or maybe it’s because they have real producers and composers, unlike you. Who are you to think you deserve that award?’
One night, after another show of no wins, he collapsed onto his bed, unlocking his phone, intent on watching an anime episode before falling asleep. His members were discouraged and no one wanted to discuss what more they could even do.
Even if they did everything right, maybe it still would never be good enough.
When he opened up the YouTube app on his phone, he saw a recommended video. Your name written out in English caught his eye and he realized it was Part II of a podcast you had done with the channel before. It was a Korean-American podcast and you would share your experiences in the Korean language, connecting with your culture despite being in a foreign country.
Before he could think about what he was doing, he clicked on it, hoping to find comfort in a person he always had, in someone he probably always would.
Several minutes in and he realized just how thick that red string must be between the two of you.
“You know, I thought I undid a lot of my perfectionism before coming to college. Korea is the birthplace of comparison and pressure, I’m sure of it. It was ingrained into me from childhood. So, I did what I could. I got out. Learned to broaden my horizons. But when you attend a school like Yale, your environment really just kinda forces you to be perfect just so that you can survive. Because if you’re not, then you’re cut.”
He thought back to his trainee days.
To his current days.
How similar.
“I remember being at an event where we were being presented awards for our achievements. I remember that I was in the running for one of them, and I won’t say which one so this doesn’t come back to bite me. But at this one event, I remember no other guests were invited, only the nominees and peers in the same field. And when they announced the winner, everyone applauded, of course. However, I won’t ever forget the sight that I saw.”
You chewed on your lips, gazing upward trying to find the right words to say, a habit you’ve had for years.
“The winner had the biggest grin on their face, proud of themselves, as they are allowed to be. But when they turned back to the crowd? I think they saw something. I think they saw that our smiles were forced, that we were judging them, judging ourselves, trying to determine whether they actually deserved the recognition or whether we should have been the ones to win. And… their smile faltered. It was quick, but it was noticeable. And I think the only reason why it even faltered was because it was only those of us who were nominated or could have been. Like, it’s easy to cheer on someone for a prize that you didn’t want, but as soon as you have stakes in the game? Well. That’s a whole different story. But when they lost that smile, it felt like something shattered.”
Your eyes welled up with tears, but they didn’t fall.
“They say it’s lonely at the top. I haven’t been there in a long time, but. I don’t even know if that’s where I want to be. These people have done super cool things, and who’s to say that I would’ve gotten the same results if I had tried? And maybe, maybe they have enough competitors. Maybe they need someone who celebrates them. Someone who knows the hardships of working in this field. And maybe that’s what I can do. I just want to do what I love and what I love doing is social work. Celebrating other people. Learning their stories. Not saving the world, but trying to make it into one that might be worth saving. If I happen to get recognized because of doing those things and they give some kind of trophy for it, then alright. But that’s just a byproduct of the greatest award I’ve already given myself, which is just letting myself do what I love.”
And those were words he carried with him as he went to bed that night.
When they won their first award. Their first Bonsang. Their first Daesang.
Award shows were weird.
It was all about performance.
Performing on stage, prepped through sound-check, clean-cut choreography, and pre-recorded live vocals to grab the audience’s attention.
Performing when at their designated table, giving reactions at a timely rate for both the fancams and large screen cameras.
Performing when behind the stage, being the best hoobae or sunbae they needed to be, adapting to whatever situation they may be placed in.
He knew how to perform. He was good at it.
It was why he’s in this industry.
But there are some things that don’t warrant worrying about an audience.
As he watched the seven members of BTS walk towards the stage, reaching for their Daesang. He clapped to match the rhythm in his chest, sure and steady, at ease. His smile, genuine and wide. The voice in his head, not unlike yours mixed with his own, provided gentle comfort.
‘They deserved it. They worked hard, just like you did. Their ability to collaborate with other musicians is astounding. It would be an honor to work with them. And you, too, have won, you’ve given yourself the greatest award by continuing to do what you love.’
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Jihoon once again found himself at the recording studio, however, at a more reasonable time. He was trying to finalize all of the details on the songs for their comeback album, so he was spending his days in the recording studio and ending it in the dance studio, fully exhausted to where he would only have enough energy to shower and trudge back to his bedroom, just to pass out on his bed.
He heard the door to his room open but didn’t make an effort to turn around.
“How’s the song coming along?”
“The album is nearly complete—”
“No, the solo one.”
Jihoon finally glanced up at Seungcheol who now stood beside him. “I haven’t had as much time to work on it. Why?”
“No, I just wanted to check in with you.”
“You’re a good leader, hyung,” he said quietly.
Seungcheol clicked his tongue. “Of course, I am. But I’m mostly just curious because you’ve never written a song about her specifically that only had you singing it.”
“…that’s not true.”
“What? Which one?”
“The first song I ever wrote.”
“Oh what? What was it?”
Jihoon shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s an old song that I think only I remember anyway, plus, I only had vocals at the time. No instruments or anything.”
“…huh. What was it about?”
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You wiped your snot away from your face, unable to differentiate between mucus and tears. Your unrelenting sobs weakened to light shudders.
His voice carried from above you, his hand entangled in your messy knots as he rubbed soothing circles against your temple. You curled yourself further into the tear-stained pillow he so lovingly dubbed, “Y/N’s Breakdown Headrest” which also doubled as “Y/N’s Punching Bag” when your emotions were forged from fire and not a dam that couldn’t hold anymore of the taunts and cruelty from your own parents.
His thigh was a mere hair’s breadth away from grazing the top of your head. He had a tendency to bounce his leg, one you continuously called him out on, but he wouldn’t ever stop his bad habit.
That is, unless you needed him to.
And he always gave you what you needed.
So, he sang to you a song of hopes and dreams and the magic of forever and always. Lyrics of never-ending friendship and pinky promises.
──────────────────
Jihoon paused, wondering how you comforted yourself now, wondering if you now had a Breakdown Headrest 2.0, before he spoke again. “It’s about what all the songs I write are about. Love. Although, more lowkey, not as direct.”
“Love and her are synonymous to you, aren’t they?”
“She’s the one who taught me most of it,” Jihoon said nonchalantly. “A truly honest and genuine form of it.”
“Wow, how romantic of you,” Seungcheol laughed.
Jihoon rolled his eyes. “I’m letting you know I only have the patience to tolerate all of you guys because of her. She believes it’s her divine mission to be as annoying as possible.”
“She sounds terrifying.”
“Yeah, she’s taught me how to be patient and remain calm. But she was also incredibly patient with me. Honestly, it feels like all the things that make me likable are all from her.”
Seungcheol made a “oOooOooOOOooOOooo~” noise before Jihoon got fed up and kicked him out. Of course, his reprieve was short lived as more and more members flocked into his room, a constant moving traffic of his twelve brothers.
He imagined you meeting them.
With Seungcheol, you would probably tease him relentlessly, trying to come up with new names for the S. Coups game, while also thanking him for being so protective and steadfast, praising him for his taste in emo music and asking him to sing My Chemical Romance with you.
With Jeonghan, you both would sneak off to devise plans on how to create chaotic dynamics in between the members and cause more infighting while eating stolen snacks or spend hours just sitting around, doing fuck all, because why not.
With Jisoo, you both would speak in English (with you affectionately calling him by his English name “Joshua!”), sharing music as well as probably arguing between Los Angeles and New York, since that was a common feud topic Jisoo brought up.
With Jun, you would try to get as many reactions out of him as possible or get him to write down the list of all of the authentic Chinese restaurants around Korea or you would sit with him at a piano and watch as he played OSTs to Chinese dramas, applauding all the while starry-eyed.
With Soonyoung, you both would either be each other’s soulmates or the banes of each others’ existence, both fiery and passionate; however, you were always good at matching the energies of those around you, so you would let him ebb and flow while you merely followed, likely to call him, “Hoshingi,” just as Jeonghan does, and you would probably love caring for him the same way you did with elementary school students.
With Wonwoo, you would watch him play his PC games, probably in awe of his prowess or you would discuss lyricism and poetry, both exchanging flowery words for no reason as you would try to pick his brain as to what really lies beneath the surface, whether he truly is as straightforward as he seems, and be intensely satisfied that he simply is as he is.
With Seokmin, likely to sweetly call him “DK~”, you would ask him to sing for you since you loved Broadway style voices, and since you both were so generous with your kindness, there would be no doubt that the two of you would somehow manage to start up a non-profit that manages to eradicate all the bad in the world.
With Mingyu, you would discuss filming and the latest movies to watch and you would ask him how he finds the motivation to do many different hobbies at once especially when busy with being an idol; you would probably try to trick him into listening to you tell ghost stories as if they happened to you.
With Minghao, you would share your favorite poets and philosophical ideas, sharing the life lessons that you two have learned and realized you managed to hack life’s code at a younger age than most, you both realized the real importance of being alive: contentment and love.
With Seungkwan, you would probably be laughing so hard at his wit that you wouldn’t have much time to breathe, you would try to figure out how exactly he managed to memorize so much information surrounding K-Pop and why exactly he was so passionate about it or if neither of those, you would ask him if he could get you the plug for those Jeju hallabong oranges.
With Hansol, you would call him “Vernonz,” since you loved names that began with the letters V and Z, and ask him about his parents once you found out they were both artists, and you two would definitely discuss the effects of late-stage capitalism and social media on humanity.
With Chan, you would do your best not to baby him, but you hold a lot of fondness for those younger than you, you would try to figure out how he is so particular about his attention to detail and whether it is something that is pressuring him (and if there was some way you could alleviate it).
He imagined you there, integrated into his life again. He imagined you showing authentic interest in every one of his precious members, unlike most interviewers they would be forced to interact with every comeback. You would learn all of their names, find out their favorite foods, the best way to make everyone collectively laugh, and ultimately, how to help all of them feel comfortable around you and inevitably love you.
And once they did, he could say that his most beloved people were finally all together.
He fell in love with you, but you’re the one who taught him how to walk into it with his eyes wide open. So, he did it with his members. It took practice, having to actively choose them. With you, it may have always been a choice, but it was as natural as breathing, even if there were times he felt like he was being suffocated (or wanted to suffocate you).
He remembered the first time he became aware of it. Most people talk about how love comes, there was always talk about rose-tinted glasses and how it softened the world around them, unable to forget the brilliant smile on their face, but no. You always shattered expectations.
From anyone else’s standards, his realization came at an inopportune time. But it was so clear. It wasn’t as though you had sparkles around you as you emitted a warm glow, it wasn’t as though your hair was perfectly touched up with no strand out of place, it wasn’t as though you were perfectly dolled-up with eyes lined and lips colored. No. It was just… you.
And that's when he knew.
Because there was no filter to block the sheer clarity he was hit with when he finally accepted he was in love with you.
──────────────────
When Jihoon saw your crying form, a slurry of words filled with concern and instructions were the only thing leaving his mouth as he packed his things up. He only deviated once he gave a quick farewell to his noona who left with her dad.
Jihoon bit his lip. Would you be okay? Maybe he’ll just rush home now and shower then call you later at night. Or maybe he should go prepare his bedroom if you decide to visit. Yes. He should do that.
Jihoon turned on his heel to make his way back home, his newfound mission resounding in his mind.
However, your cousin’s voice reached his ears, “Wait—Jihoon, I can give you a ride.”
He looked back at him, saw the way your shoulders still trembled, and shook his head firmly. His fist clenched, the baseball preventing his nails from biting into his palms. He spun it once. Twice. And up into the air.
“Here, firefly.”
You caught it by instinct.
Your gaze met his.
He felt his heart ache at the sheer brokenness apparent in your eyes, rimmed with red and puffed skin. He grit his teeth. He hasn’t seen you cry this hard since the day your parents told you that your number two class ranking was nothing to be proud of and that they expected more from you.
His jaw clenched so hard, he heard an audible bite.
“Why are you giving me this?”
Your voice sounded so soft, like a child. A visceral instinct within him wanting to lull you into a peaceful rest with a lullaby.
But he wouldn’t do that.
Because that would be embarrassing.
(That was a future Jihoon problem.)
“It’s your win today.”
He much preferred the look of confusion on your face to the look of agony you held just a few moments ago.
“Huh?”
He swallowed thickly, his brain unable to keep up with the words tumbling from his mouth. “Even when you feel like you’ve lost, even when you feel like you have nothing to gain, just the fact that you’re still here, that’s a win. So. Scream. Cry. You can do what you want. It’s your win.”
Your gaze trailed down to the baseball, too large to wrap your fingers around entirely. It was probably much denser than you thought it would be, the weight foreign in your hands, unlike his.
You sniffled.
A soft smile formed on your lips.
And Jihoon realized he preferred that look on your face than any other he’s seen.
Pretty.
He rapidly turned on his heel before he even gave a second to try and unpack that thought.
The weight of his baseball gear was really doing a number on his heart, he realized belatedly.
That night, he didn’t prepare his room. He didn’t even call you.
(Not that you reached out.)
He merely stared up at his ceiling, his heart in a constant flux of rapidly beating or stopping completely.
He groaned loudly as he played through the day’s earlier events, thinking himself stupid for giving you a fucking baseball. You don’t even like sports. Did he think he sounded cool when he said all of that cringey stuff?
It’s your win?
But despite the feeling of wanting to curl in on himself, he couldn’t help but still agree with his earlier self.
You did win his heart, after all.
(He threw his pillow at the wall.)
──────────────────
“You’ve been liking her posts more easily.”
Jihoon merely grunted as he tapped away at his computer, Soonyoung on the couch beside him. “I decided to just… stop overthinking. Well, more like just stop thinking in general. I’m too tired to try and pretend I’m smarter than I actually am.”
Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. “You got it bad for her.”
Jihoon glared at him, who was scrolling through his (Jihoon’s) phone. “Be careful what you say. For the amount of songs that are about her, she covers basically 60% of your salary.”
Soonyoung laughed. “Guess I owe her a lot, huh? If she didn’t up and leave, you wouldn’t have come here and we would’ve never met. So, I guess I’m grateful to her. Plus. She’s cute.”
“She’s more than that.”
“Yeah. I can tell,” Soonyoung went quiet for a moment. “She… A part of me really doesn’t want to trust her. I keep remembering that day, you know. Where you just… didn’t seem like yourself. Barely there—” Jihoon cringed at the recalled memory. “—but she also just seems so genuine that it makes it hard. I want to be your bro, you know? Bro code and all—”
“I never asked you to do that.”
“—And I’m nothing if not a bro. But I don’t think you’re the type of person to be hung up on someone who’s not trustworthy. Like. You lose interest in people easily if you don’t see them on a regular basis. But her? It’s been years, bro.”
“Okay, bro.”
“Just letting you know I support you in your decisions,” Soonyoung stated, but there was an edge to his voice that sounded as though he was trying to convince himself more than Jihoon. “If she’s really who you say she is. If she’s the one who’s captured that stubborn heart of yours. Then I’ll do everything I can to help you out—Oh, she posted again. Wow. She posts often and yet still gets over a thousand likes. It hasn’t even been a day. Oh wow!”
Jihoon twitched but tried not to show his eagerness. “What?”
“They’re doing a donation drive for the group home that she works with. Ey, how can someone who does volunteer work to help kids and teens be a bad person? Jihoon, are you kidding me?”
“Young-ah, you’re the one who said it, not me—”
“So close-minded, Hoon.”
Jihoon rolled his computer chair over to Soonyoung, snatched his phone back, and smacked the annoying gnat’s hand in the process. Soonyoung yelped in pain, but laughed it off. He saw your post (noticed that Soonyoung ‘liked it for him’) and a figurative lightbulb lit up over his overworked head.
“This looks like something Bumzu-hyung would post on his story. Maybe I can ask him to share it. Oh, but this is her private page. Oh wait. She tagged the group home.”
“Thanks for the play-by-play.”
Jihoon ignored him and clicked the profile to see they had the exact same e-flyer post. But he knew that you’d probably notice there was an influx of donations (hardly anything got by you) and he didn’t want to bombard you with unsolicited help.
But it’s for a good cause!
But he might be trespassing on her territory.
Everyone cares about youth and kids!
This group home wouldn’t have even caught his eye had it not been for you.
He groaned inwardly. “I don’t know whether I should ask Bumzu to reshare or what—”
“Dude, just ask her if you can share it and then wait for her reply. It’s not like there’s only a one day donation thing.”
Jihoon blinked at Soonyoung. “You’re right.”
Soonyoung immediately sat up straighter, pulling out his own phone from his pocket. He opened up his voice memo app. “Say that again, I need to record that so I can set it as my ringtone.”
Soonyoung pressed the Record button, extended his phone receiver to Jihoon, who leaned in promptly and said:
“Fuck off, Kwon Soonyoung.”
──────────────────
“Kwon Soonyoung, what the hell are you doing?”
“What do you mean? It’s not like I planned this.”
Jihoon glared at the boy before him who was somehow wearing matching clothes again. He specifically came home after rehearsal to change into something different and yet, here he was, matching with this endless energy ball. Jihoon specifically changed out of his all-black garment to choose a long, plain blue button-down overshirt and ripped, dark jeans. Something different from his usual style of a t-shirt and shorts.
Yet, there Soonyoung was, in nearly the same outfit, minus the overshirt being a blue flannel.
“I think this just means that we’re soulmates, Jihoon-ah.”
Jihoon pulled back his fist as if to hit Soonyoung, but the latter didn’t flinch at all, only laughed at the expense of his friend. The other members were downstairs waiting for them so Jihoon didn’t have enough time to change out of the outfit. And it felt almost ridiculous to give this more attention than it deserves, as if he was losing by admitting that it bothered him to the point of needing to change clothes.
But Kwon Soonyoung, the man that he was, would not let him live it down.
“Wow, we look like a couple. We should go on dates, huh? Get some sushi or–ack!”
The shorter of the two pressed his foot against the back of the other’s knee and Soonyoung nearly came crashing down had it not been for his instincts to catch himself.
Jihoon huffed down the stairs, shaking his head at the situation and readying himself to be made fun of by his members. Once he got through that door, it was game over.
And he was right.
Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Dino were the ones who rallied the rest of the group to heckle, which only added insult to injury, as those three were the ones who had the longest rap sheet to make fun of. Jihoon kept his disgusted face on as Soonyoung wrapped his arms around his shoulders, announcing to (what seemed like) the world about how he’s ‘matching with his best friend.’
Jihoon came back with a slew of half-hearted insults at the rest of his members, but they unfortunately outnumbered him. He is rarely on the receiving end of this level of teasing, but he was dragged into it thanks to Soonyoung, who was eating it up.
Even in the midst of it all, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel thankful that he even had someone to accidentally match with who would wear it with such pride and not shy away from it. Sure, it might seem dumb and annoying, but it reminded him that he could have that kind of playful relationship with others outside of you. He had other friends in school or at baseball, sure, but none were as comfortable, as relentlessly fun. He thought there would never be another you.
And there never was, but that feeling of acceptance, of joy, of gratitude.
He was able to find it outside of you.
Which was a heartbreaking realization before, but now he only hopes you’ve done the same.
And mere hours after his own outfit debacle, Jihoon sees your instagram story to find you accidentally matching with Hyejin, her making the same face that he did not too long ago. But you had a shit-eating grin, no doubt proud of causing a disruption in your friend’s life.
Your caption read: “oh, you and your soulmate are tied by a single, red thread? that’s nothing compared to the matching threads we got on right now. eat your heart out, makoto shinkai.”
Beneath it in smaller letters: “if you can’t tell by her face, this was not planned at all, but man, am i really rolling with it.”
Jihoon snorted at the serendipity of it all.
Perhaps the string of fate really isn’t just a single thread.
──────────────────
It was a rare day in which Jihoon found himself at home.
Which meant he had a lot of time to think about you.
(You replied to him. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. But he was, pleasantly so. Of course, it included a thumbs up emoji which was the visual manifestation of the acquaintance zone, but he would take what he could get.)
Album preparations were underway, and although there is a part of him that feels as though he should be scrambling, especially as their anniversary date was literally tomorrow, he thought back to a voice from his youth.
Years ago, he laid in his childhood bed, struck with a nasty fever from pushing his immune system too far by attempting to balance school and various music competitions. There was a half-asleep you, exhausted by misplaced guilt, with your fingers intertwined with his, who said: Jihoonie, Koreans always say ‘fighting’. I told you that this morning, and I knew you weren’t feeling well. I could’ve stopped you. And now here you are. I said ‘fighting,’ but why? Why do we have to fight? Life isn’t a battle to win. You don’t have to overcome anything, okay? You can just lay here and be with me. Please don’t get sick again. Please remember to rest. Some days, it’s okay to just be.
So, here he was. Simply being.
Whenever massive events (like SEVENTEEN’s six year anniversary) happened, he made sure to spend the 24 hours prior doing nothing than just being, to gain enough energy to last the following day.
Otherwise, the nagging guilt would get to him.
You were always weaving stories with even the thinnest of threads. Your knack for adding dramatic flair, amping it up to eleven, was a nightmare sometimes. For example, when he got sick and you kept repeating that you should’ve said something instead of letting him go on stage only to nearly faint afterwards. You took on too much responsibility for things outside of your control, which only caused you to lose your grip on what you actually could.
His chest tightened at the thought of you losing your grip completely. There were very few things in life that terrified him, but you potentially ending yours was one that plagued him until he learned how to remain steady when you were feeling unsure, and even still, it tore him up inside. But he knew that it wasn’t his battle to face; he wasn’t meant to save you. You reminded him of that time and time again, so instead, he learned how to let you live the life you weren’t sure you wanted. He observed warily.
As a teenager, he knew just how bad these thoughts could get for people at that age. He knew how people fell prey to the lies that they were unworthy of life and love.
So, he simply tried to be as honest as possible. He would do his best to not invalidate your experience, but he refused to enable those insidious feelings. He would come off as abrasive, he was sure, but your ability to detect bullshit was like no other. Your parents had a big hand in that. So, instead, he was truthful in his own way, in his own language, one that you learned to understand.
A few years ago, you did a two-part YouTube podcast at Yale. The first one was released a couple of months prior to the second, and he’s sure at least one hundred of the views are from SEVENTEEN (not all him, his members also took away a lot from your words).
He listened to that podcast time and time again. He heard the life in your voice, the curiosity of the future outweighing the pain of the past. You said that life was, at first, a means to be with the people you loved. But you slowly came to believe that life was something that you would choose to love every single day, and so you did.
He hoped that you still did, but trusted that, if there were days that would come where you did not, you would reach out to someone to wait with you until the storm passed and you could choose to love again.
His chest filled with pride thinking about how far you’ve come.
But he couldn’t help but wish there were some things that remained from back then.
That glimmer of hope spurred him to become mindful of the object he was fiddling with in his hands. He held up a bracelet of years ago, hardly worn by time or by him. He wasn’t sure whether he was still allowed to. It was one-half of a pair, but if its partner no longer existed, then.
However, he never had the desire to throw it away.
The metal charms felt both foreign and at home in his hands as he fiddled with them, the faint clicking sound of the chain barely registering as his mind was in an entirely different place. His eyes focused once again on the charm of the sun caught between his fingers.
If only catching you was as simple, he mused.
Jihoon sighed and covered his eyes, desperately trying not to cringe at his internal monologue, habitually reaching for the Chopper plushie that you gifted him years ago, squeezing the body to diffuse the embarrassment he felt.
He remembered when he saw the charms at some random shop he heard about from others and thought you would enjoy, so he decided to scope it out in advance for the two of you. It was easy, on his way home after spending a few hours on his own to rehearse his clarinet, a regular occurrence.
Although there was no doubt the two of you gravitated towards each other, you both valued your independence and alone time.
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“We’re giving us the chance to miss each other, Jihoonie.”
“Who said I’d ever miss you?”
“Well, gosh darn. Guess I’ll cover for you and miss you twice as much.”
“…You’re dumb.”
“Yes. Can I have some of your fries?”
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He retaliated by taking the ketchup bottle and squeezing them all over the tray of fries and you immediately retracted, believing that fries should be dipped in its respective sauce (unless they were loaded fries, of course, which warranted using a utensil of sorts).
He chuckled to himself. Fifteen was one of the most turbulent years of his life, but there were plenty of moments (like fries drowning in ketchup) that reminded him it wasn’t all intense.
Your fifteenth year started off with that charm bracelet.
Two weeks before then, you were so moody that he nearly gave you your birthday gift earlier than he intended, just so he wouldn’t have to see you be so upset (for which, he has only a vague remembrance of what could have made you so upset). Of course, it might have been easier if he had simply brought up his concern and asked how you were, but he knew you would have brushed it off as nothing.
He paused.
Did he know that though?
Or did he just assume?
He clicked his tongue, annoyed at his own self-reflection.
Communication was easy in theory.
Application, however.
He often found it difficult, matching your pace.
You were always so quick.
Quick-witted.
Quick to anger.
Quick to assume.
Quick to run away.
He heard a soft knock at his bedroom door (which meant it wasn’t Mingyu or Soonyoung) and he grunted in response. The door slowly opened (that ruled out Seungcheol and Chan) and revealed who decided to greet him in such a manner.
Ah, he was right.
“Woozingi~”
“Jeonghan-hyung.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Jeonghan moved to sit at the edge of Jihoon’s bed, with his legs crossed. “The members are wanting to get dinner tonight altogether since we have a schedule tomorrow. The staff said they’ll pay since it’s our six years.”
This had Jihoon propping himself upright. “Barbecue?”
Jeonghan snickered. “Yeah, it’ll be good to get ready in a few hours. But I just wanted to stop by and tell you in person since I know you like to mute the group chat.”
“That’s because it’s constantly going off,” Jihoon grumbled.
“Yes, that happens when people are trying to have a conversation, Jihoon-ah. You should try it sometimes. Especially since it sounds like you have communication issues.”
Jihoon winced. “Hyung. Your timing is terrible.”
“No, it’s impeccable. Just not for you. Anyway, a word of advice.”
“Hm.”
“You don’t have to fear rejection anymore,” Jeonghan started, slowly, the words seeming almost foreign in his mouth. “Regardless of what happens with her, you have people in your life that care about you as you are. You don’t have to try and match her. I don’t want you to subconsciously fall back into a habit of appeasing her because you’re afraid of scaring her away again.”
Jihoon blinked slowly. “I wasn’t expecting actual advice, so I’m a little stunned right now.”
Jeonghan chuckled. “I’m gonna be honest. The other members told me to come talk to you because the rest are either too scared or don’t know what to say.”
“Hah, we’re back to our trainee days, huh?”
Jeonghan grinned, probably recalling the amount of times that he was the emotional support pillar of the boys before they each learned to open up to each other. “Speaking of, I remember when I first met you. You were a teen with a cold-hearted exterior and a lot of opinions as well as the weight of the world on your shoulders. You had the responsibility to carry the music of twelve other guys and you had just lost something that was precious to you. You threw yourself into your work and that became your identity.”
“I—”
“I know you’re not that way anymore, but I’m just reminding you that, no matter what happens with her, no matter how she may respond, you aren’t that cold teenager who had to bear the weight all on your own. You’ve grown and are surrounded by people who can help ease the load.” Jeonghan paused for a moment. “Also, if I could think of a member who laughs easily at anything, you are one of the first that comes to mind. So, it concerns me that you haven’t been laughing lately, even when Mingyu accidentally sneezed out his ramyeon noodles—“ Jihoon snorted at the memory from last night. “—and, if I can assume anything about her, I don’t think she’d be very honored to know that it’s because of her. So. Come back to us, Jihoon. If she’s really meant to be in your life, she can match your rhythm. Don’t leave us in the dust.”
“Is this a long-winded way of saying ‘bros before hoes’?”
Jeonghan burst into laughter. “Maybe so!”
──────────────────
“Our Jihoonie~”
The teenage boy grunted in response, shooting up a look at one of the older members. “Is there something that you need, hyung?”
“You speak so formally, it’s off-putting.”
“That’s because someone refuses to act his age.”
“What a tough Busan guy,” Jeonghan teased.
Jihoon’s face twitched.
“Bumzu-hyung is looking for you. Said he wanted to finish up some more lessons.”
“Agh. I knew he was going to have criticisms. I’m barely getting a grip on this music production stuff, so I don’t even know if what I’m making is good enough to sell. Everyone might hate it.”
“Even if everyone else hates your music, just know I’m one of your biggest fans.”
“...If my music is hated, then we won’t make any money, which means you’ll be poor. What? Is it your dream to become poor?”
Jihoon expected Jeonghan to laugh and tell him that he was right and that money mattered. But instead, Jeonghan replied, “Jihoon. Your music is good. And if we don’t make money because other people aren’t able to see it. Then what’s the point? You say that it’s your responsibility as to whether SEVENTEEN succeeds or not, but, we’re thirteen members. Three units. One team. We’re SEVENTEEN. Stop acting like it’s all about you. Maybe my dream used to be becoming rich. But now, it’s just doing this. With all of us.”
──────────────────
Jihoon stared at his hands, at the charm bracelet. “Is it selfish to want this life and her as well?”
“Maybe it is. But, so what if you’re selfish?”
“Isn’t being selfish supposed to be a bad thing?”
“Just hope that she’s as selfish as you are,” Jeonghan shrugged. “By wanting her in your life, does that mean you want to be with her romantically?”
Jihoon paused. “You know, I’m not sure. I think I would be over the moon if we could even just be a part of each other’s lives. To have that line of communication open. But as the people that we are now. I think I’d like to meet the new Y/N. She probably has more in common with the new Lee Jihoon than the old her anyway.”
“You two have grown apart, aren’t you worried?”
Jihoon went silent for a moment, trying to pick out the right words. “Rather than grown apart, it feels like we’ve simply grown in separate spaces, by taking different routes, but our lives seem too intertwined for our paths to never cross again. Plus, she’s one of the few people that I could really be myself around. It’d be nice to have another safe space like that outside of SEVENTEEN because who else can I complain about you all to, that wouldn’t cause conflict between us?”
“Ay. What is there to complain about?”
Jihoon gave his hyung a pointed look.
“Alright, alright,” Jeonghan started. “But be honest. Real talk. You really think she wouldn’t spread it to Dispatch?”
“She has always valued people’s stories more than anything, so it really annoyed her when other people would take out-of-context excerpts and twist them. So. That’s how I know she wouldn’t spread it. Also, if she was that kind of person, she would’ve done so by now. She has a ton of blackmail material on me.”
Jeonghan chuckled. “Interesting. You said she likes stories, so is she a writer like you?”
“Not in the traditional sense. She’s more of a speaker than a writer. In high school, of course, she had her awkward moments like everybody else did, but even then, she was a tier above the rest. I don’t know how to say this kindly, but she doesn’t really think before she talks, but she doesn’t usually have to because what comes out is almost always what she intended.”
“So, she must be eloquent then.”
Jihoon clicked his tongue. “Just because things come out as she intended doesn’t mean she wouldn’t intentionally be mean or annoying.”
──────────────────
“You like unnie, don’t you?”
Jihoon spluttered. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to gather his thoughts, but failed. He wasn’t good with spontaneous spoken words, that was always your realm of expertise. He needed time to think of the right thing to say, but you never waited for him. “F-Firefly, I—”
You barked out a laugh, and he nearly retaliated at the harshness. He wasn’t sure why exactly you were being so harsh. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t blame you. She’s pretty high up there, above us mortals. From now on, I’ll do my best to help you out, yeah? That’s what best friends are for. Plus, you’re like family, like a brother to me, so.”
Jihoon sank back.
Family? Brother?
He wondered why that left a bitter taste in his mouth. But that didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t being called family the highest praise?
So why the hell did that piss him off?
Instead of speaking his actual thoughts, his mouth had a mind of its own. “I can handle myself, Y/N.”
You sneered at him.
God, you were so infuriating sometimes.
She wasn’t like that.
She was the soothing waves of Busan, ebb and flow, constant and expected. She was everything you weren’t. She was older, more experienced, graceful, calm, soothing.
She was beautiful.
But she didn’t have that burning fire you did. Didn’t have him reacting the way you managed to every time you opened your damn mouth or rolled your eyes—there you went again!
What the hell was wrong with you?
Rapid escalation, raised voices. You, accusing him of not trusting your judgment and hiding his crush from you, saying that you wished he trusted you. Him, arguing that he didn’t need to share every little thing, that it wasn’t about his trust for you at all, and that God, he did! He did trust you! Of course, he did!
So, why didn’t he tell you about the stupid crush?
It wasn’t that deep, but you were convinced it was, and he was too tired to even try and correct you. So, sure, he could be “in love” with his noona, like you believed. Because then he wouldn’t have to untangle the mess in his chest. He could shove it under the rug like he always had, always would.
You slammed your fists down onto the table before you walked away from him, in a rampage. Like a damn wildfire trying to clear everything in sight.
You were a volatile thing, explosive, even.
But.
You fizzled out just as fast.
He awoke around midnight to the soft knocking at his window, your silhouette perched on the thickest branch the tree outside his childhood home had to offer. He had half a mind to not open the glass pane but he saw you shiver and his body leaped out of bed without a second thought.
“I’m sorry, Jihoonie,” you said, a few moments after you clambered into his room.
“Okay.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for being friends with me anyway.”
“Sure.”
So, he wrapped your favorite blanket around you, the one he kept in his room for nights like this. Color slowly returned to your face and he saw the stains of tears on your cheek in the moonlight. You muttered words of apologies and told him about your day, not having the chance to earlier.
You were better like this, quiet, but not silent. Like a crackling fireplace beckoning all to come and listen, to be enveloped in warmth and light.
He never once called you his family.
But he’d be damned if you weren’t his home.
──────────────────
“Funny enough, despite the fact that she’s more of a speaker than a writer, even more than that, she’s a listener. She listens to more stories than she tells them. I think that’s helped with her pride. If she knew she messed up, she would always apologize, even if she hated doing it.”
“Well, that’s one lesson you haven’t learned from her yet.”
Jihoon pulled a face and Jeonghan laughed in response. The older of the two snatched away the Chopper on the opposite end and started throwing the doll up and down.
“Alright, lover boy. What I got from this conversation is that you’re still in love with her, but you gotta make sure she’s worthy of your love, alright? Heed my warning, don’t be afraid of being rejected by her. It’s already happened anyway, and here you are: world-star idol with twelve bros behind you no matter what.”
Jihoon cracked a smile. “You’re right. I got lucky.”
Jeonghan tossed Chopper back in his original vicinity. “I think Dokyeomie wanted to ask something from you too, but I don’t remember what it was, so maybe you can go get ready and he’ll come find you.”
“What a useless messenger.”
“Your luck can’t be perfect, Jihoon-ah,” Jeonghan quipped. He turned to leave the room but stopped in his tracks. “I hope to hear her story one day. Hear her side of things.”
“…Me too, hyung.”
──────────────────
“How much is the corn dog?”
“Hmm… Tell me your favorite color and how it makes you feel.”
Jihoon mustered as much displeasure as he could hold in his six-year-old body. “Y/N, you can’t pay with stories, that’s stupid.”
“It’s my shop!”
“Jihoon, we’re just playing pretend,” your cousin added, his eyes darting between the two of you, likely worried about needing to do damage control.
“Hyung, her idea is dumb!”
“Why!” You whined. “People pay with money all the time, but you can get money whenever! I don’t get to hear stories! I like stories! My parents don’t read to me every night like yours do, Jihoon!”
Jihoon stomped out of the playroom in annoyance, ears grated by the sound of your crying and your cousin’s failed attempts to console you. Stories couldn’t buy the new toy race car that he got. Stories couldn’t buy him candy at the corner market near the kindergarten. Stories couldn’t buy a GameBoy.
Stories didn’t matter.
Money mattered.
Still, nearly a decade later, you never failed to ask for your unconventional form of payment every time he took a portion of your lunch. He knew you packed more for him anyway. And he knew you would always ask for a story in return.
And he intentionally packed smaller meals so he could tell you about how the History teacher had botched up his classmate’s test and accidentally graded off by one, about how the clarinet solo he was learning required a finger pattern he wasn’t used to, about how that one guy—oh, the tennis player?—no, no, the flautist—isn’t it flutist?—it doesn’t matter—yes, it does, Jihoon—anyway, he asked out a girl—the senior?—yes—oh wow, how bold.
And you would smile in return, sliding your food choice of the day within his reach.
He learned that you hated money; it was the one and only thing your parents ever gave you consistently. Simply, it was the manifestation of their love (or lack of) for you.
So, he paid you with recountings of the mundane. You never complained, even when he felt as though his storytelling skills were lackluster. He held your rapt attention; your eyes wide with wonder, voice laced with curiosity.
Eventually, he asked you why.
Why stories?
“Because without them, I wouldn’t have learned that you love the X-Men series because of Hugh Jackman, that you prefer winter over summer, that the first ever K-Pop group you listened to was Brown Eyed Girls, that when you tell me a funny story, you wait until I react before you start laughing.”
And you gave him that smile that made his heart stutter.
“Money is everywhere, Jihoon. But there’s only one you. That’s all there is to it. People, at the core of it all, are just stories. So. That’s why. People will always matter more than profit.”
──────────────────
After Jihoon readied himself for the group dinner, he plopped himself down onto the communal couch and found himself scrolling through Instagram. He stopped at your latest post, a candid shot of you reading a children’s book to several six-year-olds, your face aglow with excitement, a high chance the photographer captured you mid-way through some silly voice attributed to the character on the page.
“Hey, hyung.”
“Hm?”
“Can I borrow your microphone for the day?”
Jihoon didn’t even have the chance to think twice before the words left his mouth, “Tell me your favorite color and how it makes you feel.”
An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room.
“Is… Is this a hidden-camera?”
“...never mind. Just put it back when you’re done.”
“It’s blue, by the way.”
“I don’t care—”
“It makes me feel happy because it’s the color of the sky and of the ocean, which means it can be super calm or super exciting. It’s also one of the colors of our Caratdeul.”
“Okay, Dokyeom-ssi. Get out.”
“Yes, hyung. Thank you.”
Jihoon thought about how, if given the chance, you would ask Seokmin if he liked the paleness of 9am or the depth of 6pm? If he liked the gentleness of serenity or the vibrancy of cerulean? Or if he appreciated all that the shades encompassed before fading into greens and indigos?
But he wasn’t you.
You were the inspiration; the muse.
You were the reason to write.
He was just a storyteller.
──────────────────
“THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO IS HERE. THANK YOU TO THE PLEDIS STAFF, OUR MANAGERS, OUR CHOREOGRAPHERS, OUR MUSIC TEAM, OUR DANCERS, OUR STYLISTS, OUR CAMERA WORKERS, OUR FAMILIES, AND OUR SEVENTEEN MEMBERS! HAPPY SIX YEARS. HERE’S TO MORE!”
Everyone in the rented out restaurant cheered before drinking together. Even the sound barrier breaking screams of Soonyoung wasn’t enough to dampen Jihoon’s pride and spirit over how far they’ve come as a team. He looked around at his table, several members already seemingly drunk, and couldn’t help but smile to himself.
“Jihoon-ah, make an exception for tonight and drink!”
He shook his head fervently. “There’s going to be several of you who are going to regret drinking when we have our V LIVE tomorrow. You’re going to look super puffy.”
“I can already feel it,” Seungcheol laughed, his eyes slightly glazed. “But the food and the beer are too good to pass up.”
Speaking of, Jihoon made sure to snatch a piece of kalbi to put onto his plate before Mingyu could. The younger one gave him the stink-eye while Jihoon merely smirked and tilted his head back, challenging him. Mingyu decided to change his target and grab at Seungkwan’s piece, who promptly smacked his hand with a “Kim Mingyu!”
Laughter went around the table as they reflected on the last six years, the amount of embarrassing moments that were brought up were positively correlated with the amount of shots that were taken.
Jihoon grit his teeth as he tried not to fold in on himself, remembering how they threw him up as a cheer and nearly ended his life by creating a Jihoon-shaped hole in the ceiling. He was so much smaller back then, easier to launch without thinking.
They laughed about the incident where Mingyu was nearly beaten to death by Jihoon with a guitar, which Jihoon argued that he still believed he was in the right. They discussed one of their first performances as a team, where they performed NU’EST’s “Hello” and they all had helmet hair. They poked fun at Seungkwan for his revolutionary English skills when he said, “are you kimbap kidding?”
They’ve grown so much.
International interviews with BuzzFeed, Seventeen the magazine, and others. GOING SEVENTEEN as a show has grown alongside them, more than just showing Carats the behind-the-scenes, but has now turned to variety that garnered the new fanbase of Cubics, and has been an honest highlight to Jihoon’s career, where they can just go wild and laugh with each other, just as they always do.
They talked about how they used to sneak in food, how they used to help each other get ready for school, how they still have the same playful spirit as they did back then, but with more trust that has formed between them (although, less for Jeonghan since his cheating at games has only gotten worse).
Jihoon leaned back, full of food and laughter and gratitude.
He wouldn’t trade his life with his team for anything.
(Not even you.)
However, that didn’t mean Jihoon didn’t want you to be a part of his already complete life.
He was a selfish human being.
He hoped you would be one too.
──────────────────
May 26th.
Six years ago, “Adore U” came out, marking the beginning of the journey of a thirteen member boy idol group named SEVENTEEN.
Now, here he was, trying to not be bullied into drinking another shot of soju after already consuming several in a short period.
Their anniversary V LIVE ended not too long ago and they did not have a schedule the following day, so the team decided to celebrate on their own, playing Mafia and messing around. A few hours ago, Jihoon would’ve hardly been able to tolerate the noise level, but since his hearing has been compromised due to his heart beating so loudly in his ears from the alcohol, he was plenty fine.
He shooed away his members and retreated back into the corner of the room, pulling out his cellphone and ignoring Mingyu making stupid kissy faces and noises. Jihoon shot him a look of disgust, but Mingyu merely laughed it off and went to go bother his next victim, who seemed to be Boo Seungkwan, a prime choice indeed.
As soon as he refreshed his Instagram app, there you were (with a highlighted gradient ring around your profile picture, your head tilted back with a soft smile grazing your features as you took in the endless sky above you).
He clicked on the circle and saw you and your friends there, a dimmed photo but your collective smiles large and wide. He recognized Hyejin and Wheein easily (the former with a disgusted look apparent on her face and the latter with a deep dimple), as they were two friends who were a common occurrence on your feed.
And there you were.
alexa, play congratulations by post malone ft. quavo 🥳🎓 #PHinisheD
The corner of his lip quirked up at the cleverness in your caption.
Perhaps it was because of the alcohol in his system, he swiped up to send a message:
i figured u would be a day6 or eric nam kind of fan
His brain short-circuited.
Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck.
Who was he to think he could directly message you like this? Also, who the hell was he to figure anything about you? He hasn’t even spoken to you. Jesus Christ, what has he done?
Before he could stop himself though, his thumbs decided to speak his thoughts.
sorry that was dumb of me to assume
of course u would like post malone considering u could rap the entirety of eminems album
What the hell, dude.
You were going to freak out and call him a creep and then block him.
You’ve literally never done that.
He tried to calm his heart.
However, not even ten minutes later, he realized he couldn’t take that risk.
sorry that was stupid
ignore me
congrats y/n
He felt nearly every goosebump that crawled along his skin, creeping up to his neck, threatening to choke him out. He breathed in deeply through his nose, hoping no one bears witness to him.
“Yah, Jihoon-ah.”
His eyes trailed up to see Soonyoung with a look of concern, mixed with a twinge of panic and anger.
Ah, it would be him.
“What did she do?”
──────────────────
For people who didn’t know him, Kwon Soonyoung comes off as, well, not-so-bright.
But that wasn’t (entirely) true.
Kwon Soonyoung was aware.
He knew how to read a room, but oftentimes, he would purposely choose to simply do what he wanted anyway. Hardly did he ever prioritize another person’s comfort and complacency over his expression of his individuality. He knew what it took to be a performer, and he never denied himself the opportunity to be one.
So, him simply staring at his friend in silence with eyes that alone could have earned him his moniker of “Tiger’s Gaze,” was a major indicator that something was amiss.
Also, the fact that his friend was shrouded in near darkness, eyes rimmed with red, only a corner lamp illuminating his pale features.
“She went to America. She’s never fucking coming back.”
Soonyoung tried not to wince at his friend’s broken tone. Jihoon cursed like a sailor when they were trainees, but it was a habit that he slowly lost since he would often be reprimanded for his speech. He had to do the work to censor himself.
Well, the K-Pop industry was not a stranger to censorship, he mused.
“Wasn’t she already at an international school, though?”
“Yeah, but I just… I thought she would come back after graduating from that boarding school, you know? She wanted to go to Seoul National University, but. Fuck, dude. What if I’m the reason she stopped? What if she stopped following her dreams because of me? What if I–”
“She made her choice, Jihoon.”
“This is all my fault.”
“How?”
Soonyoung saw confusion flit across Jihoon’s face, but it quickly settled with a shake of his head. “It just is, alright?”
“Jihoon–”
“I’ll never be good enough for her. Fuck, I just thought if I tried, then maybe I could be, and– God, who do I think I am? Of course she’d never want someone like me–”
“Dude! Shut the fuck up, will you?”
Jihoon sat there in stunned silence.
“This might not even have anything to do with you. And if she really went to America because she’s trying to avoid you, then she’s a massive bitch–”
“Don’t fucking call her that–”
“I can do whatever the hell I want. Just like she’s doing whatever the hell she wants.” Soonyoung’s anger was slowly morphing into rage. Who was this person in front of him? He was so used to the sure, secure Lee Jihoon who would never truly get riled up.
But one mention of you and suddenly he would spiral.
Who the hell did you think you were?
Leaving this man who loved you so fucking wildly, to the point where he was just one moment away from begging on his knees for your return.
Soonyoung felt disgusted, but it was more of a ringing concern in his ears.
“Jihoon, you’re acting crazy right now. So what if she doesn’t come back to Korea? Are you gonna wait like a fucking sad dog out in the rain? Hoping that she’ll come pick you up again? You’re missing your own fucking life here.”
“I just–”
“Yeah, yeah, you love her. I get it. But… If she were to see you right now, do you think she would even want this kind of love? This obsessive, insecure kind?”
Jihoon’s face was now contorted in pain and Soonyoung tried so terribly hard to keep his face neutral. Soonyoung was plenty capable of being a soothing person, especially to his fellow members, but he was so riddled with frustration that he knew that he would come off as disingenuous if he even tried to pretend to be.
“Let her go. If she comes back, then she will. But don’t let her come back to someone who is incapable of even picking himself off of the floor.”
“...Okay.”
Kwon Soonyoung was aware.
Aware of how much Lee Jihoon was in love with you.
Painfully so.
──────────────────
“I just–”
“You just what?” Soonyoung’s eyes bore into his friend’s face.
Jihoon recoiled at his tone. “I replied to her Instagram story and it was some dumb comment, but what if she thinks I’m being too much and she backs off and–?”
“Jihoon-ah.”
“...Soonyoung-ah.”
“She’s human, right?”
Jihoon raised an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, no shit.”
“Then why are you acting like she’s this untouchable goddess? Who cares if she thinks you’re being too much? You’re putting her on a pedestal she probably doesn’t even want, dude.”
──────────────────
“Why’d you reject the guy?”
You glanced up at her best friend. “What’re you talking about?”
Jihoon cocked his head to the side. Was it already so quickly forgotten by you? It happened at lunch and it was kind of rowdy. Poor dude. “The guy who asked you out to the dance. You said you thought he was cute before and that he was good at tutoring math.”
“Yeah, I might know him, but he doesn’t know me.”
Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “I thought you guys tutored together.”
You clicked your tongue. “Yeah, we do, but. He doesn’t know me. I know him because I ask him questions. I ask him about himself. But he never once asked me a question about me. If he did, he would know that I hate public gestures. He would know that I don’t like receiving flowers. He didn’t even care to ask any of my friends about what I liked. The main reason as to why he asked me to go to the dance is probably because I made him feel good about himself. I might know him, but he doesn’t know me, and that’s one of the most annoying things.”
“What, that people don’t know you?”
“No. That people assume they know me.”
Jihoon paused for a moment.
“People think that I’m this super wholesome good kid who gets perfect grades.”
“Well, one of those things is true.”
You cracked a smile at that. “Yeah, well. The more people assume I’m on a different level from them, the lonelier it is. I just… I don’t want to be lonely, Jihoon.”
“It’s alright. I’ll make sure you aren’t.”
It was chilling, how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, as if you knew a secret he didn’t, as if you already prophesied a future that rendered his words empty. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lee Jihoon.”
──────────────────
Jihoon nearly bit his tongue.
Ever since he no longer had the security of having you be by his side, he became exactly like one of them, forcing assumptions onto you.
You were out of sight and he was out of his mind.
He told you that you could always be yourself around him, and here he was, creating a caricature of you in his head that he knew didn’t exist. To push forth the narrative he wrote. One born of insecurity. “...I don’t understand how you’ve been so right lately?”
“I really do wish I had my phone around to record you when you say that,” Soonyoung said off-handedly. “So, you’re not going to try to unsend those messages?”
“You can unsend messages?”
“Uh–”
Jihoon immediately unlocked his phone to go to his messages. There, he saw your chat. He long-pressed the message without much thought and his thumb hovered over it.
But he hesitated.
“...Just watching from afar isn’t enough for you anymore, is it?”
Jihoon stared up at his friend, who had a look of (almost) pity etched across his features. Jihoon swallowed the lump in his throat. “...No. I don’t think it is.”
“Well, if she rejects you in any kind of way, I can comfort you.”
“No thanks.”
“Yeah, thought you’d say that.”
──────────────────
Almost exactly sixty minutes later, Jihoon witnessed a miracle.
“...She replied.”
Seungkwan glanced up at Jihoon. “Who?”
Jihoon turned his screen to his younger member, who leaned forward to read his screen. Only to audibly gasp and cover his mouth with his hands. “You messaged her?!”
“Yeah, like an hour ago. Keep up.”
“Hyung, you didn’t tell me–”
“Ah, Boo Seungkwan.”
The corner of Seungkwan’s mouth twitched and Jihoon merely smirked. He turned his attention back to your messages, smiling fondly at your usage of 🥳 after greeting him a happy anniversary.
Oh shit, wait. You knew SEVENTEEN?
And he portrayed that sentiment exactly when messaging you.
(With some typing errors.)
(He may or may not have taken one, two, several shots once the anxiety settled back into him.)
(His alcohol tolerance was nonexistent.)
The messages were now rapid-fire. He found out that you were a Carat and that you favored Yoon Jeonghan.
He snorted at that, of course you would.
A lightbulb lit up over his head. Ah. He could do something for you.
He jumped up from his seat on the couch, away from Seungkwan who was watching over his shoulder the entire time who chose to remain silent because he knew he would be kicked out if he said anything compromising. “Jeonghan-hyung.”
“Woozi Woozi~?”
“Can you do something for me?”
Jeonghan stared at him, frozen. Then after a moment to process what exactly Jihoon said, the older one crossed his arms over his chest, a scandalized look in his wide eyes. “Depends on what you’re asking for.”
“YAH.”
“Lee Jihoon, don’t yell at someone you’re trying to ask a favor from. You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”
Jihoon held his tongue, but his expression must have given it away because Jeonghan laughed and said that he would rather not die, and asked Jihoon to continue with what he was saying. “Y/N just graduated and she basically said that you’re her favorite SEVENTEEN member–”
“WOW! I like her already.”
“Hyung.”
“Okay, what do you want me to do for both my cute fan and my even cuter dongsaeng?”
“Just a video to congratulate her.”
“My videos are rare, it’s not easy to get something like this, you know.”
“Hyung, please.”
Jeonghan cackled, but quickly acquiesced. “Alright, alright.”
Soon enough, he found himself in a rhythm speaking to you. It was so easy, there was no residual awkwardness (on his end, at least) and it felt so natural. The banter was still there and so were your emoticons, escalating from the “:)” of your childhood to the iPhone emojis. You seemed so close, within reach, attainable.
That felt dangerous.
He could feel it. He could feel that desire to spill out everything he could. He spent years coming up with the words he wished he could’ve told you, some of them now award-winning songs, and it feels almost euphoric to know that he could tell you it all.
But.
He wasn’t sure, still. How receptive you would be. Would you run away like you did in the past whenever things became too much, too overwhelming? He always reminded you that you could never be that, but he wasn’t sure whether he was of the same capacity.
He wants you in his life. There is no doubt about that, especially not now.
But what if you leave again?
He cannot mess this up. He can’t.
So, he kept things light between you, jokes and jabs.
But that didn’t stop him from pushing for more, disguised in a (not-so) innocent attempt at ensuring that he would be able to have open contact with you in the future.
And that’s all he needed. A future with you in it.
That wasn’t too much to ask for, right?
──────────────────
Yes. Yes, it was.
After a few days of no response from your end on KakaoTalk, your Shikamaru profile picture almost mocking him with his permanent deadpan look, the answer was resounding.
But Jihoon’s entire identity was based on his stubbornness.
So, he decided to take a chance and message you on Instagram.
Only to retract immediately saying you didn’t have to reply.
Stupid.
Thankfully, though, you responded within 30 minutes, admitting that @narutofanfreak123 was not exactly a username you wanted to share with anyone above the age of twelve. You both quickly resolved the miscommunication (wow, Jihoon thought, imagine if we had this before).
He chuckled at your choice of KKT username, @MadameFirefly, oddly touched that his nickname for you still held enough weight to be your moniker for a messaging app.
He did his best to casually ask what you were planning on doing in the future (not like he wanted to see if he could somehow fit into it, or whatever).
Jihoon was left staring at his phone screen, the weight of his phone now burdened by the weight of your choices. Seoul? Or New York City?
──────────────────
“You didn’t have to miss the dance just because I got a B on an exam, you know.”
“Your parents are insane for grounding you to the library for a B on an exam, you know? And for a hagwon that’s way above our grade level.”
You shook your head, not willing to admit out loud that you agreed. “What I mean is that you don’t have to keep me company while I study when you could go off and meet cute girls and sweep them off their feet.”
“Why would I do that when I can watch you and your snot-nosed face trying to do college level calculus?”
“It’s all so that I can get into Seoul National.”
“Firefly, you could get into any school, even outside Korea.”
“Maybe I’ll do just that,” you laughed. “Finally get out of here.”
“Just let me know and I’ll stow myself into your suitcase.”
“Oh please. You’ll probably be the one traveling internationally doing whatever you do. A world-renowned musician.”
“Alright, you can be in my suitcase instead then.”
“Okay, can you leave breathing holes for me?”
“No, get better lung capacity.”
You clicked your tongue at him and he laughed. “Seriously, though, Jihoonie. You could be spending your teen years the way the movies do it. You could be ‘swearing you’re infinite’ while a slow-mo cam focuses on you as you dance, surrounded by beautiful people definitely too old to be cast as teenagers.”
“No thanks.”
You put your forehead down onto the table. “Please. Do it for me. Get a girlfriend because I can’t.”
“You know, you’re probably why I can’t get a girlfriend.”
No. You definitely were.
You shot him an annoyed look. “You could easily go and find someone who’d be smitten with you. But instead you’re about to watch me get a nosebleed over how hard I’m working my brain here.”
“Maybe I’m a sadist and want to watch that happen.”
You threw your eraser at him, but easily missed, the rubber object bouncing off of the table and onto the carpeted floor. You whined at the idea of having to leave your seat and Jihoon just rolled his eyes and picked it up for you.
Sure, he could be dancing with his friends, with cute girls, with whoever. He could be surrounded by endless snacks and overly sweet punch, the dance no doubt smelling like youth and pride and reckless decisions. He would see that there are plenty of people in his life outside of you.
But, no.
If he did, you would be left here, in this almost deserted library on a Friday, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into what your parents have convinced you matters more than your health.
You gave him a large grin as he passed you your eraser before you went back to focusing on your work.
Yeah, he’d much rather see this instead.
──────────────────
Later that evening, he found himself again in his recording studio.
Our past that didn’t line up,
If I could go back in time,
Rather than roughly, but warmly,
Would I be able to let you go?
He stared at the lyrics he wrote, feeling discontent. He wanted to be the kind of person who didn’t feel any kind of residual emotions towards you. Who would be able to meet you where you were and wish you well, no matter where you decided to go.
One of his biggest regrets was storming out of your childhood home the way that he did. He could’ve had answers but instead he was left with hostile emotions and questions.
He could only hope he would’ve done something different.
But now that he is faced with letting you go, he’s not sure how easily he would yield.
He took a moment to bury his face in his hands and tried to think about this from your perspective (something he had to practice while living with twelve other boys). He breathed in deeply and thought about the you that you are now, about how the person he fell in love with could easily be gone, and you were nothing but a shadow of what remained.
But that didn’t feel right either. It seems as though the person that you’ve grown into, that you’ve flourished into, is someone he would’ve wanted to get to know regardless of whether you had history or not.
Perhaps that is because of the artifice of social media, or perhaps it’s because you carry an air of authenticity with you that has now been given the opportunity to bloom instead of stifled in the environment you were raised in. Whether or not you were mere remnants of his past, it does not mean that the person you are now is any less lovely.
He groaned loudly.
Emotional labor is hard.
How is this something you enjoy doing?
──────────────────
“You really want to become a social worker, huh?”
You shrugged. “I mean, yeah. It feels like the best use of my skills. I like being able to potentially help people like me and well, there are a lot of people like me, you know. I don’t know whether I want to become a private practice therapist, but that seems like a solid option for now until I know more about what else is out there in the field.”
He would disagree, but he decided not to. “I just can’t deal with all of those emotions.”
You gave him a raised eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most sensitive people that I know.”
Jihoon felt ruffled by that. “What? What are you talking about?”
You quickly put your hands up in mock defense. “I’m not saying that being sensitive is a bad thing. I’m saying that there’s no way you would be my friend if you couldn’t handle emotions. I have way too many of them, I’m not that blind to that. Also, I’ve read your poetry and heard your music and that’s some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. Like, even the way you hold your clarinet is emotional.”
“I think that’s you projecting yourself onto me.”
“Say what you want, Jihoon. You’re a sensitive soul, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
“Yeah, well, sensitivity isn’t what gets you awards, you know. Skill does.”
You huffed in response. “Yeah, well, once you build up the second, the first is what will create a legacy that will be one to remember for ages to come. I’m speaking it into existence now. And I lay claim to the title of being your first fan. I will support you the entire way, no matter what you do. Music, baseball, comedy. Whatever!”
Jihoon snorted. He wouldn’t dare become a comedian, but it made him feel good that you thought that was a viable prospect for him. “Whatever industry I’m in, I’ll probably have to protect you from all of the bad people. You’re too soft. Even just last week, I mean…”
“What? You mean, when Nahyun made fun of me during my presentation in front of everyone?”
Irritation washed over Jihoon.
The self-proclaimed It Girl decided to try and belittle you while in the middle of your presentation, as you were explaining the measurements that you used in your findings, she asked whether you had ‘measured’ your weight recently because ‘you really ought to’.
He never wanted to get into a fight more than then, especially when your other classmates laughed along. It was a subpar, typical, low-class mean girl line, but it filled him with rage.
You were completely unphased by it, continuing on with your presentation, not even choosing to spare a glance in her direction.
Luckily, the teacher, not being a prick himself, called out Nahyun and pulled her aside after class to apologize to you. (Jihoon would’ve preferred a public execution apology.)
Jihoon stood just a few feet away as you accepted her half-assed effort. You paused for a moment and muttered something to her, something that only she could hear. Nahyun merely pursed her lips afterwards before walking away. Irritation rushed through him again.
“Seriously, though. You’re too soft, firefly.”
“Hm. I don’t think so.”
“No?”
“No. I just think everyone else is too hard on themselves. And each other.”
“...You’re gonna be a great therapist.”
“Thanks. Hire me.”
──────────────────
Jihoon had his own fair share of meetings with professional counselors (especially in the midst of living such a hectic life as an idol), but he was worried whether you would be as cut and dry as they were, whittled down by years of academia. It seemed almost like they were reading out of a textbook, using vocabulary words like ‘empathy’ and ‘self-care,’ so he never saw it fit to return if it wasn’t necessary.
However, the places you’ve poured your time into left only glowing reviews for your passion and compassion for the field that you were in.
Jihoon was roused from his thoughts at his phone ringing on his desk. He looked at the Caller ID and saw a name he has been in and out of contact with for over a decade, it was your cousin. He picked it up. “Yo, hyung. What’s up?”
“Are you busy right now, Jihoon?”
“No. It’s a slower day today. Do you need something?”
“Yeah, just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in Seoul in a few weeks. Your noona and I are planning on celebrating saying goodbye to our single days by drinking way too much within the span of 12 or so hours. I wanted to see if you were down to join.”
“I probably won’t drink, but if it’s for you, hyung, I’ll go.”
“Nice. And you can feel free to leave after the dinner, we’ll just be at an apartment we’re renting out in Gangnam, since I don’t trust those fools to walk around the streets of Hongdae.”
“I’ll probably do that, I don't want to accidentally be caught by Dispatch.”
“Right, right. We wouldn’t want to sully the name of the best producer in all of K-Pop.”
“That’s a title I don’t think I’ll ever get.”
Your cousin laughed. “You never know, you might get that award sooner than you think, kiddo. Alright, I’ll keep you updated on our schedule. But uh…”
Jihoon knew his hyung well. He was about to bring you up again. “What about her?”
“I just wanted to ask whether you’d be interested in a meet-up with her. Not that we’ve asked her or anything, but I know we’ll probably meet up with her at some point, and I know it’ll feel weird if we’re not all together, you know? The four of us.”
“Yeah… I want to say that I’m courteous enough to wait for her response, but I just know that I’m willing to meet with her, if anything. Even just one last time.”
“That… sounds kinda sad, but. I guess I’ll take it. If you’re down, we could even make it a surprise on her end.”
He imagined your deer in headlights look but couldn’t think further than that. “Sounds like we’d really be putting her on the spot, if that was the case.”
“Hey, she’s rarely played it safe. Same with you. Might as well keep the flow going. And if anything, I’ll take the brunt of it all. She can’t stay mad at me for too long.”
“We both know that’s literally not true.”
“Okay, fine. Your noona can take the blame.”
“Wow, very excited to see how this marriage will go.”
His hyung laughed. “Amazingly, I’m sure.”
A thought occurred to Jihoon and he realized it was strange that he was mentioning it as an afterthought, as if it was something to be expected, something natural and normal. “Oh, hyung. By the way, I’m talking to Y/N again.”
Jihoon heard the undeniable ‘beep beep beep’ of being hung up and he stared confused at his phone screen until he saw another phone call from your cousin. He picked up with a, “Hello?”
Your cousin sounded much more flustered than he did just seconds ago. “Sorry. I hung up because I dropped my phone by accident. Say that again. You’re what?”
“I’m talking to her again. Kind of. I guess. Like, Instagram DMing went to KakaoTalk.”
“Jesus Christ, you slid into her DMs?”
“Can you not say it like that?”
“Can you say that that didn’t happen?”
Jihoon relayed the entire experience to him, only now realizing he didn’t even share all of the details with his members because it would’ve been too much teasing fodder from them. But your cousin, his hyung, was the kind of fellow that wouldn’t do that, even given the opportunity.
──────────────────
“Hyung,” Jihoon started one day, across from said person in a local Busan restaurant. “I don’t get how you’re single.”
“Why, you wanna date me?”
Jihoon’s eye twitched and your cousin laughed. Jihoon bit on his straw, the family style meal between the two young men long since devoured. “People compare us, you know.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “What’s there to compare?”
“I don’t know. So many people around us know how cool you are. You’re good at sports, you’re smart, you have a lot of friends, you’re handsome. Everyone always says you’re one of the best listeners they’ve ever met.”
“The trick is to not pay attention sometimes and just nod.”
“I’m gonna tell Y/N you said that.”
“I’m sure she knows,” he laughed. “Well, I'm honored that you think all of those things, but those are all traits you have too. You do realize that, right?”
Jihoon grunted. “Not… really.”
“Well, just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean others don’t. My cousin definitely does. She’s a good kid and has a good heart. Same with you. If you ever decide to do anything about those feelings of yours, just know that I approve.”
Jihoon nearly choked on his drink. “Wh–?”
“Oh, it was a secret?”
“Hyung!”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t say anything to her, don’t worry. And if you ask me, I’d say that you’re the only one on this planet that even has a chance. Well, except that girl from the cake shop.”
Jihoon sneered.
Fucking Woo Soyeon.
With her shiny hair and long eyelashes and doe eyes and tanned skin from her beach volleyball playing.
Giving out discounts to you like nobody’s business. Calling you cute and flirting nonstop while twirling a lock of her hair. Saying you’re her favorite customer. He could swear Woo Soyeon would throw a knowing smirk at him every time you stuttered a little too long when saying thank you.
That damned girl behind the counter, the one whose beauty and voice (“It’s just so velvety, you know? Like the chocolate cherry cakes.”) he knew you were smitten by.
She was even taller than him, especially in her heels.
At the ripe age of 15, Jihoon understood what jealousy was.
Because of fucking Woo Soyeon.
“Watch out, Jihoon. I can hear your thoughts all the way from over here.”
“Sorry.”
Your cousin laughed. “Trust me, you mean a lot more to her than cake counter girl. My cousin wanted all of us to go see the Christmas lights in the city together. You don’t see her inviting that cake counter girl, do you?”
Jihoon felt a weird sense of pride well up in his chest. Then immediately deflated. It felt stupid to feel like he won against a person who’s just trying to sell cakes to a loyal customer. “Hyung, how do you do it? You’d never let yourself get angry or jealous over stuff like this.”
The older of the two cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
“You wouldn’t get jealous over a cake counter girl.”
“Says who? I get jealous. It’s normal, you know. Jealousy isn’t inherently a bad thing. It’s just what you do with it, right? Like, just because you’re jealous of cake counter girl, does that mean you stop Y/N from going to that shop?”
“What? Why would I do that? She loves that shop.”
“Exactly. Emotional maturity doesn’t mean you stop yourself from feeling the emotion, it just means you learn how to handle it as it comes. And once you practice it enough, it becomes easier and easier.”
“You make it sound easy, but it’s not.”
“Hey, I’m not anything big and special myself.”
Jihoon shook his head. “Hyung, you’re a superhuman.”
“No, I’m just human and letting myself be that,” he corrected. “Trust me, there’s plenty of good people out there. A lot of them just aren’t making the decision to do so. It’s easier to be cruel, but. I want to prove that you can be kind and still be a man. We get to define what that means. If I decided to be cruel, to become what society says is ‘a man,’ then I have no doubt Y/N would lose trust in me, and probably, all men.”
Jihoon noticed that his hyung stared at him for a second.
“Actually, maybe not all men.”
Jihoon felt embarrassed, but also honored, at the implication. “Thanks, hyung. You know, for not making fun of me. And for admitting that you also feel those kinds of things.”
“Absolutely, I’m glad I could help.”
“I’m seriously still surprised that you’re single.”
“Yeah, well. That might not always be the case if I can figure out what to do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well… you know your noona?”
──────────────────
Jihoon couldn’t help but shake his head at the way the events unfolded. Your cousin told him about his feelings for his future wife, but it still took a few years for anything to come out of that. He wondered whether being childhood friends had anything to do with it, as if the longer and deeper the bond, the riskier the chasm was to try to jump across.
However, your cousin still managed to do it.
“How did you do it, hyung?”
“Hm? What’s up?”
“Just… how did you manage to tell noona how you felt?”
The older man laughed. “You really think that it was me who confessed? No, no. It was her. I think she was tired of the back and forth that was happening between us. I mean, so was I, but I was a coward, but thankfully, she wasn’t. Now because of her saying that she loved me first, I get to be the one who says it last. Then we start again. It’s a dialogue, you see. It doesn’t matter who starts the line, as long as it continues.”
“Oh…”
“Am I proud that I was a coward? No. I sometimes wish it was me who said it first so she wouldn’t have any room for doubt. But we can’t go back and change the past, only commit to a better future. All of this to say, though, Jihoon, it’s been long enough of not saying anything between the two of you. I don’t think you want to wait any longer.”
“…yeah. I agree.”
That night, hours after preparing for the album, Jihoon’s fingers tapped away on his Notes app.
This waiting, it’s not easy to endure.
It was past 4am now.
But he didn’t want to wait any longer.
So, he switched apps and instead of a blank Note, he began typing into a message box.
i know its late. rehearsal never ends until 3am and i know that when u get texts you wake up even if ur phone is on silent bc the vibration wakes u up so im trying to type this all in one message so that it doesnt wake u up (hopefully) but i didnt want it to seem like i left u on read because i was upset or something. but i didnt want to message until i had the time to have a full conversation but i dont think thats happening any time soon anyway. when you see this i hope it makes sense im not sure if i am
A response from you was the last thing he expected, but you always managed to surprise him.
The first time he heard your voice directly in his ears, he thought he was going to spontaneously combust. But he tried to keep his voice level as he asked you about where you were leaning towards for your career.
The relief that rushed through him.
The hope that ignited in him.
That was the spark needed for him to explode.
And so he did, into words.
“I’m proud of you, you know?”
He heard your throaty stutter, one that only came out whenever you were really caught off guard. “Uh—what?”
“You got a whole ass PhD. From the best university in Korea,” Jihoon still couldn’t believe the two of you went to the same school. “You got offered a job at a super big school in America. One that’s super big in the field that you studied. You graduated from an even school for undergrad, a school that even I know the name of. And just… I know that people expect you to achieve because you’ve always been a genius, always so brilliant, but. You also work really hard. So I’m proud of you.”
He could barely hear your, “It’s not that big of a deal—” over the pounding in his ears.
“But it is, firefly.”
And suddenly he was brought back to all the years before. Where he spent more years in love with you than not. How that nickname encapsulated exactly as he saw you: inspiration, guidance, hope.
“I mean, I just—”
Your flustered response only encouraged him to continue. “You don’t have to believe me. But that won’t stop me from feeling it.”
“Jihoon, I—”
He didn’t realize just how much he’s missed hearing you say his name. But more than that, “I’ve missed you.”
There was a pause on your end, but he was done with his.
“I’ve missed you a stupid amount. Like us stealing your dad’s car to drive to McDonald’s at 3am and then running a red light on the way there. And then somehow almost hitting an entire flock of seagulls—” which he would never admit to being the reason he never wants to get behind the wheel again. “And then going to some random, deserted parking lot. And then realizing we didn’t know the way home, so we drove aimlessly, for, like, 45 minutes. And then panicking when we kept seeing the gas needle going down. That kind of stupid.”
He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was naming a memory that you no doubt remember as well, it was near traumatizing. But there was something in him that didn’t want you to forget. He didn’t want himself to forget. Because…
If I forget someday, as if nothing is wrong,
Our future will be empty and sad.
It’s not that I want to forget you.
Ah, he made a mental note to switch to his Notes app later.
“I… I missed you too.”
Jihoon couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his cheeks, almost to the point of straining them. It was already so late and he still had enough function in his brain to know he ought to cut this short now. Otherwise, he’d be on the phone with you for an ungodly amount of time. “I have to sleep now, but. I just. I couldn’t not tell you. That’s all.”
“Okay.” Your voice sounded so small, he had to press his phone closer to his ear to ensure he didn’t miss anything.
“Get some sleep, firefly. Or should I call you, Dr. Firefly now?”
“That sounds like a cartoon villain.”
He laughed hard at that. You would say that. “Alright, we’ll just go with firefly then.”
‘We’ felt good on his tongue.
“Night, night, Jihoonie.”
“Sleep well, firefly.”
He told you he needed to sleep, but with the way that he was running on sheer endorphins from finally releasing some of that pressure inside of him, sleep was the furthest thing on his mind. Instead, he imagined you getting some well-deserved rest, wondering what kind of dreams you hoped to have.
You were falling asleep, he was falling in love.
──────────────────
In less than 24 hours, he was going to see you in person for the first time in years, no more needing to find YouTube videos or podcasts or news articles or social media posts.
Tomorrow, he’ll be face to face with you.
And the dorm was in chaos.
“He should wear the white button down!”
“No, he should wear something funky, with cool patterns!”
“What? Absolutely not, hyung! Jihoon-hyung looks best in plain clothing, his skin shines that way!”
“Well, he’s been avoiding his skincare, so that might not be the best route to go down.”
“Hoon is handsome no matter what!”
Jihoon was exhausted. Why were his members more invested in this than he was?
Even Soonyoung was getting giddy. And that was a problem. When it came to you, Soonyoung was his voice of reason, but after he relayed the phone call he had with you, Soonyoung was easily won over by your: ‘I missed you too.’
“I knew it!” The tiger had exclaimed.
(Jihoon wasn’t sure whether he did.)
Junhui was thriving off of the chaos and was now leaping across the wooden floor, with Jeonghan quickly on his tail, trying to coerce him into stopping and failing miserably. Seokmin was still trying to convince Seungkwan that a funky pattern was like how, in nature, peacocks showed off to their mates—“he’s not a bird, hyung!”—while Soonyoung kept interjecting saying that Jihoon was attractive no matter what so he could just wear a plastic bag (which earned him a gentle slap by Seokmin). Mingyu disappeared for a moment after Wonwoo’s off-handed comment about Jihoon’s skin, only to return with his skincare products that Jihoon knew were going to be slapped on him soon enough. Seungcheol kept repeating in an exasperated tone, “Stop fighting, we already got a noise complaint this week,” while Jisoo and Minghao were probably off in Jihoon’s closet trying to establish an outfit for him without his consent. Hansol was on his phone, noise-canceling earphones on, completely uninvolved in what was going on. Chan was only goading on whoever was the loudest in the moment (currently, Junhui).
Jihoon piped up. “Do I get an opinion on this?”
In near perfect synchronization (including the boys in his room), everyone responded with a, “No!”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
God, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
[continue reading here]
#lee jihoon x reader#woozi x reader#seventeen fanfiction#svt fanfiction#seventeen#svt#세븐틴#lee jihoon#woozi#svt fic#seventeen fic#woozi fic#mine#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen fluff#seventeen x reader#seventeen drabbles#svt fluff#seventeen angst#svt x reader#Spotify#woozi x you#lee jihoon x you
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It’s this time of the year again, folks. Time to wrap up the art Ive made in the last 12 months in another Year in Review! I’ve noticed that this is my fifth Year in Review in a row, so I’ll be making an extra post looking back on the progress in those last 5 years!
I've got a lot to say about this year, but purely art wise, I've gone all when it comes to comics, damn! I've kinda found a format that is messy, and therefore more time efficient, yet still looks good. I even made 2 animatics and lotsa shorts/reels! All that on top of opening coms twice, and, oh yeah, MAKING A WHOLE ASS 4MIN ANIMATION ON MY OWN.
How is my hand still alive.
2023 has been….interesting, to say the least. The first half year I was working on my thesis project, aka making an animated short all on my own (in the art department), which makes it honestly surprising how much I managed to churn out between animating. Trigun rly did have me in a choke hold.
Summer was a bit more spotty, esp. with me not being able to draw anything during August as I was writing my thesis (and doing commissions). And towards the end of the year, Kingdom Hearts tried to save me, but alas, Genshin Impact has finally sunk its teeth into me and dragged me to the bottom of the rabbit hole. It all started with me watching a story summary and lore videos while I was sick after my thesis and I was too intrigued to not dig deeper and well, first I fell in love with Kaeya and then the ships started dropping in left and right.
I’m not gonna lie, the last few months have been weird. I finished my masters in October, and have been on job hunt since, sadly without success so far. I’m existing in this weird limbo of still not grasping I’m not a student anymore after 18 years in education, not really being able to accept I’m an adult, yet desperately trying to find something so I can make a routine, cos rn Im too scared to build a rhythm as I know I’ll have a so much harder time readjusting again. It’s left me in a weird emotional state, where most of the time I feel fine, but when it counts, there’s just, nothing. No joy at getting my diploma, no anticipation to finally go to a convention again, neither any sadness hearing my grandfather died. It frustrates me that it extends to my art as well, there’s excitement over ideas and concepts, but no motivation to pick up the pencil, which makes me either not finish art at all or making so many shortcuts and just ending up with sth not satisfactory to me since it’s not the idea I sought after.
Tho, not everything is doom and gloom. I DID finish a whole ass short animation and got my masters degree, that IS sth to be proud of. Also, while Im struggling at drawing, I’ve also kinda started integrating my shortcuts into my style and some stuff I’ve thrown together actually turns out real good nowadays. Also, and this might be a bit of a weird one, I’m so fucking happy to know I can still enjoy gay ships. I’ve been a bit uncertain over the last few years because when I was around 16-18, I had a real big yaoi phase, which mostly came from the fact so much stuff came out that tickled my brain in the right way (Free, Haikyuu, etc.). But over the years, my enthusiasm died down, and I even started to resent some ships because it’s all some fandoms produced. I often found myself liking a hetero ship more than the popular gay ship, which really made me not wanna stick around because I did not care for most fanart and you can only go through a tag with art you don’t care about so long before you lose interest. I think in retrospect that it rly had nothing to do with the ships being gay ships but rather cos the fans just shoved it in your face when you didn’t care (and shipping culture nowadays also can get real scary). But I’m so happy to see I can still get obsessed with a ship and it’s all thanks to Haikaveh/Kavetham. It really just needed the right flavour for me to dig in again. And oh my god, I FINALLY like a ship with a SHIT TON of art and fanfictions, no more scrounging the crumbs from the bottom of the barrel.
Anyways, enough lamenting. Here’s to hoping I can bite my tongue and get shit started properly in 2024, and that my brainrots may make me obsessed enough to churn out an obscene amount of fanart again.
#art year in review#anime-grimmy#fanart#sketch#comic#animatic#undertale#trigun#legend of zelda#monster hunter#kingdom hearts#undead unluck#genshin impact
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@lightandfellowship re: your tags on this post (just to kind of bring this out to a different post).
I was thinking about making a separate post to expand on those tags anyway because they were a little off topic to the op, but I was like, you know, it's that Xehanort was worse to the Dandelions than Luxu was, yes. But Luxu was supposed to be that callous to the Dandelions in the first place. He was supposed to think of them as tools and to just let whatever fucked up thing was supposed to happen to them just happen. And with anyone else he can, but he can't put his personal feelings aside enough to 'do what needs to be done' for this set of people alone.
But Xehanort can.
And I think that's really interesting when looking at Xehanort as the 'replacement Luxu.' Xehanort who, as observed by another post I don't have immediately to hand, speaks with MoM twice. Xehanort who is chosen by MoM and manipulated into doing his bidding the same way Luxu was, given the same coat and made the heir to Luxu's keyblade, Xehanort who actually is allowed to take action to bring the Keyblade War about and revive the Lost Masters while Luxu is only allowed to watch.
Actually I started this post with a different thesis ('Xehanort is able to put his personal feelings aside and be ruthless even where Luxu fails to follow his role') but writing that paragraph I've changed my mind actually. Because Luxu has basically no agency in this situation, whereas Xehanort does.
Like, both of them are assigned roles by their mentors but Xehanort isn't really given a road map about how to fulfill his role. He's being manipulated, sure, but he's also making choices himself all along. They're choices that are fucked up but he understands they're fucked up and is choosing them anyway because he strongly feels it's necessary for the greater good.
Luxu has been told these things are necessary for the greater good. He's been told what to do. He's been told to just watch and that he can never take action. He doesn't even have the illusion of agency that Xehanort, who is actively choosing to lean into his feeling that destiny is inevitable, does. What is that like, to live hundreds of years never having any sense of agency? For Luxu, helping the Dandelions is fucking up. It's doing what he knows he's not supposed to, what he's been told is against the Plan, but he has no agency and this is his little way of rebelling, even if this is, to us, the 'right' thing to do. There's a question of what actually is 'right' and 'wrong' here and whether Xehanort is a 'better Luxu' than Luxu for choosing to simply follow The Plan.
Also I'm rambling here but putting things together as I go, sorry to also expand on other tags on posts I reblogged from you lol, but like. Luxu also very clearly has Lucifer stuff going on, the same way Xehanort does, down to the name. Xehanort takes on the Satan imagery over time - but it was Luxu's first. And Luxu is the one who actually tried to rebel against his Creator by deviating from his role (only to watch) and intervening with the Union leaders.
The thing about angels is they are not, in Catholic traditions (I can't speak to other denominations) is that they are not supposed to have free will. Free will is for humans; angels only follow The Plan, with no agency or say in the matter. They're messengers and avatars created only to execute the will of God. The Foretellers seem to play this role, if you will, in relation to Master of Masters. He hands them roles to execute the plan he's already designed. If we're, in this analogy, considering Master of Masters to be in the role of 'god', both Ava and Luxu are ultimately fallen angels - they both question the will of their creator, both rebel - but Luxu rebelling was built into the plan. He is Lucifer, and Lucifer rebels, and so he was still allowed to come back to the fold at the end of kh3, having fulfilled his duty even considering his rebellion. He still had no agency in the end, even having done what he thought was exercising it by saving the Union leaders.
Anyway I'm just rambling on at this point and don't really have a conclusion to this but the whole interplay between Luxu and Xehanort, agency and servitude, angels and devils, light and dark, feels really compelling to me.
#not to be getting theological on main here either but also to do that#I have more than a decade of intense religious education and even though i no longer do organized religion like#it's a topic that kh seems to have a lot of themes kh engages with#Luxu#Xehanort
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A Case of the Exam Season Blues
A New Installment to the Once In A Blue Moon Anthology
Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader
Description: You've never realized how much you relied on Jake to keep you on track without running yourself into the ground before this moment. But he's in New York, working on a high profile case for his firm. You're still in San Diego, working yourself to the bone to graduate. School is hard. Correction, it is really fucking hard. What can you do when your worries that Jake will miss your graduation couple with your stressing over your degree?
Disclaimer: Female Reader, Slight BDSM, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship turned full relationship. This is also very clearly an AU! In this universe, Jake is a high flying, jet-setting lawyer, a very successful one.
This is a story completely full of adult elements. It is for adults 18+ only. Minors Do Not Interact.
Word Count: 5035
A/N: Here we go again! Once again, my lovely houseplant @desert-fern crawled into my asks and asked me to write her a oneshot where Baby Blue graduates and where Jake is cheering her on in the audience. Can I just say that the reward and dom/sub elements in the story were not in my plan?
Chronologically, this story is between the events of Mm, Daddy Daddy and Money, Money, Money.
AO3: Cross-posted here!
Wattpad: Cross-posted here!
My Masterlist
You hate exam season. You hate it with as much passion as your exhausted, wrung-out soul can muster. You thought exams were challenging when you were an undergraduate. The all-nighters, caffeine-fueled paper writing sessions, studying and writing until the words swam before your eyes and your eyes were gritty from lack of sleep seemed like torture then. If only you could know that there would come a time when you would long for those days again. Because doing the same while preparing to defend your Master’s thesis? It feels like a torture worse than death itself. You still have the exams and the papers, but now, at the end of it all, rather like the icing on top of the saddest cake you’ve ever seen, you have an interview with the thesis review board to approve your Master’s degree.
You feel like you’re at the end of your wits. Your sanity is fraying faster than the cheapest rope, disintegrating into a mess of strings that seem to snarl your every thought and movement. It doesn’t help that you’re all alone in the big penthouse apartment, either. Jake’s working on an important case in New York, so he’s been out of the state, in the City that Never Sleeps, for the past month and a half. You miss him like you’ve never missed anyone before. It feels like a part of your very psyche is missing. The scent of his cologne, the bitter almond and saffron with undertones of jasmine and cedar you've come to love so much, still spills through the air. It permeates the shirts hanging in the closet, organized by color and purpose. It’s on the pillows of the big bed you starfish on when your eyes are too heavy to keep open, and you have to steal a half-hour nap here and there to keep yourself functioning. But it’s not the same as having Jake home with you.
He’d hate what you’re doing to yourself. He’d hate that you study for hours, sometimes days at a time, without pause, forgetting to sleep, eat, or complete anything necessary for basic hygiene. If Jake were here, you can almost hear the admonishments, the way he’d push you into a hot bath filled with bubbles. You can almost feel the careful pressure of his hands in your hair, the way he’d wash you clean before quieting your mind in only the way he can, with soft words and sweet kisses, drugging your body with his own until there’s nothing left in your head except for exhaustion and him. But he's not here.
Jake's been in depositions and meetings from early in the morning to late at night, and you can't, you won't disturb him when he's on a case that could decide his whole career. The three-hour time difference doesn't help either. Either you're sleeping - fitfully, barely - when he calls, or he's busy when you do. So you've had to con yourself, delude yourself into believing you can make do. You've completed years of grueling coursework without a cheerleader before, right? So how come it feels like an insurmountable obstacle the minute your one cheerleader has to go on a business trip for a bit over a month? You're stronger than that. You're better than that.
Your thesis will be done and defended in three days, and you'll have a Master's Degree in Marine Biology. Two days after that, Jake will be home. Home in time for graduation. Home for hopefully a good long while, and you're not going to let him out of bed until you can't feel your feet anymore and have slept for at least 48 hours.
Three days to your degree and five until you’ll see Jake again. It's a motto you find yourself chanting mindlessly as you chug down energy drinks and scarf down instant ramen when your stomach growls disinterestedly between bouts of review and last-minute paper edits. Three Days. Then Two.
It may not have been healthy, but it worked. The door latches with a soft snick as you tiredly kick your heels off. The wool of your skirt itches, and the button-down and cardigan you're wearing to complete the outfit feel like the most oppressive pieces of fabric you've ever worn. There's concealer caked under your eyes in a futile effort to hide the dark, deep-set bags. Your hands tremble as you remove your jewelry, and your fingers are uncooperative as they fight with the tiny latches and closures.
But you did it. Your exams are done, every single research paper has been submitted with perfect APA formatting, and your thesis has been approved. You're done with school. A part of you can’t believe it. If you squint, you're pretty sure you can still see your thesis in front of your eyes. Hell, you're sure if you get a couple of drinks in you, you could probably recite the damn thing, all thirty-plus pages and citations from memory. The first thing you'd done once you'd left the building was text Jake the news before you headed home. Now all you want is to sleep and then eat your weight in something home-cooked. The order is non-negotiable - you're sleeping first, even if it feels like your stomach will stage a rebellion and make you walk the plank!
You're less than gentle as you rip all the clothes off, leaving a trail of dour black fabric behind you as you walk into the ensuite. Your motions are mechanical as you roughly swipe the makeup off of your face and collapse into bed wearing just your panties. The mattress feels like heaven, the fabric cushioning your every curve until you feel like you could float away at the slightest provocation. Your eyes are even heavier than they were a minute ago, and you're nearly asleep when your phone rings.
“Baby Blue,” Jake’s groaning into the phone, his voice gritty and deep, indescribably sweet as it spills down the microphone. “You beautiful, gorgeous thing. You did it! You’re graduating! You’ve got your Master’s degree!”
He sounds so excited, even though he must be exhausted. It’s already 7 PM in San Diego, which means it must be around 10 PM in New York, and you can still hear the sounds of the office around him in the background.
“I did it, Jake.” You’re barely able to muster the requisite enthusiasm for your latest accomplishment.
“You did, beautiful girl. You did it!” His sigh sounds so fond, and you can hear the creak of the chair as he closes the door and another squeak as he settles back into the chair. “Now, why aren’t you as happy about it as I am, honey?”
“I - I am happy, Jake. But I’m just so tired right now. I just want you home. I want to sleep for a good long while, and then, maybe then, I’ll finally be happy, Jake.” Tears are gathering in your eyes to your embarrassment, and there is a heavy pressure on your chest.
“Awww, baby doll. It’s alright to feel exhausted and numb about what’s happening right now. You sound shattered, sweetheart. Definitely tired, and maybe a little bit like you haven’t been taking care of yourself, right?” You just hum in response, something lighting up inside your chest as your sniffling hum makes Jake chuckle.
“It’s been hell for me, too.” You can almost picture it, how he’s leaning back in the chair, his tie undone with his hand in his hair. More than his pose, though, you’re sure you can see the exhales of breath inflating his chest, stretching taut the crisp button-down shirt he’s wearing. You’re just as sure that there are bags under his eyes that are a perfect match to your own. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, my Baby Blue.”
“God, I miss walking into the apartment at night to the sight of you in the kitchen, shaking that ass to music playing while cooking, belting the words at the top of your lungs. I miss the sleepy weekend afternoons when you had your head buried in one of your books on the sofa while I was working at the table. And fuck, sweetheart, I miss waking up to you in bed next to me.”
Shit, you love this man. His voice has you aching and longing in minutes. “Yeah? I miss you too, Jake. I don’t sleep as well without you in bed with me.”
“I'll be home soon, sweetheart. I'm not going to miss seeing you walk across that stage. Sleep tight!” The screen goes dark as Jake hangs up, and your final thought is how, if you weren’t exhausted, at least Jake would have made sure you got off. But it's not a problem. You'll make sure to show him how much you missed him when he gets home.
Of course, you’re not sure when Jake will be home. He promised he’d be home to see you walk the stage for your graduation. He promised. But you’re lined up alphabetically in your cap and gown, the nylon fabric stifling in the San Diego heat. You keep nervously checking your phone, but there’s been radio silence. You’re done with school, and you should be ready to celebrate. But you’re not sure you can - not without Jake. The nerves are swarming like butterflies in your stomach, but you have a feeling that what you’re feeling isn’t just nerves but disappointment. Your family hadn’t been able to fly to San Diego for graduation, opting to watch the video feed instead and call you later.
So you’re alone in this big auditorium—just you, wearing your horrible graduation robes, dark purple dress, and nude pumps. You aren’t even wearing any lingerie underneath the dress for Jake. More likely than not, you’re going to be going home alone, and the only person who’s going to see you in this dress is the mirror for a second time as you crawl into bed, buck-naked. You have to screw your face into a pleasant expression as the dean and your program heads each give their speeches and as you stand for the school anthem. The whole time, you're praying it'll be over soon so you can Uber home and face-plant into bed before you burst into tears.
Your grin is forced as your row stands and progresses sedately down the aisle. You thank the dean and your program head, smiling for the camera, hoping your mom won't pick up on how melancholy you are as she sees you walk across the television screen. You let your grimace drop the minute you're back in your seat. You scramble for your phone, pulling it out. There are loads of messages - from your parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and close friends back home, all overflowing with congratulations - it wouldn’t surprise you if your parents made an event of your graduation. You can almost see your childhood living room decked out in the school colors, everyone overage with a drink in their hands as they toast to your success. But there is nothing at all from Jake. This isn’t like him, not at all. But it’s a Tuesday, and he’s probably at work or in the courtroom. For all you know, he might even be on a plane home at the very moment.
You're on autopilot as you flip the tassel over to the other side and toss your beadboard hat into the air. Soon after, the hall is inundated with everyone here. You're still exhausted, and your social battery is far from charged as you battle your way through the crowd. The sudden influx of people is too much, too soon. You feel lonely and cold as you skirt around groups of people, holding your phone to your ear as you call Jake. Each ring makes your heart sink lower and lower.
On the outskirts of the crowd, you keep calling your boyfriend. But you think you must be hearing things because the more you call, the more you hear Jake’s ringtone. He’s not here, and you’re sure of that fact. Jake is still in New York or on a plane. If he is in the building, why didn’t he come to find you right after the ceremony was over? Why aren’t you being hugged and kissed like you so badly want to be?
You’re fighting back tears, eyes burning as you push your way through the crowd. Nobody notices your distress or pain, even as you pass friends, your lab colleagues, and even your professors. You feel like you can finally breathe in the outskirts of the arena, and you tug your robe off with no little relief. That's when you see Jake standing there wearing a blue suit, a huge smile, and a bouquet of blue roses in his hands. Today, he cuts a gorgeous sight in the stadium, the navy blue fabric of his suit offsetting his gorgeous tan and fitted perfectly to his slim muscles. You faintly register your fellow graduates giggle at the sight of him because, damn, does he look too good to be true. But he only has eyes for you. Your heart skips a beat as you unbelievingly walk towards him.
“Happy Graduation, Baby Blue.” You collapse into his arms, your mortarboard hat crashing to the ground, not caring that Jake nearly drops the bouquets, petals cascading to the floor around you as you wrap your arms around him and hold tight like you can’t believe he’s there. His arms wrap securely around your frame as he presses gentle kisses against the top of your head. When you step away, he grins wide, dimples indenting his cheeks, fine wrinkles crinkling the corners of his eyes as he hands you the two bouquets. They haven’t lost many blossoms, and you tenderly bring the gossamer blooms to your face so you can sniff their beautiful scent.
“How did you get blue roses in San Diego in the middle of May?” He shrugs, smile softening at the sight of your face. You sniffle softly, and it feels like the rest of the world fades into silence. His hand rises to your face, carefully brushing your stray tears away. “For you, I’d do anything. Always. Today, when all I want is to celebrate all of your accomplishments? I’d do anything. So, I placed an order at a rosarium for their last bouquets of blue roses. I came straight here from the airport after picking it up. I didn’t get a seat, but I was standing at the back when you walked across the stage.”
This time, when you launch yourself at him, you’re smiling from ear to ear, and he’s laughing as he kisses you.
“Sweetheart, looking at you, I’d almost think you thought I wasn’t going to make it to your graduation!” He squeezes you around your waist and kisses your temple. You melt into the easy actions even as you momentarily hide your miserable thoughts from him. He’s right, though you’re not sure how he knew. You hadn’t expected Jake here today, and the lack of faith in the man you’re in love with stings in that place in your chest where your love for him grows. You feel guilty, plain and simple. The more you find yourself looking into those clear green eyes, the worse you feel. It’s only a matter of time before Jake discovers your deceit and before he tries to hold you accountable for your disloyalty.
“C’mon, baby.” He grabs your mortarboard and robe from the floor in one hand and wraps the other around your shoulder. Obviously, he wants to have this conversation far away from the crowds of giggling girls and proud, crowing parents.
You’re walking through the parking lot in the blistering San Diego sunshine, sniffing at the tender blossoms of your bouquets, when Jake speaks again.
“Baby Blue. I want you to listen to me. Can you do that for me?” You nod because, over the past year and some change in your relationship with Jake, you’ve come to recognize the promise in that dark, sweet tone. “It sounds to me like you’ve been tired and stressed while I’ve been in New York. I know you haven’t been eating properly or sleeping properly. My baby Blue’s not been taking care of herself, has she?” He says it like it’s a fact and not a question, confident like he knows exactly what the answer is. “Maybe somebody should take their bratty baby in hand and show her how much she’s loved?”
You nod carefully, letting Jake crowd you up against a hot vehicle in the lot. His hands keep you from burning yourself on the hot metal, and when he tips your head up and to the side so he can kiss your throat, you realize you're pressed up against Jake's truck. How come you didn't notice? When Jake pulls away and smirks at you, you nod in response to his question, each jolt of your head punctuated by greedy, heaving breaths.
“Use your words, Baby Blue.” Jake’s eyes aren't the soft sage green you've come to adore, the color darkening until it’s the green of forest undergrowth, dark and rich. The heat in those cool, dark green eyes makes your voice dry up in your throat.
“I- I'd like that very much, Sir.” He kisses you once more, a firm yet tender press of his lips against yours at your polite response. “Get in the car, baby.”
Arousal swims in your veins, heady and potent, as you clamber into the seat and buckle up. He sets the bouquets carefully in the backseat along with your mortarboard, certificate of graduation, and robe. When Jake slips into the driver's seat with a heated look, you shiver in the seat. The A/C kicks on when the engine does, blasting cold air over your bare arms and legs. But you were shivering far before that, trapped by the heat in Jake's green gaze.
You can barely breathe by the time you get home. There's an ache between your thighs, and it feels like your entire body is strung tighter than a bowstring. Jake ushers you into the elevator, his hand a breath away from your skin for the entire ride up. It feels excruciatingly long, especially since you're rubbing your thighs together the whole way up. Jake's kept a low litany of filthy-tinged promises spilling into your ears, one brawny arm curled around your waist. When the door opens with a ding, you stumble, blue flowers nearly spilling out of your grasp as you toddle across the floor.
“Set the flowers in a vase, Baby Blue.” Jake's voice is a purr you couldn’t disobey if you tried. Your hands shake as you pull a vase out of one of the cabinets and fill it with water. You’re not sure you can think straight if you tried.
“Come here.”
Arousal curls wickedly through you as Jake pulls each of your shoes off, rubbing at the tense muscles of each calf. His hands leave burning trails across your skin as they trail up your sides. Your nipples furl into hard points, goosebumps rising up along your arms as he rises to look into your eyes.
“My beautiful, Baby Blue.” His cologne surrounds you in a heat-induced haze, big hands gentle as they tug your purple dress down until it pools around your bare feet. He growls when he sees what you're wearing under the dress, his breath hot against your bare skin.
“Fuck, baby doll. All this for me?”
You whimper, drugged by the feeling of one of his calloused fingers dragging torturously slowly over the peak of your bare breasts.
“Use your words, Baby Blue.”
“Y-yes.” You're stuttering, your knees close to giving out as he leads you towards the bedroom. This is even sexier, you're sure, because of how you're naked and he's not.
When he settles on the bed, jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and stares at you, you shiver again. Unbidden, you lean in, unconsciously chasing the feeling of his lips against yours. Jake lets you get close, close enough that your lips ghost over his. But you don’t get to kiss your boyfriend. His calloused fingers trap your right nipple, tugging gently at first, then pinching cruelly when you don't stop your crusade.
This time, your whine is of pain, pain which Jake soothes with broad strokes of his tongue against your abused flesh. Your arousal, which had been temporarily banished to the recesses of your mind by the sudden sharp sting of pain, slips to the forefront again.
“Baby Blue. Don’t be a brat.” His hands tip your chin up, squeezing your cheeks until your lips part and your eyes open to meet his. There's only the thinnest rim of green surrounding his pupils now. “I'm going to make you feel good, darling. I promised you I would. But we're doing so on my schedule, not yours. I'm aware how this greedy little pussy,” and oh, he's running his fingers through your folds in a way that makes your spine turn to water, “aches for me. But it's my greedy little pussy tonight. Not yours.”
You nod so hard you think you can feel your thoughts rattle.
“C'mere, darling.”
You fold into his arms easily, your hands resting obediently on his shoulders as your legs rest on either side of his slim hips. The new position puts your core in direct contact with the stiff bulge in Jake's perfectly tailored slacks, and you can feel his heat even through the layers of fabric.
“We're going to take things slow tonight.” Finally, he captures your lips in a kiss, teasing moans and whimpers from you as he plunders your mouth with teeth and tongue. You melt into him, carding your fingers through the soft silk of his hair, relishing in the prickle of his stubble across your cheeks and decolletage as he peppers kisses across your goosebump-covered skin. You lose yourself in the heady, tender kisses and the feeling of his mouth and hands all over you.
It comes to you in vignettes of color and sparks of sound, your memory of that first whirling orgasm. Jakes's moans when you grind down onto him. Your whines as he nips at your skin. His growl as you tug on his overly long hair. When he kneads your bare ass, you come with a scream, back arched, chest heaving, your cunt trembling from the aftershocks. Your eyes are blurry, and you can barely breathe as Jake kisses you again and again.
“Fuck, darling.” Jake’s growl makes your pussy pulse in need. “You came so hard you soaked my pants, Baby Blue.”
His voice darkens, the growl deepening as he manhandles you as he wants. “Did Sir tell you to come?”
With your ass up across his lap, nipples so hard the soft fabric of the slacks are nearly too much, you can’t reply. Jake's big hands smooth over the curve of your ass, making you whimper as they part your cheeks, long fingers delving through your wet folds and making you moan. Your eyes flutter closed until a sharp smack is delivered to your exposed cheeks. You jolt forward across his lap, a sharp gasp leaving your lips.
“Baby Blue, count your punishment for Sir.” Jake’s hands massage soothingly over your flushed skin. “Loud and proud, baby. We'll keep going until you say every number. We're going to ten. Can you do that for me, baby?”
“Yes,” Your voice is a breathy gasp mixed with a moan as Jake's hands rub across your skin.
“Count, doll.”
The first official smack on your ass makes your skin prickle even more with arousal and, surprisingly, relief. “One”
Your skin feels hot and flushed. Your cunt twinges and throbs.
“T-two”
“Th-three, sir, please.”
“F-four, please, Jake!”
“F-five.”
You're sobbing, cheeks wet, ass stinging and heated, voice catching as you spit the numbers out.
“S-six. Seven. EIGHT. N-nine.”
“P-Please, Sir. I can’t. No more.”
“One more, my beautiful baby. You can do it.”
You’re babbling and sobbing as Jake smacks your sore ass one more time. You’re not sure you choked the last number out. You feel like you’re floating, every inch of your stress and worries over school, graduation, and when Jake will be home melting away. You grab at Jake's hands as he pulls you up until your face is pressed against his shoulder. Your ass burns as you perch on one of your boyfriend's thick thighs.
“Shit, baby doll.” You hum vacantly, snuggling against his shoulder, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. He moves your face back and forth as he wipes away your tears. “You look so beautiful like this for me.”
“Wanna be beautiful for you, sir.” You’re slurring, words seeming to slip from between your dry lips unbidden.
“You’re so beautiful for me always, my Baby Blue.” He lays you carefully down on the cool satin sheets, fingers gentle as they trail over your bare skin.
“Can I show you how beautiful you are?” It’s a question. It's not an order. For the first time since your night began, you feel your arousal drain away.
“S-sir?” Your voice is hoarse and quiet. “C-can we cuddle? Missed feeling your hands on my skin. Missed feeling your skin against mine.”
“Of course, baby.” You watch while lying on your stomach as Jake strips off hurriedly, vacantly noting the dark patch at the front of his boxers. It’s quiet and dark in the room, and if you concentrate, you can hear clanking in the kitchen. He bustles back in with a tray in his hands but doesn’t stop to do more than kick off his boxers. When he walks back in from the bathroom, this time with a cool, soft cloth that he lays on your aching ass, you hum, lifting yourself up on your elbows and pursing your lips instinctively.
“You came?” Unbidden, Jake swoops in to kiss your pursed lips.
“Of course I did. You looked so beautiful for me, my Baby Blue.” He shrugs, a chuckle shaking the bed as he drags the cloth across your skin, leaving a cool, soothing dampness behind. “Seeing you come like that, in my lap? It was too much to handle.”
“You have no idea how in love with you I am, do you, Blue?” You slide under the sheets, taking your customary position with your back against his chest. You’re both seated, for now, in a position that allows Jake to press the cool juice from a glass against your lips. You sip until you’re sated, nibbling on the cheese and crackers he hands you obediently. “I’m not sure I ever told you why I was on icanbeyourbaby.com all that time ago.”
He chuckles at your open mouth as he presses a cherry onto your awaiting tongue. “It was a dare, in all honesty.”
You turn in unease at his words, needing to see his face all of a sudden. Your chest is tight, and it feels like you’re struggling to breathe at the connections your mind is making because of his words. He pecks the tip of your nose, still smiling even at your confusion and the hurt pout on your lips. One big hand finds your hip as he sets the bowl of cherries back on the tray.
“To be clear, sweetheart, you weren’t a bet. Joining icanbeyourbaby was.” All of a sudden, you find you can breathe again.
“You remember Bradshaw from work?” You nod because Bradley Bradshaw is Jake’s biggest competition to make partner at the firm. “He got tired of seeing me in the office at all hours of day and night, working endlessly. Before I met you, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t home more than once a week. I napped on the sofa in my office, and I used the gym in the building to shower. I didn’t have a life. You, my gorgeous Baby Blue, changed everything. You made this lonely apartment home. You made me want to live my life and, moreover, made me want to enjoy the life I have.”
Your face feels red hot and flushed as you bury it into his shoulder. He still smells like his cologne, and his skin is smooth and warm.
“Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” His chuckles shake your body.
“I love you, my Baby Blue.” You smile in your curled-up position against his smooth, warm shoulder. “Anything you need, I will make sure you get.”
“And I promise you, I will always be there to support you.”
You sniffle, and that small sound is enough to have Jake pulling you up until he can see your eyes. His hands cup your face and brush away your tears once again.
“I'm sorry, Jake.”
“What're you apologizing for, baby doll?” He sounds adorably confused.
“I should never have doubted you. You're so sweet and kind and worldly. Meanwhile, there's me. I just graduated from school, and I feel like I barely know what I'm doing with my life.”
You press your hand over his mouth because you can tell he's gearing up to say something. “Wait, wait, wait! It's true, I don't know what I'm going to do next. I'm just tired of this relationship always being you taking care of me. You say I've changed your life. But I didn't even do it consciously. But since the day we met, you've been taking care of me over and over again.”
“Sweetheart, our relationship has us both on an equal playing field.” His eyes are beseeching as he holds you securely against him. “We’re in this together. It doesn’t matter that we're in different stages of our lives. The only thing that matters is how much we love each other.”
Much later that night, after a bath and a massage, your limbs feeling like jelly as you melt into bed, Jake's words stick with you. It's at that moment that you vow to be the best girlfriend and partner you can be. No matter what happens, you'll be there for Jake, however, and whenever he needs it.
I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, AO3 AND WATTPAD BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, AO3 AND WATTPAD BY ME, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.
Taglist:
@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @mamaskillerqueen
#star writes#top gun fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fanfiction#once in a blue moon#a case of the exam season blues#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#top gun imagine#jake hangman seresin smut#hangman smut#jake seresin smut
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omg i'm getting the domestic strade worm in my brain now.......do you have any thoughts on it? i'd love to read them :)
GAHHHHH HEADS IN MY HANDS whyyyyyy why would you let me think about this
fine. take my deeply self indulgent and insane domestic strade/mc (meeeee :3) headcanons/plans if i ever fucking write it
so like. the underlying thesis of the domestic dynamic is "the worst possible family you could think of"
as mc gets integrated into the existing strade/ren dynamic as it is, they basically become this. caretaker for the two of them
they cook (or help ren to), they clean, they...relieve stress, they help out with streams
as a side, i'm a video editor as a hobby so i like to imagine editing strade's streams into liveleak videos because i'm #insane <3 (better than being an occasional star though)
strade basically views them as a demented little housewife who talks back sometimes but is generally pretty whipped (and a total suck up)
and they're good at it too! they're learning how to speak german, they know how to cook his favourite meals, they don't even complain when he drinks too much in front of the tv after a late night (and he has a lot of them)
they're even sweet enough to sit in his lap and keep quiet when he does! how cute <3
(definitely goes upstairs and fucks them after a good night in the basement. it's unfair to waste his urges, after all <3)
ren is pretty hot and cold with mc so their dynamic is either bad (being jealous of the new toy) or "good" (them fucking in the ickiest fauxcest kind of way)
and like. time goes on and strade ages out of streaming, giving ren the chance to take over while he manages things
ren's ecstatic about this and develops into 'fox' very quickly. making his master so proud <3
and mc is past the point of any kind of saving and likes their role too much anyway, and strade stepping down lets him focus on the two of them!
sooooo all and all, after however many years, mc is still the mommy caretaker for the two, ren is the provider and strade is the daddy looming patriarch who keeps them both whipped and fuck drunk and happy
they're like a hideously fucked up kind of family <3
oh also cannibalism happens. just super casual like.
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professor's pet ; chishiya
SUMMARY: chishiya is a master's student and is teaching at a college, everything seemed fine, until one of his students made a very pertinent comment on one of her papers.
(or you ask chishiya to fuck you with your assignment)
warnings: chishiya x fem!reader, sex in the classroom, daddy kink, chishiya wears glasses *-*, chishiya is 27 years old, begging, face and ass slapping, degradation kink, dirty talk, choking, oral (on both), big cock!chishiya (surprise surprise), pet names
word count: 2,4k
and another thing: so in brazil, we have a lot of college parties and sometimes some professors that are younger tend to go, idk if this happens everywhere else, but in here it can happen, it's not that common, but it can happen.
english is not my first language, so i’m sorry for any mistakes.
enjoy!
"Professor, aren't you going to the party on Friday?", you asked approaching the blonde man.
Chishiya was a master's student and was teaching classes to complete his workload. He had no problems with any class, but there was always some friendly conversation, because he was close in age to his students, especially to you, who was only two years younger than he. And Chishiya felt that you weren't just treating him as a friend, let alone asking that while the two of you were alone.
"You can call me Chishiya, miss", said the blonde smiling, "But I don't think I will."
"Why not?", you laughed, fiddling with the collar of the white dress shirt he was wearing, finding an excuse to touch him, even though he had checked if his collar was in place a few seconds ago.
"I have some tests and papers to grade", he explained with a sigh, "And I have my thesis to write."
"Ah, but just one day, Chishiya", you smiled, leaning over your high table, your breasts squeezing between the arms crossed on the table, you weren't wearing a low-cut shirt, but he could still see the bra lace marking on the black top, "Karube always shows up at parties."
"Because he doesn't give a fuck", he grumbled making you laugh, "And he doesn't need the scholarship so he doesn't mind that much."
You nodded, "Got it, got it."
"But why do you want me to go to a university party so badly?"
"Why can't I want to see my favorite professor at a party?", you pouted, blinking your pretty little eyes.
Chishiya smiled, looking very snarky, "Maybe one day I will show up, but it will be a surprise."
You smiled radiantly, "Deal", and took a deep breath, your breasts squeezing against the thin and tight blouse, "Just try to go to a party I go to, because otherwise the surprise won't work."
"Of course", agreed the eldest.
They said goodbye and you left, leaving Chishiya alone in the class, worried about his desire to respond to your advances, to talk to you the way he wanted and be malicious, but he had to control himself, he was still your professor.
However, things got more complicated when he went to grade one of your papers and noticed a very interesting sentence in the middle of your answers.
"You can stay after class, I need to talk to you about your work", whispered the oldest to you while the students were trying to solve one of the questions he had given them.
You looked at him smiling innocently, he just wanted to send everyone away and put you on your knees right there, but he needed to know if it was some very explicit joke or if you were taking the teasing to another level.
"What's wrong with my work, Chishiya?", you asked after everyone left, watching the blonde go to the door and close it.
"So…", he went to his desk, "come here", he asked calling you with his hand, adjusting his glasses and running his hand through his soft hair waiting for you to approach, getting your work from his bag, "Your work was perfect, until I got to this part here…", he sighed, "'Are you going to fuck me soon or do I have to beg on my knees?'. What does that mean?"
"That I got tired of being discreet", you grinned seeing him clench his jaw.
"Yeah?"
You nodded, leaning your elbows back on the table, resting your arms on the white wood and placing your breasts over them like you did last time, "Yeah… and what are you going to do about it?"
"Me?", he laughed wryly, "I won't do anything… you will", your eyebrows rose, "Now", Chishiya touched your delicate face and squeezed your chin, "kneel and beg."
"What?", you asked, surprised by the attitude.
"You heard", the blonde smiled leaning towards you, his face getting so dangerously close to yours, making you part your lips thinking you would be kissed, earning only a malicious laugh, "Kneel and beg."
Immediately you knelt down in front of the man, your hands going up his thighs, pulling him close, Chishiya looked at you with dark eyes, making you want to moan, "Please, Chishiya… please, I just want to be your little toy, I swear I will be good for you..."
The blonde smirked as he adjusted his glasses, his hand grabbing your chin again, "You will be good for me?", he repeated, making you nod, "I didn't see a good girl while you were running your hand over me or showing me your tits ", he said quietly, "You deserve to get punished for being such a fucking liar."
"I do, daddy."
He laughed evilly, "Daddy?", his big fingers slid across your face, he stopped his movements when you offered your face to him, "Slut", he laughed, slapping you in the face, making you gasp, "And what do you want daddy to do with a slut like you?"
"You can do whatever you want to me, daddy", he assured you, taking his hand to your face and sucked on his thumb.
Chishiya sighed, "Is your mouth as good to fuck as it looks?"
"You can fuck it if you want", you said, letting go of his thumb.
"Hm", he slapped you in the face again, "repeat that."
"You can fuck it if you want, daddy."
"Good girl", he smiled.
Chishiya's hand grabbed your neck, gently squeezing, pulling you up, his tongue licking your bottom lip, laughing softly as you thrust your tongue out of your mouth, seeking to rub your tongue on his, and he did what you wanted, licking your tongue calmly before finally kissing you.
One of your hands held his wrist as he choked you, his hand squeezing the sides of your neck, knocking all the air out of you with the reckless kiss. His tongue glided across yours without any restrain, being rough, making you whine softly.
"Did you want me to go to a party so you could humiliate yourself like that for me, baby girl?", asked the oldest.
"If you wanted, I would, daddy", you confessed.
"What a fucking slut", and he went back to kissing you.
You purred softly, your legs pressing together trying to relieve some of the throbbing in your pussy, not having much success. Your hands went to his thighs, moving up to his erection, squeezing it, whimpering softly at the feel of the bulge in your hand.
"You will destroy me", you whispered, separating your lips from his.
He chuckled, taking off his glasses and placing them on the table, "I will", he reached up and unzipped his pants, pulling his cock out of his briefs, his hand cupping the thick length and moving up and down, "Do you want to be destroyed, princess?"
"I do, daddy", you whispered, getting on your knees.
The blonde smirked and pulled your face close to his cock at the back of your neck, smiling when you stuck out your tongue, tapping his hard cock on your wet tongue, "You're so beautiful, baby girl."
You smiled, replaced his hand with yours and dipped his cock in your mouth, sighing softly as you felt the weight of the hard cock on your tongue, your head going back and forth, slowly at first to get used to it, but then it quickened the pace, your hand masturbating the length along with your mouth while your other hand massaged his balls.
Chishiya watched you intently, panting and moaning softly, sometimes when you licked the tip of his cock, his head would fall back. His strong fingers sliding through your hair as you enjoyed drooling on his cock and massaging his balls.
"Fuck", he whispered as he watched you lift your shirt and pull your breasts out of your bra, squeezing your nipples with one hand, "Who said you could touch yourself?"
You raised your teary eyes to him and took a deep breath taking his cock out of your mouth, "I'm sorry, daddy, I can't take it anymore… it hurts so much…"
"Oh… poor thing", he pouted, being ironic, "Stand up", he ordered being promptly obeyed.
His hands gripped your waist, pushed you against the wall behind them and kissed you as his fingers pinched your nipples, eliciting soft little whimpers from you, your hands gripping his arms and squeezing.
"Open your pants for me", he ordered.
You promptly obeyed, taking off your sneakers in a hurry and opening your jeans that were pushed to the floor by Chishiya, who kept licking and sucking your nipples.
Chishiya's hand went down your waist until it reached your panties, pulling it away from you, seeing how wet you were, "Oh…", and smiled, letting go of your breasts, "so wet."
His long fingers slipped into your panties, sliding easily with your pleasure, grinning as he took them out of the cloth and lifted them, making you stick out her tongue, wanting to lick them.
Chishiya smiled and brought his fingers to your lips, licking them next to you, tangling his tongue with yours before kissing you. The kiss was faster than you would have liked, but soon the blonde was kneeling on the floor, lowering your panties until they were off your feet, only to put it in his back pocket.
You whined in agony, your fingers threading through the soft blonde hair as his mouth began to devour your pussy. One of your legs was placed over his shoulder giving him room to lick you more comfortably. His tongue circled your clit before flattening it into your pussy while sucking your clit.
"Daddy", you moaned, your head hitting the wall as he slowly thrust two fingers inside you.
"Such a good pussy", he whispered, going back to licking you his fingers fucked you so roughly.
While you moaned in despair, thinking you were going to fall, your legs shaking, the blonde smeared himself with your pleasure, his fingers going in and out of your tight pussy, licking every last centimeter he could. His dark eyes looked at you, watching you shiver and whimper.
You panted heavily, your body spasming slightly, one of your hands gripping his hair and the other squeezing his hand that held your thigh and you finally came in his mouth. Chishiya flattened his tongue across your pussy, taking long licks, lapping all the pleasure out of you, breathing calm as his mouth grew even more hungry.
"Daddy", you whimpered, "fuck me please…"
Chishiya pulled his face away from your pussy, the pleasure of you wetting his sweet face, little filets connecting his lips to you, "What do you want, baby girl?", he asked.
"I want you to fuck me…"
"How?"
"As a fucking slut deserves."
He smiled and stood up, "You are so cute", he complimented, grabbing you by the waist and pushing you towards his desk, leaving your back to him. Without warning, he slapped you on the ass, making you moan and budge at him, "So fucking hot."
"Daddy…"
The blonde pulled your hips so you stuck your ass out for him, sighing, he delivered another slap, his body leaning over yours, his hand grabbing your ass, "Has anyone ever fucked that ass, baby girl? "
"No, daddy", you whispered, your legs shaking as you felt the tip of his cock gently forcing its way in.
"Oh", he chuckled, his mouth got close to your ear, making you shiver, "I can't wait to stretch that little ass open."
"Please, daddy", you purred, whining as his cock continued to enter you, inch by inch, "make me all yours."
"I will, my little princess."
Chishiya moaned when he was all the way inside you, his body starting to move slowly, letting you get used to his size. Just as you were whimpering louder, begging to be fucked, he quickened his movements, holding you around the waist to help his movements, his balls slamming hard into your pussy.
"Fucking tight pussy", he said as he slapped your ass again, it was already getting so beautifully red.
The blonde grabbed you by the neck and pulled you back against his body, pulling your face to his, kissing you desperately, his hips thrusting without any mercy. You two moaned softly, trying to control yourselves, trying not to attract attention as the table swayed with their movements.
One of Chishiya's hands went to the front of your body, his fingers sliding over your clit, making you moan louder and cling to him tighter, squeezing his arm as his fingers quickly jerked you off.
You whimpered, your insides squeezing him, making him moan low, "Cum inside me, daddy, please", you whispered, feeling the orgasm consume you, "Please…"
Chishiya smiled, a motherfucker smile, "So the little slut likes to get full of cum?"
"A lot, daddy", you purred, still being fucked without any mercy.
"Good to know."
The blonde continued his precise movements, using you as a toy to get his own pleasure, thrusting while holding your hips making movements contrary to yours. A low, dark moan left his lips as he felt his orgasm approaching, you moaned feeling the hot cum spilling inside you.
The elder's movements were slowing down as he panted heavily, his hands slid through your hair and pulled you to kiss him while he straightened your shirt and your pants.
Upon breaking the kiss and finally being able to put on his own pants, you sighed, sitting on Chishiya's chair to put on your sneakers, "I think I need help with some exercises, sir Shuntaro."
"Do you want to stay after class for some lessons, baby girl?", he asked, chuckling when you nodded innocently, "I think one of those classes will have to be at my house."
"Wherever you want to fuck me-", you laughed feigning shyness and ran a hand through your hair, "I mean, wherever you want to teach me."
"You don't exist", he chuckled, giving you one last peck before you finally walked away.
A few hours later, he was alone in on his office when he got a video from you, a video where you were sitting in your car seat, showing your pussy, fucking it with your fingers, cum oozing over your skin, saying that you already missed him. He sighed, it would be a long semester ahead of him.
permanent tags: @laylasbunbunny @saiewithakatana @hopelezzromanticsblog @mrs-sherlock-holmes
and i took the liberty to tag everyone that said they would like to read this: @brdpch @unb0theredjade @86sredmayne @falling4younj @sheena-isa-punkrocker @distinguishedkittycoffee @gktyo @hauntedrebelcrusade @lulugirlzzz
please reblog and leave a like if you enjoyed it! and leave a comment with your thoughts, i would love to know!
see ya next time.
(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
♡masterlist♡
#aib chishiya#chishiya alice in borderland#chishiya#shuntaro chishiya#chishiya shuntaro#chishiya fanfic#chishiya x fem!reader#chishiya x you#chishiya x reader#chishiya x oc#chishiya imagine#imagine chishiya#aib smut#aib#aib s2#imawa no kuni no alice#aib imagines#aib fanfic#imawa no kuni no arisu#alice in borderland season 2#alice in borderland
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I've figured out the You’re Almost Home Timeline so for the gang who care about the passage of time it's under the cut.
Firstly, I have chosen to totally ignore the gravestone dates because of Reasons, including "okay look I started writing this when it wasn't on streaming and this is mostly so it makes sense to me" and "time is an illusion I just need to know this so I can say what year it'll be on NYE". Felix has a January birthday in my little canon and nobody can stop me.
So let's go!
2007
Felix is in Expensive Rehab Facility until Christmas. Sir James and Lady Elspeth have pulled a lot of strings to make sure that Felix's accident won't impact him in any way, shape or form. This mostly means getting him an expensive tutor and essentially permission to submit all of his work online. No need for tutorials because he's had a hard time and is a very special boy. Felix takes this chance to essentially do as much work while he's stuck in the facility as he can because there's fuck all else to do, and he's being made to quit smoking so he's mad about that. Farleigh's back as if he never left, and Venetia is being an absolute rock.
Oliver returns to Oxford, makes contact with the Student Counselling Services, and throws himself into studying so hard it hurts. He needs to distract himself. They allow him to switch tutors and move to a different dorm where he turns into a studying hermit. If he sees any of the Alpha Hotties, he hides. He becomes invisible again, even more than before. His new tutor helps him switch to an accelerated degree program.
2008
Felix turns 21 and does the Spring and Summer terms. His parents decide to go on a tour of Europe to celebrate Felix getting back on the horse. They also know he's going to graduate, because the Special Little Boy measures are in place for him so all he has to really do is log on to Moodle and submit one of his pre-written essays every so often. He's burned a few bridges because he's being very twattish. Felix decides to sack off Christmas term and heads to Bali in late July/early August. Sir James has made sure he has internet access, so what's the point of even being in Oxford? He meets Lucia, who is 18 and on her Gap Year. Because it's the end of the summer, there aren't many options, so Felix sticks with her. Harry is part of the group from maybe like... week three? Luckily, Lucia is on a cleanse, so although they're partying, she isn't drinking or indulging in anything else. In November, Lu gets food poisoning- or so they think, until the doctor Felix hauls her to gives them the news. Felix contacts his parents in a hurry, and they are flown back to the UK and subjected to a major parental conference. Felix proposes to Lu at a Catton Christmas party.
Oliver graduates early. He doesn't go home for the holidays, saying he needs to keep studying. He decides on teaching because it won't be sustainable to be a student forever. His tutor is a major help; he's from Newcastle, although you wouldn't know it because his accent has long since faded and has taken Oliver under his wing. He remains Oliver's main advisor throughout his studies and is probably the reason he gets the job- he's keeping an eye on him so he knows there'll be a Northern Lad Professor once he eventually retires. They're not exactly friends, but there's a lot of mutual respect there.
2009
Felix turns 22 and marries Lu shortly after. He briefly returns to Oxford, but mostly to make sure he graduates. Harry is born in on the 10th of April and he gets his degree in absentia. Lu gets pregnant with Ru maybe a little too soon afterwards, and Rufus is born prematurely on the 27th of November. Oopsie.
2010
Oliver gets his Masters degree in english literature.
2011
Sir James dies of a heart attack in May.
2013
Ellie is born on the 1st of August. Felix gets a vasectomy.
2014
Oliver gets his PhD. His thesis was titled "Narrative Accessibility and Diversity within Academia".
2015
Lady Elspeth passes away in her sleep.
Then a bit of a time jump until
2020
Oliver is finally an associate professor after being in postdoc for 6 years.
Farleigh finally hits on a startup that works- a designer resale app that offers item verification for an add-on fee. It's wildly successful, mostly because he's been hobnobbing in America hardcore and is getting a ton of celebrity endorsements.
2025
Venetia is diagnosed with lung cancer.
2026
Venetia passes away. Felix is bereft.
Harry gets her A level results and Oxford place, despite being 17- Lucia, having not got a degree herself, is adamant that her children be highly educated as fast as possible... and Harry will turn 18 in her first year anyway. Harry doesn't mind this, as she has a fake ID and cannot wait to be away from boring boarding schools.
Oliver Quick receives an email notifying him that, amongst others, he will be tutoring Harriet Catton.
And then Felix Catton walks into his office, and they proceed to go bonkers.
#you're almost home#leiflitter writes#if you see something that doesn't line up... i'm editing ok#you're almost home meta#YAH!posting
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Ramblings about uni and the future
I'm trying to make a difficult decision. Since I've spent the last five years trying to break into the publishing industry and mostly failing (I'm freelance but can't get a full time job), I've been thinking very seriously about going back to uni to become a librarian instead. It's not really a career I've ever thought of, or wanted, but the same can be said for publishing. I decided I wanted to go that route when I already had a my bachelors degree. It felt like the "right" path, but I wasn't aware of how difficult it would be. The industry is so closed off, and I'm not very good at putting myself out there, so I've been struggling a lot. Not to mention people keep getting fired left and right so even if I do get in who knows how long that will last. I guess part of deciding to study something else, despite already having a masters degree and over six years of uni studies behind me, is that I feel like I need to essentially give up this dream, which would make the past five years feel like a waste even though I don't necessarily think they are. But I will have to give up the identity I have built around the industry. But I also feel like going another route won't mean I can't one day make it there too. But I also don't want to get another degree just to still be focusing on an industry that's this unattainable. I will have to focus on making it as a librarian instead and the idea of having to properly give up publishing makes me so sad, but I also know it will bring me relief once I actually do it. I need to study something where I will actually find work.
Another issue is that I really really REALLY don't want to study for another three years lmao. I talked to some people and there's a possibility that I COULD skip one semester due to previous studies, but I feel like it will be complicated and also not necessarily set in stone to manipulate the degree like that. I also got the tip to go take a masters instead which is two years, but here are the pros and cons to all of this:
Three year undergrad:
The school I did my BA at, so it's familiar
Since it's undergrad I'm not worried I will fail
Close to home (even if I move)
Unfortunately it's three years
It feels "silly" to get another BA when I could get an MA immediately instead
Two year masters program:
It's only two years
It will probably be hard
Could be done online, but I don't know if I have it in me to sit at home for two years again
It's in another city, but only takes an hour by train to get there
Unfortunately the train (pendeln) SUCKS and is super unreliable
And I would have to pay a bunch each time
But I like the idea of experiencing something new, since I both like the city (it's a college town) and don't think one hour is that bad
Another problem is that we'll be doing lots of group work so I might have to be there a lot which will be annoying
If I knew just HOW often I'd have to go I feel like it would be easier
I'm gonna be moving soonish to an apartment in the city here in Stockholm so I don't wanna move to Uppsala and do student housing, but my lease will only be one year so maybe I COULD during second year. I've never expeirenced student life like that before
Do I really wanna write another fucking masters thesis omg
I like the sound of two master degrees tho lmao
One semester will be dedicated to writing my thesis so I will mostly only have to commute for 1.5 years I guess, which makes the student housing in year two maybe unnessecary? But my lease will be up anyway soooo. In an ideal world I would be doing student housing my first year and then move into the other apartment after, but I can't do that and I don't wanna give up on a great opportunity
We'll be visiting libraries and whatnot and if it's in Uppsala (I kinda assume it is) I will have to figure out the public transit looool
Essentially, I think the undergrad one is safe but longer, while the MA is shorter but scarier. If I do the MA online I will be more comfortable, but also probably lowkey go crazy. Maybe if I knew if and how much I would be working at the bookstore after the summer I would pick the online version, since work would get me out of the house, but none of us know how needed I will be.
I know I need to change lanes, since I'm getting older and I need stability. Working in a library is the next best thing I can see myself doing after publishing (I kinda wanted to do marketing but I've realized it unfortunately goes against a lot of my morals and libraries are ethically the one and only place I stand 100% behind).
Idk if anyone has any insight or advice please lmk I'm so torn
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35. Bittersweet memories // for curufin and finrod because i NEED to know about their drama in this universe
Thanks for the prompt! Here's ~800 words of roommates (and cousins-by-adoption) Curufin and Finrod bickering and remembering. Rated T because Curufin has a potty mouth.
Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list (prompts closed). Beleria Cast of Characters
RESUME
Finrod F. Noldoran, MA
[email protected]
WORK EXPERIENCE
Barista
Cuppa Joy Café, Beleria
November 2022 to Present
Develop and deliver quality product and friendly service to build positive community relationships.
Global Relations Specialist
Self-employed
February to October 2022
Built community partnerships through immersive cultural experiences in the Hither Lands—
“Bullshit,” Curufin muttered to himself, and threw the paper down on the coffee table. “Finrod!” he called. “What the fuck is this?”
“Oh hey you’re home! What’s what?” his roommate called back from the bathroom. A moment later he emerged in his bathrobe and slippers, a towel wrapped around his head.
“Did you just wake up?” Curufin sneered.
“No, actually,” Finrod replied, then said briskly, “I was working on that resume you’ve just tossed aside all morning.”
Curufin huffed. “Global Relations Specialist? Backpacking around the Hither Lands isn’t a job, Fin.”
“Sure it is! Anyway, the resume is only a formality.” Finrod brightened and plopped himself down in the hideous antique armchair he refused to get rid of. “Mayor Singh-Goel — Elu — came by the coffee shop yesterday while I was working. We chatted a bit and got to talking about a new project the City is getting off the ground, to help low-income immigrants get situated in the community. I told Elu about my time in Dorthon with the refugee communities and about my Master’s thesis on the immigrants from east Endor. So!” Finrod slapped the armrests triumphantly. “He thinks I’d be perfect for the Project Coordinator role.”
“You’re kidding?” said Curufin. “You have no professional experience.”
“I have a Master’s degree!”
“In geography. And a Master’s degree doesn’t mean shit in the real world,” Curufin said. The audacity of this guy, he thought. “Also: you can’t lie on your resume.”
Finrod frowned. “It’s not a lie.” He picked up the paper. “I do build positive community relationships. With the community at Cuppa Joy.”
“You make oatmilk vanilla lattés for hipsters.”
“Same difference,” Finrod insisted. “It’s not lying, it’s just… creatively telling the truth. Anyway, I said: it doesn’t matter. The Mayor himself is going to recommend me for the position.”
Curufin rolled his eyes. Of course. Finrod always got what he wanted. Never had to work for a thing in his life, just smiled and asked for it and had the world handed to him on a platter. Meanwhile, Curufin had busted his ass to get where he was, owner of his own brewery at twenty-nine, raising a kid on his own. He was his big brother’s boss for chrissakes! Much to his ongoing annoyance…
“You don’t deserve it,” Curufin said. “Even Celegorm has more work experience than you.”
“Well!” Finrod said, heat rising in his tone. “Why don’t you tell Celegorm to apply!”
“Maybe I will.” Curufin smirked. It was always deeply satisfying to get his mild-mannered roommate riled up.
Rising from the chair, Finrod threw up his hands. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He shut the door to his bedroom a little more soundly than usual.
*
“You know,” said Finrod, sitting at the table later that day while Curufin was prepping dinner for Celebrimbor. Curufin had to work tonight so his son would be on his own. Well, with Finrod, but it’s not like Curufin was going to ask Finrod to feed him.
“We used to be friends in Valin,” Finrod finished.
“Not really,” Curufin said, and sliced through an onion.
“Yes, we did. In fact, I was just remembering that Yule when you and Alwen finally broke up. You remember? I came over and we watched stupid holiday movies and laughed at the terrible writing.”
Curufin did remember. It was Yule Eve and Celegorm wasn’t answering his texts. But he’d read them, because Aredhel told Turgon who told Finrod… who was the only person who texted him to ask how he was. And he’d abandoned his family’s festivities to come hang out with his sad sack cousin he barely knew.
“Yeah. I remember,” Curufin said, and sniffed.
“Are you crying?” said Finrod
“No.” Curufin brushed his eyes. “It’s the onion.”
“Right. Hey, why don’t you leave that? I’ll make something for Celebrimbor tonight. We could cook together!”
“No, I don’t want you to do that,” said Curufin.
“Why not? I have nothing better to do.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not your responsibility, and—”
“You don’t want to be in my debt,” Finrod supplied.
Curufin didn’t answer.
“Tell you what,” Finrod said cheerfully. “I’ll make dinner with Tyelpë tonight and you can help me with the resume, how about that?”
Curufin chuckled. “So I help you get a job you don’t deserve?”
“Yep!”
“Fine,” said Curufin, and scraped the chopped onion into a bowl. “You should start by getting a new email address. I can’t believe you’re still using nomnom13.”
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Masters of Fear Crane and a dropout reader who needs help studying to get back into school and maybe has a little crush but we have to focus rn no time for all that please
Study Date
Masters of Fear Jonathan Crane X Reader
Jonathan battling his feelings? Mmm that's the shit.
🧡 Above all else, he is fucking understanding of your circumstances. School in difficult enough with the some of the teachers being unsupporting, neglecting, power-tripping, minor mistakes-policing, close-minded individuals who discourage students from chasing their dreams. Add in the students themselves who are the absolute best at bringing out the worst of you, but with teachers doing nothing to stop it, those said students continue to persist at pestering you. Then there were your domestic circumstances of course. Jonathan is not that all good with showing his emotions, but he hopes you know that he is not judging you for dropping out and he is understanding of your reasons.
🧡 Since you're showing interest in returning to school, he highly encouraged you, but with you asking him to help you? Well that he can do... Um... In your house? Just the two of you? Alone? In your room? Ahem. Uh... Right, right... He can do that, sure...
"Right... First year, first sem, these are the subjects and here are my notes." Jonathan handed you his old notebooks, the back of each notebooks torn off lest you should see your name written all over it. Not only that, he had hunted for your name written on the margins of the pages and scribbled it out.
"Got it... Thanks for the help again. You really have no idea how much this means to me." Gratitude was visible in your smile, as you reach for the notebooks, fingers brushing with his from the exchange. "I just don't know who else to turn to, to be honest..."
"I-I'm here for you..." He clumsily squeaks out.
"Yeah and I'm so so thankful you are. How can I ever repay you?"
Jonathan swallows thickly. He isn't dreaming, is he? Will he be waking up soon? Oh gosh, he was reading way too much erotica—
"No no, don't worry about it," his voice cracks.
🧡 He is patient, he will explain to you concepts of certain topics in class on repeat if it means seeing you in the university halls again, take his seat next to you during classes, eat lunch with you, suffer through activity due dates, ride out migraines, vibrate from caffeine overload, writing thesis all that bunch! And he will continually insist that you are no bother to him, just as you reassured him that his presence was not a bother at all.
🧡 Everything about you just had to be cute in his eyes and it's pissing him off. How can someone like you exist? Is that even allowed? From your subtle little quirks, the way you look so focused on your task, the way you look at him while nodding attentively as he teaches you, the way you smile in triumph when you achieve something, the way your face twists when you're bothered— AGH!
nonono, focus man.
Jonathan had to remind himself with a squint of an eye.
Friends. You're just friends.
🧡 After packing up for the day, you grinned at him.
"You know, I meant it when I asked you how can I repay you."
"And I say you don't have to,"
"Well I want to." You pouted. "Tell you what, tomorrow we can go to the diner nearby. My treat."
"Oh no no Y/N—"
"Come on! Just this once," Jonathan reddened when you took his hand between yours, his eyes broken off from your pleading gaze. "Please?"
"A-alright." It didn't take long for Jonathan to agree, how can he say no to you of all people?
"Great! I'll see you tomorrow then!"
The brunet nodded absentmindedly to himself, processing whether this exchange was a platonic offer or not. Either way... Oh he is living his dream.
#jonathan crane x reader#mof scarecrow x reader#mof jonathan crane x reader#masters of fear scarecrow x reader#masters of fear jonathan crane x reader#masters of fear#request#anonymous
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sidewalks we crossed [side A: you.]
i started writing this over a year ago and never got around to finishing it; it’s meant to be a three-part thing. so maybe if i post the first part, i’ll be inspired to finish the rest. this wasn’t written to be shared with the public, mostly just for myself (which is why some of it can be cringey), but here we are anyway. hehe. happy birthday lee jihoon! 태어나줘서 고마워!
pairing: lee jihoon/woozi (seventeen) x f!reader
genre: romance, fluff
summary: an accidental like, an off-chance comment, a purposeful message. you were in an unrequited love with your childhood best friend and decided to run away from him and your feelings and years later you find yourself in the same city with the same feelings when he stalks your instagram.
rating: 13+
length: 23k (LOL)
tags: idol!jihoon, childhood friend!reader, unrequited love (but not really), reconnection through instagram, this is just different scenes pieced together (including a ton of flashbacks), reader’s nicknames are all bug-themed, reader has depression and it manifests as suicidal ideation sometimes, this is basically real life (aka seventeen exists and debuted 150526), but the years are a little bit off for the trainee period, jihoon left busan later and trained for shorter for the sake of my story hehe, cursing, pining, mamamoo + ateez are the besties of reader, member x member pairings, jihoon and reader are both dumbasses, reader is extremely book smart but has one brain cell when it comes to romantic feelings, jihoon writes music like he’s been divorced 12x, word genius lee jihoon, idk how doctoral degrees work, i only got my masters and it was a non-thesis track lol, also idk how trainee auditions work either, miss communication is a lady we all know too well, super cute soft shit too tho tbh, no beta we die like men, i spent 5 hours trying to format this for tumblr and i’m still unsure
inspired by “drivers license” by olivia rodrigo and “what kind of future?” by woozi
inspo spotify playlist found here!
side A: you.
“Are you insane?”
If it were months ago, you would’ve winced at the harshness in his tone, but you’ve hardened yourself with resolve, almost saddened that this was the most communication you two have had since, well, you couldn’t recall. “I’ve been contemplating this for a while now.”
“But you didn’t talk to anyone else about it!”
No, you thought bitterly.
You just didn’t tell him.
“I’ve already talked to my parents,” you spoke coolly.
He scoffed. “As if they’ve ever actually cared about you and your life.”
You felt anger flare up with a cold dousing of shame. “And what—” You spat. “You do?”
“Wha—of course I do! I’ve always looked out for you! I’m your best friend!”
Bile rose in your throat. “Best friends wouldn’t flake on every single hang out to go off and spend time with their favorite noona—!”
“Don’t you dare pin this on me.”
Your eyes shot up to his.
Cold. Piercing.
So unlike the bright crescents you were used to him having around you. He used to shine in your eyes, never too bright, but in a way that demanded your attention as you basked in his almost ethereal glow.
You were reminded that the moon has phases. And maybe that meant it was time to start anew.
Even if it meant disappearing from sight.
A heavy silence passed over the two of you.
You prepared so many answers to the questions you thought he would bombard you with.
What?
You were going to a prestigious international academy several thousand miles away.
When?
You were leaving in two months.
How?
You got a presidential scholarship.
Why?
Because you loved him so much it terrified you.
You had all of these answers.
But it didn’t matter.
Because he didn’t care enough to ask.
The tears couldn’t even form in your eyes. You knew it would be selfish and manipulative if you did. He always felt responsible when you cried.
“You can’t leave,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” you said.
A lie.
“You can’t just fucking leave.”
Leaving him, the unspoken message.
“Y/N, you— ”
“Let me go. Please.”
You heard his breath hitch.
You forced yourself to smile softly at him, wanting to ignore the visceral pain in his tensed jawline, widened eyes, and clenched fist. You knew the irreversible wound you were inflicting. Your resolution almost shattered at the prospect.
Almost.
“I’ll keep in touch.”
Another lie.
“Don’t bother.”
You supposed you deserved the door slam that followed his footsteps, not even allowed to watch his retreating form.
You closed in on yourself, finally letting the tears slip down your cheeks quietly.
He would be fine.
He always was without you.
Always will be.
Only a week later, in the comfort of your childhood bedroom nestled in the midst of Busan, did you receive the news from your neighbor a few streets down.
Jihoon decided to go through with moving to Seoul to become a trainee. I hope you can come by to congratulate him! His father and I would love to have you at the party!
Questions ran through your mind.
How long has he been thinking about this? Did he ever mention wanting to become an idol? When did he even apply to become a trainee? When is he leaving? Is he cut out for trainee life? Is he going to make his own music or be forced by his company to make inauthentic music? Is he going to remember to eat his meals? Will he be okay?
You paused for a moment.
Was this because of you?
You realized it didn’t matter.
You weren’t going to get the answers you wanted.
You didn’t deserve to.
You deleted the message.
──────────────────
Years later.
“Man, fuck this thesis work.”
“Careful, if they hear you say that, they might pull your funding out from under you.”
Hyejin glared at you, her lashes unceremoniously sticking a little too high up her eyelid. You wondered whether she knew there was no point in wearing makeup everyday when her only company was her pipettes and centrifuge. “God, sometimes I wish I was in your major.”
“You would wanna read about things like depression and emotional incompetence?”
“Why not? I see it all the time in my major. God. I was at a drinking party the other day—” You winced in advance. “And I just want you to be aware that if you were to include STEM majors in your sample, your EQ mean would drop so fast.”
You hummed in acknowledgement. “Alright. Fair. To be honest, though, my research focus is mainly on the public and government’s responses to providing resources for group homes and how to make transitioning a little easier. I’m hoping to garner more attention and funding in order to do more activism. So, technically, I don’t actually measure EQ. Although, I can make guesses based on the public forums that are out there.”
“All I heard is that you’re an absolute saint.”
You laughed. “Maybe to you, unnie.”
“D’you wanna get schwasted tonight?”
“I can’t. I have book club.”
“God, you’re such a fucking nerd. Why am I friends with you again?”
“I distinctly remember you saying it was to, quote, ‘ruin me.’”
“Seven years later and I still haven’t.”
“I dunno about that. I started watching that drama you recommended and my sleep schedule—”
“Isn’t it so good?”
You laughed as she started parroting off lines from the drama and you agreed after much coercion that, yes, the second-lead was indeed a better fit.
Your phone pinged beside you and you stole a quick glance. Your breath hitched as Weverse popped up on your screen. Your pulse slowed down to a normal rate when you realized the notification was from “RM 🌟”.
Maybe you should just delete the app.
You turned your attention back to the girl who was your first college roommate back at Yale, where quick introductions were made, and not a second later, began laughing at the prospect that your RAs probably put you both together for being foreign students from South Korea.
She was much more refined back then, having already spent an entire year on her own as a Yale undergraduate, but your burning flame managed to craft something entirely new; just as she, like a river running its course, smoothed out your rough edges over time.
She led you back home.
Back to South Korea.
Back to him.
──────────────────
“You said you don’t break promises, Y/N.”
You found yourself grimacing. “Jihoon, that’s not fair—”
“Fair? Y/N, I kicked your ass at darts and now you said you wouldn’t keep your promise.”
“I don’t want my first ever tattoo to be whatever that is!”
“You pinky promised, Y/N.”
Your bottom lip jutted out. “I can’t even tell what it is.”
He stared down at the napkin he drew his artistic rendition on and then looked back at you incredulously. “It’s a firefly. Are you blind?”
You blinked. You could see the wings? Maybe? And those are lines that represent glowing? Not some weird excretion? You held your tongue and asked a more appropriate question. “Why a firefly?”
“I dunno. Seemed fitting. We always go see them together in the summer. They remind me of you. You remind me of them. That’s all, I guess.”
“Aw,” A toothy grin spread across your face. "You think I light up the night?”
“Sure, if you want.”
You could tell that Jihoon was getting embarrassed and wanted to immediately stop talking, but you being you, refused to let it happen. You piped up with your typical know-it-all attitude, “I read somewhere that fireflies represent inspiration and guidance. And hope, I think.”
He looked you straight in the eyes.
Your heart leaped into your throat.
“I guess that’s you, firefly.”
──────────────────
And here you were, in Seoul, a knowing pang in your chest that constantly reminded you of just how close he was. How your relationship always was. Close in proximity, but always left you wanting something more. Something else.
You blinked up at her, a knowing look in her eyes.
“Y/N—”
“I know,” you blurted out.
“You just look like you’re on the brink of a panic attack every time you see a Twitter or Weverse update.”
“It’s not that bad,” you grumbled.
Hyejin’s features softened.
Your chest tightened. You hated that look.
Pity.
“Actually, unnie. I’ll join you tonight. Screw book club.”
A knowing smirk spread across her lips. “Alright, bumblebee. My EQ is high enough to realize you’re running away from your issues, but it’s low enough that I won’t do anything about it.”
“I’ll add that to my data then.”
She flicked your forehead.
―――――――――――――――――
You groaned as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, staring down at Hyejin’s bare legs wrapping themselves around your torso.
God. How much did you even drink?
You untangled yourself from her limbs, quickly checking her skin to make sure she didn’t have a repeat of three years ago when she somehow convinced you to let her get a tattoo of the two paper clips emoji on her inner bicep.
“They represent us, bumblebee.”
“How, unnie?”
“We’re like… leaning on each other.”
“That’s... so beautiful, unnie. Thank you.”
You shook your head fondly at the memory, staring at your own addition of two paper clips on the opposite bicep, sans the alcohol in your system. So, who’s to say which one of you is worse than the other?
You tried to unlock your phone but the brightness did too much damage to your eyes to where Face ID couldn’t recognize your look of disapproval. You quickly swiped the brightness all the way down to read the time.
5:43am
That meant you only slept an hour and a half after getting home.
You peeled off the skin-tight clothing your roommate had so lovingly forced you into and grabbed a loose fitting tee and shorts. You knew you had the weekend to recuperate since you’ve completed your work ahead of your deadline.
You poured yourself a glass of water and emptied it in the span of 10 seconds. You could feel your brain recovering from its shriveled state, as if the water seeped into your skull and was being soaked up. You wondered if Wheein, your ridiculously cute neuroscience major friend down the street, would be able to explain why that is.
You hummed to yourself as you grabbed another glass of water and a reusable metal straw before making your way back to your room, where Hyejin was convinced that your bed had healing properties since she never woke up with a hangover when she slept in your space.
“It’s like you just have this homey superpower.”
“Okay, unnie. Please stop eating your hair when I’m trying to feed you toast.”
You set the glass at your bedside table and decided to go through your phone’s notifications before rousing Hyejin awake.
You scrolled through the notifications, mostly people making sure that you both got home okay, Wooyoung sending you a money charge with the caption: I may have ordered you the taxi, but you’re paying for it. Love you noona xoxo
You scrolled until you saw a lone notification from Instagram (why? you haven’t posted in two weeks?) that nearly made you drop your phone in the same way your heart did.
[04:17] wzljh__ liked your post
Your hands shook as you stared at it.
You took a screenshot.
(Just in case.)
You clicked on the notification that took you straight to the post wzljh__ liked.
It was a random post from three years ago when you studied abroad in Japan during your junior year, where you were praying in front of a temple for, according to your caption, “to be able to change the world… and also get into a PhD program.”
You clicked on the usernames that indicated who liked your post. You couldn’t find the familiar handle anywhere. Secondhand embarrassment rushed through your veins and passed as quickly as it came.
You came to three conclusions at once.
1. Lee Jihoon reactivated his Instagram.
B. He didn’t block you.
III. He stalked your profile.
──────────────────
“Y/N, I really don’t think—”
“Jihoonie, I need to get more likes on my post. Therefore, I am making you this profile. You don’t even have to go on that often. Okay? You can deactivate it once I go viral enough to have the world at my disposal.”
“That’s never going to happen—”
“Believe in me more, would you?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I believe in you.”
──────────────────
Jihoon immediately reprimanded you, telling you that you didn’t need to appease anyone as a sixteen-year-old (God, he really was too mature for his own good) but your whining had him yielding once you promised that you’d catch up on One Piece over the weekend and that you would make a bento for him.
He only ever posted once (at your request), but he did like every single one of your posts back then, although, no one would know since those were all archived (for the sake of preserving your current social life by preventing the increase in Hyejin’s arsenal of embarrassing photos of you).
Only months later did you have that falling out and his deactivation quickly followed. You believed he wouldn’t ever reactivate his personal account, especially with his woozi_universefactory account set up for Pledis, which, even then, was hardly posted on.
You clicked on his profile to see the anonymous profile picture still there. You saw his followers list and saw only four names.
That once familiar wave of jealousy that plagued you for over a decade never came when you saw her name. It dissipated a few years back after a night of confessions and mascara stained tears, hushed whispers and muffled sobs tucked away in the corner of a Busan bar in the middle of winter.
You checked his following list and saw several musical artists as well as your own handle.
Wait. Where was hers?
You navigated to her page to make sure you weren’t completely delirious and your brain slowly caught up with your eyes.
He wasn’t following her.
You typed in her username to find her profile. Immediately, her beautiful smile shone brighter on the page than the dimly lit screen could do justice.
You never hated her. She was a confidant and a beloved person in your life. Still is. You were all childhood friends (along with your cousin) with deep ties and connections, although the same could not be said for you and Jihoon currently.
But you hated how it all turned out: she didn’t reciprocate feelings towards Jihoon, but didn’t have the courage to properly reject him either.
Because, who would ever want to let him go?
You did, your mind supplied.
You bit your tongue and wondered if Jihoon found out that she was proposed to by your cousin just over a month ago, the one who she spent her childhood years pining after.
Maybe that’s why he’s not following her anymore.
──────────────────
“Y/N.”
“Shh, Jihoon. I’m concentrating.”
“On what?”
“My wish!”
You felt a tug at your earlobe and your fourteen-year-old self squeaked out, “Why!”
“What’re you wishing for?”
“I can’t tell you! That’s not how wishes work…”
He let out a gruff noise and sat across from you, his bright red shorts and white shirt were definite contrasts against the dirt surrounding your two small bodies.
“I’ll tell you one of my wishes.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah. If you tell me one of yours.”
“You first.”
“Ladies first.”
“I asked and it’s only polite if you answer.”
He huffed. “You never make any sense.”
“Yes.”
He rolled his eyes before he cast his gaze down in a boyish way that was just so charming, you too had to look away. “I want the courage to be able to confess my feelings before it’s too late.”
You stared at the river and wondered whether it was deep enough to catch all the tears that wanted to spill themselves from out of you, the image of her coming to the forefront of your mind.
“Firefly?”
“Hm?”
“What about you?”
You forced a smile as your eyes met his.
“I want to be friends forever.”
You knew wishes would never come true if you said them out loud.
──────────────────
“Jesus Christ! How long have you been standing over me like a fucking creep?”
Your trip down memory lane was interrupted by Hyejin’s screeching. You promptly rolled your eyes. “Get up, Princess. I got some water for you.”
“I’m gonna spill it on my face—”
“I brought a straw too.”
“How about a diamond ring? Because if you popped the question, I’d say yes immediately.”
You resisted the urge to smack the smug grin on her face and pushed the water over to her. “You would want a diamond, wouldn’t you?”
“All-naturally mined. No lab made stuff. Spent enough time there myself. Don’t need a ring to remind me of it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind to tell Wheein—”
“Shut up.”
“You’re right. She probably already knows. Being childhood friends and all.”
“Shall I remind you of your unrequited childhood love?”
“‘S not the same,” you responded automatically. She raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t even seen him.”
“What? We rewatched their Melon performance literally two days ago, what the fuck you mean you haven’t seen—”
“I meant in person, unnie.”
She clicked her tongue. “And we went to the SEVENTEEN concert seven months ago. We would’ve gotten the fan sign too if you weren’t being so damn annoying about it.”
Your flustered response was enough to make Hyejin laugh at your expense. “I-I just wasn’t sure whether he would’ve even wanted to see me!”
She paused at your words.
You blinked owlishly at her. “What?”
“You used to say that you knew he didn’t want to see you. Now you’re not sure? What happened while I was passed out?”
You gulped.
She set her glass down quietly, a soft smile that seemed misplaced surrounded by her strained features.
“Bumblebee, take a seat.”
You promptly fell to your knees, feeling like explaining the situation would be akin to confessing your sins.
You only hoped she wouldn’t damn you to hell.
──────────────────
“Just slide into his DM’s.”
“Hell no.”
“Don’t talk to your unnie like that.”
You scoffed. “I’m not going to slide into his DM’s like some sad bitch who’s been yearning for over a decade.”
“...but isn’t that exactly what you are?”
You were so close to throwing your mimosa across the table. Too bad the American-inspired restaurant you were at only had half-off drinks during the weekday happy hour. You weren’t going to waste your full-priced flute of champagne and orange juice.
“Give me your phone.”
“No.”
“Bumblebee, I promise I won’t message him. Just give me your phone, I want to see his profile again.”
You took your pinky, made an ‘X’ over your heart with it, pressed the tip against your lips, and held it out for her to do the same.
“God, what are you, 5?”
“Pinky promises cannot be broken. If you break them, you break my trust.”
“You know, for someone who’s studied Psychology, you sure believe in a lot of non-evidence-based practices.”
You emphatically made your point by bringing your pinky closer to her. She sighed and hooked hers around yours. “Satisfied, bumbles?”
“Always, unnie. There’s something beautiful about how the biggest of promises are made with the littlest of fingers.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up at that.
She took your phone and turned it to where you could see her every move. She clicked Jihoon’s profile and went to his first and only post, already liked by your sixteen-year-old self.
She looked as though she were scrutinizing the caption. You expected her to try and formulate an idea of him that was separate from his stage persona.
What you didn’t expect was for her to unlike the post and quickly like it again.
“UNNIE!”
“Oh, bumblebee, I think you would have broken the sound barrier with how loud that was.”
You were too busy having a meltdown to realize the whispering voices around you, giving pointed looks of disdain. Hyejin smiled at everyone and bowed slightly in apology. She tossed your phone at you.
“You said you wouldn’t—”
“I didn’t message him, did I?”
Your mouth went dry while your tears welled up.
Hyejin recognized the consequences of her actions immediately. “Whoa, hey. Y/N, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s fine.”
“You don’t get to decide if it’s fine or not.”
She flinched back at your harsh tone.
You stared blankly at the phone in front of you, the once red heart, drained white, and filled again with color in the span of a microsecond.
Your watery eyes met Hyejin’s concerned gaze.
You bit your lip. “Can you pull out your phone?”
She froze. “Why...?”
“Because I’m going to eat everything off of this brunch menu and you’re paying for it, so you’re going to have to make a transfer from your savings now.”
“...Yeah, okay. Fair.”
──────────────────
“They’re both cooked dough with butter and syrup.”
You gasped loudly. “Jihoon! Blasphemous!”
He gave you a deadpanned look. “Y/N, you mean to tell me that it’s really that important whether I decide between pancakes or waffles?”
“Waffles are obviously superior! They have little pockets that cradle the syrup, with crisp edges and fluffy insides!”
“There’s literally no one here that’s arguing against you right now.”
“I need you to agree with me!”
“No, you want me to.”
You plopped back down into the booth, shoulders slumped at a lost cause.
“...would it make you happy?”
“What?”
Jihoon cleared his throat. “I asked if it would make you happy. If I agreed that waffles are superior to pancakes.”
You stammered, a blush creeping up your neck at the question. “Uh, no. It was a dumb debate. I was just trying to be annoying. I—”
“It’s okay to let yourself be happy even over the dumb things, firefly.”
You twiddled with your thumbs and bit back the goofiest grin as you heard Jihoon call the waiter over to order your shared waffle platter, asking for, ‘enough syrup to fill each little pocket’.
You never saw Jihoon eat pancakes after that day, always opting for the obviously superior choice.
―――――――――――――――――
The joy of eating butter and carbs and sugar from that day was not enough to sustain you through the week once you realized you had a paper deadline that was sooner than you remembered.
Your eyes ran over the words again, nearly questioning your sanity when it felt like you spent the last thirty minutes trying to reorganize your paper in a way that was cohesive. You spent so much time unlearning the APA 6th edition format to relearn the APA 7th edition, and then moving back to Korea made you throw all of that out the window. Therefore, your mind was a jumbled mess of DOI numbers and misplaced periods.
This paper was due in less than a week and you still found yourself questioning whether the literature review was comprehensive enough to cover all twenty sources you were required to include. Two pages. A list of twenty sources that took up approximately three-fourths of your second page. A singular paragraph of literature review on peer-reviewed articles studying the risk factors of suicide in Korean adolescents before needing to address implications and future research and potential programs that could address these issues.
“Nothing is real,” you muttered to yourself.
You glanced around the library and noticed a scarcity of other human beings. You groaned to yourself as you realized you hadn’t moved from your seat in over eight hours and the library was due to close in ten minutes.
You wanted to stab yourself in the neck when you remembered you still had the Social Welfare 101 class’s papers to grade. You knew that they needed feedback on their writing and you also knew they saw you as a pushover, so the papers are very likely lackluster, especially since the class was filled with people who were trying to get their Humanities credit for their degree in another field.
“Become a doctor, they said. It will be worth it, they said,” your hushed-tone almost mocking.
One of the other TAs from the Educational Psychology department had offered to take some of the grading from you, knowing that you had several large projects due soon, but you quickly brushed off the offer, saying that you could handle it.
A few stray tears slid down your face as you felt overwhelmed by the entirety of the last four years. You graduated early from Yale and dove straight into a doctoral program you could have easily put off by working for a few years.
You removed your glasses and buried your face into your hands, allowing yourself five minutes of reprieve. Just five. Before you needed to pack up and get back to work.
Why are you trying so hard to prove yourself?
──────────────────
[tw: suicide mention]
“Social work is a useless field, Y/N.”
You grit your teeth. “Eomeonim, I—”
“Did you think I wouldn’t see your interview in the school newsletter? Saying you want to go to Seoul National University and study social work? No daughter of mine is going to go into a field that has no chance of finding a job that makes money. You think that your Abeonim and I will be supporting you for the rest of your life? What will the neighbors say, huh?”
“Eomma—”
“No, you do not get to call me that, you ungrateful child. I did not work as hard as I did to put you through the additional tutoring and classes I have for you to just betray me like this.”
Bile rose up in your throat and you choked back the tears threatening to spill.
“Oh, and there she goes, being dramatic again. You don’t think I feel like crying too? You want to become a social worker? You want to help people? How can you do that when you’re so selfish?”
Your nails dug themselves into the meat of your palms, but not hard enough to cause pain, not when your nervous habit of biting them whittled them down to stubs.
“Get out. Come back when your head is clear.”
You moved, but not too hastily so as to signal her to your anxiety, for you were just a prey and she was the apex predator. You kept your gaze downcast and zipped up your designer brand backpack before looping your arms through the pristinely kept straps. Your family had a reputation throughout the town to keep. And you were the heir to it all.
All of the glamour.
All of the charisma.
All of the pressure.
All of the pride.
All of the distrust.
All of the insecurity.
All of the underlying self-hatred.
You shut the door behind you softly and wrapped your arms around you, letting your feet carry you to the one place you knew you could find solace.
Once you arrived, picking a fallen leaf off of your skirt, you knocked weakly at the window pane.
Jihoon glanced up from his desk and made his way to open it for you. “Hey, firefly.”
You quietly slipped through the frame.
“Bad day?”
“Do you ever, just, think about stopping?”
Jihoon blinked once. “Stopping what?”
“Life, I guess.”
He remained silent and he uncrossed his arms so you knew, at least physically, he was open to listening to you. This wasn’t the first time you brought up this subject to him.
“I could just end it all, Jihoon. I could just have it all be over. My parents wouldn’t have to worry anymore. They wouldn’t have to be so disgusted by the fact that they birthed such an ungrateful and selfish child.”
Jihoon breathed deeply through his nose. You knew how much it stirred up his insides whenever you talked about this, but he would reiterate that your safety was always more important than his comfort.
“I should just do it, right? That’ll prove something to them. That’ll show them that they’re not the perfect people everyone makes them out to be. They drove their daughter to this. Oh, but. They might just use it as an excuse to garner more attention. Woe is the perfect family in Busan, they struggle with loss, just like us. But… I could just end it all now. It could all be over, Jihoon. I have that power.”
“You do, firefly. You could end it all.”
Your head shot up so fast you nearly got whiplash. You were expecting soft!Jihoon, not whatever this was. You spluttered, “I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re the one who said it.”
“Are you saying I should just do it then?”
“No,” Jihoon said evenly. “I’m just saying that you do have that power. But you also have the power not to. You have the power to continue on.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“But you have to.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Jihoon!”
Jihoon clicked his tongue at your raised tone. “Whoa, hey. You’re the one who always says you have to jump through hoops in order to ‘earn’ love. I’m not the one who taught you that bullshit; go talk to your parents about that.”
“But they’re right!”
“No, they’re not.”
“Shut up! You don’t know me!”
“Y/N, I have spent more time with you than those sorry excuses of parental figures ever have!”
“Those are my parents!”
“Yeah, and they’re assholes!”
“You’re the one who doesn’t know! They’re the ones who see me, who know me best. They raised me. They know how disappointing I am. They know how useless I am. They know! They’re the ones who know just how unworthy I am!”
“God! Why do you care so much?! Why are you trying so hard to prove yourself?!”
You sucked in a sharp breath. Your bottom lip trembled as your voice came out, horribly fragile, a complete contrast to your sharp tone from just moments ago. “I… Because it’s me, Jihoon. I’m either too much for people or I’m never enough. So, I have to do everything perfectly to prove that I’m worthy. I have to be better than anyone else. Because I have to make up for the fact that it’s me.”
You were openly sobbing.
“But… you’re not better than anyone else, firefly.”
You tried to muffle your tears enough to hear Jihoon’s voice over your crying. Your eyes met his and you expected to see pity, but instead, his facial expression remained as neutral, a steadfast look in his eyes amidst all of your wavering.
“Firefly, you suck at Super Smash Bros. You’ve never won a game against me. Not even one. In like, ten whole years. Also, you’re really bad at timing when ramyeon noodles are done. You always overcook them. You cry when you see a fat seagull waddling down the shoreline. You can’t eat spicy food to save your life. You use too many emojis when you type. You can’t even jog 100m without wanting to pass out. You get so angry that you blow up at others and shame them for making you angry, but you hate it when people are mad at you. You refuse to share your food when it’s still warm, but force me to finish it when you’re full. You don’t trust others enough to do their part of the work so you never let anyone else help you. You have a nervous habit of saying stupid random facts when a pretty girl talks to you. You once poured milk before the cereal. You’re full of flaws.”
Your lips were pressed in a thin line, but the tears had ceased approximately halfway through his listing of your traits.
“You are not the best. By any means. Mediocre, even.”
“I’m kind of hurt.”
Jihoon snorted. “You don’t know everything, firefly. You’re not always going to be the smartest in the room. You’re not the best that ever existed. You never will be. But you’re never too much. And you’re always enough. And although your parents and nearly every adult in this town could think otherwise, you will meet people, people like noona, like hyung, like me, who will still care about you even when you’re being a shitty little brat like you are now. People who will still care about you even when you’re not number one.”
“…You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
──────────────────
“Do you ever think about generational trauma?”
Hyejin gave you a sideways glance. “Do we need to pull out the therapy chair and the rosé for this?”
You swatted the offer away. “I’m serious.”
“What d’you mean then, bumblebee?”
“I just think about my parents and the pressure that was probably put on them from their parents and the parents before. But with each generation, no one decided to try and break the cycle. They just kept taking their hurt and putting it onto the next. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s not just my family. It’s prevalent… everywhere. Did you know that South Korea has one of the highest rates of suicide in all of the OECD countries, second only to Lithuania? Common risk factors among adolescents tend to be academic pressure and family issues. So. I know it’s not just me. The numbers don’t lie.”
“Is this related to the paper you were working on earlier?”
You pondered for a moment. “I think researching adolescents and suicidality might’ve triggered some old memories, yeah.”
“Are you…?”
“Okay,” you finished her question. “The thoughts only come when I’m feeling overwhelmed with stuff. And it being our last semester, it’s just… a lot is being demanded of us. Classes, projects, thesis defense. I’m feeling, I dunno, a little helpless.”
“Hmm, I’m remembering some wise words from my undergraduate roommate at Yale~” Hyejin said, in a sing-song voice. “She said that the best way to stop feeling helpless is…?”
You glared.
“The best way to stop feeling helpless iiiiiis…?”
“...to ask for help.”
“Wow, right on the money.”
You decidedly messaged your fellow TA to ask them to help alleviate some of your workload to which they happily agreed.
Which you only gained the courage to ask for after a straight-winning streak in several online matches of Super Smash Ultimate.
You weren’t mediocre.
You just realized he wasn’t either.
──────────────────
Just a few days later, on a rare weekend where you managed to pull away from schoolwork, you found yourself in the attic of the group home you worked on-and-off at for the past four years, sorting through boxes of tattered toys, gathering the ones necessary to put through the washer. You laid down on the floor, the rickety boards beneath you groaning at your weight. You passively wondered whether a cartoon moment would happen and the group home inhabitants would find a you-shaped hole in their ceiling.
You reached into your own backpack and pulled out your own toy of sorts. You threw it up in the air only to let gravity do the work to bring it back into your hold. You had to be careful to not give yourself a black eye like you did a few years back.
“Whoa, you played baseball?”
You glanced at the tattered ball in your hand, the stitching almost undone, the yarn beginning to peek through. The color was no longer a pristine white, but that only proved its history of handling. “Choi Sannie, what about me says ‘athlete’?”
“Hey,” your younger coworker put his arms up in defense, fully climbing into the attic space now. “I know all of the things we have here at the home, and that is definitely not one of them. So that means that’s yours. Or you stole it—” He gasped loudly in delight. “You stole—!”
“No, dumbass.”
He deflated. He knelt down on the floor next to you, inspecting the baseball without taking it in his hands, careful to not overstep your boundaries. You taught him all about consent; Choi San was a wild child, but he knew respect. “May I see?”
You tossed it casually over to him.
“Is this handwriting? I can barely read it.”
“Even if it was brand new, I promise that handwriting would be illegible to the average person anyways.”
“You’re not average though.”
“Of course not.”
“So, what does it say?”
“Gwangan-dong, Busan, August 2.”
“Was it a gift?”
“Yeah.”
“From who?”
“An old friend.”
“Why keep it?”
You hummed softly.
“For the days that feel like I’ve lost.”
──────────────────
Lee Jihoon was a boy who demanded attention. And he always had it. But not because he would go parade and peacock around for the sake of trying to earn it. He naturally caught it, with collected looks and smooth words. Everyone in your town knew him: his ability to work hard and even more, his ability to achieve. He never needed to do anything to garner more attention because all of it was already on him. Even at the perfect attention-craving age of thirteen.
Lee Jihoon would never show off.
You had been to every single one of Jihoon’s baseball games, cheering silently when he made a great call, throwing mental expletives when things were going awry. You knew his mannerisms, his tells. Hell, you even knew the code for when the coach beckoned his players to steal a base.
So, you knew when Jihoon was showing off.
You wanted to gag at the sight of him puffing out his chest while he wore his catcher gear. You often believed him to be beyond this world but the reality quickly slapped you back as you wondered why exactly he was being so obnoxious.
Your unnie turned to you, “It’s almost over, yes?”
You wanted to laugh at the fact it seemed like she aged an additional year for every inning. “Yes, unnie.”
“I don’t understand how there’s no timer.”
“It’s done by the number of outs.”
She nodded, but you knew she didn’t actually take it in, since you repeated that fact three times over the course of the past two hours.
“Our Jihoonie’s doing well, right?”
“Yep, as per usual.”
“I really don’t understand baseball, lovebug.”
You pat her shoulder. “It’s alright. I don’t mind telling you. Although, you might want to ask oppa more about it. He knows more than I do. He messaged me and said he’ll be here in about five minutes so he can take us all out for dinner after.”
She froze. You quirked an eyebrow.
You noticed the redness creeping up her neck.
“Oh my God. Unnie! Do you like my cous—?”
Before she could say anything to defend herself, you felt the bleachers around you shift in tandem and you nearly toppled over until she caught you.
Your eyes found Jihoon, who was holding the ball that sealed their fate: they won. He won.
You saw him and his teammates gather together, his mask coming off to reveal his black hair sticking to his forehead and his ever-so-brilliant smile.
Oh no. You were so smitten.
After several moments of trying to push through the crowd, you finally reach a place where you spot Jihoon animatedly speaking to your unnie, who managed to get ahead of you by several paces.
You immediately froze.
Even from this far away, you could see his eyes clearly. Of course, you could. You were so practiced in searching for them, in times of joy, in mourning, in dancing, in sorrow. In those dark irises, swirled something so raw, your breathing became ragged. You saw the way he looked at her. You knew the look in his eyes.
Because you’d caught glimpses of it in yours in passing mirrors whenever you were with him.
How long did it take you to realize?
Suddenly, you wanted to be anywhere but there.
You rushed backwards, much easier to run away than it was to charge forth. You ran and ran and ran until you reached the back of the bleachers where you crumpled down onto your knees, effectively getting grass stains on your poor clothes.
“Mommy! Mommy! There’s someone crying!”
“Baby, no—let’s go over here.”
“She’s an ugly crier, like you!”
You cursed the fact that children were basically sober drunks and said whatever was on their mind. The fateful “u” word that repeated itself obsessively in your mind.
You thought of your unnie.
Your beautiful, elegant, sweet, soft unnie.
Of course Jihoon would prefer her.
He was pulled into her gravity with no room for resistance. His crescent smiles faced her, never to show his dark side, for she was the earth he orbited: captivating and delicate.
Why would he even care to ever look your way?
You were a given; never a prize to be sought. You were unrefined and blundering in your demeanor. You were on the crux of puberty, an awkward and horrendous time that consisted of your skin deteriorating, hormones running rampant, and just. So. Many. Emotions.
Ugly.
“Whoa, whoa, ladybug, is that you?”
You glanced up, not even bothering to wipe away the dribbling mess that was on your face. Your cousin stared in horror at your tears.
“God, you look horrible.”
A broken sob ripped through your chest and your cousin quickly realized he made a mistake. He scooped you up into his arms and held you as you cried, cried, cried.
If jealousy was the ugliest trait, you must have been downright hideous.
Later, you had your face tucked into your cousin’s chest as he apologized to Jihoon and your unnie, who both reached for you, but your cousin, in his typical knight-in-shining armor fashion, brushed them aside and pulled you closer. He convinced them that you received some off-putting remarks from your parents and didn’t want to talk about it (a regular occurrence), so he would take you back to his place to cheer you up with some Disney movies and freshly squeezed lemonade.
Your unnie offered condolences and a swift pat on your head before she called her dad to come pick her up, all of you waiting until she drove off.
Jihoon spent the time waiting listing off a myriad of your needs (“You have to make sure you have the double Kleenex, okay? The other ones leave weird fuzz on her cheeks. And don’t let her wash the dishes when she’s sad because she doesn’t realize how hot the water actually is and ends up rubbing her skin raw. And make sure you use simple syrup for the lemonade and not just sugar, she hates the crystals.”) while he packed his gear away, preparing to walk back on his own, his home not too far away from the baseball field.
You felt your cousin squirm at the prospect of Jihoon having to carry all of his gear after playing a two-hour game and having no food in his stomach. “Wait—Jihoon, I can give you a ride.”
He looked back at him, glanced at you, probably noticing the way your shoulders still trembled, and shook his head firmly.
“Here, firefly.”
Your body reacted before your mind could catch up to realize what it was doing. You saw a small object in the air, falling within your arms reach.
So, you caught it.
Your eyes trailed up to meet his, momentarily forgetting he was the sole cause of your meltdown.
His jaw clenched so hard, you cowered slightly.
“Why are you giving me this?”
You cringed at the sound of your voice, gruff and raspy.
“It’s your win today.”
You blinked rapidly. “Huh?”
Jihoon sighed and you wondered if he just considered you a petulant child.
“Even when you feel like you’ve lost, even when you feel like you have nothing to gain, just the fact that you’re still here, that’s a win. So. Scream. Cry. You can do what you want. It’s your win.”
Your gaze trailed down to the baseball, too large to wrap your fingers around entirely. It was much denser than you thought it would be, the weight foreign in your hands.
You sniffled, the corner of your mouth upturned.
Before you could say anything, Jihoon immediately turned on his heel and walked away.
You looked up and caught your cousin staring at Jihoon’s retreating form with a bemused look.
“Alright, ladybug, let’s get you home. Your parents are probably preparing dinner right now.”
“You promised Disney and lemonade.”
Your cousin sighed dramatically. “I guess I did,” he ruffled your hair to which you let out a prolonged, annoyed groan. “Which movie?”
You pondered for a moment. “Hercules?”
You thought of Jihoon and his reputation throughout your town: attention-grabbing, diligent, admirable, heroic.
But most of all, kind.
“You got good taste, ladybug.”
──────────────────
“Does today feel like a lost day?”
You resisted the urge to mess with the singular faded green streak running through San’s hair, a test subject from when Hyejin wanted you to dye her hair, but you didn’t want to try it out on yourself nor buy a synthetic wig. A rebellious eighteen-year-old was the best option at the time. “No. It doesn’t.”
“Then why do you have this?” He inquired again.
“Because I can do what I want, San. It’s my win.”
He pulled a face of indignation at your rare (at least to him) display of childishness. Your phone pinged on top of your thigh, alerting you to its presence.
[12:42] wzljh__ liked your post
You bit back a grin, knowing San would question you endlessly if he caught it. So you tucked it away, for a later time, where you could be alone and smile as widely as you wanted to. He was getting more and more bold. Hyejin’s action, you knew, was what spurred him on. You wanted to laugh in disbelief.
Lee Jihoon was a man who demanded attention.
And he always had it.
──────────────────
“No, no. Noona, you promised.”
“I did no such thing.”
Wooyoung scoffed at your words. He pulled out his phone and his nimble thumbs quickly found what he was looking for, signified by a soft ‘ah-hah!’. “You said you would help me try and secure BTS tickets. You’re the only other person that I know that has the ARMY Membership.”
You glanced at his screen and saw your drunk state and you resisted the urge to keel over at the sight. You heard your slurred words promising the very thing Wooyoung was asking of you now. “I wasn’t sober enough to realize what I was saying. Also, what kind of person films their drunk friend and coerces them into promising to get BTS tickets?”
“I never said I was a good person, noona.”
“Ask San or Seonghwa.”
“They don’t have the ARMY Membership,” Wooyoung repeated, emphasizing the last two words. “I’m out here trying to secure the front section. It’s close enough to the stage where I can see Jimin-hyung’s sweat without the screen.”
You grimaced. “Weird ass fanboy.”
“You cannot deny that he is a beautiful man,” Wooyoung said pointedly. “Although, I assume your type is like 15cm shorter and a muscle bunny.”
“He’s only 11cm shorter, sir.”
“Okay, okay. Keep defending your boyfriend.”
You spluttered, instinctively responding with what you said for most of your middle and high school days to those around you. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
Wooyoung gave you a ‘duh’ look. “No shit. You’ve never even met him because you refuse to get the fan signing tickets because you’re a weak ass coward.”
Well. He was definitely right about one of those things. You often forget that you’ve kept your history with him private from most except Hyejin.
(And Wheein.)
(Because Hyejin told her.)
(Luckily, Wheein is a lot more considerate than her boisterous and loose-lipped counterpart.)
“Wooyoungie, you’re really not making me want to help you here, you know.”
“Noona, please.”
He looked at you with his wide brown eyes and jutted out his bottom lip. The thick black frames on the bridge of his nose gave off the impression of innocence, something you would never again associate with the young man in front of you.
His eyes lit up once he visibly saw your determination crumble.
You bit your lip. “You’re paying for this pizza. And we get pineapples on it.”
“I love you~ You are a goddess I am unworthy of even perceiving~ I worship the the ground you walk on, O sweet and kind deity~”
Your mouth twitched. “A ‘thank you’ would suffice.”
Wooyoung looked at you, a serious look in his eye, took your hand and squeezed it. He gave you a smile that almost melted away your disdain. “Thank you, noona.”
“Men like you give women trust issues.”
“Yeah, probably.”
──────────────────
“I couldn’t express my feelings because I was too young. I wanted to be your tomorrow, so I lived today. Ever since the first day I saw you until now, in my heart, it’s only you. These typical words, I’m only saying them now. But I hope these typical words will reach you. Thank you, thank you. That’s all I can say. Even all the waiting, all the longing. And all of our memories. Thank you, thank you.”
You half-hoped they would perform this song, half-hoped they wouldn’t. It rendered your heart weak, almost wringing it through with the lyrics and melody, the implication. There was a deep yearning within you that wished these lyrics could have been for you, once upon a time.
You hid yourself with a black face mask and wore a baseball cap. Hyejin told you that you were making yourself look even more conspicuous by wearing such garb, but you couldn’t risk being noticed. You wanted to see him, but in a way that didn’t require vulnerability. Plus, your tears were easier to hide.
Hyejin held your hand, her fingers intertwined with yours, the two of you uncharacteristically calm and still unlike the other CARATs around you, all of whom were cheering and swinging their lightsticks in tandem.
She gave your hand a tight squeeze.
You thought back to what was seemingly a mundane day, going on one of your grocery shopping trips at a Trader Joe’s while still living in New Haven, Connecticut.
The days leading up to your shopping trip, you were a mess of a human being, weighed down by the amount of work you still had left to complete, hardly able to be present in your own life, instead simply watching it go by. Hyejin took over your chores for the week, bought you sweets, stayed up with you even if she finished her own work, made sure to send kind text messages randomly throughout the day, and was all around the best supporter you could have asked for.
You kept apologizing to her for not being able to reciprocate, the only words that your mouth had the energy to form were, “I’m sorry.” And she would, each time, just pat your head with a soft chuckle and say, “You don’t have to keep saying that, you know. You don’t have to say that you’re sorry.”
But you weren’t sure of what you could say instead, so you said nothing at all.
Your grocery trip was made to be more of an adventurous outing that matched the energy that you were able to procure, as cooping yourself indoors only intensified your feelings of stress. However, you were on the mend from the disastrous week, as you finished up your work the day prior to your little trip to the grocery store.
(You couldn’t help but think your ability to even leave your apartment was because of Hyejin.)
After gathering all of the ingredients to cook carbonara (with extra pancetta!) and loading them up in your car, Hyejin offered to return the shopping cart to its designated location.
You saw her from afar and suddenly something overwhelmed you.
You knew what to say instead of: ‘I’m sorry.’
“Bumblebee?”
“Thank you.”
Hyejin gave you a raised eyebrow. “Yeah? Of course.”
“No, I mean...”
You paused. What did you mean?
Did you even have a right to express yourself? That’s all you seemed to do during the week and it was almost embarrassing trying to say something now. Like, this wasn’t the right time and place. The butter was melting in the car.
“Actually, never mind. Don’t worry about it.”
I couldn’t express my feelings because I was too young.
She gave a pointed look and said, “Uh. Alright.”
But something tugged at you.
A gentle reminder from a gentle person with a seemingly rough personality.
These typical words, I’m only saying them now. But I hope these typical words will reach you.
If he could do it, so could you.
Before she could get into the passenger seat, you called out again, “Actually!”
She glanced your way, still visibly confused.
You took a deep breath. “Thank you for returning the cart. But, ah, more than that. Thank you for coming to the store with me. Thank you for spending time with me. Thank you for consoling me. Thank you for living with me. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for staying by my side. Thank you for loving me.”
You couldn’t hold back your tears, so you didn’t. Your beloved friend did not fare much better.
She was in a state of what seemed like hysteria, laughing with tears streaming down her face. “What the heck, dude? What’s the matter with you? God, I love you so much.”
She took you into her arms and you both cried in the middle of a Trader Joe’s parking lot.
Your heart was filled with gratitude as the thirteen boys on stage interlocked their fingers in a pinky promise to love their fans. You mirrored the action as you took Hyejin’s pinky and interlocked yours with hers. She glanced at you and you gave a smile from behind your mask, trusting she knows what you mean. Trusting that she hears the promise you are making to her, to yourself.
Promising to always be thankful.
Promising to always love.
But if she could not hear the wordless promise echoing in your chest, you knew you would repeat it aloud to her for as long as she needed. To whoever needed it.
Because although those words may be typical, they were still worth saying.
That is a lesson an old friend taught you.
An old friend whose smile now shone as bright as the stage lights that lingered on his form.
──────────────────
Three weeks later, you were up to your neck in deadlines. You were demanded at every possible place you frequented. In the research labs, in the recruitment office, in your collective TAs room, in the group home you volunteered for.
Hypothetically, there should have been no room in your mind for Lee Jihoon.
Too bad you saw him everywhere.
Not just explicitly, like the way his idol group overtook the internet with selfies here and tweets there and ridiculous fan edit videos everywhere.
But rather, in the crevices of Seoul, in the freshly cooked rice found at your favorite family restaurant, ready to serve piping hot meals with heaping portions of a mother’s love, in the off-key melodies sung unapologetically by a circle of children in the middle of the neighborhood park, not caring who’s there to witness, performing for any and all, in the rhythm of the city thrumming beneath your soles and at your fingertips, ready to sweep you off your feet if you gave it the chance.
You saw him everywhere.
That included your notification center.
[15:32] wzljh__ commented on your post—
Your vision blurred.
Was this what cardiac arrest felt like?
A comment? A comment? You were plenty satisfied with the likes on your post, but a comment meant direct interaction, not mindless scrolling and double tapping.
The ringing in your ears was prevalent and you knew for the sake of your body and soul, you needed to shut it all away.
You pushed aside the thoughts, compartmentalized like they taught you during your clinical therapy program, and shoved your phone far into the depths of your unorganized bag.
You breathed in.
You breathed out.
You had work to do.
��─────────────────
“Hey, so, it’s noona’s birthday on Sunday—”
“I know, Jihoon, you haven’t shut up about it for the past two weeks.”
“Okay, okay. Fine. But I’ve spent so long trying to find a gift for her and I still can’t find anything. Can’t you, just like, come with me to the market for the day? I’ve never spent so much time and effort trying to find a damn gift for a birthday before. I’ll buy us dinner and we can stop by that dessert stand with the black sesame soft serve.”
“I told you. I have college prep exams I have to worry about. You want to woo her? You can. Easily. Lee Jihoon, anyone would be lucky to be loved by you.”
He breathed out a long sigh. “...thanks, firefly.”
You gave a stiff nod before walking away, the singular cardstock invitation (since you only made one for him because he teased you endlessly for your homemade invitations in the fifth-grade and you committed yourself to spite him every year from then on) you scrawled a date on in two week’s time weighing heavily in your bag. You bit your bottom lip to try and prevent the tears from slipping.
Guess your birthday wasn’t worth putting time and effort in.
At least, that’s what you thought until you found a small package in your first-year high school locker on that fateful day, in two week’s time.
Inside a poorly wrapped box, you found a card and a keychain of three tiny medals: simply drawn hands interlocking at their pinkies, the infinity symbol, and a crescent moon.
Tears welled up in your eyes as you opened the card envelope slowly, afraid your shaking hands would accidentally tear apart the paper. The card was homemade and purposefully horrendous (he claims; although, knowing his crafting skills, you weren’t so sure) with his haphazard, yet endearing scrawl.
You read the words once. Twice. Three times.
Moved them away from your eyes so the tears wouldn’t fall and smudge them.
“I saw these charms two months ago and immediately thought of you.
You said anyone would be lucky to be loved by me.
Guess you’re a pretty lucky person.
Happy birthday, firefly.
- Jihoonie
P.S. I have a sun on mine, if you end up wanting to switch.”
And so you skipped the first ten minutes of your last class to fold in on yourself in one of the second-floor girls’ bathroom stalls. You muffled your cries against your sleeve because it’s just so utterly him that you couldn’t even think straight.
When he finds you after school, eyes puffed and disheveled, you half-expected him to comfort you, because it was your birthday and, to most people, that warranted special treatment.
Instead he laughed loudly at your tattered self, pinched your reddened nose with a grip you could say bordered on assault, and said, “Come on, let’s go get some cake and ice cream. I’ll pay.”
You glared at him. “You hate cake and ice cream.”
He merely grinned at you. “Not today, I won’t. You really are lucky to have me, aren’t you?”
Even with the way he teased you relentlessly for all seven blocks to the place you frequented when your pockets were lined with allowance, the dessert shop with the fresh cream green tea cake topped with fruit you knew Jihoon was gonna take when you weren’t looking, even with his eyes filled with mischief and cheeks filled with stolen strawberries, you couldn’t help but agree.
──────────────────
“He’s been pretty bold lately.”
You cocked your head to the side as you pulled your lunchbox out onto the cafeteria table. You spread the items out in an orderly fashion and Hyejin nearly sneered at the display, but you ignored her. “Hrm? What d’you mean?”
“I mean, he’s been liking more and more of your posts. He also commented today. Isn’t that bold? Considering you haven’t spoken in years? What happens if he’s just, I dunno, playing with you?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Is it dumb to say that it’s just a gut instinct that everything is okay?”
“Again, what is the point of your higher education? Gut instincts aren’t exactly evidence-based.”
You unwrapped your sandwich and your eye twitched at the sauce that dribbled down. Damn. You could’ve sworn you had the right ratio this time.
You took a bite, your tongue slipping out to catch the excess sauce. You chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. You mindlessly tapped your fingers against the bread before you spoke.
“I dunno how to explain it, unnie. I know all of my observations have been just… through likely scripted scenes and concerts. And I know it’s dumb to think that he’s still the same kid from way back when, but even seeing him interacting with his members… It just seems like he’s happy. Not just the superficial kinda happy, but the everlasting contentment and joy kinda happy. So. I don’t think he’s going to ruin that by trying to dredge up stuff that could ruin it. Or plot revenge. I just... don’t sense any ill intentions. And I never have, even when all that shit happened.”
“Hm… I honestly don’t know the guy, but it does just sound like he made one choice in an unfortunate circumstance. Big decision in the midst of big emotions,” Hyejin murmured.
“So did I,” you said pointedly.
She smirked at that. “Yeah, but you ended up with me, so I’m okay with your choice. But, also maybe, I just trust your judgment a little too much. But, if you consider him as wonderful as you say he is, then. I believe you. Plus, I feel like his lyrics and videos that I’ve seen are proof that he’s not a complete piece of shit.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you for thinking he’s not the scum of the earth.”
“Yes. Just a rung above that. If I ever meet him, I’ll definitely punch him. For your honor.”
“Hah. Thanks, unnie. I’m sure that your stick arms will do a lot of damage.”
“Of course.”
The two of you laughed.
Hyejin hummed. “Do you ever blame him?”
“For what?”
“Leaving before you.”
You raised a brow as you set your sandwich down to bring your attention to your apple slices, peeled in a way to make them look like bunny rabbits. After dunking it into some peanut butter, you decapitated its head with your teeth. “Blame is a funny thing.”
“What d’you mean by that?”
“I mean, think about it, unnie,” you began. “Do I blame him for leaving when I was the one who decided to leave first?”
Hyejin clicked her tongue. “But he left without even saying ‘goodbye’ or even warning you.”
“Mm, yeah. But... I mean, do I blame him for leaving before me when he could blame me for deciding to leave first? Or do I keep going and blame him for making me fall in love with him or could he turn that around and blame me for having feelings in the first place? Do I go further and blame him for defending me from bullies in first grade or does he blame me by trying to become friends by giving him a seashell? Do I blame him for being born or does he blame me for the same thing? Blame is an endless cycle and trying to pin the entire thing on one person or one event is hard. At least, in this instance, you know? There wasn’t a clear cut perpetrator and victim here.”
Hyejin picked at her nails. “You really have a different kinda brain, don’t you, bumblebee?”
You chuckled. “It’s gotten me this far.”
A silence fell over the two of you as you stared at your bunny apple slices, eventually fed up at the odd number of them and choosing to sacrifice one to your stomach for the sake of your peace of mind.
After a few moments, you spoke again.
“I used to be real angry with him.”
“Yeah, you told me you used to be a fiery little thing. Plus, I heard you blow up at that student athlete who was dishing out homophobic slurs near the Student Center. When you’re angry, whew. I wouldn’t ever wanna be caught in the crossfire.”
You snorted. “Yeah, well, he would often be. I don’t think you can grow up with and know a person for, like, sixteen years and not ever be angry with them. Especially when that person is a prepubescent boy who knows all the little things that grinds your gears.”
“God forbid having feelings for men.”
“Women aren’t that much better,” you reminded Hyejin. She paused for a moment before agreeing to your sentiment. You knew too many of the silly arguments her and Wheein have had over the past two decades.
“Honestly, though. I think he’s one of the only people I ever felt safe enough to even be angry around. So, he usually got the brunt of it all. Honestly, he should’ve left me faster. I was a mess to deal with at the time.”
Hyejin pulled a face at your self-pity. You merely offered a small smile and she rolled her eyes. “So, you were still angry at him when we were at Yale?”
You swallowed another apple bunny. “Absolutely. Remember New York?”
“Which time?”
You snorted. “Specifically the one where we went during the Fourth of July. Where I had hook-ups after hook-ups and had to get a pregnancy test and an STD screening. Where we went bar-hopping literally every night because I wanted to drown in my sorrows. The one that you got on that stranger’s shoulders to shoot off an illegal firecracker.”
“The trip where you got so drunk, you screamed at a man that turned out to be a statue.”
“Hey, in my defense, he looked like an asshole.”
“I’m sure many people would agree with you that Christopher Columbus is indeed an asshole.”
You both laughed.
Your voice lowered to barely above a whisper, Hyejin physically needing to lean in to catch your words.
“I… was angry that he made promises he couldn’t keep. I was angry that he decided to walk out of my life without asking to even try. I was angry that he didn’t even care to ask why I was wanting to leave. That he didn’t care enough to want to know what I was doing. I was angry that he dropped me so fast. I was angry that he moved to Seoul as a last ‘screw you’ because he didn’t want to try and talk it out. I was angry that he was angry. But above all, I was angry at myself that it took me so long to let myself even feel the anger because I blamed myself for everything.”
You let out a shaky breath.
“At the time, I had a sixteen-year-old’s anger and heartbreak and a twenty-one-year-old’s body and ID. So, that anger manifested itself into drunken nights of hedonistic debauchery and cursing out loud for the first time ever, right at a statue of a colonizing murderer.”
You thought she would laugh at your phrasing, but instead, she merely took you in. You wanted to shrink back at her scrutinizing gaze.
“Does it still bother you?”
“...No, not really,” you admitted. “I just woke up one day and realized that I missed him so much more than I was angry at him. At me. Eventually the anger just kind of… faded. I mean, he was hurt when I left. And if he felt like I was leaving him, then it makes sense he would try to do the same in some kind of twisted adolescent retribution. I’m not saying that either of us deserved that kind of treatment, but I mean, we were sixteen and dumb. As a former sixteen-year-old, any kind of change felt like the world ending.”
“As a former sixteen-year-old, I would have to agree,” Hyejin nodded. “Do you ever regret it?”
You shoved another sliced apple into the peanut butter. This time, not picking it up. You stared down at it as you tried to formulate your thoughts. You replied softly after some time, “No.”
“Nothing?”
Your mind trailed back to the time you spent chasing your dream of studying abroad, establishing your place in the world without depending every little decision on him, running after dream after dream and fulfilling them through your own power and accord.
And you thought, as beautiful as the experiences were, you wished you could share the stories with him. He was always your best audience member, applauding your every word and exaggerated action. Sometimes laughing and jeering and heckling, but always, always, always attentive.
You chased your dreams. You always have.
All except one.
But it was okay.
Because he gave you so much more in those fleeting years than the world could ever have supplied in millions.
“No, nothing.”
──────────────────
“Do you still love him?”
Hyejin watched you over the years. You grew and healed, evolved from a bumbling adolescent mess, bright-eyed and terrified, into a full-fledged woman who learned that all most had to offer was a quick fix and prolonged heartbreak. Someone who decided to be kind because she knew first-hand that the world was not. A woman who wanted to be a love letter from the universe. Someone so strong, yet so fragile to the workings of the world because you always allowed your heart to be vulnerable.
She never knew anyone who loved for the sake of loving.
Someone whose living was loving.
Not until she met you.
Your lips pressed into a thin line, but it slowly curved at the ends. “I think I always will.”
Hyejin’s heart felt constricted in her chest; she wanted to scream at you to let go and to move on. Tell you that he wasn’t worth any of the heartbreak and pain and self-doubt.
But she knew. She knew looking into your eyes, that you loved him with a love that transcended the flimsy, insecurity-driven kind portrayed in romantic comedies or Korean television dramas.
Because although she saw your eyes rimmed with unbrittled heartbreak, she also saw the gratitude that overflowed from your irises.
Part of her still wanted to berate and chastise you and tell you to just move on.
But she remembered being on the receiving end of that. How her friends reminded her that to be in an unrequited love was never worth it and that there were plenty of fish in the sea and that she needed to move on because it was just sad.
She remembered how empty that left her, wanting to fill the cracks in her heart with her beloved, because that was always what Wheein would be to her, just as Jihoon would be to you. Hyejin had the privilege to call Wheein at any time, to hear her voice lull her fears and anxieties into soft understandings and warmth, warmth, warmth.
Everyone told her to walk away from all of that.
Not you.
You were the first one to sit with her, hold her hand, smile and remind her what she already knew, a resounding truth in the depths of her soul.
And so, she sat down with you on the edge of your bed, grabbed your hand, smiled, and reminded you of one of your favorite quotes: “What a privilege it is to love.”
A tear slipped past as you beamed. “And to be loved in return.”
“Even for a moment.”
“Even if it is not how we want.”
“Because, still, it is love.”
“And it is the one thing we will never be without.”
──────────────────
“Two more months,” Wheein muttered before quickly downing her soju shot, not waiting for anyone else at the table. “Two months. And we’re done. No more needing to prepare for a thesis defense. No more needing to sit next to a centrifuge for ten hours at a time. No more needing to read bullshit and selfish opinions on public forums. No more needing to sit next to that weird dude who always smells like he has an open wound that’s infected—”
“Wheein, sweetie, that’s too graphic,” Yongsun responded, bringing her choice of a virgin cocktail up to her lips.
Wheein merely took a swig of the beer next to her.
Byul-yi shot her a glare. “That’s mine.”
“She needs it more, unnie, trust me,” you replied on her behalf. Byul-yi gave you a warning glance that wordlessly said you defended Wheein too much, especially as someone who was younger. “To be honest, I think Hyejin-unnie and I need to catch up to where Wheein-unnie is.”
“No, you need to pace yourself carefully especially with soju because you end up drinking too fast and way past your limit before you even realize.”
“Yongsun-unnie, I know we dated when I was a young and unassuming first-year doctoral student who didn’t understand how to handle her alcohol, but that was the past. Let’s move on, shall we?”
“Hyejin told me you threw up just a few weeks ago.”
“Goddamnit, Hyejin-ssi,” you hissed in mock anger.
She snorted, seeing through your ruse. “Wouldn’t have mattered if she heard from me. Byul-unnie was the one who was holding your hair at the bar, so.”
“Is this how I’m repaid by setting you two up together? The constant risk of potentially being exposed by one or the other? The betrayal. When I introduced the two of you, mere weeks after Yongsun and I broke up, and you two were blatantly flirting in front of me–”
“We were not flirting,” they chimed in unison.
The rest of the table rolled their eyes.
Wheein huffed and whined into her arms, voice muffled against the table. “Y/N, you gotta find me someone.”
“You’ll see them if you just open your eyes. I’m sure of it. They’re right there. Just look in front of you, unnie.”
Hyejin pinched your thigh but you were used to her physical torture.
Wheein groaned loudly, sitting up, but still covering her eyes with her hands. Byul-yi nodded in apology to Hyejin who merely bit her lip.
Yongsun dissipated the tension for Hyejin.
By directing it towards you.
“Y/N, I saw that you posted on Instagram yesterday. The same post from the group home you volunteer for. You were asking for the support of the community, right? And just today, I saw there were a ton of comments on their public page.”
A lump lodged itself into your throat and you stared at her, lips parting but not making any sound.
She cocked her head to the side.
Hyejin rubbed your thigh soothingly with her hand. “Bumblebee didn’t realize that they were going to get that many comments on that post. Plus, uh, I think it was shared by that one singer? Bamsu?”
“Bumzu,” you corrected weakly. Jihoon’s partner-in-crime, or rather, music production.
“Yeah, uh. Him. I guess someone who knows the group home page somehow managed to get it circulated to where he saw it, and… yeah.”
Several other research fellows messaged you privately saying how exciting it was to get the attention your project needed. Your group organizer was saying that tens of calls were coming in at a time, asking how to best provide funding or resources.
You resisted the urge to spiral into oblivion because you knew only one (1) person who would be able to do such a thing.
Bumzu had transitioned from performer to writer/producer and usually had a hand in charity work, at least, over the past couple of years, according to a quick run through his Instagram feed. He wasn’t under the scrutinizing eye of Dispatch, at least, not as much as a certain thirteen-member idol group. His interest in this program didn’t warrant sasaeng fans who would try to track down the people who made the post.
It was the perfect cover up.
It’s not as though Bumzu did anything over the top. He simply reposted the group home’s post on his story, only available for 24 hours, but even then, that was enough time to garner attention.
The group home leader called and cried to you saying that God had really blessed you all.
You wondered whether you should tell her that you didn’t think God was 164cm with moonlit eyes that haunted you in your sleep.
──────────────────
[15:32] wzljh__ commented on your post: “this is some really cool stuff. do u mind if i share this?”
[19:22] You replied to wzljh__’s comment: “👍🏼 go ahead”
──────────────────
“Noona~”
“Choi Sannie~”
“I don’t appreciate the mockery~”
“Then get your ass to work~”
San snickered before undoing your haphazardly done ponytail and threading his fingers through your badly tangled hair. “You need to calm down. You have a meeting soon and you look like an absolute mess. So, I’ll at least braid your hair for you, mmkay, noona?”
“San, if you want to reduce my stress, I would appreciate it if you could go and run through the program schedule and let me know what doesn’t work—”
He tugged on your hair and you yelped.
“Noona.”
You leaned back in your chair to see him staring down at you. You grimaced at the fact that, even from this angle, his jawline was inhumanely sharp.
“No one is expecting you to run everything. We have group organizers for a reason. You’re just here to volunteer.”
“But I want to help. I’m responsible for getting the word out there. And I want to be able to make a difference for those in group homes—”
“You did. You helped me. Now I’m in a local college. Working as a barista. Volunteering in the same home I met you in.” Before you could cut him off, San continued, “You can take a break, noona. I’ve never seen you this stressed out before. And I’ve seen you literally down an entire six-pack of banana milk after eating two chocolate croissants.”
“They’re called pain au chocolat. They have to be in the shape of crescents to be called croissants.”
“No one gives a flying shit, noona.”
You gaped at him. “San! Who taught you to speak like that?”
“You did.”
You grumbled to yourself before reaching back for your Apple Pencil. San snuck his hand over your shoulder to pluck it out of your hand. “Hey!”
“Jinwoo wants you to sing him to sleep.”
Your heart ached as you stared at the screen in front of you. There was too much work to do and you couldn’t afford—
“Are you really cost-benefiting the effects of whether you sing a child to sleep right now?”
“...”
“God, what a professional. Where’s the noona that would sneak kids out to go catch dragonflies and then eat bungeo-ppang while washing it down with banana milk?”
“Are all of your memories of me associated with banana milk?”
“I remember what I remember, noona.”
“Why don’t you sing to Jinwoo?”
“Because he’s asking for that song that you sing; the one that only you know.”
You froze.
For some reason, Jinwoo, at the ripe age of eight months, established quite clearly what he liked and disliked, with the latter list nearly double the length of the first.
Every song you sang to him had its expiration date before he would take a metaphorical red Sharpie and cross it off of his likes list.
All except one.
You cursed yourself for singing it so long ago, caught up in exhaustion that you just wanted to quell the baby’s cries as soon as possible.
And so you procured a song that was gathering dust from being long ignored in the recesses of your mind.
You locked your iPad, gathered your stuff together to put away in your bag, slung it over your shoulder and made it up the stairway to where you knew Jinwoo would be.
You found him nestled in several blankets on the floor in the room meant for three-to-six year olds, convinced that the ground would be able to keep him steady unlike the volatile day-to-day he was thrown into since birth. Most of the other kids were out at the local school, but Jinwoo had a lower constitution than them, so would often stay at home. The home did its best to ensure that his schedule was tied with the other kids, including the midday nap.
His chocolate eyes looked up at you expectantly, his arms outstretched for you to envelope him in your embrace. You couldn’t help but smile down at him and scooped him up in one fell swoop. He giggled as you spun the two of you around the room.
You swaddled him as best you could, a three-year-old much larger than the eight-month-old you once knew him to be.
His hand pressed itself against your cheek and you nuzzled your face against its warmth.
“Ready to sleep, Jinwoo?”
“Will you sing to me? The forever song?”
“Yes. Of course.”
And so you did.
You sang to him a song of hopes and dreams and the magic of forever and always. Lyrics of never-ending friendship and pinky promises.
──────────────────
May 26th.
You thought that date would forever ingrain itself as the day that he forcibly came back into your life by taking you and the rest of the world by storm alongside his group, singing of an awkward and clumsy adoration paired with a point choreography that was, well, pointing.
(At the time, you wondered whether she heard the song, the one you were sure it was written about. You never asked.)
But here you were, six years after his debut into the world as an idol, dressed in your regalia of indigo and black, full bell sleeves, velvet paneling, and a weird puffy hat to top it all off, debuting into the world as a Social Welfare PhD grad.
You were a whole ass doctor.
“WE’RE FUCKING DONE, BITCHES.”
“God, Wheein, can you calm down? We gave you that key for emergencies.”
“It’s an emergency that I don’t have a bottle of soju in my hand right now.”
Byul-yi patted Yongsun in hopes of appeasing her anger. “Remember when you finished your MBA and how that felt?”
Yongsun blinked once before pushing herself off of the couch. “Alright, so how many bottles am I pulling out?”
“Wait! Wait! Wait! We need a picture!” Hyejin chastised her childhood friend for taking off after Yongsun. “Bumblebee, come here. Wheein, you too!”
“Whose phone?” Byul-yi asked.
You all chorused your phone, handing her the latest model of iPhone. She wiggled her brows at you. “Looking for a sugar baby, mama?”
“Bold of you to assume that I’m not paying installments on that sleek piece of overpriced metal and glass.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from a broke grad. Alright, alright. Okay, ladies. Now let’s get in formation. Wheein, brush your hair out of your face, you look like a mad scientist. Y/N, stop furrowing your brows like you’re reading those mean comments online. Hyejin, stand up straighter, you’re slouching—probably from bending over all the time—”
“Unnie!”
“Over your centrifuge, okay? Chill. Alright. 1, 2… 2 and a half.”
“How old are you? 50?”
“Alright, for that, you just got a burst. Y/N, I hope you find the ugliest gem in that to post.”
You and Wheein laugh at Hyejin who is now putting on her face of Disapproval and you imagine that Byul-yi is just now taking an endless amount of candids. You reach for the phone, a toothy grin still spread across your lips.
“Oop! Damn, this camera is nice. Don’t get too drunk otherwise you might accidentally drop it into my purse.”
You rolled your eyes and grabbed at your phone. You swiped through the camera roll, finding too many of your face, especially when reaching for the camera, thanks to Byul-yi’s trigger happy thumb. However, you looked genuinely happy, so you couldn’t be too mad.
Maybe that’s because you were done slaving over papers and deadlines, you mused.
You showed Wheein and Hyejin the photos as well, refusing to delete the ones where Hyejin is pulling her signature face. You smiled down at your screen before pulling up Instagram to post a photo of all three of you (looking like baddies and not like the unhinged beings you usually are) on your story.
You figured you would post the professional photos you had done by Myungsoo at a later date.
You typed up a caption:
alexa, play congratulations by post malone ft. quavo 🥳🎓 #PHinisheD
You locked your phone and tucked it away, ready to simply celebrate with your beloved group of girls.
That is, until two hours passed, which included a passed out Wheein cuddling into Hyejin on the couch and a drunk Yongsun and tipsy Byul-yi retiring to their own room and you sneaking into their second bedroom. You finally saw several responses to your story, mostly clapping and fire reactions and messages of well-wishes and pride. There was one handle that immediately caught your attention and you couldn’t help but think you were predictable in where your eyes always go.
[22:06] wzljh__ replied to your story: i figured u would be a day6 or eric nam kind of fan
[22:08] wzljh__ replied to your story: sorry that was dumb of me to assume
[22:08] wzljh__ replied to your story: of course u would like post malone considering u could rap the entirety of eminems album
[22:15] wzljh__: sorry that was stupid
[22:15] wzljh__: ignore me
[22:15] wzljh__: congrats y/n
You checked the time stamps to see that the first three messages came in rapid succession. While the last three came less than ten minutes later, without the “replied to your story,” meaning he actively searched for your conversation in his DMs to send a message.
You wondered whether it was okay to respond. He initiated it, so you figured this was consensual on his end. But… would you be okay?
Lee Jihoon was the one you believed would always know how to crack the code to tear down the walls of your heart. The one for whom your heart would invite in, with offerings of warm tea and resounding laughter and requests to make himself at home in your messy, but safe, space. You were always so utterly bare in front of him that it was almost nauseating with how much trust you put into his hands.
Did he deserve that same trust after what transpired between the two of you?
Regret lives in the past.
Anxiety lives in the future.
But you lived in the present.
Present (tipsy) you said, “cute human messaged must respond”
You opened up the conversation.
[23:16] You: alexa, play congratulations by day6.
[23:16] You: happy anniversary to svt!! 🥳
[23:16] You: hope you’re having fun with the members!!
Immediately, Seen popped up on your screen.
Your breathing hitched as you saw those damned three dots. You really should ask your old Biology tutor why your chest felt as tight as it did. Or maybe Wheein would know the science as to why it felt like your brain was firing a million and one things but was also completely shut down.
[23:16] wzljh__: oh
[23:16] wzljh__: oh wow
[23:17] wzljh__: i didnt think u would know that
[23:17] wzljh__: thanks you
[23:17] wzljh__: thank uou*
[23:17] wzljh__: you* wow im genius
You giggled softly to yourself.
──────────────────
“You look like an oversized peach, but, like, not a nice one. One that fell off the kitchen counter and now has bruising forming.”
“You’re fucking rude.”
You tutted. “Jihoon, language.”
“One of these days you’re gonna drop the fuck word too.”
“Mmm. Nope.”
He grabbed at your cheek and pinched it softly. You made a dramatic display of faked annoyance. “You will. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll be the first one to hear it, alright? I’m gonna hear the fuck word from the kid that everyone else is foolish enough to believe is entirely wholesome.”
“Um? But I am? So very wholesome?”
He barked out a laugh. “Sure. You got most people convinced, but I know you. You’re too fiery for your own good.”
“Oh, so you have me all figured out, huh?”
“Of course,” he replied in English, his words laced with his thick Korean accent. “I’m genius.”
You giggled before you corrected him. “‘I’m a genius.’”
He grinned. “We both can be.”
──────────────────
[23:18] You: the other caratdeul are posting it all over twitter so it’s trending, of course i would know that 😤 i’m in touch with the insiders nowadays
[23:19] wzljh__: the other caratdeul
[23:19] wzljh__: ??
You cursed silently. Did alcohol loosen your thumbs too? Is that possible? Would you remember these questions to ask Wheein later?
[23:19] You: uh, i’m also a carat? duh? have you /seen/ jeonghan-oppa’s visuals? 😍
[23:20] wzljh__: unfortunately every day
You laughed out loud at that.
You saw the three dots come. And then disappear.
You couldn’t help the twinge of sadness that hit, but you figured that he had his own celebration to do.
That is, until a video was sent from his end five minutes later.
You swore Lee Jihoon was going to be the cause of your death one of these days.
You clicked on the video.
“Annyeong, Y/N-ah!!”
You balked at Yoon Jeonghan’s face grinning at the camera. What the frick.
“Jihoon told me that you graduated with your PhD today! Congratulations! Hanniehae!!”
Your heart burst at the sight.
God, Jeonghan was so cute. You so desperately wanted to be his friend when you first discovered SEVENTEEN, almost more jealous of Jihoon for being surrounded by twelve other fantastic human beings rather than the other way around.
[23:28] You: omg i’m gonna cry
[23:28] You: !!!! how!!!! is he!!!! so CUTE!!!!!
[23:28] You: this is the best grad gift ever
[23:29] You: my years of indentured servitude to SNU was worth it to just bear witness to that 🥰 i can die happily now; thank you yoon jeonghan for existing
[23:30] wzljh__: um excuse me who else
[23:30] You: and to lee jihoon for the provision and distribution of content: i shall remember your services
[23:30] wzljh__: i now owe ur “jeonghan-oppa” a new lego set just for that
[23:31] You: he’s cute when he goes on vlive and builds it so just think of it as an additional gift to me, ok
[23:31] wzljh__: no.
[23:31] You: 🙄 rude
[23:31] wzljh__: u owe me too now especially since u said i gave the best grad gift ever
[23:31] You: i’m!!!!!
[23:32] You: ok so technically no one else has given me a gift yet so you were just better than nothing 🤧
[23:32] wzljh__: yes thats always my goal. to be better than nothing
[23:33] You: 😂😂😂
[23:33] You: wait!!
[23:33] You: you can’t distract me!!
[23:33] You: gifts are exchanged for the sake of selflessness and glad tidings!!
[23:34] wzljh__: thats not what u said when u guilted me into buying u the cardcaptor sakura cards because u got me plushies of the straw hat crew
[23:34] You: i didn’t GET you them! i MADE them!! my craftsmanship and time are worth much more than the ccs cards!! equivalent exchange!!
[23:34] wzljh__: god u are such a weeb
[23:34] You: if you recognize my reference you’re not so innocent yourself
[23:34] wzljh__: …
[23:34] wzljh__: damn
[23:35] wzljh__: anyway u think ur craftsmanship is worth more than the $50 i dropped on those cards?
[23:35] wzljh__: u wanna tell that to chopper whose head was too big for his body and now looks as though hes in inexplicable pain??
You stared at the screen. What?
[23:35] You: ???? pics or it didn’t happen
[23:36] wzljh__: at the dorm
[23:36] You: !!!!! you still have them with you???
[23:36] wzljh__: yea? ofc lol
[23:37] wzljh__: they may be dopey but mostly dope
[23:37] You: bihhhhh
──────────────────
“Always remember this, Y/N.”
You swallowed the handful of popcorn you so elegantly stuffed in your mouth just seconds prior. “You always do this, Jihoon. You always wait until my mouth is full—”
“Good people watch anime.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Okay?”
“I’m serious. Don’t trust anyone who says that they don’t like anime, alright?”
“What, so, that’s a requirement for whoever I’m going to be involved with in the future?”
“Yes. How can someone be a bad person when they have Monkey D. Luffy to look up to?”
“Fair, but—”
“And if the person can commit to nearly a thousand manga chapters and over eight-hundred episodes, they can commit to you.”
For some reason, his logic overtook your own. You nodded in slow agreement. “I mean. You’re not wrong.”
“Of course not.”
“So, you’re saying I’d have to find my Luffy?”
He eyed you. “I think you’re more of a Nico Robin than a Nami, honestly.”
Your stomach flipped but you brushed aside the implications of his words.
And even years later, your first-date questions always included, ‘If you were a Straw Hat member, who do you think you would be?’
You had yet to find another Zoro.
──────────────────
[23:38] wzljh__: anyway u still owe me
[23:38] You: BIHHHHHHH
[23:39] wzljh__: ill let u know by the end of the week
[23:39] You: 🥺 do i not get a choice
[23:41] wzljh__: u always have a choice
[23:42] You: hrmmmmmm then… i shall hear you out… maybe… perhaps… mayhaps
[23:42] wzljh__: always been a poet, since that second grade writing contest, havent u
[23:43] You: me? a poet? how about i quote one of the greatest poets of our generation
[23:43] You: ‘let’s have fun’
[23:43] wzljh__: …?
[23:44] You: ‘everyone stand up and clap’
[23:44] wzljh__: ok
[23:44] You: 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼
[23:45] You: wait
[23:45] You: that’s one too many
[23:45] wzljh__: fake fan
[23:46] You: 😢 i come here and get bullied by a member of my favorite k-pop group
[23:46] wzljh__: favorite
[23:46] wzljh__: ?*
[23:46] You: asjdkksncsls yoinks
[23:47] You: i wish i could unsend messages
[23:47] You: or go back 3 seconds in time
[23:48] You: but what if i jump forward 10 seconds..
[23:49] wzljh__: HA
[23:49] wzljh__: alright u are at least a cubic if u watch gose
[23:50] You: 💖💙 it’s what pulled me thru my thesis
[23:50] wzljh__: lololol
[23:50] wzljh__: alright alright
[23:50] wzljh__: i gotta go soon
[23:50] wzljh__: but
[23:51] wzljh__: congratulations y/n
[23:51] wzljh__: seriously
[23:51] wzljh__: u do some amazing things
[23:52] You: 🥺🥺🥺🥺
[23:52] You: thanks jihoon so do u
[23:52] You: oh wait i just remembered
[23:55] wzljh__: ?
[23:56] You: an amazing thing u did
[23:56] You: thanks for sharing the info abt the group home project!!
[23:58] You: i don’t think i can ever explain how grateful i am!! it went so smoothly because of the response from the surrounding communities
[00:00] You: and you didn’t need to share the information
[00:00] You: but you did
[00:00] You: and i just
[00:00] You: idk i’m really grateful
[00:02] You: anyway!!
[00:02] You: sorry
[00:03] You: oh wait i’m supposed to say thank you
[00:03] You: thank you thank you thank you
[00:03] You: thank you lee jihoon
[00:05] wzljh__: is it bad if i just send a 👍🏼
[00:05] You: you’re gonna ok, boomer me? and my authentic and genuine heartfelt words??
[00:06] wzljh__: 👍🏼
[00:07] You: ...i’m unsubscribing
[00:07] wzljh__: lolool
[00:07] You: 😭😭😭
[00:08] wzljh__: still a crybaby
[00:08] You: more like crylady
[00:09] wzljh__: i suggest u never say that ever again
[00:10] You: yep noted i regretted it as soon as i hit send
[00:10] wzljh__: looooollll
[00:11] wzljh__: ill let u know what i expect for my equivalent exchange
[00:12] wzljh__: i need to consult with my lawyers on what exactly i can get away with
[00:12] You: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[00:12] wzljh__: i can hear that message and i dont get how
[00:13] You: i’m gonna d word 😭
[00:13] wzljh__: not until i get my gift lol anyway ill message u by the end of the week
[00:14] You: ok 😞 fine
[00:14] You: you’ll message me?
[00:14] You: 🤙🏼?
[00:15] wzljh__: lolollllllll thats not a pinky promise emoji
[00:16] You: don’t care!!!
[00:16] wzljh__: lollll still so stubborn
[00:16] wzljh__: okay fine
[00:17] wzljh__: 🤙🏼
[00:18] wzljh__: goodnight y/n sleep well
And so you did.
You dreamt of crescent moons, steady heartbeats, gentle melodies, and open arms.
And falling, falling, falling.
──────────────────
Five weeks.
Four interviews.
Three community project ideas.
Two job offers.
One major minor meltdown.
Zero Instagram messages.
Not that it particularly mattered when your entire future was splayed out right in front of you.
“So… you either stay in Seoul…” Hyejin began.
“...or I move to New York,” you finished for her.
“...okay, but like, what is even over there?”
“Unnie.”
“I know it’s your favorite city in the world—”
“Strongly so.”
“And they have Broadway—”
“An absolute treat.”
“And you’d be lecturing at Columbia—”
“The first Social Work university in America and most prestigious school in said field.”
“But I’m not there!”
You couldn’t help but laugh at Hyejin’s pout. “Unnie, you and Wheein were already talking about living together next year because you’re both heading over to Jeju!”
“Which is the same time zone as Seoul! AKA, I can call you at any point I want—”
“We both know that’s not true even if we were in the same time zone.”
“...okay, touché. But! Are you really going to move halfway across the world? Again?”
“I enjoyed my time at Yale!”
“Bumblebee, you left Korea because you were running away from something. Someone. Are you sure you’re not leaving Korea for the same reason?”
“...Unnie, I love New York.”
──────────────────
“Doesn’t this city just reek of anxiety?”
You ignored her and instead took in the hustle and bustle of the streets around you. The neon signs of overpriced bags just begging to be haggled, the misogynistic advertisements of computer-generated women overhead, unassuming hot dog stands and bodegas whose businesses depended entirely on locals, live music found on nearly every street corner, committed to entertain in order to survive.
This city was the physical manifestation of everything right and wrong with humanity.
Bodies close. Minds worlds away.
The perfect place for someone like you.
“So full of life.”
Hyejin looked at you. Her face softened once she caught a glimpse of the glimmer of light she always saw in passing.
She hoped it would return for the long-term.
“Yeah, bumblebee. Full of life.”
She promised herself that she would take you every year from then on.
Your first trip was during the nipping frost of winter, filled with artificial twinkling and overconsumption of goods; the holiday cheer dampened by the cold reality that heartbreak and loneliness were inevitable byproducts of the season.
Your second trip was in the welcoming arms of autumn, decidedly going upstate for one day; the leaves faded into reds and golds, apples ready to be picked to be baked into a sweet pie, accompanied by the warmth of spiced cider and slow healing found in vulnerability wrapped in double crochet blankets and friendship.
Your third trip was during the sweltering heat of the summer, bad decisions and dangerous impulsivity. Late night drives of yells and whoops echoed into the Lincoln Tunnel with the wind rushing through your hair. The invincibility of youth and rekindling of the burning fire you thought was long gone.
Your fourth trip was in the blossoming of springtime, maturation of seeds sown and bountiful harvests. Gentle breezes and flowy dresses. Picnic baskets and overpriced coffees. The unspoken connection of humans collectively sitting in Central Park enjoying the gift of now, thankful to be alive.
As the seasons changed, so did you.
──────────────────
“But,” Hyejin started, exasperation already apparent in her tone. “Come on, bumblebee.”
Annoyance flared up. “What?”
“You’re thinking about running away again.”
“What are you talking about?”
Hyejin rolled her eyes at you and you could feel the simmering anger building in the pit of your stomach. You tried to quell it down with breathing, but you still felt the flames lick at your insides. “Jihoon just started messaging you again and you’re off here just thinking about fleeing the country. Again.”
“This has nothing to do with him.”
“I think it has everything to do with him.”
“I’m not some lovesick puppy who can’t make her own decisions, unnie. I applied to Columbia because I thought that it would be an amazing opportunity to be an assistant professor. Do you know how many PhD grads get to score a job like that right out of graduation?”
“Oh, yes, we get it, Y/N. You’re always cream of the crop. Top of your class. Always pursuing something bigger and better than what we mere humans can provide.”
Your jaw dropped. “What the hell?”
“You were offered a full-ride to NYU for your PhD, but you declined it because you didn’t want to, and I’m quoting you here, ‘dirty your healing place.’”
“Things change, unnie.”
“No, you’re just fucking scared.”
Rage filled you. “You don’t know me. You think you have me all figured out, but you’re just projecting onto me because you, for one, are constantly running away from your own feelings for Wheein! You wanna know who’s scared? It’s not me. Because I make my choices and I don’t regret them. Can’t say the same for yourself, huh?”
You grabbed your belongings and stomped out of your shared living space, slamming the door behind you, the beating in your chest ringing in your ears with a resounding thump, thump, thump.
Part of you wondered if the reason you snapped was because she was right.
Maybe partially.
But you also knew that you hated being carved and molded into what people perceived you as.
And she perceived you as something you were not.
Your happiness wasn’t reliant on him. You were a wholly and complete person without him. You knew that. You found that Truth long ago. You proved that through the years of work you put in; years that Hyejin witnessed herself.
So, it felt like a backhanded slap when it felt like she saw the girl you were when she first met you. As though you didn’t put in the effort to take the course of your life into your hands and crafted it to be the way that it is now.
You were a whole person.
She never said you weren’t.
You tried to pull out your car keys from your bag but struggled to find them in the midst of your frustration. You growled before giving up, stomping your way down the now dimly lit streets, the sky never quite achieving a pitch black, with the light pollution of the city. Stars were nowhere in sight, but the moon hung low near the horizon.
You found yourself walking (nearly stomping) for almost an hour as different voices argued in your mind. You were several blocks away from your home now.
She overreacted.
She’s just worried about you.
She didn’t have to be.
She probably doesn’t want you to experience the heartache that she’s seen you go through.
She was treating you like a child.
Because she loves you. And love makes you do crazy things sometimes. Like yelling at your best friend. Or flying halfway across the world.
You groaned inwardly.
God! Why did you have to have a conscience?
You said some pretty shitty things to someone who may have not portrayed her care in the best way, but tried to anyway. She gathered the courage to try and challenge you and you blew her off by rubbing salt into her own wound.
She wasn’t right.
But neither were you.
You felt the wash of shame come over you as you twiddled with your bag’s strap, trying to muster up the determination you needed to trudge back down and apologize.
“Oh, thank God, bumblebee.”
You pivoted your entire body at your unnie’s voice, wanting to shrink back at noticing the redness in her skin and puffiness under her eyes, even in the faint light of the street lamps. She looked so frazzled, her flip-flops nearly hanging off her feet from what looked like running around trying to find you. “Unnie, I—”
“I know you said you don’t like apologies, so I’ll say thank you instead. Thank you for your honesty, even if it was really mean. Thank you for listening to me, at least the beginning. Thank you for getting angry because I know that’s really fucking hard for you to do so and I feel weirdly honored but also still spooked by it. Thank you for not driving, especially this late and on a weekend when you’re upset—”
Your heart sank at the memory of Hyejin recounting her story of losing her friend to a drunk driver, something Hyejin felt immensely (and irrationally) responsible for, having been the person to last send her off.
You had forgotten about that.
Here you were, trying to figure out how you were going to apologize, and here she was, worrying about whether you were going to come back to her at all. You bit your lip before you piped up, “I’m sorry for scaring you like that.”
“Yeah, well, I was right. I learned that I never want to be caught in the crossfire. Your anger is terrifying. You’re not a bumblebee; you’re more like an agitated hornet. With a gun.”
“Unnie—”
“I’m not done. I don’t know how to process my emotions like you do so I didn’t really think before I came running after you. I’m still hurt and mad that you said all of that shit—”
“I was wrong,” you interrupted. She went quiet at that. “I don’t know everything. I hardly know anything. But what I do know is that I was wrong. I said some things that I knew were going to hurt you because that’s what I wanted to do. I was wrong. But... so were you, unnie.”
She remained silent, so you continued.
“I’m not that same, young, dumb teen that you met at Yale. I’m not the brat who was still trying to figure out how to be her own person without being an off-brand version of all of her friends from Busan. I’m… I’m not weak, unnie.”
“I… I never said you were.”
You wondered when you started crying. “Yeah, well. It felt like you didn’t believe in me. That you didn’t trust me. You are the only person in my life who saw all of the changes I went through and you still said I was running away. So, it just made me think that all of my growth was… I don’t know. Fake.”
“What? No. Oh, bumblebee. Never.”
“I’m… I’m my own person. Who can make her own decisions. I don’t need anyone else to complete me. So, there’s no one and nothing that I’m trying to run away from. I’m just trying to figure out where I want to go. Is that so bad?”
“...No. Not at all,” Hyejin answered softly. She slowly stepped towards you and tentatively wrapped her arms around your torso. You leaned in and breathed in her scent, muffling your sniffling against her shoulder. “You were right that I confused the woman you are now with the girl you were then. But I’ve never ever seen you as weak. Or incomplete. Not then, not now.”
“Then why?” You sobbed. “Why do you think my life revolves around him? Anyone else can think I’m some love-struck dumbass, but why you?”
“Oh, bumblebee, I fucked up when I said I thought it had everything to do with him. I definitely… projected. Like you said. As much as I hate to admit it. But... I also want you to know that I don’t see you as some sad girl who’s been pining after some crusty dude. I see a woman who has gone around the world, fallen in love with it and its people, and still knows exactly with whom she feels safest. And I don’t want you to deny yourself of that.”
“I’m not denying myself anything. He doesn’t love me, unnie. So, I have to be the one to do it. Because he won’t. And that’s okay. I’ve learned to love myself and isn’t that good enough?”
Hyejin squeezed you tighter in her embrace. “Call me crazy, but… I think there’s something there. Call it a spark. Call it a string of fate. Call it a grown love. But… ah. I’m not good with words like you, bumblebee. You are good enough. Just as you are. Wonderful, even. I… I’m not saying he’s a missing piece of you or anything like that. But. Agh. Like. He is bread. And you are butter. You’re both complete by nature and can exist without each other, but you’re just… better together,” she tried to hold her tongue, but you knew her resolve was weak, so you braced yourself. “Butter together.”
“...unnie, you really are bad with words.”
You yelped when she grabbed at you to pinch your thigh.
She promptly turned the two of you around back to your apartment, her arm looped around yours. You easily walked past your building, though, caught up in smoothing out the harsh lines said during your earlier conversation. She admitted her fears regarding pursuing her own unrequited love and you confessed you often chased things that were of grandeur rather than that of simplicity. And you both touched on exactly the roots of your insecurities: hers in her fear of being unwanted and yours in the idea that you were incomplete without him.
The two of you found yourselves swinging at a neighborhood park that probably closed several hours ago, but it was a safe space for the two of you, to air out the tension, to have the beginnings of healing and mending, although most of it being left to time and future efforts of rebuilding trust.
Together.
──────────────────
[19:21] wzljh__: this might be a dumb question but did ur kkt account change
[19:21] wzljh__: i tried messaging u and it said delivered but
[19:21] wzljh__: nvm u dont have to reply sorry
[19:42] You: omg
[19:42] You: jihoon i made a new account bc my username was @narutofanfreak123 and i couldn’t bear to tell people that was my username but i didn’t know how to change it LOLLL
[19:43] You: so i made a new account once i came back to korea!!
[20:01] wzljh__: i
[20:01] wzljh__: i shouldve asked
[20:02] wzljh__: i thought u werent replying because u were busy with job searching since u were posting about it on ur story
[20:02] wzljh__: or maybe u didnt want to talk to me 😣
You rubbed your eyes in disbelief.
Jihoon used an emoji?
[20:05] You: oh no lol i already got offers
[20:05] You: still deciding between two of them
[20:17] wzljh__: before u tell me whats ur username on kkt?
[20:18] You: oh yeah!
[20:18] You: oh
[20:18] You: uhhhhhhhhhhhhh
[20:18] wzljh__: ???
[20:19] You: haha
[20:19] You: ok so
[20:19] You: uh
[20:19] wzljh__: are u ok???
[20:20] You: yeah! haha
[20:20] You: welp
[20:20] You: it’s @madamefirefly
[20:20] You: heh
Lee Jihoon (@wzljh__) added you on KakaoTalk!
You accepted Lee Jihoon’s request!
[20:23] Lee Jihoon: nice username
[20:23] You: thanks it was inspired by someone who used to bully me as their pastime
[20:25] Lee Jihoon: sounds like u were a masochist
[20:25] You: 🙄🙄🙄
[20:25] You: nice username
[20:25] You: sounds like it was randomly generated off of a sketchy site on naver that just so happened to have your initials
[20:26] Lee Jihoon: that ‘sketchy site’ somehow managed to predict the initials of my english stage name
[20:27] You: that was easily!!!! within your control to manipulate, woozi-ssi!! it should technically be uji!!
[20:27] Lee Jihoon: no that site knew my future and spoke to me
[20:28] Lee Jihoon: speaking of futures
[20:28] Lee Jihoon: whats coming up on the y/n agenda
[20:29] You: oop sorry hyejin-unnie is back home and i promised we would get dinner together so i might not respond until later
[20:30] You: but i’m deciding between staying here in seoul to continue the work i’ve been doing and being an assistant professor at columbia university in new york city!!
[20:30] You: although i’m def leaning more towards one than the other
[20:30] You: ack she’s yelling at me to hurry sorry i’ll ttyl!!
[Read at 20:30]
──────────────────
Your phone rang.
You saw the FaceTime ID and never slid the bar faster than you did in that moment.
“Unnie! I—oh God, is that a wedding dress—oh my, oh no, the tears—”
One of the most beautiful laughters of your childhood rang out as she flipped the camera back to her face, stained from salty tears already passed. “Oh, lovebug—” Your lips split into a wide grin at the childhood nickname. “I think this is the one. I needed to show you. What do you think?”
“Hold on, I’m crying so hard that I can’t see—”
337.1km away, your future family member (although, one could argue she always had been) burst into a renewal of joyful tears, so exuberantly over-the-moon to share this moment with you, and you sharing the same exact sentiment to be able to bask in the joy of a promised love.
“Unnie,” you said emphatically. “You are… so beautiful. So stunning. So radiant. So dazzling. My goodness me. You are… just so splendent.”
She hiccuped. “Lovebug, no one uses that word anymore.”
“I had to go back to words of old to explain myself because language oft fails me when I see you.”
“Stop. God, you and Jihoon both with your ability to speak. How do words even come out of you two like that?”
You made a noise.
You don’t think she caught it.
“Y/N, you are sunshine personified, so to hear you say that makes me feel like I’m being blessed by Amaterasu herself.”
“I wouldn’t want to go lock myself in a cave.”
“Then don’t, lovebug,” she said dismissively. “Plus, you can’t. The bachelor and bachelorette party is gonna be in Seoul and you promised you would be there.”
“Yes, yes. To help me get blackmail on everyone else in case they try to turn on you later. You’re using me, you know?”
“You’re a useful person.”
You clicked your tongue. “So I’ve been told.”
A comfortable silence passed between the two of you before she broke it, a slight hesitation in her tone.
“So… turns out that Jihoon’s gonna be at oppa’s bachelor party. Oppa asked him to perform and he said no because of his schedule, but he said he would be at the wedding. And the bachelor party.”
You quirked an eyebrow at that. He was willingly going to the party and the wedding of the man who stole the love of his life away from him? “Really?”
“Yeah…”
“Huh. Weird.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s coming to the wedding. I know you don’t want to see him, but—”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Uh, you literally went across the world to avoid him—”
“Why does everyone think that? No, don’t worry about me, unnie. It’s fine.”
You didn’t look directly at the screen but you could feel her stare boring into the side of your face through it. She thought you were lying. But you weren’t. It wasn’t about you.
“Lovebug—”
“He texted me.”
Your words stunned her into silence.
That is, until she went rapid-fire.
“Oh my God. What? How? When? Did you reply? Was it an emergency? Did you have a conversation? Was it a casual conversation? How long? Oh, thank goodness—”
“Whoa, whoa, chill out, unnie. Wait. Why do you look happier now than you did when you were showing me your wedding dress? Wait. Aren’t you at a boutique right now? Don’t you have your mom waiting or something—?”
“Shush, I’m asking the questions around here.”
And so, you answer them. You told your future family, your confidant, your safe space. You told her of the accidental like, the off-chance comment, the purposeful messages, and everything caught in between.
337.1km away and you felt right at home.
──────────────────
“Y/N?”
You knew that voice anywhere.
Of course she was here, of course she was. This was one of your collective dreams, two girls fantasizing about inebriated situations and uninhibited fun by means of burning liquids in a local Busan bar. A dream of spending a night here, sharing a story for every shot.
You learned a year prior that you would really only be able to tell two stories before wanting to quit.
“Oh… hey, unnie.”
“You’re… you’re back.”
You forced out a laugh. “Yeah, I, uh. Graduated.”
“From Yale.”
“Uh… yeah. From Yale.”
“Can… I sit here?”
You glanced up at her before gesturing to the seat in front of you, the corner booth really far too large for your person. You could almost see the thoughts that raced in her mind before she gave a small nod and sunk down into the cushion.
“So, how have you—”
“I heard you—”
“Oh, no, you go—”
“Oh, sorry, I just—”
You both locked eyes.
And promptly burst into a fit of laughter.
“God, what is this?” You managed to get out, holding your stomach.
She was no better, in her signature hiccuping stage. “I just—!”
“We have the communication skills of five-year-olds.”
She wiped away a stray tear. “We’ve become a drama.”
“I call being the second-male lead.”
“Wait, that’s not fair. We all know that the second-male lead is objectively better.”
“That’s exactly why, unnie,” you winked.
She scoffed. “Alright, I’ll give it to you this time, lovebug.”
You saw her freeze, as if she didn’t expect herself to call you by that nickname. She looked like a deer caught in headlights and you quickly gave her a wave of your hand. “You spent more years calling me that than you did my actual name. Let’s not break the trend now, yeah?”
She visibly relaxed and you couldn’t help but smile fondly.
A lull passed over you, but you felt much more comfortable with this silence than the strained one prior. You closed your eyes and simply took in the moment, gratitude filling your lungs.
“I’m sorry.”
Your eyes fluttered open. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m sorry that you had to leave because of me—”
Oh.
That was heart wrenching to hear.
The apology signified a wound, an old one.
A self-inflicted one.
Oh no.
“Unnie,” you began slowly, reaching for her hands. You could see the tears brimming. “Do you… do you blame yourself for my decision? Has guilt been eating at you all of these years?”
“I just… you left. Jihoon left. If I had just said something, then—”
“Unnie.”
She bit her lip at your definitive tone.
“Nothing, nothing, about this was your fault. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t mine and it wasn’t his either. We all struggled to ‘just say something’. Unnie, we were young and dumb. We still are young and dumb,” you squeezed her hands for emphasis. “If you say you’re sorry, then okay. I forgive you. But I just want you to know that past me never blamed you. Never.”
She let out a choked sob and you found yourself crossing to the other side of the table, enveloping her in your arms, tucking her head under your chin. She buried her face into your chest and you just rubbed her back soothingly. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for never reaching out. I’m sorry I never cleared the air. I’m sorry I was so scared.”
“We needed time and space apart, unnie. To figure ourselves out. And I did. I really did. And I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I kept tying my self-worth into Korea, into Busan, into you, into him. But that doesn’t mean I cut you off in order to do it. I don’t think I ever could,” you squeezed tighter. “Thank you for saying that you’re sorry, but there really is no need, not to me.”
And so she cried into your arms, emptying herself of tears. Later, you filled that space with your stories of adventure, your kind words, and your love. And she did the same for you.
In that moment, Busan never seemed so much more like home.
──────────────────
“So, New York, huh?”
You glanced up at your boss, the social worker in charge of running the different programs tied to the university, the same one who got you involved with the group home, the same one who offered you a full-time position after graduation in training new recruits, specializing in the Child and Family division, but also providing self-care guidance to the rest of the staff since your specialty in school was around Behavioral and Mental Health.
The pay was good, seeing as it was run by professionals partnered with SKY: Seoul National University, Korea University, and Yonsei University. What most Koreans would consider to be the ‘Ivy League’ of South Korea. Although, being a community leader was definitely a far-cry from a prestigious position as an assistant professor.
“Ah. Yeah, New York.”
“Nice place.”
“It’s… yeah. It’s nice.”
“Is the air better there than here?”
“No fine dust, but there’s a lot of smog.”
She pulled a displeased face. “Is that better?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. You wanted to reduce into a puddle and slip through the vents, dreading this conversation.
“You should go.”
Uh. What?
You parroted those exact words out loud.
“I may have lost some of my mind’s sharpness to age and time, but if I remember correctly, New York City is one of the most popular places in the world. And I hear that it would be a good place for a young, spry lady like you to get your bright mind out there. The world needs a little more of you and if New York City is the best way to do it, so be it.”
“I’m… I’m…”
“A wonderful human being who will make the most of the hand that she’s dealt. I’ve seen you make castles out of cardboard.”
“You… you want me to go to New York?”
“Oh, Heavens no. Not at all. I would love to just keep you here forever,” she sighed, going so far as to lean back in her desk chair. You resisted the urge to laugh at her theatrics. “But you’re not a princess locked up in a tower. You have the power to make your own choice, and I know that whichever path you go down, it will be a flowery one. You’ll make it one. Because that’s just what you do, Y/N.”
“What if… What if I’m not sure?”
She tilted her head back down to meet your eyes and gave you a smile that was slightly off-putting, as though you had fallen into a trap she carefully laid out. “Then, what can I do to convince you to stay here?”
“I think a part of me thinks I’m wanting to stay here because I’ve found my home here. I think I’ve become incredibly comfortable here. In Korea.”
She blinks at you. “Is… that a bad thing?”
“I think... I think that I’m wanting to stay here because I love it here and the work I do and the people I’ve met, but I think I’m wanting to leave because I’m trying to prove that I’m not tied down to a particular person. Because I feel like everyone thinks that I can’t live my life without them, so I want to prove that I can do it. That I will.”
“So… you’re trying to prove that you’re not influenced by said person, by, uh, being influenced by said person?”
“Uh.”
“‘Uh,’ indeed.”
“What if… I’m staying here because I subconsciously think that everyone is right? That I actually can’t live without them? Not actually?”
“Is that person me?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’m a little hurt you answered that so quickly, but. To prove my point. You are here, in my office, yes?”
“Yes…?”
“Are they?”
“No…?”
“Then. You’re living without them, aren’t you? Right here. In front of me. Heart pumping out blood through your veins and your brain shooting off neurons. You’re alive. Without them.”
“It’s… it’s a little different, Doctor, I—”
“Y/N. You’re dazzling. Almost overwhelmingly so. There is no one. No one who can overshadow you in the way you think they can. No matter what underlying influences, no matter what puppetry you may think is going on, you call the shots. You get to decide what to include in your life moving forward. If this person has as much power as you think they do over you, I’d like to meet them. Because you’re a force to be reckoned with.”
You bit your lip. “Is… Is it okay to be so selfish?”
“You said so yourself, Y/N. You found a home here. Or more like, knowing you, you built a home here. Korea will forever be marked by you. Seoul. Busan. Everywhere you’ve gone. That’s something that the majority of the world cannot say, because everyone feels a little lost, a little out of place. But you? No. You have a place. Right here. And, I mean, even at the end of the day, if you go off somewhere else, you’ll always have a place to return to that will welcome you with open arms.”
“Doctor, I…”
“Yes, Y/N?”
“...I think I wanna stay.”
“Perfect. I’ll have them write up your contract.”
──────────────────
[04:12] Lee Jihoon: i know its late. rehearsal never ends until 3am and i know that when u get texts you wake up even if ur phone is on silent bc the vibration wakes u up so im trying to type this all in one message so that it doesnt wake u up (hopefully) but i didnt want it to seem like i left u on read because i was upset or something. but i didnt want to message until i had the time to have a full conversation but i dont think thats happening any time soon anyway. when you see this i hope it makes sense im not sure if i am
[4:12] You: i still have the sleep schedule of a doctoral student, you know
[4:12] Lee Jihoon: oho i see
[4:12] Lee Jihoon: and u still owe me a gift, doctor
[4:12] You: 🥴🥴🥴 i thought you forgot
[4:12] Lee Jihoon: never
[4:13] You: ok lee jihoon, what do you want?
[4:13] Lee Jihoon: can i call u
[4:13] You: ? sure?
Before you could even type, ‘is something wrong?’, his name and profile picture (which wasn’t even of him, it was that dumb photo of Hansol) flooded your screen. Your finger slid across before you could even give a second thought.
“Um. Hello?” Silence met your ears. You wondered whether the call actually went through. You pulled the phone away from your cheek and pressed ‘speaker’. “Jihoon…?”
“Ah, sorry. Yes. Wow. Hi.”
You knew speaker was the better option. Hearing his voice that close to your ear would have given you heart palpitations, or at least, worse than what was already happening. “Yes, hello yourself. Did you need something?”
“Huh?”
“You called?”
“Oh. Yeah. No. I just. Wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
“Anything. I think staring at a screen would’ve made me fall asleep faster, but I wanted to talk. To you. If that’s okay.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s okay.”
You heard him release a sigh of relief (?). “Yeah. Okay. Thank you.”
You hummed, realizing there was a chance he didn’t exactly prepare conversation topics. “I decided to stay in Seoul.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. My boss here convinced me.”
“Tell them thank you.”
You snorted. “It wasn’t hard to.”
“Columbia is a pretty prestigious place, though.”
“Huh. How’d you know that?”
“Might’ve asked Hansol and Jisoo-hyung.”
You clicked your tongue. “Jihoon, just because they’re American doesn’t mean—”
“Nope. That’s exactly what it means.”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Okay, okay.”
“I’m proud of you, you know.”
“Uh—what?”
“You got a whole ass PhD. From the best university in Korea. You got offered a job at a super big school in America. One that’s super big in the field that you studied. You graduated from an even bigger school for undergrad, a school that even I know the name of. And just… I know that people expect you to achieve because you’ve always been a genius, always so brilliant, but. You also work really hard. So. I’m proud of you.”
Your throat felt tight. “It’s not that big of a deal—”
“But it is, firefly.”
Oh, that nickname. “I mean, I just—”
“You don’t have to believe me. But that won’t stop me from feeling it.”
“Jihoon, I—”
“I’ve missed you.”
Before you could even make a noise (not that you could), he continued.
“I’ve missed you a stupid amount. Like us stealing your dad’s car to drive to McDonald’s at 3am and then running a red light on the way there. And then somehow almost hitting an entire flock of seagulls. And then going to some random, deserted parking lot. And then realizing we didn’t know the way home, so we drove aimlessly for, like, 45 minutes. And then panicking when we kept seeing the gas needle go down. That kind of stupid.”
You couldn’t form words.
But you tried.
“I… I missed you too.”
You could’ve sworn you heard utter satisfaction in his voice. “I have to sleep now, but. I just. I couldn’t not tell you. That’s all.”
“Okay.”
“Get some sleep, firefly. Or should I call you, Dr. Firefly now?”
“That sounds like a cartoon villain.”
His laughter rang throughout your empty room and your chest tightened.
“Alright, we’ll go with just firefly then.”
Tears formed in your eyes at the ‘we’. You felt like you were fifteen and back in your childhood bedroom, after a long, long hours, ending your night by telling him about your day. The words you denied yourself for years tumbled out of your mouth, “Night, night, Jihoonie.”
A low chuckle met your ears.
“Sleep well, firefly.”
──────────────────
“He fucking booty called you?”
“Unnie, that’s not—”
“Nuh-uh, bumblebee. Any call past 3am is a fucking booty call.”
“So, when you called me past 3am, it was a booty call? I feel violated.”
“Time zones, Wheein. Doesn’t count,” Hyejin said dismissively.
Wheein puffed out her cheeks and stabbed the salad in front of her, piercing a lettuce leaf. You wanted to laugh at her infantile display, but you knew that would only result in her turning against you. And Hyejin was already a formidable opponent.
“He’s an idol,” you repeated for what seemed like the millionth time. “His rehearsal didn’t end until 3am.”
“He didn’t even tell you what he wanted for a gift,” Wheein interrupted.
“Yeah, what the hell is that about?” You muttered, turning back to your own plate of fries. You chewed on one thoughtfully as you made eye contact with Hyejin who gave you a deadpanned look. “What?”
“God, you two are dense, aren’t you?”
“Um, rude?”
“The phone call was the gift,” Hyejin explained.
“What a shitty gift.”
“Yeah, what? I would’ve asked for, like, Y/N’s homemade japchae.”
“Or my kimchi jjigae.”
“Or her dwaejigogi-bokkeum—wait. Stop distracting me,” Hyejin shook her head. “Regardless, bumblebee. He called you and that was his gift.”
You rolled your eyes at the ridiculous notion. “Sure, Jan.”
“Don’t make Brady Bunch references at me. We’re not American.”
“No, but we do use the internet,” you reminded her. “Anyways, it’s not that big of a deal. I’ve got other things to worry about. Like the fact that my cousin and his fiancée are coming in about a week and they want to get dinner together before they get shit-faced over the weekend. My only task is to gather blackmail material whenever the bachelorette happens with her friends.”
“Sounds like my kind of job.”
“Yes, Wheein-unnie, it really does.”
“Aren’t you gonna see him then?”
“Who? Jihoon?”
“Yeah, like. Aren’t you gonna see him next week? Isn’t he in your cousin’s bachelor party troupe or whatever the hell it’s called?”
You cocked your head to the side. “I don’t think I’ll see him? I shouldn’t see him. I think they’re gonna be in a different part of Seoul.”
“Huh. That would’ve been cool, though.”
“What?”
“You know that scene in dramas, where the main characters meet each other again for the first time in a long time and it’s all fuzzy and slow motion and there’s music playing in the background?”
“That’s—what? No. That doesn’t actually happen in real life, unnie.”
Hyejin pursed her lips. “Sure, Jan.”
──────────────────
“Ladybug!”
“Move aside, second-rate, that’s my lovebug.”
Your unnie ran into your open arms after she shoved her fiancé aside. You laughed at his crestfallen face but squeezed your future family as tight as you could. She squealed at your strength but nuzzled her face into your neck anyway.
“She’s… she’s my cousin, you know.”
“Yeah, but she chose me, which means that she likes me more. Chosen family is always better.”
“What? No—”
“She’s right, oppa,” you quipped. “Chosen family is always better. Has Lilo and Stitch taught you nothing?”
“I—you two always do this. You two always gang up on me and Jihoon, and—”
“Our table is ready, oppa. Let’s go take a seat.”
“For once, can you two listen to me, please?”
“He’s asked that before, unnie.”
“And we abided at that one time, right, lovebug?”
“Yes. He said to listen for once and we did.”
“Once only means one time, am I wrong?”
“No, unnie, you’re not.”
“God, forget it. Where’s the damn table? I need a drink.”
The two of you laughed at your cousin’s outburst and retreating figure as you both linked arms to follow after.
──────────────────
One appetizer in, you swirled the lemonade in your hands, appreciating the visible pulp as an indicator of its freshness. Your cousin, on the other hand, was several beers in, face slightly flushed, a permanent lazy grin plastered on his face.
“Wow, I’m surrounded by my two favorite girls—”
“What about your mom?”
“Or your dog?”
“Or Jennie from Blackpink?
“Or Zero Two from Darling in the FRANXX?”
“Oh God. He watched Darling in the FRANXX?”
“Ugh, yes, lovebug, let me tell you—”
“ANYWAY. YEAH. MY TWO FAVORITE GIRLS.”
The two of you snickered at his outburst. Your cousin’s phone pinged and he shielded it from you, squinting like an old man, staring at the screen with a tilted head. “Oh, hey, he’s five minutes away.”
You made an inquisitive sound. “Who?”
The two of them exchanged nervous glances, your cousin visibly swallowing.
Your unnie was the one who decided to speak up.
Because they knew you wouldn’t ever get mad at her.
Oh no.
“I know we didn’t give you the time to prepare, but we thought that you would’ve run away if we told you earlier, but Jihoon is coming here and—”
You could see her mouth move but you only heard a dull ringing.
You tried to speak, but no sound came out.
Wait.
Could you even speak?
Where was your mouth again?
Did it even move?
What was happening?
Where were you?
Who were you?
“Y/N.”
You thought you felt a hand place itself on your shoulder. You turned to the sound source. “Yes?”
“Are you breathing?”
“I think so.”
Your vision focused enough to recognize the looks of concern from the two seated at the booth.
Your heart sank. Oh no. Oh no.
Jihoon was going to see the two of them together, engaged.
He was going to be completely shattered.
“Lovebug, are you crying?”
“I—”
“Jihoon! Hey!” Your cousin’s voice went up several octaves from its regular position. You froze and cast your eyes downward, shrinking back as far into the seat as you could.
“Hey, hyung.”
Even the highest quality of speakers could not do this man’s voice justice, you realized.
“Oh my goodness, it’s our Jihoonie! Hi!”
You prepared yourself to hear the strain in his voice that you knew would tear you up inside.
“Hi, noona.”
Wait. What?
He spoke with such nonchalance, your head shot up in surprise.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Was your vision still fuzzy from earlier?
Did someone turn the playback speed to 0.5x?
Was that music playing?
(Shit. Hyejin was right.)
Your tongue mindlessly ran across your lips.
Oh wow.
He was really built like that, huh? His fair skin was so clear, you could have sworn there was a halo of light emitting from him. Cleanly done undercut, his ebony bangs fell messily just above his eyes, oh God, those crescent eyes, those bright, bright, bright—
Has he always looked at you like that?
“Hey, firefly.”
“Holy fuck.”
The older two gawked for a moment before your cousin began to berate you, going so far as to threaten to wash your mouth out with soap, while your unnie had her jaw dropped in horror. But you couldn’t look away from Jihoon. Surprise flitted across his face, but only for a moment. It settled into an uptilted corner of his lip and amusement dancing in his irises.
The woman before him, he only ever caught fleeting moments of. From social media posts by old friends to grainy photos from news outlets regarding your doctoral work. You were always so hard to pin down, like trying to catch a sunbeam in his hands.
You changed. So much.
You grew more into yourself, a woman you crafted with your own hands. There was a quiet confidence woven into you, so blatantly obvious, even though your current posture would convince everyone else otherwise. But he wasn’t everyone else. He could see the burning flame you’ve had since you were children, but it was more refined, more honed in, more in your control.
That made you more dangerous.
But that flustered look on your face.
Maybe you hadn’t changed too much.
And that gave him hope.
──────────────────
[끝.]
[side B: him.]
#lee jihoon x reader#woozi x reader#lee jihoon#woozi#seventeen x reader#kpop fanfiction#kpop fanfic#seventeen#svt#kpop svt#woozi fic#seventeen fic#svt fic#mine
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