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moonlinos · 3 months

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Call my bluff, call you ‘babe’

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers, fluff

♡ CW: Implied smut, alcohol consumption. Twenty solid seconds of angst, but it doesn’t even really count. It’s just tooth-rotting fluff.

♡ Word count: 5.5k

♡ Synopsis: Minho has been your best friend since you two could barely form coherent sentences. He was there when your last baby tooth fell, he was there when you failed your high school exams, and he was there as you walked down the aisle.

♡ A/N: This was going to be just word-vomit fluff to make me cry, but I couldn’t control myself and before I knew it there were… so many words.

You were four years old when you met Minho. It was the first day of kindergarten, and you were assigned seats together. The entire day was spent with you chatting to every kid you could reach from your seat while Minho quietly sat painting and doodling by your side. You vaguely remember thinking he was odd and whining to your mom about how your seatmate was boring, and that was why he was the only kid in class you didn’t talk to. She smiled and told you maybe you should make an effort to talk to him. That same day, you racked your little brain for a reason why your seatmate might be so quiet and promptly decided that he was too shy to start a conversation himself. You then asked your mom if the fact that you didn’t talk to him might have made him sad, to which she hesitated, and that was enough to have your bottom lip wobbling.

You remember tears streaming down your cheeks as you frantically sobbed, inconsolable at the fact that your seatmate was sad and that it was partially because of you.

The next day, you asked if Minho would like to use your special glitter pens — you even told him you wouldn’t mind if he used your favorite colors. That was really all that was needed to plant the bud of friendship between you two.

Ever since that day, you two slowly became inseparable.

You attended the same elementary school after begging your parents, writing a very concise list of reasons why you two could not possibly be separated. Reasons such as the fact that Minho still didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces, so it would be dangerous for him to be alone in a new school. Or the fact that you were always losing your gloves, and Minho always carried an extra pair in his backpack just for you, so you would surely catch a cold if you didn’t have him beside you during winter.

All extremely valid reasons.

Minho began walking you home from school when you were both nine years old. He was often left alone due to his parents’ work schedules, which made him become the most street-smart kid in your class. You had to beg your mom for a week, but she ultimately caved in.

Your favorite thing to do on your way home was to stop randomly and doodle on the sidewalk with chalk, with Minho joining you in no time. You even had your favorite little sketching spot — right in front of a nice old lady’s flower shop, where you two would spend far too much time decorating her entrance pavement with flowers, rainbows, and smiley faces. She would later introduce herself to you, Ms. Kim, and would always thank you both with a flower of your choice. You always picked tulips, and Minho always picked daisies.

On one hazy winter day, you and Minho were eager to adorn the flower shop’s entrance with a new set of doodles since the ones you had done just yesterday got covered in snow. As you two did your best to dig through the piled-up snow with your gloved hands, you suddenly felt something hard slide down your throat. Your hands stilled, and you turned to look at Minho with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did you lose your glove in the snow this time?”

You shook your head frantically, careful not to swallow. “Teeth,” you simply said.

Minho looked at you like you were crazy, squinting his eyes as he studied your face. “What?”

You felt tears well up, and he immediately abandoned his mission of shuffling through the snow before pulling you into a big hug.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry. I hate when you cry, I feel weird when you cry,” He said, but no tears left his worried eyes. Minho never cried, that was something you had learned a while back.

You, however, cried until Ms. Kim noticed you two from the window, cooing as she approached you two with a gentle smile. You tried your best to explain your predicament. Minho sat with you behind the wooden counter, holding your hand in his, the smell of flowers making everything feel less catastrophic than it did ten minutes earlier.

Ms. Kim explained that you had no reason to cry, as it was normal for kids to swallow their baby teeth. And you remember harshly shaking your head and explaining with a trembling voice that you hadn’t cried because of that. You had cried because that was your last baby tooth, which meant you were officially a grown-up. You didn’t want to be a grown-up. Minho wasn’t a grown-up yet, with his last baby tooth still holding on proudly in his gums. You didn’t want to be a grown-up all alone; it would be terrible and sad.

That afternoon, you two went home together in silence, your respective flowers clutched in your hands. Minho was never good with words. Sadness engulfed him because he couldn’t do enough to make his best friend smile again. What was the point of a best friend if they didn’t make you laugh when you were crying?

Minho walked into school the next day with a proud smile on his face before placing his last baby tooth on your desk. You eyed it curiously, brows furrowed.

“There, I took it off last night,” He simply said. “Now we’re gonna be grown-ups together.”

At eleven years old, your daily after-school video game appointments began.

You had just cut your hair short; a bob you thought looked cute on your favorite singer turned out to be cataclysmically unflattering on you. And, at eleven years old, it was earth-shattering and definitely the end of your life (despite what your mother told you).

You spent every second out in public with your hair hidden by a beanie, hoping it would distract people from your disastrous haircut.

Except it had the opposite effect.

One particular day at school, a boy came up to you simply to inform you that your head looked like a mushroom before running away, laughing with his friends. They were foolish words spoken by a foolish boy, but you were eleven. Once again, earth-shattering and the end of your life.

You avoided everyone the entire day — including Minho, whom you always talked to no matter your mood. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer, seeing as he walked you home every day, so you simply prayed he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes or that he at least hadn’t heard any of the other kids making unfunny jokes about your haircut.

After school, Minho sighed in feigned annoyance when you told him you had lost your gloves again before retrieving a pair from his backpack. Like a habit, you asked if he wanted to hang out at your house, although the answer was always unchanging.

“My mom’s baking a cake,” you told him. “We can play video games and then eat it together.”

Minho hummed in agreement, adjusting his backpack before grabbing your hand as you two began your daily walk to your house. It was something you always did, never walking anywhere without your hands clasped together. These past few months, however, this once ordinary gesture had begun making your heart beat faster. You didn’t understand why, and you would rather not think about it because every time you did, the words from your other friends would echo inside your head. Their stories about how they felt their hearts racing when their crush had hugged them or even looked their way, making you question if maybe…

But it couldn’t be. Minho was your best friend. How could he be your crush?

It was another one of those afternoons, your mom busily making you two sandwiches as you and Minho played New Super Mario Bros on your Wii under the blanket fort you always meticulously built. Minho had been acting weird all day — even weirder than you, who had to endure all the asinine jokes and hurtful words from your peers. As you completed the last level for the umpteenth time, saving Princess Peach, Minho all but threw his controller to the side. You turned to shoot him a questioning look, which went ignored as he rummaged through his backpack.

He retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, which he promptly gave to you.

You cocked your head, awaiting some sort of explanation, but Minho simply picked up his controller once more and hit play on the game.

Unfolding the paper, words greeted you in Minho’s messy handwriting.

YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE. STOP HIDING IT.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything to him, Minho reached out and snatched your beanie from your head. Your short hair and bangs cascaded onto your face, partially obscuring your view. But you could still make out his side profile, where a faint smile appeared on his lips.

After that, you two were silent for the rest of the day, eventually dozing off under the tent lulled by the sound of your mother’s hand mixer and Mario’s theme song. The sun eventually set outside the window, and you woke up to two plates of your mother’s cake waiting for you on the coffee table.

From that point on, your beanie was left forgotten inside your drawer.

You were fifteen when you realized that perhaps your feelings for Minho weren’t all that platonic after all.

It all started with a letter on Minho’s desk on a rainy Friday. October 25th, Minho’s birthday.

Minho’s quiet nature hadn’t changed one bit since you first sat beside him at four years old. He would rather die than start a conversation, rarely went out to the movies with your friend group and, most importantly, hated being the center of attention. That was why he told no one about his birthday since you two began high school this year. It was the subject of much debate among your little group of friends, with some bribing Minho with his favorite snacks or promising to do his assignments until college just for some sort of clue; a day, month, even the day of the week he was born.

But Minho never budged.

So, seeing a letter on his desk on the day of his birthday was odd, to say the least.

You arrived back to the classroom late after chatting to your friend from another class in the hallway, catching as Minho sat down with a puzzled look on his face and an open letter in his hands.

“What’s up?” You asked, sitting on the desk in front of him.

He looked up, thick glasses crooked from a dodgeball incident earlier that week. “Yumi found out it’s my birthday today,” He informed you, a bit too nonchalantly. “She organized a birthday party at her house tomorrow with our friends.”

You immediately took the letter, reading it and blanching at the words written in the girl’s pretty handwriting. She had found out Minho’s birthday by snooping around Facebook until she found his mother, who had a plethora of pictures of Minho on his previous birthdays. Not only that, the letter ended with a paragraph where she confessed her feelings to him — with all the clichés and dramatics only an adolescent crush could provide.

You still remember your first thoughts upon learning that information: Oh, Yumi. Of course a girl like her would do something like this.

You cringe at your words now, but at fifteen, you deemed no girl worthy of your best friend. Especially ‘girls like Yumi,’ who in your eyes all but threw herself at him. At the time, you thought you were looking out for the boy who was practically your brother. Now, you understand you were simply an insecure fifteen-year-old who allowed ugly, misogynistic thoughts to brew inside your mind out of fear of losing Minho. For your immature brain, every girl interested in Minho was an enemy because they could easily take him away from you.

And Minho had never reciprocated any girl’s feelings, always politely turning down the few confessions he had gotten during middle school. You were ready to berate Yumi, your brows immediately furrowing as your face contorted, but Minho beat you to it, speaking before you could utter a word.

“I know I should be mad, but isn’t it a little… cute?”

You couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips like a burst of disbelief. You also couldn’t help how your hands began to tremble as your heart shot up to your throat.

“Cute?” You asked with the strongest voice you could muster. “You think her invading your privacy is cute?”

And Minho simply shrugged, tapping his fingers on his desk. “A little bit. I know you don’t really like her, but she’s part of our friend group,” He said, taking the letter from your shaky hands. “Plus, she’s always been nice to me, and she is cute.”

That was all you could physically bear to hear, excusing yourself from the conversation with the lie that your friend had called you from the classroom window before sprinting out into the hallway. As you continued walking, your palms grew clammy and your heart weighed heavily in your chest.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once you reached the stairs. Sitting on the steps, you cried into the cardigan of your ugly school uniform. You didn’t care that you would be scolded for skipping class; all you cared about was that your best friend was going to be taken from you.

After school, as you and Minho were about to exit the school gates — your hands tightly clasped together as they always were — Yumi appeared carrying a cake, the rest of your friends behind her as they all sang happy birthday.

Minho blew out the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered as his best friend, Chan, shoved his face into the cake. Minho yelled at him, grumbling with glasses covered in white frosting, but ultimately laughing along. Yumi was quick to clean his face with a napkin, earning her a smile from Minho before he released your hand to gently squeeze her rosy cheeks.

You remained quiet, forcing out a smile and looking up at the sky every now and then so your tears wouldn’t fall.

All because Minho had let go of your hand.

Minho’s fifteenth birthday — that was the day you learned you could fool everyone else, but never yourself.

Your seventeenth summer was a drag.

Minho had just been broken up with a couple of months before, Yumi crying as she explained her parents wanted her to focus on her studies, and having a boyfriend was simply a distraction she couldn’t afford if she wanted to be a doctor someday. An unwilling participant in the entire situation, you sat awkwardly at the bus stop as she spoke.

You were ready to witness Minho cry for the first time in your life, maybe yell about how unfair her parents were being, but he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead just as your bus arrived.

Not much had changed when he began dating Yumi, with you learning that suppressing how you truly felt was worryingly easy. You still hung out with them, battling through their cuddles and kisses like a soldier on the front lines of a war. Never unscathed, but always strong. Nobody needed to know about how you cried into your mother’s arms almost every night before falling asleep.

The only change had been you and Minho’s daily gaming appointments. You two had since outgrown your video game phase, both now interested in diverging things that made it impossible for you to enjoy them together. You discovered your love for flowers went beyond doodling on the sidewalk in front of a flower shop, but Minho complained that growing flowers was too time-consuming, and he loved dancing, which you were far too uncoordinated and lazy to even try doing.

And so, you two settled for simply hanging out together at your house. Your room had easy access to the roof, which you two took full advantage of, setting up a permanent blanket fort where you would snuggle up with pillows and talk for hours after school.

That summer was no different, with Minho stretched out across the old mattress, watching the light pink sky slowly fade away as night set in while you two busied yourselves talking.

That was the day you finally gathered the courage to ask Minho about his breakup, desperate to understand why he had appeared so unfazed. After the one-year milestone of their relationship in February, you had begun to make peace with the fact that she would probably be around for a while.

Minho shrugged at your question, hands resting on his stomach while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He explained he was sure that he liked her, but it turned out he valued her as a friend much more than as a girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the answer. You knew Minho better than you knew yourself at times, which was why you knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Why did you stay so long with her, then?” You questioned, the resentful lilt in your voice a bit too obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I mean, you surely didn’t act as just friends.”

“I guess I felt lonely before,” He explained. “I was selfish for staying with her, but I enjoyed having someone. Was especially nice after…” Minho trailed off, dismissively shaking his head, and you remember being close to throwing him off that roof as he kept being so damn enigmatic.

“After what?” You prodded, “Minho, I’m your best friend. What’s the point of us talking if you’re not gonna tell me the truth?”

He turned his head to look up at you, the darkening sky making his eyes gleam as if they held an entire galaxy of stars. You felt that familiar nervousness return.

“It was nice to not be so alone after so many years of pining after someone.”

You cocked your head to the side, and Minho had the gall to chuckle at your puzzled expression. You shook your head, mumbling to yourself that your conversation was pointless if he wouldn’t tell you the whole truth.

Lying next to him on the mattress with a sigh, you could feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You remember the moon was already high in the sky by the time one of you finally moved — Minho, who slowly inched his hand closer to yours before clasping it tightly in his. Despite your racing heart, you thought nothing of it. He was now single, so it wouldn’t be ludicrous to assume a habit you two had cultivated for many years would naturally return.

However, after some beats from your erratically racing heart, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours. You had never done that before, always holding hands in a way that all but screamed platonic.

That night, with his thumb caressing your skin and his hand squeezing yours, Minho finally spoke the truth after so long.

“It’s you,” He said, tone nonchalant but voice audibly shaky. “Think I’ve been pining after you since I was nine and ripped my tooth out ‘cause I thought that’d make you stop being sad.”

You remember gasping quietly and his hand tightening around yours as the clock ticked and your silence remained. You remember finally mustering up the courage to turn to look at him and being met by an expression you had rarely seen on Minho’s face in the thirteen years you had known him — he was scared, wide eyes dancing around your face as if he looked for an answer in your features, his chapped lips parted slightly as if he was ready to backtrack the moment he saw any hint of doubt in your eyes.

You remember smiling at him and how his expression shifted into pure confusion. All it took was for him to finally have the nerve to hold your hand in the way he’d always wanted to, and for you to use his courage as a catalyst for your own. You remember how you closed the distance between you two and pressed your lips to his. You remember it feeling weird because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

But you also remember it feeling right because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

Your transition from being best friends to being in a relationship was easier than you had ever thought it would be — it was also slower than you could have ever imagined.

Minho never asked you out or confessed his feelings beyond what was said on the roof, and neither did you. It was a shared knowledge between you, a silent agreement that didn’t need words — at least for now. The little gestures and subtle changes left no doubt in your minds that you two were, in fact, no longer just friends — like how you began to always intertwine your fingers while holding hands, or how Minho would pull you onto his lap when you hung out with your friends, or how you would rest your head on his shoulder as he played with your hair during lunch break.

Your friends certainly had questions, the confusion written all over their faces easy to read like a book, but you both knew they also understood your relationship without you needing to make a big deal out of it.

You picked him up from dance class every weekend, sometimes arriving earlier just to catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, as Minho insisted he was too embarrassed to dance in front of you.

One day, thoroughly unprompted, he reached into his backpack as you two exited his dance academy and pulled out a yellow tulip. You had furrowed your brows at the sudden gesture, and Minho nonchalantly told you that planting your favorite flower was surprisingly easy. Since becoming teenagers, you had stopped going to Ms. Kim’s flower shop, and you had long forgotten about how you two used to have your own respective flowers back in the day.

It seemed Minho hadn’t forgotten.

That was one thing you had come to know about him only after you began dating. Although he seemed cold and distant on the outside — rarely communicating his feelings through words — Minho secretly kept a mental note of every little detail about the people he cared about, and he unfailingly found a way to communicate his feelings through actions. Such as promptly handing you a brand-new flower he had picked before you even had the chance to mourn your tulip as it began to wilt.

You, on the other hand, had always been the type of person to communicate through words; spoken, written, or read, which is how you began saving your best daisies from the small garden you created in your backyard and practicing your flower arrangement skills exclusively by making pretty bouquets you could gift to Minho (always with little notes hidden among the flowers).

Your once explicitly platonic roof dates also left no room for doubt, as making out under your usual tent became a hard-to-break habit. In fact, that was how your family found out about your relationship. You were eighteen, with graduation just around the corner, when your mother caught Minho kissing you as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of having to be apart from him during college (although you both knew that would never be the case, as you always moved mountains simply to stay together).

Everything was slow-paced, and neither of you had any desire to rush anything. Once, Minho told you he had waited eight years to finally kiss you, and somehow, that anticipation was what had made it all the more special.

And so, your first proper date only happened six months after your first kiss, and your first fight only happened a year and a half into your relationship. Not to mention your first I love you, which had been a slip-up that happened only in your first year of college after a drunken night with Chan and Minho. Your head on his lap, your tulip nestled among his daisies in a pretty vase on the coffee table as Chan hummed along to some song that came from his phone. You felt as if your entire being was filled with pure gratitude at that moment, and the liquid courage that flowed through your veins only helped you mutter out how much you loved Minho.

He looked down at you, hands cupping your cheeks with a silly smile adorning his face, and simply answered, “Well, I love you more.”

Your carefree attitude toward your relationship was almost a contrast to the one you had with your friendship. You and Minho had met so young that you could never truly pinpoint when you had become such close friends. You always wondered if that was what led you two to be so easygoing with what most people rush into. Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

You remember one of Minho’s new friends, Changbin, asking something about your sex life at some party during freshman year, and you two nonchalantly answering that you didn’t really have one. Your friends’ shock was understandable, but you and Minho only laughed.

Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

It was Minho’s 21st birthday, when your flowers were no longer in bloom, but your love remained blossoming like it was mid-spring. He had, as always, vetoed any and every plan of a celebration suggested by your friends. He opted to stay in with you, cuddling under a blanket fort like you had been doing for so many years. Chan graciously offered to sleep at a friend’s dorm, leaving your small shared apartment just for you and Minho.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen, and neither had you. You were simply lying together, watching the flickering of the candles you had set up around the coffee table, recounting the innumerable memories you shared when you suddenly felt the earnest, all-consuming need to have Minho as close as possible.

It was clumsy, both of you inexperienced and nervous. Your teeth crashed together and your hands gripped each other tightly, the realization of the intensity of your yearning becoming undeniable. At some point, the entire tent collapsed on top of you, and laughter filled the room for a brief moment before being replaced by your sighs and whispered moans.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was you and Minho.

Graduation day was a blur in your mind.

It had all started with Minho and Chan drunk at eleven a.m., offering you the awful-tasting omelet they had cooked in your cramped kitchen. They then went on to zone out for most of the ceremony after stumbling out of your apartment.

You approached Minho after he was done taking pictures and getting scolded by his family for being drunk on his graduation day, his mother giving you an apologetic look as you whisked him away.

“You’re stressed,” you pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” you replied with a sigh, resting against a large tree far enough away from the hustle and bustle of recently graduated students and crying families. “So is Chan. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk since Jisung’s birthday party last year.”

Minho chuckled, shifting on his feet and toying with the fabric of his gown. You furrowed your brows; he only ever got fidgety when hiding something. You learned that for the first time when you were thirteen and he had to wait until your birthday to tell you he’d gotten you two tickets to see your favorite band, and again when he had to keep Chan’s then-girlfriend’s plans of asking him to move in together a secret.

“You’re not nervous ‘cause of graduation, are you?”

You remember the way he stilled almost immediately.

“We always tell each other the truth, right?” He asked.

You remember the way your whole world spun as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and how everything seemed to fade into a white mist that surrounded Minho like a spotlight as he proposed to you.

Your wedding was small — both because that was how you had wanted it to be and because of your lack of money for a proper party.

After graduating, Minho became a dance teacher at the academy he attended as a teen, teaching little kids who he said always reminded him of you two. You used the money your parents had saved for you to travel after college to buy the old flower shop that held so many memories from your childhood. Neither of you used your degrees, and neither of you made a lot of money, but you were overflowing with an infatuation for life and a love for each other so great that it made up for any silly inconvenience that dared to come up.

The ceremony was held at a local church — although neither of you was particularly religious, that was the cheapest place available. You opted to walk down the aisle together; hands clasped the way you used to do for many years while walking home from school. Minho held onto a daisy bouquet you made, while you held the single tulip he had picked out for you that day.

“I’m not good with words,” was how Minho began his vows, the glow of the fairy lights and candles adorning the church rendering his attempt at hiding his tears futile. That was the first time you had ever seen him cry in the twenty-one years you’d known him. “But I think that never mattered with you. You know me better than I know myself. Most times, I don’t even have to say a word, and you’ll still understand me. It’s been this way since we were four, and you understood why I was so quiet, and you still chose to be my friend. Thank you for understanding me, and thank you for allowing me to love you. Loving you is what I do best and look how lucky I am; I’ve been able to do it for my whole life.” He then shot you a grin, the back of his hand wiping away your tears. He ended his speech with a line that was so very Minho, thought up with sincerity but spoken primarily to make you smile. “You’ve always felt like home, and I can’t wait to feel that way until we’re both food for the worms to eat.”

You had never cried so much as you did on the day of your wedding — which was remarkable, seeing as you’d been a crier your whole life. You remember the irony of it all; Minho, who had never been good with words, telling you about his love with words that came from his heart and spilled from his lips without any rehearsal, while you were rendered speechless and too emotional to even attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Your wedding vow was a simple, choked-up, “Thank you for being my best friend, Minho.”

Minho carried you home from the church, with your cheeks flushing pink and his smile beaming as your friends made rice cascade around the two of you like snow. It turned out the boy who hated attention didn’t mind the spotlight so long as it meant showing off his love for you.

Your honeymoon was spent in your small house above your flower shop — which you named Daisy’s Tulips — where you cuddled under a blanket fort the entire day, only leaving the comfort of the pillows and fluffy covers well after midnight to adorn the sidewalk in front of your house in a brand new chalk drawing.

“Can you imagine if we never said anything?” Minho suddenly wondered aloud, his chuckle echoing through the quiet street. “We were both pretty good at hiding our feelings for so long.”

And you simply shook your head, painting a daisy with white chalk on the sidewalk. “Minho, I know you. You wouldn’t have let me keep pretending after finding out I liked you too.”

“Who says I would have found out?”

“You said it yourself,” you explained, “I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s reciprocal. You would’ve found out ‘cause I can never hide anything from you.”

And Minho smiled, taking your hand in his just as you were done with your drawing. Your gaze shifted toward him, and you admired the man he had become. From the shy little boy who sat beside you to the quiet teenager with thick glasses to the man he had grown into; you loved every version of Minho you had the privilege to meet throughout your life, and you were certain you would love every new version of him you came to know in the future as well.

“Of course you can’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. He then added, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist

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strangelittlestories · 3 months

Text

The new god of tricksters approached the turnstile that led to the mortal realm.

To the side of each turnstile was a booth. And in each booth sat a psychopomp - the guides and guardians that stood between realms.

The lines were short as it was early afternoon during an Age of Reason, where new gods were not in high demand (as opposed to an Age of Reasons, plural, when the world churned through fresh deities to excuse all kinds of bullshit).

The new god was nearly at the front of the line. Ahead of them, a new genius loci of a small scientific library approached the booth. They were interrogated by a psychopomp who was 90% alligator teeth and 10% your mother’s disappointed eyes.

After a short conversation, the science spirit was eaten for being a contradiction-in-terms.

The trickster god stepped nervously through the gore of poorly edited academic citations.

“Hi.” Said the god, plastering on a smile.

“Name and nature?” The psychopomp’s grinding tone suggested it had neither the interest nor the bodily architecture for engaging on smalltalk (and would only be let down by your efforts anyhow).

“Interesting question. For part A I’m not sure I have one yet and I’m getting the feeling I *may* want to keep it secret anyhow. As for part 2 … I think my answer to part A might give you an inkling as to my nature.”

Imagine a creature made of many tiny bone knives coated with the venom of parental mortification. Imagine it sighing. The kind of sigh to end a universe or ruin a graduation.

“I have to fill out the form.”

“Tell you what … you’ve got most of a form already filled out from the poor sod before me.” The new god tried out a grin for the first time. “I’ll just give it a quick edit, bring it up to your standards, then presto theologio, god’s a good’un.”

“...it’s against the usual policy. But I do kind of want to see how this plays out.”

“Your confidence is appreciated.” The god fine-tuned their grin, turning up the sharpness and turning down the symmetry.

“Oh no.” Too many teeth smiled back at the god. “I just want to see how badly you’ll fuck it.”

The god decided not to press their luck and busied themselves with the form. They even kept their doodling in the margins minimal. Towards the end, they looked up at the psychopomp and asked:

“I think there’s a typo here. It’s asking me if I want to take out enhanced faith-based ‘lie-ability’ protection on behalf of my prospective followers?” The god indicated a part of the form with a finger that was entirely new to pointing and doing a bang-up job. “Surely that should be ‘liability’? As in, do I want *them* to have legal protection in case they get caught doing trickery? Or do I want to protect *myself* from being held accountable for their actions?”

“No typo. Special offer for tricksters. ‘Lie-ability’ - as in, for your followers’ faith to let them prevaricate more proficiently. For the strength of their belief to drip like ink from their tongues and rewrite the world into a more *pleasant* story.”

“Well, at five Revelations and ninety-nine Inspirations per century, it certainly seems like a steal. And I think I might be into stealing… Sign me up.”

“As we say in the business:” The psychopomp winked disconcertingly. “If your followers are *able to lie*, you’ll never be *liable*.”

Later, the god of tricksters might regret not asking why the previous applicant’s form had had a special section for trickster gods.

Or they might not. Some stories were more fun if you didn’t get bogged down in the details, after all.

#microfiction #writing #flash fiction #short story #puns #well wordplay at least #smol pun as a treat #gods #godly bureaucracy

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almightyellie · 1 year

Text

baby, i'm yours

in which you and bradley are in the same major and you're completely unaware of how much he adores you.

pairing is frat!bradley bradshaw x fem!reader

word count is 5.5k

author says stem major rooster supremacy <3

you should watch out for drinking, college au, language, party settings, mention of puking

title song is baby i'm yours // arctic monkey

bradley has never been the type to pine.

he had never been one for coveting from a distance, and why would he? bradley had grown up fighting for what he wanted. he had grown with an admirable, if not appalling, amount of confidence. bradley bradshaw had walked with a swagger that simply couldn’t be learned, and for the most part, it had gotten him what he wanted. sure, every once in a while he had to fight a little harder to get the girl, but he always got them in the end. until you.

you aren’t his type, that’s for sure, but something about you is impossible to shake. he’s spent at least three semesters staring at you from opposite ends of lecture halls, and maybe he likes you because you’re not his type. you seem conscientious, dedicated, and entirely uninterested.

it hurts the ego, sure, but bradley isn’t one to give up so easily. after all, you’ve only spoken once and he really hadn’t put his best foot forward. he should have known better, really, because you might be the only one in a nine am lecture who seems genuinely eager to understand enzyme kinetics. the idea of a frat party wouldn’t have interested you, and the offhanded invitation in the campus bookstore was met with a predictably tight smile and a, “yeah, maybe. thanks for the invite.” it’s the most polite blow-off he’s ever received.

that was august. now, spinning into the end of october, he’s been so embarrassed by his complete failure to accurately gauge your interests that he hasn’t even bothered to try again. he’s losing his nerve; more importantly, jake is convinced that bradley’s losing his masculinity. not that bradley has ever given a second thought to what jake thinks; he’s pretty sure that he could count all of jake’s iq points on his fingers, so he rarely gives weight to his opinion.

and yet, he can’t let it go. he can’t stop watching you from across the room, wondering what you would do if he sat next to you. wondering if you ever watched him, too. wondering if you realized how, with one measly conversation under your belt, you’ve entirely captivated bradley bradshaw.

the virtue of having such a large student group in your major is that group projects aren’t a concern. it was one of the things you had so looked forward to when you were working through your generals, the idea of doing your own work on your own time, without the opinions of anyone else. and it’s a little isolating, somehow, that you can sit in two lectures a day, five days a week, with a hundred people each, and not say a word to anyone but callie.

next to you, she pays little attention to the lecture, doodling in her notebook and scrolling through her phone. where you had been tirelessly devoted to your academics, callie had found a way to succeed without even trying. you take notes out of necessity, but it seemed like she picked up the information just as well by only half-listening to the lecture. as you scribble notes down in your notebook, your best friend nudges your elbow and tilts her phone toward you to show you a text.

nat: halloween party @ pike on friday

nat: bob said the door’s open to everyone

you frown, spinning your pencil between your fingers and shaking your head. callie groans quietly, leaning in to whisper. “come on, it won’t be that bad.”

and no, it probably wouldn’t be. you had never been to the parties they were always pushing, but they couldn’t be terrible if nat and callie were there; further, anywhere nat was, so was bob, who you entirely adored. it wasn’t that you had no interest in the parties; you, more than any of your friends, needed to let loose. but even after three years, you couldn’t stand the idea of having to market yourself to your peers; why would you meet new people when you had already found your family?

“pike is full of dorks and nerds,” callie continues. “it probably won’t even be that busy.”

you shrug, and callie grins. the text that she sends into the group chat rings in on your laptop.

cal: we’re there!

your heart leaps into your throat when nat pushes you forward gently. both callie and natasha had assured you that the party likely wouldn’t have been too crowded. bob is just as surprised as you, whispering to nat, “have you ever seen it this packed?”

the four of you can barely move through the living room and you look over bob’s shoulder, ignoring the unhappy way your stomach churns. from the way callie had talked about it, you hadn’t thought it would be like this. heat hits you like a wall every time you walk into a new room and you’re already overwhelmed, between the endless stream of conversations and the pounding music pumping through the walls.

bob spots reuben in the kitchen, and, already drunk, he greets all of you eagerly. it’s overfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome. you’ll take any little bit of comfort you can get right now, and though you’ve only met reuben a few times, the hug he pulls you into is enough to calm you, even if just barely.

“where is everyone?” bob asks over the music, clapping his friend on the back, and reuben blinks hard.

“i think seresin and mickey are in the basement.”

a cheer rises through the crowd as someone pushes through the doorway into the kitchen and reuben’s attention is entirely lost. he’s vaguely familiar, somehow, with the kind of honey brunet hair that makes you wonder if it’s entirely natural and a smile that’s contagious. he drops two cases of beer, stacked on top of one another, onto the already crowded island, and callie leans into you and nat.

“who is that?”

bob laughs and nat raises a brow. you’re glad that she asked because you know him, you think. a little more selfishly, something about him naturally draws you in; he has the same undeniable charisma that you think all frat boys must possess to a certain extent. it rarely works on you, and maybe it wouldn’t work if he turned it on you, but watching him greet everyone around him, passing out beers with compliments and laughter makes you a little giddy the same way all blooming attractions do, with a turn of the stomach at the end of the realization.

“that’s brad,” bob answers. you snort, because of course, his name was brad. “bradshaw!”

brad spins his head in your direction with a wide grin, a smile that only grows when he catches sight of bob, brows raising at the sight of him surrounded by the three of you. “hey, bobby!”

bob’s cheeks flush and for a moment, you watch him for any sign of discomfort, but he only laughs and pushes all of you toward the island.

“y’all want a drink?” brad asks, eyes lingering on yours, and without a second thought, you nod along with your friends.

you listen as well as you can to the conversation between the two men as brad hands bob a beer and asks callie whether she’d prefer a beer or a seltzer. she preens, asking for a beer, and he hands her one back with a polite smile. you watch him ask nat the same question, wracking your brain to figure out where you had seen him. maybe you had served him at work. it wasn’t out of the question that you might have been in a gen ed class together in your first year, but you don’t think it’s either of those. when he trains his eyes on you, you're more confused than ever because you’re sure you would have remembered someone like this.

“and for you?” he asks, voice soft despite the oppressive noise around you.

“seltzer, please,” you respond quickly. he grins at you and you hate the nervous flip of your stomach, thrilled and terrified to have his attention, to be on the receiving end of that smile.

news of the fresh cases has spread around the house and guests are crushing into the kitchen to get their hands on a new drink before they’re gone. at first, you hadn’t minded the crowd as much as you thought you would, but now you’re overwhelmed, so you pat callie’s hand and lean in close. “i think m’gonna step outside, okay?”

she pulls back, brow creased in worry, and says, “are you okay? do you want me to come?”

and you know she will, which you appreciate, but you also know that she just caught sight of the blond that has sauntered into the kitchen—exactly her type—and you don’t want her to miss her shot. “i’m okay! i’ll be right back.”

as you force your way through the crowd, cold can in hand, you wonder why you showed up in the first place. it’s not your scene, not even a little, and you had spent the last three years avoiding places exactly like this. foolishly, you hope that maybe the crowd will thin out the later it gets, but you know that’s not really how these kinds of things work.

the door from the kitchen to the backyard opens inward, which is a struggle when the couple behind the door only glares at you for attempting to open it. frustrated, you open your mouth to ask them to move, but a large hand from behind you reaches for the doorknob, and the man’s face softens at the sight of whoever’s behind you.

you glance over your shoulder and there’s brad, his chest brushing against your shoulder. he smiles genially at the couple, nodding at them. “hey, man, how are you?”

you don’t listen to the response because brad twists the doorknob for you, opening the door just enough for you to slip out. you aren’t sure he does it for you, exactly, but you’re grateful either way. the october night, especially compared to the sweaty, booming house, is a welcome and refreshing change, one that nearly forces you to take a deep breath. it’s considerably less crowded outside, and you lean against the vibrating siding of the house, glancing sideways when brad slips out of the door and closes it behind him.

for a moment, he looks across the backyard like he’s looking for something, but you interrupt him when you breathe out sharply, tugging your jacket closer. finally, he turns to look at you, and his face melts into the easiest smile you’ve ever seen. you’re not conscious of the way you smile back, pleased to see him pleased, and he leans against the wall beside you.

“hi.”

you look at him, half appalled and half intrigued, because brad is handsome. even if he wasn’t, he has the kind of inherent charm that makes up for physical deficiency, and you would think that someone so handsome might have a better way to flirt than saying ‘hi.’

it occurs to you suddenly that he’s flirting. he’s flirting with you. you feel a sudden warmth creeping from the pit of your stomach, rising to your skin and making you feel a little flushed. “hi.”

he holds out a hand in a formal handshake and you can’t help yourself. you chuckle a little, allowing him to take your hand. “i’m brad.”

you purse your lips and shake his hand. “...brad.”

he tilts his head knowingly, eyes mirthful. “yes?”

with a grin at him, you pull your hand back, rocking on your heels. “that’s just such a frat boy name.”

and he laughs, so loud and warm that suddenly it feels like august, pressing his hand to his abdomen. you watch him appreciatively, endeared to the way his cheeks flush, the way his shoulders shake. his eyes are still crinkled with delight when his laughter slows and he says, “then you can call me bradley.”

your grin shines stronger. “i like bradley.” you offer your name, and he sticks a hand into his pocket. he’s cute, undeniably, and every once in a while, someone will pass by and clap him on the shoulder, greeting him with a ‘hey, man!’ or an excited call of his name. for some reason, seeing how liked he is makes you like him even more. he greets everyone back—remembers their names and everything—and the smile on his face is so genuine that it takes you aback.

bradley is easier to talk to than you had expected, not that you had expected much. he briefly talks about his mother when you ask, answers a couple of questions about what he does outside of academics, but he seems more invested in asking you any questions than offering information. you’re right in the middle of a tangent about one of your classes when you ask, “what’s your major, again?”

he thumbs the tab of his can. “biochem,” he nods, and you grin.

“me, too!” you respond eagerly, and he laughs, seeming a little bashful.

“yeah, i know,” he responds easily. “we’re in a lot of classes together, i think.” he doesn’t think, he knows, but the last thing bradley wants to do now that you’re warming up to him is come off as some weirdo who spends all his time watching you instead of his lectures. your face brightens with recognition, and he smiles softly. “i also tried—and failed—to flirt with you in the bookstore at the beginning of the semester, but…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. that was supposed to be the silent part, but part of him hopes that you might remember him, no matter how poorly he had done then. he thinks he’s doing pretty well now.

you blanch, covering your mouth with your hand, and bradley could kick himself. “oh, my god. bradley, i’m so sorry! i can’t believe i forgot about that,” you lament, and he laughs with a tinge of self-deprecation.

“i really think it’s better that you did,” he soothes, and then you giggle and all is restored. he’s back in good standing, his washout from the bookstore entirely balanced. he’s all too aware of the tiny step you take in his direction, one that he’s not sure you’ve even noticed yourself. it comforts him, lets him know that right now, you’re closer to the same page than you’ve ever been, and that alone makes his heart begin to pound.

“well, i still feel bad,” you admit, and he shrugs.

“rejection is healthy for the ego,” he excuses.

it seems like it’s something he actually believes, which makes your chest sticky with unbridled affection. “you don’t seem like the kind of guy who experiences a lot of rejection.”

he flushes and you know you’re right, but it doesn’t annoy you. he’s nothing you would have assumed him to be; he isn’t arrogant or lewd, doesn’t push you to drink and hasn’t asked you to his room. the surprise is almost sweeter than the realization that bradley is the kind of guy you could like, silly name aside.

bradley can’t believe his luck; he hadn’t gotten you here, but someone had, and he’s thrilled. he’s grateful. he reaches for you, fingers hesitating, but he folds down the collar of your jean jacket, and he can’t contain himself when you smile at him. you’re vulnerable, open with him, and bradley can read the signs. he’s giddy, because you’re finally looking at him, laughing with him, and bradley thinks that this—you are better than any way he had ever imagined you.

“bradley bradshaw,” you murmur, rolling your eyes playfully. “you aren’t entirely insufferable.”

he guffaws, fingers tightening around his empty beer can. he’s been out of his drink for nearly half an hour, but he can’t pull himself from you. “wow, i’m honored.”

you play it up, turning away from him to look out across the backyard. the two of you are so close that your shoulder brushes his chest, and warmth races through his body at the contact. a large hand settles in the dip of the small of your back, and you pretend that it doesn’t make you want to shiver. “you should be. i’m very hard to please.”

and bradley’s stomach flips, fingers tightening around his empty can once again. “i’m sure i could figure it out.”

a surprised laugh forces its way out of you and he snorts. “dude.”

he grins, tapping his empty can against yours. this is going well, better than he thought it would. “you want another drink?”

you look at him, a pleased smile pushing at your cheeks. “yes, please.”

he’ll give you a moment alone, in part because he really does need another drink, but mostly because if there ever were a time to work up the courage to ask you out, it would be right now. he grabs your can, flashing you a sweet smile before he slips inside.

the second his back is turned, you can’t tamp down your smile, your ears burning. at this point, you don’t even care if he’s stringing you along. you like him. he makes you laugh, and he had been willing to admit that he had his foot in his mouth when he had approached you at the beginning of the semester. then, you had assumed the same of him that you had when you’d met again: that he was cocky, that he was a stereotypical frat boy. but now, he’s laughing at himself the same way you are, humbled and sweet.

the kitchen door opens, and you turn to greet him, but it’s nat. you smile warmly, leaning against the wall. “hey.”

“hey,” she breathes. “you’ve been out here the whole time?”

you shrug, sticking your hands in the pockets of your jacket. “yeah. you guys having fun?”

nat rolls her eyes with a huff. “yeah, about that. we gotta get callie home.”

worry washes over you, forcing out the lovesick warmth that had overtaken you and leaving you with a bitter chill. “what happened?”

she shakes her head, the toe of her boot rubbing out a cigarette butt someone has thrown on the back porch. “she got into a pissing contest with that guy she was flirting with,” nat grunts. “you know how she is. anyway, she’s in the backseat.”

and you shouldn’t be surprised, because yeah, you know callie. she can’t let a challenge go, and you’re amazed it hasn’t given her alcohol poisoning yet. taking care of her while drunk is like second nature after so many years of friendship, and you had figured that the night would end like this, anyway. but you hadn’t anticipated bradley. you want to take care of your best friend, but you don’t want to leave behind the lovely flush that bradley has given you.

nat notices your pause and frowns. “you okay?” you step to the side and peek into the window. bradley stands, pretty and flushed in the kitchen, his beer in one hand and a different flavor of your seltzer in another. god, you don’t want to leave him behind. you want to stay, soaking up his warmth, his attention, and you want to kiss him, and maybe you want to spend the night with him. you watch him laugh in the kitchen, goading one of the other party guests, his charisma radiating even through the window. everyone around him laughs, smiles up at him, falls into his encouragement to keep drinking, keep having fun, and you recognize the look on their faces. it’s the look that you’ve been wearing for the last hour talking to him.

you sigh and turn back to nat. “yeah, m’good. let’s get her home.”

your friend hesitates, but you smile and nod. bradley charms everyone around him; you’re sure that you’re no different. he has everyone falling at his feet. he makes people feel special; it’s the kind of guy he is, and you like that about him, but that’s all it is.

you let nat drag you through the side yard and around the front to bob’s car, and you try not to let yourself think about bradley on the ride home.

bradley, still laughing at javy’s insistence on body shots, slips out the backdoor, can in each hand. the crowd pushes the door closed behind him, and his belly is still flipping when he turns to where you should be. where you were. he frowns, confused, and he hates the way his stomach swoops when he looks across the yard and can’t see you. tucking his beer in the crook of his elbow, he shoves his way back into the kitchen.

“reub!” he calls over the noise, and his friend beams at him. “where’s bob?”

reuben, drunk and thrilled, responds, “man, he just left!”

a sinking realization makes bradley wilt, his shoulders dropping, and bradley knows that you’re gone, too.

callie glares unhappily at the glass bob has set before her. “i’m literally going to puke.”

he gives her a look, unimpressed with her dramatics. “it goes down smoother than you’d think.”

“does it come up smooth, too?”

you don’t blame her, really. you had never tasted bob’s hangover cure, but it looks exactly like what you cleaned out of his backseat last night. no, you wouldn’t want any part of it, either, but he swore by it. nat drops a straw in the thick mixture, and callie groans but begins drinking it obediently.

“so,” nat starts, sitting across from you at the table. “how was your night?”

you feel your cheeks warm but you shrug casually, resting your chin on your water bottle. “fine. how was yours?”

“you disappeared,” she responds, ignoring your question, and you roll your eyes goodnaturedly.

“i did not ‘disappear.’ i was exactly where i said i was all night.”

nat narrows her eyes at you, and when you look at bob, you see his lips quirked in the tiniest smile. “brad followed you out,” he notes, and you stare back at him, trying to keep your face blank.

you don’t want to feel giddy about bradley, not when you know he was just being nice. the last thing you want to do is give bob any indication that bradley has gotten under your skin; you know bob. you love bob, but he’s observant, and though he would never tell a secret on purpose, you know better than anyone that sometimes the truth just slips out of him. “he did.”

callie perks up a little, straw still in her mouth when she asks, “you and brad?”

“no,” you insist. “we just talked for a few minutes.”

nat smirks, leaning onto her elbows. “did you like him?”

“he was nice.”

“that’s not what i asked,” she pushes, and you huff.

you want to hold it close to your chest. it’s embarrassing to admit that you had allowed bradley to make you feel so special, that he had wooed you without even trying. but the idea of lying to your best friends makes you sweat a little. natasha would find out anyway, and then you’d be in for it. “i mean…yeah, i guess.”

“that’s a yes,” bob celebrates, and you frown.

your best friends share a pleased look and you harrumph. “what does it matter, anyway? he’s just some…random frat guy. probably would end up being an asshole, anyway.”

bob shakes his head, filling one of your mugs with coffee for himself. “nah, brad’s cool. he’s nice.”

you level a glare at bob. “regardless. the last thing i need right now is to develop feelings for some guy that everyone else is already in love with.” and bob doesn’t argue, doesn’t deny the fact that bradley has everyone falling at his feet. you shrug, taking a sip of your water. “he’s cool, i guess. but i don’t have time for that.”

callie wrinkles her nose in your direction, clearly a little annoyed. “but you like him.”

you purse your lips. “so?”

she sighs, holding her cup of sludge with both hands as she leans back into her seat. “tell him.” it’s such a callie thing to say. she had never second-guessed herself. she had never needed to. but you weren’t callie. you weren’t perfect, reliable callie. such confidence had never come to you the way it has to her. if you were callie, the kind of person that people were drawn to—the same way they were drawn to bradley—you might tell him. but you weren’t. you were just you.

you lean back into your chair, avoiding your friends’ eyes, and for a minute, you pretend that you are like callie, and it’s a comforting thought.

similarly, bradley and mickey look at each other across the kitchen island. “so…you didn’t kiss her.”

“no,” bradley says, tired.

“and you didn’t ask her out?”

“no.”

mickey looks at him, head tilted curiously. “but why?”

“because she left, you idiot,” javy rolls his eyes. “you aren’t even listening.”

“i am!” he insists, glaring at javy. “i just don’t understand. brad, you’re the clincher.”

bradley has been running over the events of the night before until he can’t hold it in anymore. he had hoped his roommates would be helpful, but javy is disinterested, mickey is entirely unhelpful, and jake had shuffled away five minutes into the conversation to fall asleep on the couch. “i don’t know, man, i thought it was going great. she seemed like she was interested, you know?

mickey shrugs. “whatever, dude. you said you have some classes together? just catch her on campus and ask her out.”

“mickey, did it ever occur to you that she left because she didn’t like me?” bradley stresses, and his roommate rolls his eyes.

“bradley, have you ever considered that you only like this girl because she's the first one who doesn’t like you?”

bradley sits with this for a moment. he had an ego, that was for sure, and he had chased a lot of girls who didn’t want him just to change their minds. the thrill was always in the chase. at least, it had been, because the longer bradley thinks about it, the more he thinks that he had found just as much thrill watching you across lecture halls as he ever had chasing other girls. he had been just as eager to get you a drink and make you laugh as he had to take other girls to bed. everything is heightened with you. no, the thrill wasn’t in chasing you. this had gone on so much longer than that. long before he ever found out that you had no interest in him.

“no,” bradley decides. “no, man, it’s not like that. i really like her.”

mickey shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “okay, then tell her. what’s the worst that can happen?”

you avoid looking at bradley throughout class. right as it had begun, you had made the mistake of searching for him, and the second that you laid eyes on him, it felt like a burn. over the weekend, you had come to terms with the fact that yeah, you did like bradley. that didn’t mean you had to like it. you would put your head down, get through the semester, and pray that you didn’t have any classes together next semester. and that’s fine. it’s fine.

your notes, like your thoughts, are scrambled. they barely make sense to you, and when callie glances in your direction, her face twists at the sight of your notebook. “dude, what the fuck?”

“stop,” you insist, trying to hide the way your shoulders shake in a laugh. “it’s functional.”

“bro, it’s incomprehensible.”

“fuck off,” you laugh, elbowing her.

she giggles, pressing a hand to her chest. you’re grateful when your professor releases class early, because callie’s jeering is getting a little too close to heckling for your taste. she can’t control her volume, this you know, and usually it’s fine, but more than usual, you’re trying to fly under the radar today.

you both shrug on your coats, pack your bags, and slip from the lecture hall. you think you’re in the clear, that you’ve successfully avoided bradley, who exited on the opposite side of the lecture hall, not that you were looking. but you hear your name from only a few feet behind just as you and callie reach the external doors. it’s far enough away, crowded enough in the rush of your classmates that you might be able to pretend you didn’t hear it, but he calls you again and you know that the guilt will haunt you if you don’t at least say hi.

your best friend grins when you turn and offer bradley a tight smile. “hey, bradley.”

“hey,” he breathes, and you hate him because he’s so much cuter in daylight than he ever was under the porch light of the frat house. it makes you sick. “i’m glad i caught up to you. can we talk?”

your inner monologue screeches to a halt and starts shrieking, but you nod and turn to callie. “i’ll catch up?”

she smirks at the two of you. “i won’t hold my breath.”

“callie,” you hiss, but bradley laughs and you feel—despite your embarrassment—that her comment is hopeful, not teasing.

she waves goodbye and heads on her way. you and bradley, standing against the late autumn chill, stand in silence for only a beat before he says, “i lost you at the party.”

your lips twist in a way that’s unbearably endearing to him and you hook your thumb over your shoulder. “callie got sick, we had to take her home.”

bradley grins, looking after her. “oh, that callie.” you look at him, half-suspicious, but you have an almost knowing smile growing on your face. “my roommate hasn’t stopped talking about her since friday.”

“jake?” you hazard a guess, and bradley nods. a contemplative sigh fills the space between you before you say, “yeah, trust me. we’ve heard a lot about him, too.”

you expect some banter, at least, about his roommate. from what callie has told you, you’re certain that bradley has some stories to share about him, or at least a funny quip, but he’s got a one track mind. “um…right. well, i would have liked to…say bye.”

for a long moment, the two of you look at one another in silence. you get the sense that bradley doesn’t spend a great deal of time being vulnerable like this, even if he’s just giving you the barest hint of what happens underneath, and you have to wonder: why is he sharing this with you? what is he doing?

“no, yeah. you just looked like you were having fun inside, i didn’t think you’d really notice.” and god, you hate how pathetic that sounds, and you hate the way his shoulders deflate, and you hate the way you’re butchering this right now. “i just didn’t want to bother you, was all.”

“you wouldn’t have bothered me,” he responds immediately.

he’s so cute that looking at him hurts, and you feel that pressure build up in your chest, packed so tightly that you have to say something. “bradley—”

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice sweet and a little scratchy. he holds eye contact so firmly that it almost makes you shiver, both of you ignoring the other students around you. “i’m sorry if i was too pushy, or if i made you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t,” you assure. “you weren’t. not at all.” he nods once.

bradley feels like the earth could swallow him right now and it could only help the situation. he’s embarrassed, but he tries not to show it. after mickey’s rare moment of mental clarity, bradley knows that now is the moment. he’d missed his chance before. fumbled his opportunity already. he didn’t want to do that again. “listen…i’ve been watching you across classrooms for like, four semesters. i think you’re really pretty,” he admits, voice steady despite the increasing flush on his cheeks. “and you’re funny and interesting and smart and i want to get to know you, because i really like you.” you blanch, mouth parted in the cutest little o he’s ever seen. “if you aren’t interested, i get it. we can just be friends.”

you pause, taking a moment to process his words when he cuts in again.

“or if you don’t want to be friends, you can totally tell me to fuck off and i will literally never bother you again,” he rambles, nodding decisively.

and it happens at the worst time, really. this is not the time to start giggling, but you can’t help yourself. you’re a little giddy and a little entertained, but mostly you’re caught up in him. caught up in the way this boy you haven’t stopped thinking about for the last three days has, apparently, spent the last two years admiring you. this sweet boy, who makes you laugh and makes you think, who makes you feel special and interesting and wanted.

“bradley, you don’t get rejected a lot, do you?”

bradley’s lips pucker, trying to hide his nerves from you. whatever you had to say, he wanted to hear it. no matter what. “no, i don't.”

you take a step toward him, grateful for the heat that rolls off his body, and you smile at him softly. “well, best not to break your record, then.”

bradley bradshaw isn’t the type to pine. until he is.

and it’s worth every second.

#rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw imagines #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x fem!reader #rooster bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x fem!reader #bradley bradshaw oneshot

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luciddaydreamsstuff · 26 days

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Desert Duo Doodles! I am in way too many fandoms to count, including content creators and whatnot. It wasn’t until a doodle of some CCs that I realised how many were MCYTs. But I wanted to draw these two cause I liked how I drew Scar in the other original doodle and have drawn Grian a bunch but constantly changed the design. Now I have one that I like.

Under the cut are the individual drawings plus stickers that I forgot to add to the original but decided fuck it it’s done, plus some explanation about design choices and headcanons. (Does anyone even care about that?) Idk and idc, I’ll ramble anyways.

(you don’t have to read the stuff, I don’t really care, but you can if you want)

First off, this one was annoying since it was supposed to be a hug. I was too lazy to draw the Third/Sercet Life outfits, so they are in their default outfits with crowns representing the fact that they won at least one of the Life games.

Ramble: For Grian’s design, I wanted to keep the bird/avian hybrid but also reference other series or past friend. The Life series has the poppy has memorabilia, the blue and red bracelet represents YHS/TS, and the eye necklace is for Evo. The tail is more so a mix of Watcher magic and Avian DNA, bird feet cause why not. The wing ears are hidden to look similar enough to his regular hair, I like to imagine that wing ears are a rarer trait and to not draw too much attention, he would use Watcher magic to change the colour of the wing ears to match his hair. The freckles are based off of the idea that Angel Dust’s freckles are actually just eyes (which were shown in the show), and I liked that idea. He didn’t have freckles before Evo but after in Hermitcraft he did, they are just eyes that are always closed though he can see out of them. It’ll be clearer in the next piece, but his eyes are based off of some bird eyes so a black sclera with coloured pupils. Grian just hides his eyes under his hair since they are more sensitive than normal. Also I didn’t wanna draw his eyes cause it was one of the things I kept changing before.

I’ll go into Scar later since it’s just a half body but he goes by the same rule of his outfit showing where he’s been. So the poppy and lavender for Third Life and the heart necklace for Secret Life. The earrings are based off of the crystals from Season 7.

Alter Egos! Or at least Hot Guy and Arianna Griande. Not much here, but you can see what I meant with the eyes beforehand.

Also, I can’t be the only one to notice or at least point out that Ari and Cute Guy have like the same or a least a very similar colour palette of pink and white.

Final one, and the two are taking a much needed nap. This could take place anywhere though I like to imagine somewhere in Double Life or somewhere between Season 7 - 10

(also I find it very funny how close these two’s bases were for Season 6 - 10. both were near each other in the futuristic district of season six, then next door neighbours at the start of season seven, I don’t need to mention much besides boatem in season eight, again near the start and most of season nine with Scarland and Grian’s timejump build, then finally again in season ten with Magic Mountain. just funny to me for some reason)

Ramble: Scar is like a hybrid between an elf/fae creature and a cat centaur (that I cannot remember the proper name for). The cat half is based off of Jellie, RIP, and his body is scarred because well I mean the dude is accident-prone it’s bound to happen. I imagine that Scar would wear slightly baggy outfits, like they hang off just a bit to not hug his figure. His hair is more based off of Season 9 with him leaning into the whole elf aesthetic, and I both hate and like the hair but whatever. Idk, I kinda just wanted to make him centaur based cause that visual isn’t something I see often. I imagine that hind legs are weaker than the front so he would switch between a cane and a wheelchair that you would see for animals. I might draw that later idk, but yea

If you actually took the time to read this incoherent mess, idk comment a content creator you like, no matter how niche they may be

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mewguca · 8 months

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when was the last time you drew saint..

I haven't drawn a proper saint in several months but while doodling them earlier I thought I might as well

Cherry Blossom Saint. based off of a kitsune lols and of course (Saint Spoilers)

karma 10 saint...based on the Nine-Tailed Fox variant specifically

You might ask "but why not ten tails since it is clearly a more religiously significant number in RW lore" BUT!!!! You see. Uh. Dear Reader...You see! I think being stuck just below that number is really fun for echoes thematically...Saint can ascend others, but they cannot ascend themself. And for those who are not aware Kitsune are often associated with Inari, a Shinto deity...they are often depicted as messengers of them and guardians of their shrines. I think that's fitting for someone whose role it is to help guide others to the afterlife...

Uh. Forcefully. But hey!!! It is cool I think

(๑>؂•̀๑)

Hopefully that makes some kinda sense...And obviously the Sakura theming ties back to all that nod nod

I think my inspo for cherry blossom saint was all the fun seasonal saints people made...though unfortunately i cannot remember any specific ones, so I apologize...But also! I remember my friend asked me to draw sapphic HunterSaint once (CherryBush) and iwas like. well if its a Cherry Bush then!!! why not make the bush cherry blossom themed...I think that was my first attempt at drawing anthro too ummmm. It's not very good tho >_>;;;

Apologies for rambling so much, and apologies for my poor memory orz

(Also I must admit I still need to play Saint...so their concepts aren't as fleshed out as some campaigns im more familiar with but im workin on it)

#talkstothemoon #rain world #rw saint #rambled eggs #egg art #egg doodles #downpour spoilers #Saint Spoilers

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merakiui · 1 year

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oh my GOD dilf tweels……. especially dilf Floyd… i would do the unholiest of things to that man :3c

Things so unholy that he is about to get another child in nine months. orz

Dilf Floyd is physically attractive, but I also think his enthusiasm as a father is really attractive. He’s so eager to take his kids places and give them a happy childhood, oftentimes getting assistance from Jade or Azul if he’s really busy with work and can’t find the time to spend with them. But Floyd always makes sure his kids come first unless it’s a very important work obligation. He’ll carry them on his shoulders, he’ll spoil them rotten, he’ll doodle or paint alongside them and he’s always so proud of every artwork they make, displaying them on the fridge or tacking them to a board dedicated to showing off their artworks. He loves his children so much, so when he meets you and sees how good you are with the kids, how you fit so nicely into the family without even realizing it, how even his kids are drawn to you and your kindness… He’s in the deepest of a love he never thought he could experience again, so naturally he can’t let you go.

Dilf Jade is also so attractive. Still so smooth and silver-tongued, but he’s softer with his children. He’s never deceptive with them, unless it’s about things they’re still too young to know or comprehend. He also loves his children so, so much and he’s prone to spoiling them as well, just not as often or impulsively as Floyd. He doesn’t want to enable bad behaviors like greed, but then he sees how brightly they smile and how they hug him so tightly and tell him they love him and he does away with the idea to spoil them some more. He’ll enforce good behaviors later; for now he just wants to see them happy. :D

Despite being a single father, Jade has his life together. It’s a little difficult to find enough time between work and his home life, but he does the best he can. Usually he’ll have Floyd or Azul (the ones he trusts most) come and watch the children if he can’t find time to come home and visit for an hour or two. He’d rather not spend so much time at work, but it’s a well-paying job and it supports him financially. Therefore, he has no choice. I imagine he might hire a babysitter (you) when Azul and Floyd are unable to watch his kids, most likely due to busy schedules or other obligations (like Floyd having kids of his own). And it takes some time for Jade to settle into this routine of coming home to find you preparing snacks for the kids or humming them to sleep for nap time, and he soon realizes how nice this is. How this is what’s been missing in his life. How it’s always been a puzzle not yet pictured. It’s only temporary, of course, as he pays you and sends you on your way, where he’ll have to wait until the next time he needs you. But that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing about how perfect it would be if you became part of the family.

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst

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toothpastecanyon · 2 months

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Hi! I’d like to start with the fact that your writing is PHENOMENAL, the way every first chapter is designed to grab the readers attention, with a mystery or a cozy little opening, establishing where the character is in life and their motives, or a sneak peek at the problem the characters must overcome.

I’m really bad at articulating my thoughts, but ur characters are really well written and I’d like to make more fanart of them, but I’m not quite sure what they look like.

(The only fics of your la that i KNOW you wrote are Unto Dust, and The Comfort of Agony (both of which are really good btw, I also love how you write existing characters, and your portrayal of them(especially Lucy Ann))

Anyway, because there are so many interpretations of species used in TAU, I got a little mixed up on what the non-human characters look like.

Darceus- in Lucy Ann and the Lunch Bunch, there is a Kitsune named Felicity, who is described as “looking a kind of like a human, and kind of like a fox” which my interpretation of is shown below. I forgot that that isn’t typical for kitsune characters in tau (even though she’s the only one since yours) and drew her in a similar way. ( also, are there any distinctive features on her nieces?) btw the LION idea is phenomenal, also do you think she has a mane? They’re fun to draw.

June- how big is she? I assumed she was the size of a human based on her interactions, but then I realized she might be looking down of people because she can fly. But then I remembered that it says she walks around. So then I confused myself. Also, skin tone, hair color/texture, eyes?

Beatrice- SHE IS SO WELL WRITTEN I felt genuinely angry while reading her meeting with Lucy Ann (in a good way) and she seems like someone you would meet in real life, totally obnoxious! Also, I don’t really know how TAU elves usually look so, idk anything about her skin tone or hair or eyes.

Here are pictures of my doodles in case you want to take a look, try to ignore the paper texture please.

Also, an old picture of Felicity:

Sorry if any of this is worded weird, im not that good at talking, but could you please give a solid description of the major/cool characters in Unto Dust?

(And in case I didn’t say it before, the Comfort of Agony is SO WELL WRITTEN there is too much for me to say about it!)

Oh wow, this is all so kind of you to say! Thank you so much - I'm so glad to hear you enjoy my writing, and I love the sketches you've done! You already have a lot of great designs and the characters look super expressive!

It's really exciting to be asked more of what my characters look like and I'll give you the best description I can, but I do want to note I often don't have a clear idea of what my characters look like - I like that writing lets a reader come up with their own spins on what a character looks like! So while I'm adding my own interpretation of my characters here, if you have a different idea you think works better or just looks cooler to you, I say go for it!

I'll organise my thoughts by each character:

Darceus: I was definitely inspired by @feferipeixes' character Felicity to make a kitsune character! I really like the mane idea you have going in your sketches, and female lions do occasionally grow manes! I like the way you've drawn her formal attire, with the nine tails spread out behind her like a sort of cape! You really brought her to life!

I probably still imagine her with a fox's colouration - I liked the lion imagery to evoke the broader facial features and just overall stockier build than an average kitsune.

The nieces: They're probably both young adults of average height. I don't have a clear idea of what they look like, but it might be fun to draw them as a different type or species of fox - silver foxes look really pretty with distinctive markings! They probably have less tails than Darceus, maybe three or so.

June: I definitely had the idea of her being average sized - I think writing it from Lucy Ann's perspective makes her seem taller as a lot of characters have to look down on her (sorry Lucy Ann!). I really like the wings you drew for her! She's a middle-aged lady with a little grey in her red hair, and probably likes wearing a lot of running gear - gotta train for that 10K!

Beatrice: I really like the long ears you've given her, that looks super distinctive! The loose t-shirt is really good. I probably imagine her with more of a pear shaped build with dark brown eyes and hair. If she does magic like in her appearances with Noie I like to think it'd look a lot how Mod V's elf OC Florian does it.

Also I definitely am looking for Lucy Ann to start wearing a glove! I'm not sure whether it would be fun to have it be a red glove to match the rest of her outfit, or if it's black or some other clashing colour to illustrate how she sees it as something unwanted and forced upon her.

That's all I can think of, but if you'd like anything more specific I'd be more than happy to help! Thank you again for this ask and your awesome sketches - if you end up drawing anything else I'd really love to see it!

Have a great day! :D

#transcendence au #lucy ann #this made my day!#toothasks #beatrice delion #worldbuilding #Dinner Crew

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practically-an-x-man · 4 months

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1, 3, 9, 13, 17 for Quinn and Ophelia for the OC and Tech ask game <3

Thank you!!!

Under the cut to save space :)

OC and Tech Ask Game

Describe their phone case.

Ophelia: She's got one of those really heavy-duty phone cases that claims to be drop-proof, but it's all beat up, scuffed, chipped at the corners where she's dropped it. There might be some faded doodles on the back of it where she was bored and doodled on it with a metallic Sharpie, but they've mostly rubbed off at this point

Quinn: the cheapest black case she could find (she loses/has to abandon her phones pretty frequently), but covered in random doodles - mainly punk stuff, anarchy symbols and skulls, etc.

3. Do they use nicknames for their contacts or do they list contacts by full name?

Ophelia: Nine times out of ten, full names. She'll make exceptions sometimes (obviously her dad is listed as "Dad" and not "Otto", and each of the Peters has a different emoji by their name to differentiate them), but that's rare.

Quinn: Nicknames. Some of them are so strange and specific, it's almost like a secret code (which is just the way they like it)

9. What are their most frequently used emojis?

Ophelia: Mainly the more standard ones - at least one color of heart, the sobbing face, a couple variations on the laughing face, etc.

Quinn: The middle finger and "rock on" emojis, though I also feel like she'd have some sort of emoji code with Billy - like, the ghost emoji means "shut up until I text you again, turning my phone off" for use on missions, the zip-lips means "we'll talk about this later but not over text", things like that.

13. What do they use as an avatar or profile photo on social media sites?

Ophelia: For her personal social media, probably a fairly standard photo of herself (it's from her postgrad days, her in her lab in front of a few inventions). If she doesn't want her face shown, just a picture of an argonaut octopus to match her hero name.

Quinn: Doesn't use social media for safety reasons. If she has any social media at all, it's a lurker account with no personal details and a throwaway email address. There's way too many crimes that can be traced back to her for her to risk being doxxed.

17. What’s the last thing they searched in an incognito tab 👀 (doesn’t need to be NSFW!)

Ophelia: Well, I don't know if it counts but she's definitely hacked into government websites looking for information on their newest undisclosed tech. She wants to know what she's up against...

Quinn: Very much a toss-up. Usually it'll be something that genuinely warrants an incognito tab, like mission-planning things that could be tied back to her (bank hours, police routes, city maps, etc.)... but once she was caught using an incognito tab to hide the fact that she searched for the new Olivia Rodrigo album- they think she's a poser and don't enjoy her music in the slightest, but they have to admit they're a little curious about what all the hype is about.

#my friends!!!#answered asks #my ocs #ophelia octavius #oc quinn/aces #ask game

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solreefs · 1 year

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short thing I wrote personifying my creativity for my creative writing class

Creativity takes a seat next to me, uninvited, and kicks its feet up on the desk while I try to balance chemical reactions. I glance up to see it smirking at me. “Go away,” I say. “I can’t afford any missing assignments this semester.”

Creativity ignores me and spins in the chair. “I was thinking,” it says as it gives itself a push off the desk, “about that story you tried to write last year.”

“I might come back to it,” I reply, perhaps a little too defensively. “But it was a half-baked concept at best, and you know I do better with essays anyway.”

“Hm.” Creativity comes to a stop and looks at me, long and hard. “You’ve tried quite a few stories, you know. And they all had their own good bits. Maybe you could combine some of that.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure. I’ve got chemistry stuff to finish before three. We’ll talk later.”

Later rolls around, at about nine p.m. I sit down on my bed and open a google doc on my tablet. “Well?” I ask. “Let’s hear some ideas.”

“Can’t.” Creativity lounges on the floor, eating chocolate from the stash under the bed. “No ideas.”

“But you said earlier-”

“That was then. Now, I’ve got nothing.”

I flip it off and leave to go take a shower.

Creativity likes music, so once I’m done in the shower, I go back to my room and take out my earbuds. Creativity grabs one and shoves it in its ear, while I take the other and pull up a playlist on my phone. Creativity hums along with the melody as it sits next to me on the bed, and I doodle in a notebook, not thinking, just letting my hands do what they want.

“You like mysteries,” Creativity says suddenly.

I nod.

“Why not write your own?”

I sigh. “Mysteries require a lot of planning, and you’ve never been a fan of that.”

“That might change.” Creativity winks. “You know how I am.”

I do. I set aside the notebook and pick up my tablet once again. As Creativity whispers ideas, I create bullet points- ideas for names, notes on the setting, lists of questions to go over about how the characters and the world work. When Creativity is at last silent, I refine my list, narrowing down name choices and answering some of the questions.

I scroll through the document, pleased at what I’ve come up with. “So what’s the plot?” I ask. “What’s the mystery?”

Creativity grins. “Screw you,” it says, and jumps down off the bed to go steal more of my candy.

#arin writes

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marvelmaniac715 · 9 months

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An original story:

Pandora was a curious child. She always had been, even from birth she was gazing around the room with wide questioning eyes. A nurse had joked with the girl’s exhausted mother that curiosity would eventually be her downfall ‘just like Pandora’. And so, the girl got her name.

As the child grew, so too did her curiosity, much to the chagrin of her beleaguered parents. Her father was a professor, who spent his days explaining to university students the deep secrets of science and his evenings attempting to rationalise concepts that were ten times as difficult to his nine-year-old daughter who would eagerly take in all he had to say with rapt attention.

Teachers at school, who initially praised and encouraged Pandora’s tenacity, quickly grew weary of the constant barrage of ‘why?’ and ‘how?’ Even Pandora’s own classmates would scoff and roll their eyes whenever the girl raised her hand during a lesson, knowing that they would learn nothing else important for at least an hour.

But as the years went by, Pandora became convinced that she had learnt and experienced all that the world has to offer, as so many do at that stage of development where childhood innocence slowly morphs into maturity. So, she began searching for new questions to ask, new things to discover. Her mother, who was just as exhausted as she had been whilst giving birth to the girl, would shake her head, sigh fondly as say:

“Oh, my dear Pandora, is there no end to your questions?”

In reply, Pandora would usually give her mother an innocent smile and say:

“Mama, I just want to learn.”

Pandora’s research led to her discovering rumours of a creature that dwelled in the depths below the sea, far beyond the unexplored areas of the ocean. A creature with translucent crimson scales that shone in the sun, and with golden eyes. It had the ability to speak and, if legends were to be believed, the ability to project its thoughts into a human’s mind in order to communicate.

For anyone else, this knowledge would be deemed interesting, dwelled upon for a short while, maybe shared with close family and friends as an amusing trivia fact, and then forgotten. But, as the more discerning of you have presumably come to realise, Pandora was not anyone else.

Oh no, this knowledge, or the thought of it, consumed her. Her every waking moment where she wasn’t eating, sleeping or studying for school was devoted to the fantasy of being able to discover a new species of creature. In fact, her devotion to it invaded other aspects of her life, she would devour books as she ate her morning cereal, she would dream of a vast underwater kingdom as she slept, and as she studied, she would often find herself doodling fish and seaweed in the margins of her notebooks.

Pandora’s fanatical devotion would soon bear fruit, for one day, whilst Pandora was reading a particular interesting passage about the construction of submarines, she heard a smooth voice croon in the back of her mind:

“You have done well, darling girl. I am impressed.”

Pandora, despite being mildly confused, was satisfied with the compliment, immediately preening as she said out loud:

“Why thank you, whoever you might be. I take pride in all of my accomplishments, but what in particular have I done?”

The voice swiftly replied:

“Why, you have done what no other human has done. You have formed a scientific theory about a sea creature that was thought to be merely mythological, and the most fascinating part is that, with a few discrepancies, your theory is correct. That is especially impressive considering your young age, so I highly congratulate you Pandora.”

Pandora was giddy with the thought of her tireless research being proven correct, but she needed confirmation, a reason to believe that this was true. So she asked the voice quite directly:

“And why should I believe what you say?”

There was a brief moment of hesitance on the voice’s end, before it quietly murmured:

“Because I am that creature.”

Those five words were all that it took for Pandora to leap from her chair and squeal with delight, prompting a chuckle and an amused ‘I see you are pleased’ from the voice. Pandora grinned and nodded eagerly, leading the voice to continue.

“If it is quite alright, I would very much like to meet you, Pandora. I am sure that you have many questions, and I could certainly find a great deal of use for you.”

Despite having little confirmation that she wasn’t going insane, Pandora enthusiastically agreed to the proposition and did exactly as the voice commanded, despite it forcing her to flee from her parents with no belongings packed. Logic had abandoned the child completely by this point, the girl didn’t even think to bring a coat or food for her journey. But she couldn’t help it, it was almost as if she were under some sort of strange siren spell that led her forever onwards.

Days passed as Pandora trekked towards the sea, not resting for any longer than an hour. Whenever she tried to turn back, the voice was there in her mind, whispering compellingly:

“Come to the sea.”

So she did, willingly doing as she was bid, with no inhibitions. Thoughts of her now terrified family abandoned her, any hunger or fear was seemingly numbed by the velvety croon of the voice as it’s dark tendrils caressed Pandora’s ears and held her in a sort of fugue state. In the rare moments she broke free from this spell and tentatively began to doubt the voice’s commands, she would be urged to:

“Come to the sea.”

When four months had passed, Pandora had finally reached the sea, and by the time she arrived - 11:59 pm - it basked in the light provided by the inky black night sky, twinkling enticingly, almost beckoning Pandora to wade into it’s depths. And so she did.

The sea was icy cold, and the sea salt nipped at Pandora’s skin as she fearlessly swam deeper and deeper into the unforgiving currents, urged on by the voice that had now begun giving her directions. When she cried out in fear that she would surely die if she tried to reach the creature - with the last of her common sense making a desperate survival attempt - the voice soothingly commanded:

“Dive deeper, my child. Don’t be afraid, for the sea shall not kill you.”

And so, with the last of her defiance shattered, Pandora held her breath and dove as deep as she could, ears popping in her attempt. From the inky depths of the sea, miles away from its discovered regions, the girl could spot a glimpse of crimson in the distance, and two golden eyes peering at her from the darkness. It only occurred to her in that moment that she was unable to speak, but, seemingly sensing her concerns, the voice appeared in her mind once again.

“Pandora, how wonderful it is to see you, won’t you come closer, my child?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Pandora paddled towards the creature, showing no fear in the face of a dozen fish skeletons littering the seabed. When she could properly see the creature, Pandora realised for the first time just how horrific and unsightly it truly was. Its eyes glinted with pure malice, and its crimson scales looked slightly… off. Pandora, ever the one to ask curious questions, politely enquired of the creature:

“Why are your scales red?”

In lieu of a proper response to that question, the creature said out loud in a voice that was far from the charming voice in the girl’s head:

“I haven’t had a visitor in centuries. It takes a lot of time and effort to find a human that is so… curious. I’ve been visited by entire schools of fish, even a great white shark, but none of my houseguests have ever been as fascinating as human beings. You are a special child, Pandora.”

Chest puffed out with a hint of arrogant pride, Pandora nodded in gratitude, and slowly inched closer to the creature, reassured by the praise spilling from its lips. When the child got so close that she could reach out and touch him, the creature spoke again.

“Would you like to know a secret, Pandora?”

Eagerly, the girl nodded, her curiosity blinding her from any danger in that moment. Pleased by the response to their question, the creature grinned slyly and whispered softly:

“My scales aren’t red, they’re dyed that colour by the blood.”

For one split second, Pandora’s eyes widened with panic, and her heart pounded in her chest like a rabbit’s as she frantically tried to swim away. But the creature, being centuries older and more experienced than her, simply closed its massive jaws tight shut around her torso, piercing the flesh with its plethora of sharp teeth. And so it was, much like in the ancient fable, Pandora’s curiosity led to her own destruction.

#original story #horror story #creative writing #writers on tumblr

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chomin-jae · 2 years

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cho min-jae // thirty-nine // 39 // associate professor of art history

Full Name: Min-Jae Cho (westernized)

Age: 39

Sexuality: pansexual

Relationship status: single

Date of Birth: November 26, 1982

Place of Birth: Seoul, South Korea

Gender: cisman

Current Location: Aurora Apartments, Roswell, New Mexico

Faceclaim: Gong Yoo

MORE BASIC INFO

Languages: Korean, English, Italian, Chinese and a little Japanese

Religion: not practicing

Occupation: Associate Professor of Art History

Positive Traits: courageous, creative, honest, generous, energetic.

Negative Traits: confrontational, sassy, overly competitive, reckless, likely to act before he thinks.

Bad Habits: smoking (both cigarettes and weed), going to bed really late,

Other: incessant fidgeter and keeps touching his face or head, always has change in his pockets to give to homeless people, draws doodles on any piece of paper in front of him and always carries a pen or pencil to facilitate this habit.

Parallels: John Keating (Dead Poets Society), Ryan Gold (Her Private Life), Nick Young (Crazy Rich Asians), The Priest (Fleabag).

SHORT INTRODUCTION:

You might have seen his parents on the cover of Forbes: running one of Seoul's leading hotels and conference centers, they’re the crème de la crème of Korea. As a child, Min-jae didn’t understand much – all of it simply meant being raised by nannies and au pairs, rarely seeing his parents and only being able to hear their voices on a phone. It was a sheltered life, and all of it seemed normal – after all, every friend he had related to his stories and struggles. How could it not be the standard?

His perception only changed when he packed his bags and moved to New York to study business at NYU. Up until that point, Min-jae was too busy with school, extracurricular activities, homework and relentless hope to make his parents proud to actually think with his own brain. Because of the people he met in the university, he finally realised how narrow his views were, and how much his parents’ shadows influenced every decision he made.

Without telling his parents, Min-jae dropped out, took a gap year, worked odd jobs and spent a couple of months traveling around the US, trying to get to know himself better. Feeling drawn by the arts since he was a kid – and being a rather talented painter – he was aware of his next step.

He got back to NYU, but this time he was studying Art History, painting & partying in his free time. But… oops. His parents found out. It was the first time they disowned Min-jae. The second being when he got his first tattoo, the second – when he moved to Roswell. They’re talking again, though, as his parents still have slight expectations he’d come back to Korea to take over the business. However, most of those arrows are targeted against his little brother now.

Min-jae lived most of his adult life in NY and moved to Roswell only six years ago. Why? Well, why else? Love, of course. He followed them here, left his job at a gallery and every career prospect he had just to get a job at a local university. In the end, the relationship didn’t work out, but Min-jae stayed as he grew to enjoy the peace & quiet he found here. Leaving some blanks here as this will be a wanted connection.

tw cancer. The break-up was rough for Min-jae, though. Watch him feeling lost, lonely and going through a bit of a mid-life crisis. But that’s not all. He recently found out that his mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Being torn between “I love her” and “I hate what I had to go through because of her” mentalities, Min-jae finds it hard to deal with his emotions and thoughts. He tries his best to visit her at least once every two months.

HEADCANONS:

Most of the people don't know about his background and family. One could say Min-jae is good at hiding it, but he simply doesn’t want the posh & the fancy. He doesn’t talk about it and he doesn’t introduce anyone to his folks (and if he does, it’s honestly a big freakin deal, and not only because he’d have to bring them to Korea). He feels great living a normal life, even if his parents still don’t mind giving him some money. Not that he really needs it, though.

A pretty well-known painter, had his works exhibited in many many galleries. On a bit of a break now – he’s lost his muse and painting became a struggle.

Even if he never thought he’d become a scholar & a professor, Min-jae is rather good at his job. Students love him for his relaxed approach to studies and unconventional teaching methods. All he wants is to teach them to love and appreciate art.

Loves strange, philosophical conversations, but don’t get fooled. Min-jae is fun to be around and it’s easy to catch him at a bar on Friday night, sipping a gin and tonic. Or several.

From the app: one thing you should know about them is that he can count the letters in any sentence while the sentence is being spoken and still pay attention to what the person is saying.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS:

Colleagues. Hello, fellow professors!! He probably has a good relationship with them, so I’d love to explore it.

Oops, Wrong Number. Damn, I didn’t mean to message you this very personal thing… But here we are now, talking non-stop and planning to meet for coffee.

Best Friend. They’ve known each other for years now, and Min-jae cannot imagine his life without your muse.

Lost Summers. Your muse and Min-jae are childhood friends that used to spend every summer together at their families’ summer houses, but now they haven’t seen each other in of years. But they finally reunite!! Who knows what will happen??

Need for Speed. Min-jae’s been pretty active in the dating scene (mostly for fun) for the last year or so, and even tried going to a speed dating event. Tried… because he never made it inside and hit it off with your muse outside before the event even started.

Friends with Benefits. Well… We all know what that is. Min-jae is not the one to commit, but he definitely enjoys having a good time.

Anything and everything else!!! Let’s brainstorm!!

#roswellintro #intro post.#// gonna post proper bio a bit later!!#tw cancer

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pioneeroverc-my-5000th-sideblog · 11 months

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Summary of May:

I don't know how this month went by so quickly. The last two weeks have just been brain static lol

Um… it looks like I spent most of the time trying to get myself to finish that bridal alt and then got stressed by other stuff happening which I have not gotten on top of or recovered from. Not a great month for studies, but I managed to get at least a little bit done and started catching back up with my Ges Draw Party videos, so… I'll take it

I am happy that I've been exercising more though! Even got one of my 'started walking in one direction and accidentally walked nine miles while exploring' days in, which is one of my all-time favourite things to do and which I really should do more of. Anything over 10k steps in one go is sooooooo good for my mental health. Also been having fun playing Ring Fit and running outside.

Plan from April:

at least one day/week playing games (not art but important to relax with) ✗ I REALLY NEED TO DO THIS BECAUSE I AM NOT GETTING ENOUGH BRAIN REST

Draw May 4th/5th pieces ✗ did May 4th, couldn't decide on what to do for May 5th + was kinda late starting

Rough (pose) sketches for all 4 FEH alt ideas and finish current one before 8th ✗ well this is fun (I do have one pose sketch and a bunch of ref for another idea though)

10x scared ✗ 6

4x 100 comp ✗ aghhh

Proko - review notes + watch shoulder critiques ✓ finally something I have done!

Proko - pecs and breasts I guess ✗ started, but decided I needed to keep going on shoulder anatomy because it's more important to understand

4x Ges Draw Party ✓ YES!!!! WIN (I did 7)

DAB Lesson 7 - 4 vehicles ✗ 2 though

1x master study - comic background or screencap study with perspective ✗ did do a Moebius flying boat study sketch though so xD

June plan:

at least one day/week playing games (not art but important to relax with) (DO THIS!!!!)

use my organisation spreadsheet consistently

meet communication deadlines

review Proko notes

3x FEH alts

10x scared (shoulder tracing)

4x 100 comp

1x FEFDraw video

4x Ges Draw Party

DAB Lesson 7 - 2 vehicles

1x master study - another Moebius ship

notes and improvements from finished stuff:

ACTIONABLES: USE PHOTO REFERENCE FOR EXPRESSIONS!!!!! JUST DO IT ✗ however have been trying to use face photos more for perspective, do hair studies ✗ doing better at this tho, decide whether majority of piece is going to be dark or light and base contrast around that ✓, draw out ribcages (+ shoulder bones) for every sketch ✓, use photo/RL reference for EVERY HAND - even doodles ✗ but most of them + using reference WAY better this month by trying to take perspective into account , do a separate detail pass the day after ‘finishing’ something ✗ too impatient lol, use photo reference for folds ✓

5MIN SCARED IDEAS: find good hair examples and trace ✗ …I might have done this? it's in my study file but might be from last month, trace torsos for gesture ✓ , review/learn leg muscles ✓, draw one hand ✓, identify fold type in clothing photos ✗

heath: bad line quality (I thickened some of the lines in a really scribbly way), armour not correctly 3d, folds don't make sense, still not sure of structure of torso

b/odhi: bad values makes it hard to look at (too much contrast), figure not conforming to perspective in places, hand is awful, doesn't look like he's sitting on the boxes because of where the horizon line is, messy/scribbly lines on the ship, ambiguous positioning of up arm vs the thing that's supposed to be to the side of it

lyon: hair is kinda clumpy in a bad way (needs flyaways or something along the length of hair sections, I think), torso anatomy nonexistent lol, I don't know if that's where ears are supposed to go

mid/een: not happy with the expressions I ended up with, m's legs look too long even though he should proportionally be ok??, lack of shoulder anatomy knowledge intersected with lack of perspective knowledge and made his arm look really weird BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHY, shaky adherence to horizon line, a's far wrist is way too small, her torso is also all kinds of messed up, had trouble reconciling anime stylised face + actual real face anatomy (flat vs. planes of face), HOWEVER I think the rendering came out pretty nicely and the bow was surprisingly straightforward to draw. all the things I'm annoyed about here are, I think, the result of me hitting my skill ceiling and not knowing enough to solve problems - so I am trying to be more okay with that xD

ACTIONABLES: draw out ribcages/shoulder anatomy for every sketch, trace heads + ears for placement, study Otomo 3/4 faces, draw box in perspective + horizon line (at least H.L.) before placing characters, keep tracing shoulders

5MIN SCARED IDEAS: draw one hand, shoulder/ribcage tracing, review/learn leg muscles, draw one hand, trace heads + ears, Otomo study

#end of month

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cagesings · 2 years

Text

𝒑𝒔𝒚𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 + 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒆

general mental health related trigger warnings apply. feel free to include more or exclude those facts / test results that take too much time or don’t apply, you can check out this list for more personality-related quizzes to include!

QUICK FACTS.

diagnoses: technically she received a diagnosis when she arrived at foggs which included female hysteria, melancholia, general hysteria, paranoia potentially anorexia or some variant such as disordered eating ( technically the term anorexia wasn’t really a thing until later in the century, but i think they would give some name to this ) among others. in modern day she received an abundance of diagnoses such as anxiety, depression, ptsd, anorexia, bulimia, etc. i would not say she has all of these mental illnesses again this hospital treated her horribly & this is just one of the ways they did this.

triggers: n/a, but there are a few things that just make her freeze. such as, the sound of a lock clicking or the feeling of a coat strapped around her.

positive coping skills: spending time with birds, sewing, doodling, seeking physical affection

negative coping skills: denial, not sleeping ( not exactly controlled by her all the time, but there are times it is ), not eating, closing up, getting angry, isolating, running away, etc.

attachment style: disorganized/fearful-avoidant

love language: physical touch

myers briggs / mbti: intj - t

HISTORY EXPLORATION.

are their diagnoses formal ( via a doctor, therapist, etc. ) or informal ( self diagnosis, a hunch, unrealized, etc. ): technically, yes they were given by a doctor & who would be trusted with mental health in the 1800s. however, this time period was very screwed mental heath-wise so they’re not really to be trusted. johanna doesn’t trust them, either. in her modern verse, she does not consider herself to be mentally ill & actually will freak out if a loved one mentions seeing a therapist about all the anxiety she feels & her symptoms of ptsd. she does not want to end up like her mom, according to her. also she does not trust therapists or other mental health specialists.

have they ever been treated / medicated?: like i said before, technically. but treatment for mental illness was absolutely horrible so it only made it worse. i won’t go into it here because it’s quite literally torture. there were some very sketchy treatments given at the mental hospital in her modern au.

have they ever been hospitalized or treated on an inpatient basis?: yes, but it was 19th centaury healthcare so not great. she was put into the mental hospital against her will.

how old were they when they first started experiencing / realizing symptoms?: johanna’s anxiety has always been apart of her. it’s been made worse by all the things in her life. her body dysmorphia became prevalent by the time she was nine. she didn’t act on anorexia tendencies until she was twelve. it was only for a week before she was caught. post canon, she might develop this ed again depending on circumstances. for example, how often she is left alone, who she is living with, etc.

do they have a family history of mental illness?: well, looking at her parents . . . i guess? but their mental illnesses seem to be influenced by the things that happened in their lives. sweeney is, well, a murderer who doesn’t feel any guilt for his actions so there’s something wrong with him. lucy’s ‘madness’ spurted from her suicide attempt. i think both of them suffer from ptsd which can’t be carried throughout families so technically no.

how was mental health handled / discussed in the family?: absolutely not in the judge’s house. it it was, it was talked about in a very negative light because from what jo knows, her mom was suicidal which the judge is bitter about. in her modern verse, she knows a little bit more about mental illness because of the mandatory health classes. but because the judge already kind of corrupted her mind with horrible ideas about the mentally ill ( they commit crime, they wind up in prison, they are so deranged they have to be in mental hospitals - like her mom, etc. ), what she learns in class doesn’t influence her thinking very much.

what are their thoughts on mental health / their diagnosis? she is extremely bitter & refuses to believe she is mentally ill. johanna knows deep down that something isn’t right, but does not discuss it. she became very good at pretending & lying in front of the judge so she continues those habits.

in what ways has their diagnosis shaped their life or experiences?: she does not want to think about her ‘diagnosis’ at all. an extremely touchy subject no matter what universe she’s in.

SYMPTOMS: note that all of the below are, on their own, normative and typical aspects of human functioning. they become “symptoms” when they last longer than “normal” or when they pose a significant impact on someone’s life / functioning.

BOLD all that are present, ITALICIZE those that are resolved or in the history.

depression. anxiety. panic attacks. dissociation. derealization. depersonalization. suicidal ideation. self harm. homicidal ideation. psychosis. auditory hallucinations. visual hallucinations. delusions. mania. hypomania. racing thoughts. hyperactivity. attention difficulty. flashbacks. nightmares. hyperarousal. hypoarousal. hypersexuality. hyposexuality. psychopathy. risky behavior. catatonia. somatic / bodily concerns. mutism. phobia. hoarding. obsessions. compulsions. body dysmorphia. hair picking. skin picking. amnesia. illness anxiety / hypochondria. sensory loss. speech difficulty. comprehension difficulty. communication difficulty. tics. defiant behavior. irritable mood. vindictiveness. aggression. pyromania. kleptomania. paranoia. attention seeking. narcissism. avoidance. dependency. pica. rumination. food restriction. food binging. purging. soiling the bed. insomnia. fatigue. sexual dysfunction. delirium. developmental delays.

explanations / elaborations on any of the above symptoms:

panic attacks: i would say she suffers from more anxiety attacks because they are caused by something, but she can have panic attacks, as well.

suicide: the thought only really came to her when she was afraid the judge was going to force her into marriage as a way to escape. she told anthony about it in an extremely frantic moment, but due to the fact she believes suicide will land you in hell & her mother attempted/committed suicide ( she doesn’t know for sure which one ). the judge always warned her about becoming her mother. she does not like to talk about it & will probably only bring it up if you admitted you’ve had thoughts of suicide before or if she’s certain you won’t remember.

body dysmorphia: i need to write an official headcanon about this someday, but i would say a lot of her body dysmorphia stems from the fact she had way too much time on her hands. so she started noticing things she hates about herself. the parts of herself that johanna hates are:

stomach ( believes she is fat, although in reality she’s rather slim - i’ve forgotten the technical term for this )

shoulders ( they’re much too wide, according to her )

waist ( believes she cannot achieve the desired small waist of the century, most reports say 15 inches was the wanted waist size )

thighs ( why do they suddenly get so big when she sits down? )

ankles ( way too square to be considered dainty & feminine )

fatigue: comes from poor sleeping habits/lack of food. she was malnourished in the asylum, but if she develops anorexia, she is always tired from the lack of eating. she also suffers tremendously from a nightmare disorder which keeps her up at night ( along with general insomnia ) or wakes her up, interrupting her sleep to the point she can’t go back to sleep. johanna has a fear of going to sleep.

tagged by: no one. i stole it.

tagging: pull an a.nthony h.ope & steal it

#i am definetly going to have to add to this in the future #but for now #this is Really Sad #mental illness tw #anxiety tw #suicide tw #body dysmorphia tw #bdd tw #anorexia tw #bulimia tw #weight loss tw #medical tw #hospital tw #self harm tw #ask to tag tw #*❈ ‣ ❝ 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 ❞ — ( headcanon. )#long post tw #ed tw #eating disorder tw

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ronweasleysslut · 2 years

Text

Pushing you closer

Pairing: Enemy!Ron Weasley X F!Reader

Description: Enemy!Ron takes teasing Y/n too far. When he comes to confront her about her weirder than normal distance she confesses something neither one thought she would ever

Warnings: Swearing, childish insults, mentions of death eaters (let me know if i missed something)

Word count: 1.7k

࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊° ࿔₊°

You sat in potions waiting for professor Snape’s monotone droning to cease. You made little doodles on the corner of your parchment as you waited to be dismissed. When Snape saw you weren’t paying attention he called on you to answer the question he just asked the class.

“The correct temperature would be sixty-five degrees Celsius or roughly one hundred forty-nine degrees Fahrenheit.” A smug smile fell across your face as Snape’s face fell from the reverse embarrassment.

A few moments passed and you got a note handed to you. You opened it to find a messy scrawl of letters.“You know you might be more likable if it weren’t for the noise that comes from your face.”

You didn’t even have to guess who the note came from. Ron Weasley. You turned and looked across the room at him and his obnoxious snickering. You rolled your eyes and crumpled the note up. Finally, after what felt like years you were finally dismissed from class. As you headed for your common room you saw him getting closer to you.

“I’m not in the mood Weasley.”

“Aw well, I am. I’m always in the mood to pick on you.”

“You really should get a hobby. Your playground insults are hardly effective.”

“Playground insults? Be careful what you wish for. They can get much worse.”

“What are you going to do? Call me a whore? You’ll have to do better than that.” He got flustered for a second as he looked for a new insult. “Don't you have something better to do? Shoving your face maybe? Or sucking Potter’s dick?”

“You know what y/l/n that was a good one. I’ll let you go, I’m sure you have some death eaters you have to help anyway.” Of all the insults he could have gone with he picked the one he knew would hurt you the most. Your parents had made that decision sure but the insinuation you were like them hurt more than any of the other times he had insulted you. This one was personal.

He had a smug smile on his face as he started walking in the opposite direction you were previously headed. You walked quickly away from him. You hated each other but for some reason, the fact he thought about you that way made you sad. You thought you were angry but you were far from angry, just hurt.

The next morning you avoided the Gryffindor table entirely. As you all flooded into your classes you didn’t give Ron a second glance. You sat in a different seat as far from him as possible. There was a line and he crossed it, enemies or not he knew what he said.

Days passed and it was just the same as before. He tried to pull the same things as before, sending you notes, trying to come up to you in the halls, you avoided it all. Anytime you got the notes you didn’t even bother opening them you just crumpled them and threw them away.

It didn’t make sense even to you as to why you were so upset. You thought so deeply about why you cared so much. That’s when it hit you. Somewhere in time the cat and mouse game the two of you played turned more fun but in a different way. You thought about how when he approached you, you got a funny feeling in your stomach. You realized you started trying harder when it came to your clothing and your hair. You showed off more in class.

The only explanation you had was that you liked him. Though there was an obvious hatred between you there was a bond that you took more seriously than he did. At least you thought so.

You weren’t aware of how Ron was beating himself up about the way he treated you. He felt terrible, especially because you threw away all the notes with his apology scrawled on them.

The next morning on your way to the Library you saw him headed towards you like a man on a mission.

“Y/l/n. Y/l/n! Y/n stop! Please.”

“What Weasley?”

“Why haven’t you been opening my notes?”

“Why do you think? You took it too far and I’m sorry but continuing to bicker between us isn’t going to work for me.”

“Why does it all of a sudden matter to you what I say?”

“I-It doesn’t.” You knew exactly why it did but you knew if you told him he would just make fun of you for it anyway.

“You’re lying to me. You always chew on the inside of your lip when you lie. Tell me why you care.”

“I just told you I don’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me-” You tried to brush past him towards the library before your tears started.

“No. I’m not letting you go till you tell me the truth.”

“I already said I don't care.” You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes.

“And I told you I’m not buying it so-”

“I like you okay! That’s why I care. You took the one thing that I can’t escape from and you used it to hurt me. That’s why I won’t open your notes and why I avoid you everywhere.” A tear fell down your face and you wiped it away quickly.

“Y/n I-”

“Save it. It doesn’t matter.” You pushed past him and into the library heading for the back tables so you could work in peace. You spent the rest of the day there skipping meals and trying to take your mind off the morning conversation.

The next night you sat in your room going through and finding the perfect outfit to wear to the Hufflepuff party you had been invited to hours before. When you showed up the part was in full swing. The room smelt like weed and firewhiskey.

The room was full of drunk teenagers celebrating the most recent Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw game. A few of your friends began waving you over to a spot on the floor. As you walked closer to them you could see a bunch of different people sitting with them as they continued their game of truth or dare.

You sat down not on the floor but in the chair behind them. Immediately wished you didn’t step foot in this party. Ron was sitting a few people away from you and all you could feel was his eyes as they lingered on you for longer than they should’ve.

“Since you are the newest one to join, y/n truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to take a shot. Since you are the soberest amongst us.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed the less than a quarter full firewhiskey bottle as it was handed to you. You brought the bottle close to your face and tried not to breathe in the toxic scent into your nose. You brought the bottle to your lips and downed the remainder of the bottle and made a face at the bitter-tasting liquid.

“Easy. Who’s next?” As the game progressed everyone was picking dare until we got around to Ron.

“Ron, Truth or Dare?” Pansy asked from her spot on the couch.

“I- uh Truth.” Groans about the safety in picking truth were heard as the group began deciding the question they would ask the redhead.

“Okay fine. Who do you fancy?” A ridiculous smile was plastered on her face for such a juvenile question.

“Who do I fancy? That’s a ridiculous question might as well give me a dare.” The Gryffindor griped.

“Okay Weasley,” the brunette had a bit of venom in her tone as she responded. “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room. And this one you can’t chicken out of.” Ron’s face and ears began to get red as his embarrassment grew. After a few moments of him sitting still petrified of the response, he may get.

“Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!” Everyone who was playing started chanting at first; except for you. Then as more attention was drawn there was most of the room chanting for him to kiss the girl he thought was prettiest.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll do it.” He stood from his spot and walked across the circle towards you. You were sure he was walking over to Lavendar who was sitting next to you. As he got closer he stopped directly in front of you.

That’s when the O’s started. Everyone started staring and not paying attention to any of the other party activities that surrounded them. Then Ron leaned down and his face was only inches from yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-you I-I me?” You were beyond shocked at his proposition. Not that you were as repulsed as you thought you’d be say a month ago but you didn’t know if this was another cruel joke he planned on you.

“Yes, you. Can I kiss you?” At this point the draw you felt to the buff redhead dominated any ill-feeling in your stomach. You nodded your head and with your permission, his lips pushed against yours. His strong calloused hands reached to your face as you deepened the kiss. When he pulled away you could see your smeared lipgloss all over his slightly swollen lips. “Y/n can we talk outside?”

You were pulled out of your daze at Ron’s question. “Yeah. Sure that’s fine.” Both of you left the common room and walked outside. His scent was strong and intoxicating as the two of you walked to a dark quiet corridor to avoid Filtch. That was all you could focus on till he began speaking.

“Y/n I want you to know your confession does matter to me. I may not have known it before but once you said it I wanted to hear you say it over and over. I want to apologize for the comments I’ve made. All of them. Especially any that have involved the topic of death eaters. I also want you to know since that last comment all of the notes you’ve received from me have been apologies.”

“Ron I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have made a single one of the comments I’ve made. I’m also sorry for throwing all of your notes away.”

You stared up at his blue eye letting them fill your mind. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes Ron, you can kiss me.” His eager lips met yours once again.

After a moment he pulled away, “I dont think I could ever get sick of that feeling.”

Taglist: @anti-zippy-snoot @sourpatchpills @fanfictioniseverything @wh0reforthemarauders @sunshinexweasley @squishytomatoes @hvgwartss

#harry potter writing event #ron weasley #ron weasley angst #ron weasley fluff #enemy!ron #ron weasley x reader #saige’s ginger obsession 🧡#saige sfw 🧸#ron weasley imagine #enemies to lovers

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luvdsc · 3 years

Text

august.

Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him.

pairing :: liu yangyang x reader genre :: fluff, angst ⋮ best friend + college au word count :: 10,500 words warnings :: none. playlist :: time lapse (taeyeon) ⋆ 2 kids (taemin) ⋆ daydreams (exes) ⋆ sharing you (lany) ⋆ august (taylor swift) ⋆ too close to love (will hyde) ⋆ sad stripped (lany) ⋆ strangers (taemin) ⋆ the 1 (taylor swift) author’s note :: can you believe that i literally wrote this entire 10k fic in one day aka today ??? whew this gave me the same rush that i got when i wrote my research paper in the class it was due for the day of, printed it out during break, and handed it in at the end of class :’) ↳ part of the almost collaboration series.

Liu Yangyang is jumping fences to escape late night parties, shared laughter over childhood favorite cartoons on February mornings, midnight dancing in the refrigerator light, and November kisses stolen in between the shelves of the nearby 7-Eleven. He is obscure doodles in the margins of your physics notes, good intentions laced in December’s mistakes, strawberry lemonade and broken truths wrapped in summer bliss, and September endings with honest lies.

He is your August, he is your everything, but he isn’t yours.

AUGUST 2018.

August has barely begun to fade away.

You’re eighteen years old, and you’re drunk off of your first taste of freedom, one toe already dipping into the shiny pleasures of adulthood. Your new roommate, Karina, has excitedly told you about the famous beach night themed frat party that kick starts every school year at your university. Everybody who’s anybody would be there, and your heart already races at the thought of going to your very first college party.

“Coral or blue?” Karina holds up a solid colored neon blue bikini and a striped, bright pink one for you to choose between.

“Blue.” You nod towards the first option, and she discards the other one back into the open drawer. You pull out a marigold yellow one and a black one lined with white strings, wordlessly gesturing towards them, and she immediately points to the latter.

“That one is gonna look so cute on you. Well, both would, but I love that one.”

You grin at her, silently thanking whoever decided to pair the two of you together for the random dorming. “Perfect, thanks. Do you know any of the guys hosting the party?”

“Yeah, Dejun? He’s really sweet and a year above us. I met him in the music elective I’m taking.” She turns to take off her shirt and tosses it to the side, pulling on her bikini and wriggling into a pair of ripped jean shorts. “You?”

“Kind of? Jaemin is in my project group in Intro to Engineering. He’s rushing for that frat.” You quickly change out of your outfit and into your chosen swim top and daisy dukes. You make sure to grab a pair of black flip flops from your closet. The bundle of nerves in your stomach grows as you step out of your dorm with your new friend, a bit anxious but also excited to attend your very first party.

Thank goodness for summer weather. It’s still a nice, warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit according to your weather app when you and Karina finally make your way to the frat house. The sun barely begins to set, but the party slash dayger had started earlier and is in full swing. There’s a DJ set up out front, blasting some sort of EDM music, and the lawn is absolutely covered in foam. You see the source of it shakily set up on the roof of the patio along with a couple of boys sitting up there, Hawaiian shirts barely covering their figures. You catch the eye of Jaemin, who happily waves at you from his vantage point, and you wave back at him.

“Oh my god, I love college,” Karina says, grabbing your arm excitedly as the two of you step into the foam. You reach down to pick up some of it before flicking it towards your roommate, who squeals before scooping some up and throwing it in your direction as well.

“Ready for our first shitty college drink?” You pull her through the mass of other students and towards the horribly decorated tiki bar stationed in the corner of the patio.

“Hell yeah, let’s do it.”

The two of you stumble over, still throwing handfuls of foam at each other amidst giggles before making a full stop in front of the bar. The older boy behind the makeshift counter lazily grins at you both, a shell necklace hanging loosely around his neck, and his unbuttoned orange Hawaiian shirt gives you a nice flash of his toned abs.

“Hey, I’m Johnny. What can I get for you two?”

“Two vodka shots, please.”

“Alright, ID?”

You freeze, and Karina’s grip on your arm tightens, and then Johnny laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Relax, I’m just messing with you, freshie. Two vodka shots coming right up.”

He pulls out two small plastic cups and pours out the drinks for you. “How many do you want?”

“This is good for now, thanks.” You and Karina pick up the drinks, smiling a little nervously at him. He flashes another amused smile at you. “Alright, come back anytime if you want another.”

You move away from the patio, and Karina follows close behind. The two of you throw back the drinks and dispose of the empty cups quickly. The burning sensation in your throat disappears after a few seconds, and you turn to your roommate. “Should we find our friends?”

“I think I see Dejun back there! Let’s go say hi, I can introduce you to him.” Karina drags you through the rising foam, the bubbles clinging to your skin, and when you go past the DJ stand, you feel the pounding bass reverberating in your chest harder than ever. You trek past the gate and into the backyard where the foam has risen to your waist, thanks to the enclosed fences. She taps on the shoulder of a boy with the prettiest almond eyes you have ever seen, and you shyly smile at him when he greets you.

“Hey, I’m Dejun.”

Oh my god, even his voice sounds pretty. Older college boys are definitely better and hotter than high school boys. Heck, they’re better than freshman boys. Nobody wants to date a freshman dude, not even the freshman girls.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You extend your hand, but then realize how stupid that must be. You hastily start to retract your hand, but he laughs and warmly grasps your hand. Smiling at you, he shakes it firmly, squeezing your hand gently before letting go.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

The butterflies in your stomach grow in volume as the conversation goes on, and you’re positively enamored by the end of the night. Karina had given you a look earlier before walking off with Dejun’s friend and joining the dancing crowd. With the addition of his phone number in your pocket and a promise to show you a new song he’s working on with his guitar next Friday, you’re walking on cloud nine.

“Do you want something to drink? I need a refill, and I can go grab you one,” he asks, and you’re about to offer to go with him, but then you remember the teasing upperclassman and simply agree, asking for another shot of vodka.

After he disappears, you look around, eyeing the crowd and wondering if you can spot your roommate anywhere. You bump into someone lightly and turn around to apologize. Your eyes meet a pair of curiously bright ones.

“Sorry about that, I’m looking for my roomie.”

The boy gives you a Cheshire Cat grin. He’s wearing one of those dumb Hawaiian shirts, too, and it’s unbuttoned, but he has a white T-shirt layered underneath it. “No biggie, it’s a massive party and it’s crowded. Who are you looking for?”

“Ah, I don’t know if you know her, but Karina? She went off with this dude, Kunhang, I think?”

His eyes light up at that name. “Oh, I know him! I saw him earlier by the keg stands inside. Your friend might be there, too. I can—”

“THE COPS ARE COMING!” A loud voice bellows, and you freeze up. Suddenly, the music is shut off as everyone starts running away. You start to panic, the terror rising in your chest, and the boy in front of you grabs your hand and pulls you with him. “What are you doing?! Don’t just stand there! We gotta go!”

“Wait, but Kar—” You start to object, but cut yourself off when you bump into his back as he abruptly stops. He scans the backyard, quickly assessing the situation before turning to you.

“There’s way too many people trapped in here, we’re not gonna make it to the gate. We need to climb over the fence. I’ll hoist you up, and you can help me up from there.”

“I don’t even know you,” you protest, and he throws you a look.

“Hi, I’m Yangyang, nice to meet you, I don’t want to get my ass hauled out by the police and continue the icebreakers in jail, so let’s move now. We good?”

“Yeah, okay, we’re good,” you say faintly, mind still whirling around as you try to grasp the situation. “I’m Y/N.”

“Great, now up you go.”

He immediately picks you up without any warning, and you almost fall backwards, arms flailing before you grasp the top of the fence and pull yourself up. Balancing precariously on top of it, you grab his arm, tugging him up until he’s sitting right next to you, too. The both of you swing your legs over the fence and jump down to the other side. You let out a sigh of relief, squatting down as you clutch your heart.

“Oh my god, we made it. I didn’t get arrested at my first party.”

“What an amazing accomplishment.” Yangyang brushes off the back of his shorts. “We aren’t going to jail. Freshman year is gonna be a breeze if your bar is set this low.”

“Hey!” You frown at him, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest. “How do you know I’m a freshman?”

“It’s written all over your face.” You give him a look, and he relents. “Only a freshman would be this scared of getting caught.”

“So are you an upperclassman?”

“Nah, this is my first party, too. I’m rushing for Nu Chi. Hold on, wait here.” He sneaks around the edge of the fence, peering around for a few seconds before jogging back towards you. “Okay, the police are over there. I’m gonna have to wait a while before going back in.”

“You have to go back?”

“Part of tonight’s rush process,” he sighs before turning to you. “Do you live on campus?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna walk back now,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s late, and I’m not in a partying mood anymore.”

“I can walk you back,” he offers, and you shoot him a grateful smile.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

The two of you start the trek back, an awkward lull in the conversation making itself known. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly when a soft breeze picks up. There’s a light rustling noise, and you pay no mind to it until a soft cloth is draped over your shoulders. Eyes widening, you notice the colorful, palm tree-printed button down shirt wrapped around you and the boy next to you, looking straight ahead with his hands shoved into his pockets. Smiling to yourself, you slip on the shirt, loosely buttoning the front of it.

“So, Yangyang,” you casually begin, testing his name on your tongue for the first time. You decide you like it. It’s cute. He turns to you, raising an eyebrow, and you continue, “Since our lives are no longer in jeopardy, we can continue the icebreakers, right?”

His lips curve into a smile. “Alright, shoot. What’s your first question?”

“Captain America or Iron Man?”

“Oh, Iron Man, hands down. He’s so…”

You meet him in August.

FEBRUARY 2019.

“Hey, where’s your cereal? The Reese’s one?”

February marks six months of your relationship with Dejun. It also marks six months of your friendship with Yangyang. It is time for your weekly Sunday rituals of watching old cartoons and eating breakfast, and you could’ve sworn that box was still half full last week. You rummage through the top drawer Yangyang had designated for snacks and other foods in his dorm as he takes out the milk from his mini fridge and carries it over to his desk.

“I ran out a few days ago. There’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch somewhere in there though.”

With a victorious cry, you manage to pull out the slightly crushed box of the aforementioned cereal from underneath the packages of flamin’ hot Cheetos and spicy nacho Doritos and triumphantly bring it over to your best friend. He already pulls out two bowls (which were stolen from the dining hall) and hands over the plastic spoons in his grasp (which was also taken from the dining hall).

“Thanks.” After dropping a spoon into each bowl, you shake out the sugary cereal squares before pouring the milk because you’re not an absolute heathen who puts milk in first, like Sicheng. Yangyang clambers up to his top bunk bed, and you carefully pass over the two bowls of cereal, milk sloshing precariously near the edges. You climb up afterwards, and he gives you your bowl once you settle down.

“So, Scooby Doo or Pokémon?”

“Mm, we watched Pokémon last Sunday already, so let’s do Scooby Doo this time.” He nods in agreement, pulling up the cartoon from the queue in Netflix, and the two of you lean back against the ginormous mound of pillows and stuffed animals of his that occupy nearly half of his bed.

You’re shoveling a spoonful of cereal into your mouth when he casually asks, “So how’re you and Dejun doing?”

Choking slightly, you quickly swallow. “We’re doing good. I think he booked a table at the Italian restaurant down the street for Valentine’s Day. Are you doing anything for Valentine’s?”

“I’m forcing Renjun to come watch that “‘Happy Death Day’ movie with me.” The faint sounds of the Scooby Doo theme song plays in the background as you hum in acknowledgement, mouth twisting into a mischievous smirk.

“That’s so sweet. So who confessed to who? Not gonna lie, I thought you had a crush on Hyuck, not Jun.”

“... I would shove you right now, but I just did my laundry, and rewashing my comforter is expensive and I’m out of quarters.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes before lifting his bowl up to sip the best part of having Cinnamon Toast Crunch: the milk infused with all the cinnamony, sugary goodness. You let your spoon fall back into your bowl with a soft clink, a sudden worrying thought popping into your head.

“I bought him some customized guitar picks and a pretty composition book. Do you think he’ll like it?”

“That’s a pretty basic gift, isn’t it? It feels like something Kun would get him,” he teases, but his heart falls when he notices you chewing on your bottom lip, spoon held limply in your hand.

“Hey, I’m just joking, of course he would like it. He’s completely whipped. He’ll love anything from you.” Yangyang’s voice grows softer, and he fiddles with a stray thread on his comforter, avoiding eye contact with you. “I know I would.”

He looks up slightly and sees you smiling gratefully at him, eyes shining bright. He quickly ducks his head, turning away slightly to hide the hues of pink blooming on his cheeks. He feels you leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Thanks, Yang.”

Replaying the sight of your smile in his mind makes his stomach flip flop, and he resists the overwhelming urge to tell you you’re pretty, pushing it back into the farthest crevice of his mind. Your head on his shoulder makes him feel like he’s carrying the entire world, and he doesn’t know what to do. He paints on a tight smile of his own, silently hoping you can’t hear the way his heart nearly pounds out of his chest.

Yangyang knows that having feelings for his best friend, specifically one of his good friends’ girlfriends, is something he absolutely should not be doing, but he can’t help it. His stupid heart refuses to listen to his brain. For now, all he can do is desperately hope that this dumb crush of his goes away soon because while 99% of his friends are oblivious (including you), Ten and Donghyuck are not. They’ll be able to spot his feelings from a mile away, like how Kun always knows when there’s a good sale going on at the Asian supermarket downtown (This week, it was the 50% off bean sprouts and chili paste).

Letting out an inaudible sigh, Yangyang carefully rests his head on top of yours. Clutching the empty bowl with one hand, he shoves his other one under his thigh to stop himself from reaching over and tangling his fingers with yours. He stares at the screen, watching until the bright colors blur together.

“Anytime.”

He likes you in February.

AUGUST 2019.

The earth spins around the sun for another time, and August makes its presence known once again. It’s Thursday night, and you’re sitting on the countertop in Nu Chi Theta’s kitchen, swinging your legs back and forth as Yangyang struggles to make some scrambled eggs because the half filled carton of eggs the two of you managed to find is the only thing that isn’t expired (besides Jeno’s protein shakes, but neither of you are gonna touch that cardboard tasting monstrosity).

“Maybe I should make it.” You peer over at the frying pan, wincing when you see the full damage of your future meal. “Did you use oil?”

“Of course I did!” he exclaims indignantly before pitifully pushing around the nearly charred mess of yolk and whites around with his spatula. “I’m not Mark.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, waving your hand around to dissipate the acrid burning smell, and Yangyang throws you a dirty look. He grabs a fork and stabs a small chunk of the eggs. Picking it up, he brings it closer to his mouth before hesitating. His eyes dart to you, and you raise your eyebrows at him, a silent challenge in your gaze. The sad piece of egg hovers in the air for a few more seconds before he defeatedly drops it back into the pan.

“Okay, what if we just Uber Eats some McDonald’s?” Turning off the stove, he then tosses the remnants of his cooking into the trash and drops the pan into the sink.

“Stellar plan. Best idea you’ve had all night.” You hop off the counter to stand next to him, propping your chin on his shoulder to see him pull up the app. He immediately puts in your usual order along with his before holding it up for you to see it better.

“Looks good?”

“Looks perfect.”

He clicks the confirmation button, and the delivery is set to come in 30 minutes. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you are with your chest pressed against his back and hastily move away, warmth spreading across your cheeks.

Glancing over at your best friend, you don't miss the way Yangyang smiles down at something on his phone before his fingers fly across the screen. When he looks up, you immediately turn away, focusing your eyes on anything but him.

“Hey, you’re going to the Alpha Sig formal, right?” Yangyang calls out, and you throw on a teasing grin.

“You mean Alpha Sigma Psi, also known as the sorority I’m in?”

“Ah, right, yeah.” He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But you’re going, right?”

You nod, the sudden realization creeping up on you. “Oh yeah, I am, thanks for reminding me. I completely forgot to ask, but do you want t—”

“Ningning just asked me to go with her,” Yangyang blurts out, and you freeze, failing to hide your shock for a split second before you regain your composure.

“Oh wow, that’s great, Yang! I’ll see you there then.” You try to give him a convincing smile. He wrings his hands, biting his bottom lip. Something is on his mind. You can tell. He’s not someone to hold back with his words, but this time, he is.

“I… I don’t know if I’m gonna go,” he says at last. Your heart picks up a little at that. Does that mean he doesn’t want to go to the dance at all? Or does he not want to go with Ningning? If you asked him now, would it make a difference?

“I’ve never slow danced,” he confesses, leaning against the opposite counter, and your heart drops. So that was it. Of course, he wouldn’t reject Ningning. She’s an absolute goddess, heck, you wouldn’t say no if she asked you either. You stamp out that last flicker of hope.

“What if I suck at it?” he continues, absentmindedly carding his fingers through his hair. “Oh god, I bet Yukhei and Kunhang are never gonna let me live it down. I can do choreographed dances, but I’m gonna mess up over a stupid slow dance. But where am I supposed to put my hands?! Like on her shoulders? Her waist? Do I hold her hand?”

Your eyes follow the way his hair ruffles slightly, and you wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. You swallow hard before saying quietly, “I can teach you?”

His hand pauses mid-movement, and your eyes fly down to meet his. His eyes widen, and he contemplates your offer for a split second before nodding excitedly. “Yeah, that’d be great! Can you teach me right now? While we wait for our food to come!”

“S-sure,” you stammer, flustered at the sudden acceptance and his eagerness. “Um, here? In the kitchen?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs before straightening up. “The lights should be dimmed, right? We can kind of mimic that here to set the mood or whatever.”

He goes over and fiddles with the light switch, flicking it on and off, and you laugh, walking over and placing your hand over his. “What are you doing? Some kind of Kevin Nguyen mating call to look for a rave bae?”

“First off, I’m offended that you think I’d be one of them,” Yangyang narrows his eyes at you. “Secondly, I’m trying to make this feel more formal dance-y. Oh, wait!”

He turns off the lights for the last time and reaches over to pull open the refrigerator doors, the artificial fluorescent light pouring out and mixing with the faint beams coming in through the window from the street lamps outside. He grins at you, satisfied. “Romantic, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the amused smile on your face gives away your true feelings. “Wow, Romeo, you swept me off my feet. The food is gonna go bad, and Kun is gonna kill you for the high electricity bill.”

“What food? Jeno’s protein shakes probably never expire.” He snorts before standing closer to you, his hands resting on either side of you on the counter. You can see the pretty gold flecks in his irises, and your breath gets caught in your throat. “And I guess this means you gotta teach me fast before we waste more electricity, right?”

You place your hands on his chest and lightly push him away, and he laughs, stepping back. You let out a shaky breath, remembering that your lungs need oxygen in order to, you know, continue living.

“Okay,” you clear your throat before pulling out your phone and putting on a slow song. “Ready?”

“You chose Ed Sheeran? Thinking Out Loud? Really?”

You raise your hands up defensively. “Hey, he’s the king of sappy slow songs that all girls want to be played at their weddings for their first dance.”

When your legs don't work like they used to before,

And I can't sweep you off of your feet,

Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?

Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

“Is this the song you want played at your wedding?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and your face grows warm. You ignore the question, and this time, you’re the one taking a bold step forward, a few centimeters now separating you and your best friend. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps lightly before meeting your eyes.

And darling, I will be loving you 'til we're seventy,

And baby, my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three,

And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways.

“So, your hands go here.” You take his hands and place them on either side of your waist. His arms freeze up. “Relax, Yang. Precious cargo here.”

He lets out a chuckle, loosening his grip as he starts to relax. You reach up and slide your arms around his neck, interlocking your fingers. You gaze back at him, saying softly, “Now pull me closer.”

He does so.

Maybe just the touch of a hand,

Oh me I fall in love with you every single day,

And I just wanna tell you I am.

“And now follow my lead. We’re going to take one step. And then another. We’re just slowly turning in a circle.”

After a few spins and steps, you stop leading and let yourself be led. Yangyang continues to hold onto you carefully, and you can hear him muttering a 1, 2, 3, 4 count under his breath until he finally gets the hang of it. He grows a little braver, pulling you even closer.

So honey now,

Take me into your loving arms,

Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars.

“Are you going with Dejun?” he asks quietly, and you stiffen at the mention at him before shaking your head.

“No, we broke up in July.”

Yangyang falters in his step before recovering. “Oh. You never told me.”

“Yeah.” You struggle to keep your voice level. “I just… he’s your friend, and I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“You’re my best friend though,” he says firmly, looking you directly in the eyes. His grip on your waist tightens. “It’s his loss. That dumbass just lost the best person who’ll ever come into his life.”

You give him a tired half smile, one that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. He hugs you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and securing you against his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and hope that he doesn’t feel how quickly your heart beats in your chest.

Place your head on my beating heart,

I'm thinking out loud,

Maybe we found love right where we are.

“Thanks, Yang,” you whisper, your breath tickling his skin. He envelops you tightly, and the two of you continue to spin in slow circles, quietly dancing in the refrigerator light as the remaining verses of the song warble in the background.

You think you finally understand what Dejun meant when he said he’s breaking up with you because your heart was already occupied by someone else.

You fall in love with him in August.

NOVEMBER 2019.

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: hey you up?

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: 7/11 in ten mins?

Tiredly rubbing your eyes, you stumble out of your dorm building, one of Jeno’s sweaters draped over your figure. November nights are cold, but this one seems chillier than usual. Yangyang stands near the front steps, and he stiffens up when he notices whose hoodie you’re wearing. He makes no mention of it though when you join him.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He glances over to you as the two of you walk side by side to the small convenience store just on the edge of campus. You shake your head, shoving your hands into the front pocket of your sweater.

“I was up cramming for midterms. I could use a break anyway,” you shrug. A wisp of your hair falls in your face, and Yangyang starts to reach out to fix it, but forces himself to keep his hand by his side. You reach out to carelessly brush it away, tucking it behind your ear.

“What about you?” You look over at him, noting the bags under his eyes. “Rough night?”

He smiles tiredly at you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks a stray pebble along the sidewalk. “More like rough week. Two more midterms left, and they’re for electromagnetic theory and linear systems.”

“Oh god, good luck. I took linear systems today, and it was absolutely brutal.” You wince, brightening up when you see the familiar neon orange, red, and green lights up ahead.

“Maybe I should just withdraw and take it again next quarter,” your best friend grumbles, kicking the stone as far as he possibly can.

“You really want another quarter with Hwang?”

“You’re right,” he sighs, “I just need to get a C+ to maintain my GPA. C if I’m pushing it.”

The two of you hurry over to the 7-Eleven, quickening your pace, until you reach the store doors, and you pull them open. Entering quickly, you push the door open slightly wider, and Yangyang slips in behind you. The cashier doesn’t even look up, texting away on his phone. You make a beeline towards the chips aisle, grabbing a bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos and a pack of sour gummy worms.

“What are you getting, Yang?” You call out over your shoulder, eyes zeroing in on the Red Bull stand at the end of the aisle. When you hear no response, you halt in your steps, turning around. Yangyang stands in the middle of the aisle, looking dazed under the fluorescent lights.

Putting your items back on the shelf, you approach him, reaching out and touching his arm gently. “Yangyang, what’s wrong?”

He jerks back before silently holding up his phone for you to see. There’s a slew of text messages from Ningning a few hours ago, and a quick scan tells you all you need to know. Your heart weighs heavily in your chest when you look back at him, a forlorn expression on his face.

“She dumped me,” he says quietly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “She said our relationship was like a friendship. She didn’t feel anything. She said we could still be friends if I wanted to be though.”

He jabs a large bag of Lays potato chips angrily as his voice raises slightly higher. “But I don’t get it. Do friends take each other on dates? Do friends spend the night? Do friends hug each other and hold hands walking to class? Do friends spend three hundred dollars to do a surprise weekend trip for their birthday?”

He whirls around to face you, and he’s so close that you can see those pretty golden sparkles in his eyes again. Suddenly, his hands are cupping your face, and the next thing you know, he’s kissing you. Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they flutter shut, and you press your lips against his. The 90s pop station music playing overhead seems to fade away, and all you can focus on is that your best friend tastes like spearmint gum and grape soju. He pulls away abruptly, the realization of what he’s done finally hitting him as his chest heaves up and down.

“Do friends kiss like this?”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence. You feel like you’re spinning out of control, a split second from careening and crashing.

“No, we—they don’t,” you mumble, and Yangyang sees the starstruck look in your eyes, and he wants to apologize: to say sorry for kissing you. But he doesn’t. Because for some reason, he doesn’t feel sorry. He closes his eyes, curling his hands into fists before exhaling slowly. He sees you looking back at him this time, and he wonders if you feel as equally lost as he does.

Because you’re right. Friends don’t kiss each other like that. Friends don’t feel like this about each other.

He kisses you in November.

AUGUST 2020.

The sun still shines bright late into the day, and August greets you like an old friend. You’re absentmindedly doodling in the margins of your notebook designated for Quantum Mechanics. Yangyang sits next to you in the lecture hall, making a bunch of origami cranes before tossing them at Renjun’s head right in front of him. When the bird reaches its target for the sixth time in a row, the annoyed boy whirls around in his seat, glaring at your best friend.

“Stop that,” he hisses, and Yangyang innocently raises his hands in the air. Renjun angrily frowns at him before turning back around in his seat. After a few minutes, Yangyang flicks another crane towards his friend. If this was a cartoon, you would see steam blowing out of your friend’s ears. You silently watch as he wordlessly picks up his phone, seething as he presses on a particular number.

Suddenly, Travis Scott’s SICKO MODE starts blasting, amplified by the large auditorium-like room. The professor goes silent, and everyone turns to see Yangyang scrambling to pick up his phone. He fumbles around for a few seconds with it before finally shutting it off and putting it on vibrate mode. Cheeks burning red, he meekly puts his phone back in his bag and squeaks out a “sorry” before sinking down in his chair (You can see the culprit grinning like the cat ate the canary right in front of him. Karma’s a bitch who also goes by the name of Renjun).

You pat his arm consolingly as he sulks next to you for a few minutes, mouth jutting out into a pout. You decide to take pity on him and lean closer to him, whispering quietly, “Would it make you feel better if I bought you boba after class?”

Immediately, he brightens up. “One oolong milk tea, half sugar with white pearls and coconut jelly?”

“Yes, I’ll pay for your overpriced drink,” you huff, thinking about how his one seven dollar drink could buy you a whole rotisserie chicken that’ll last you a week. At least the fluffy dog at Cloudy with a Chance of Boba is cute and fun to play with. “I’ll even get the honey waffle fries.”

“Heck yeah!” he whisper-yells, fist pumping quietly before he suddenly deflates. “Wait, I can’t. I promised Lia I’d get lunch with her.”

Ah, right, there’s Lia now. Yangyang’s new girlfriend: the only other student who went to Düsseldorf, Germany to study abroad over the summer, and inevitably, the two of them became close. All you really know about her is that she’s pretty, she’s in Iota Theta Zeta, and she followed you on Instagram a few weeks ago (of course, you followed her back because of the unspoken best friend and girlfriend policy).

Her page looks carefully curated, and there’s a common pink tinted theme going on throughout her feed. She has over a thousand followers, and it seems like Yangyang fits perfectly in her magazine curated life, judging by how he occupies nearly every picture taken in the summer with her or how he’s tagged as the photographer. You can’t deny that they look good together, pointedly shoving the green eyed monster back under the bed.

You take a peek at your messy Instagram page where you only post pictures when you’re half drunk, so there’s no semblance of uniformity anywhere. You shrug at him, pocketing your phone.

“No biggie. I’ll see if Karina is up for some boba. She’s been holed up in the dance studio already, and it’s only week two of classes, can you believe it?”

“I remember Ten was the same way,” Yangyang hums, eyes fixated on his phone and fingers tapping away. He laughs quietly, lips curling into a pretty smile, and you glance over curiously.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm?” Yangyang finally tears his eyes away from his screen for a split second to look at you before another buzz takes his attention away. He’s distracted, lovestruck, and you wistfully smile before turning back to your notes.

“Sorry, what’d you say earlier?” he loudly whispers a few minutes later, and you barely glance up from the large bulbasaur doodle you’re in the progress of completing right next to the chart marking the wave functions for a bouncing ball that you had copied down from the blackboard.

“Oh, I just asked what was so funny,” you murmur, coloring in the flowers you drew around the Pokémon with your blue ballpoint pen.

He looks confused for a moment before lighting up. “Oh! It was just a German joke. It’s not really funny if I translate it though.”

“Got it, no worries.” You notice the professor starting a new example problem, and you abandon your drawing, focusing on the formulas rapidly filling up the chalkboards in front of you. A quiet chuckle echoes in your ears, and you pause in your note taking to look over and see your best friend still typing on his phone. You make a mental reminder to create a copy of your notes for him later on when you pass the library on the way to the dining hall.

“Hey, Y/N.” Yangyang nudges you gently. “Rain check on the boba?”

You offer him a soft smile. “Of course. Anytime.”

He gives you a quick grin in return before his attention returns to the device in his hand—or rather, the pretty girl behind those texts. Your best friend is sitting right next to you, but you’ve never felt so far away. You know distance makes the heart grow fonder, but you don’t think it’s possible to be even fonder of him than you are now. Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him. No wonder it’s beginning to hurt so much.

You lose him in August.

DECEMBER 2020.

December is the coldest month of the year, yet it is also simultaneously the warmest with all the holiday festivities it brings. If Yangyang were to choose a month to describe you, it’d be this one. You are a walking paradox, a conundrum he might never solve, an oxymoron come to life. He doesn’t understand how you can be his best friend, yet feel like a stranger; a friend who he wants as a lover; someone who has created such an impact in his life, but disappears seamlessly here and there.

He wonders when you’ve gotten so distant. He wonders why he never noticed the way you seemed to slip away through the cracks until it’s now nearing the end of the year, and the last time he’s seen you in person was before the November autumn break.

But you’re here.

You’re standing right next to the punch bowl filled with spiked eggnog, wearing a garish knitted button down jumper with brightly colored Christmas lights decorating it. It’s perfectly in theme with the Ugly Christmas Sweater party Nu Chi is holding, and Yangyang is beyond ecstatic to know that you’re attending. He had texted you an invite two weeks ago, and you merely reacted with a thumbs up.

Yangyang swears he was going to follow up with you on that, but he got so caught up with midterms, then meeting Lia’s family for Thanksgiving, then studying for finals, and then finally, preparing for this party. Buying enough beer for twenty-three keg stands is a lot more difficult than it seems (Donghyuck’s car broke down halfway during one trip, and they all had to carry back the packs of beers to the house in 40 degree weather in their Sperry boat shoes and Patagonia long sleeves that definitely weren’t cut out for this kind of weather).

His girlfriend is somewhere in the room, wearing the other half of the reindeer sweater she forced him to put on, but all he can focus on is you. He hurriedly makes his way over, skidding to a stop in front of you, and you’re startled before a smile spreads across your face.

“Hey, you, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You grin at him, reaching out to poke the reindeer tail sticking out from the front of his itchy sweater (Lia got to wear the head half of the reindeer, while he was stuck with the behind).

“Yeah, how have you been?” He reaches around you to pick up a cup and pour himself some eggnog. He offers you one, but you decline with a small shake of your head.

“I’ve been doing good, a bit tired with finals coming up, but what’s new?” You joke, grabbing one of the sugar cookies from the table. You’re secretly surprised that they actually have real food (No, Hyuck, Jell-O shots do not count as real food). You suspect Jaemin has something to do with it. He always contributes to the annual Greek row bake sale.

“Are you here with someone? Did Karina come?” he asks, curiosity coating every word. He looks around for your roommate, but she’s nowhere to be found.

You shake your head. “No, I actually came with—”

“Me!”

Yukhei bounds over, slipping an arm over your shoulder. He hands you a new cup of apple cider, which you accept gratefully. He grins happily at Yangyang, who freezes up at the sight of his tall friend. “I asked her to be my date for the party, and she agreed. She also made our sweaters! Aren’t they so cool? There’s even lights that spell my name and play Christmas songs. She did a bunch of cool programming tricks to make them work.”

Yangyang realizes with a start that the two of you are indeed wearing matching sweaters, and that leaves a rather sour taste in his mouth (and it definitely wasn’t because of expired eggnog). The corners of his lips tilt downward as he presses his lips together tightly.

“So… you two are together?” He gestures between you and Yukhei with a forced laugh. Jealousy never did look good on anybody, and unfortunately, he’s not an exception.

“We’re just seeing each other and seeing how it goes for now,” you answer quietly, noting the way your best friend reacts. You have always been good at reading him, and you tread carefully now, not wanting to make a scene. Drunk Yangyang never holds anything back, and he’s had quite a few pre-game shots already (It definitely doesn’t help that he’s a lightweight, too).

“I see. How did you guys meet? Or I guess, start talking?” He attempts to look intimidating, staring down at Yukhei, but it’s a difficult feat to accomplish, especially when he’s trying to stare down a six foot guy who’s more like an overgrown puppy and his friend.

“Oh, she came by for one of your boba runs, but you were still out with Lia. So I asked if I could go with her.” Yukhei flashes his pearly whites at you, and you chuckle, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“I said yes, and we hit it off, I guess.”

“You guess? And you took him on our boba runs?”

“You were out with Lia,” you say defensively, and he blanches when he hears his girlfriend’s name come out of your mouth.

“You could’ve waited,” he mutters, but you still hear it, and you give him a scathing look, finally too tired of this push and pull game that’s been going on behind the scenes for nearly three years now.

“I did. I waited over an hour here for you, but you didn’t show up or even text me that you were gonna be late. Yukhei was nice enough to offer to go with me.”

He stays silent, and you gnaw on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say next. Yukhei looks at you in concern, but you reach up and squeeze his hand reassuringly, which your best friend doesn’t fail to notice, his lips pressing into an even thinner line.

“I don’t understand what the deal is,” you finally burst out, startling both boys. “What’s the big deal about me and Yukhei going out?”

Something inside of him finally snaps. “The big deal is that you’re basically sleeping through my list of friends and then breaking up with them! First Dejun, then Jeno, now Yukhei? Who’s next? Should I give Renjun a heads up? Pencil you into his planner? Or Sicheng? Sungchan? You have a class with him, so you’re bound to flirt with him, too, right? When are you gonna stop fucking around with my frien—”

He gasps, stopping mid-outburst as he stares at you in disbelief. Apple cider slides down from his hair, dripping onto his face and soaking into his sweater, the sticky juice clinging to his skin uncomfortably. You’re absolutely seething, the empty cup crackling in your clenched fist. Shocked, Yukhei carefully tugs the plastic away from you and places it on the table before replacing it with his own hand, his thumb caressing circles on the back of your hand soothingly. Yangyang doesn’t dare to meet his furious gaze, lifting his chin to look at you instead. The entire room has hushed down by now, all eyes staring directly at the three of you in a mixture of surprise and slight terror.

“Screw you, Yangyang,” you say lowly, voice shaking with anger. Tears form on the edge of your waterline, but you blink them away before hastily brushing a stray droplet from your cheek. “They asked me out. I said yes. We went out. It didn’t work out. We move on. Just like how you’ve gone out with my friends. And they didn’t work out, so you moved on. So what’s so wrong about that? What’s so wrong about trying again to find love?”

He can’t answer you, curling his hands into fists until his fingernails indent miniature crescents in his palms—until the pain overtakes the feelings that are threatening to spill from his heart. Yangyang may not be yours, but he doesn’t like the fact that he can’t call you his either.

Love. That’s what you want, that’s what you crave, but not if it’s from him. So what is he supposed to do with love that’s unwanted? It’s bursting at the seams, and he has nowhere to hide it anymore.

He loves you in December.

AUGUST 2021.

August sneaks up on you this time around, and you find yourself in Kunhang’s apartment. All of your close friends are here, starting the last year of youth with one final first day party. You think back to that day three years ago: when your eyes met a pair of equally bright ones for the first time.

Curled up next to Yukhei on the couch, you look across the room and meet those very same eyes, although they seem hazier this time around. Lia is wrapped around his arm, and you think it’s quite ironic how both your and his relationships remain the same after all this time. Perhaps you both were bad luck for each other, leading to the other’s demise with short lived relationships. He looks away from you.

The rules of truth or dare are simple. You cannot ask the same person again until three other people have been asked first, and no one can be asked more than three times in each round. And, for reasons you can’t understand, everyone seems to take the code of truth seriously.

“I’ll start,” Kunhang announces, leaning back in one of the several beanbags he has in his place. “Goeun, truth or dare?”

Goeun sighs, leaning back on the palms of her hands. “Dare.”

“You and Mark, seven minutes in heaven.” Hendery points towards the coat closet, and the immediate reaction of hoots and wolf whistles has the girl rolling her eyes. With an exasperated huff, she stands up and pulls a red faced Mark along with her.

“Wait, you gotta pick the next person!” Donghyuck calls out, and she stops in her tracks, throwing open the closet door and shrugging. “You can choose for me.”

With that, she and Mark disappear behind the door, and Donghyuck turns toward the rest of the group, eyes glimmering mischievously. You pay no attention to him, absentmindedly playing with Yukhei’s fingers. You tug one of his rings off his finger, and he smiles, plucking it from your grasp carefully before holding your hand. He carefully slides it onto your right ring finger, but it falls off. Grinning, he pretends to try it on every single one of your fingers until finally settling on your thumb. The ring fits snugly there, and you admire it, wriggling your thumb around.

“Well, look at that. It fits you. I think that means we’re meant to be,” Yukhei says, smiling broadly, and you laugh, interlocking your fingers with his again before glancing down at the silver engraved band resting on your finger. The weight of the metal feels heavy resting against your knuckle.

“Yangyang, truth or dare.”

Donghyuck’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you instinctively perk up in your seat at the sound of his name before freezing up in your spot. Yukhei squeezes your hand softly, and you tighten your grip around his fingers.

“Truth.”

“You’re no fun,” Donghyuck sighs, slouching back against the armrest. Yukhei leans over and whispers something in his ear before settling back next to you, shifting slightly to wrap his arm around you. Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow at your boyfriend before shrugging. “Okay, here’s an easy one. Are you in love…”

“Yes.” is his immediate response, and you notice how Lia absolutely preens next to him.

“… with Y/N?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you immediately turn your head to look at Yukhei, your eyes growing wide in horror. He looks apologetic, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, but just the way he looks at you, it’s so obvious, and I had to know.”

You whip around to face the boy in question. With bated breath, you look at him, but Yangyang stares at the center of the floor, struggling internally. Everyone is quiet, and it reminds you of the calm before a storm. At last, he looks up, gazing right at you, and you can almost swear that you see those pretty little gold flecks in his irises from here.

“Yes,” Yangyang confesses quietly.

There’s almost a collective gasp rippling through the room, and Yukhei lets out an inaudible swear under his breath. Your grip on his hand grows slack as you fumble to get a grasp on the entire situation.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

The words echo in your mind like a mantra until it grows so loud that you can’t hear any of your own thoughts anymore. Lia is in absolute hysterics, demanding an explanation from him, but he merely shrugs her off. Standing up, he quickly moves to leave the room, glancing at you one more time before disappearing out the front door.

It’s like your body is on auto-pilot after this. You drop Yukhei’s hand, immediately standing up and rushing after your best friend, paying no mind to the hushed whispers that only seem to increase in volume once you leave. You step out onto the porch, and there he is, sitting on the steps.

You quietly stand behind him, contemplating what to say and carefully choosing your next words. But there’s only one question on your mind.

“Why did you say that?”

He stays silent for a moment, staring out at the moon shining brightly ahead. “Because I meant it.”

Your heart wrenches in your chest. “You shouldn’t.”

He finally turns to look at you, an indescribable look in his eyes. It reminds you of heartbreak. “But I do. And I tried not to for the past three fucking years, but I can’t anymore.”

“Since freshman year?” You feel the tears well up in your eyes, and this time, you let them go. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yangyang grips onto the edge of the stairs tightly, frustration ringing with every word that falls from his mouth. “Because I was scared. And I thought you never felt the same way. You’re my best friend, and I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Yang…” You whisper, hand reaching out as you let it hover over his shoulder for a few seconds. Then, you pull back, curling your fingers into fists, pressing crescent indentations into the palms of your hands.

He stands up, whirling around to look at you, desperate. “Tell me I’m not too late. Please, Y/N.”

Something inside of you breaks. You open your mouth and start to say something when the door opens behind you. Turning around, you see Yukhei. His eyes widen when he sees the two of you standing there.

You know this is it. This is the moment. This is where you have to decide.

“I, I was just looking for you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Yukhei awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna go back in and—”

“No, wait, it’s okay,” you gently interrupt him. You reach out and slip your hand into his, and he relaxes, giving you a relieved smile. You smile softly back at your boyfriend before turning to face him, eyes apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Yangyang.”

He and you are asymptotes: two lines curving towards each other, but never touching; two hands reaching towards each other, but never interlocking; two people tangling their red strings of fate, but never tying.

You give him one last glance before going back inside with Yukhei.

You break his heart in August.

SEPTEMBER 2021.

September is supposed to be a new beginning: the transition from summer to autumn. Yangyang doesn’t think he can let go of you as easily as the trees shed their green for gold and red. Wherever he goes, wherever he looks, little reminders of you bloom in every crevice. You’re absolutely everywhere and nowhere, and it drives him crazy.

He thinks he’s gone completely insane when he hears your laugh while he’s walking to the laundromat one day. He shoves his airpods in and continues on his way until he sees you. Walking across the street, there you are. You’re on the phone with someone, and he contemplates going over to say hello. But suddenly, you’re hanging up the phone and waving eagerly at someone. When he turns his head to look, his heart drops and gets buried six feet under. He hurriedly ducks into a nearby bookstore and watches as you run up to Yukhei, slipping your hand into his like it’s second nature to you now. The two of you walk off together, and Yangyang is left standing at the window of the store until the shop owner politely asks if there’s anything he needs.

He doubts a time machine is something they have in stock, so he silently shakes his head and steps out onto the street once again. It is now silent and empty.

He loses you in September.

AUGUST 2022.

A lot can change in eleven months.

You’re twenty two years old, but you feel like you’re eighteen again. You know you’re going to see him for the first time since September at Kun’s housewarming. You had repeatedly assured Yukhei that you’d be fine. After all, life goes on; the world doesn’t stop just because you had a falling out with your best friend, even if it may have been a little more than that. Nevertheless, a year has nearly passed. Time is known to be the best healer, and perhaps your heart has shed its old skin and habits.

Your hand is safely enveloped in Yukhei’s, and the two of you walk towards your older friend’s new apartment. He playfully swings your interlocked hands back and forth, and you giggle, tightening your grip around his fingers. You stop in front of the door, the muffled sounds of a party slipping through the cracks. You suck in a breath, shoulders tensed. He’s in there.

“Are you okay?”

Yukhei squeezes your hand gently, voice laced with concern. You remember to breathe, exhaling slowly and relaxing before nodding. You smile up at him. “I’m okay.”

“If you want, we can go back home now, have another NCIS marathon, and drink this by ourselves.” Yukhei waves around the nice bottle of wine the two of you had brought for Kun. “We can even stop by the convenience store and get some ramen.”

You laugh quietly, the corners of your lips upturning with mirth. “It’s okay, I’m fine, Yukhei, I promise. Plus, I have you, right?”

He brightens up at that, practically beaming at you, and your heart skips a beat. “Right!”

You reach out and knock on the door. Kun greets the two of you, and you enter his apartment. Yukhei still doesn’t let go of your hand, and you follow behind him as you weave your way through the living room, greeting some of your friends. You hear Kunhang calling out to your boyfriend from the kitchen and feel him hesitate next to you. You squeeze his hand gently before letting go and nudging him in the direction of his friend. Yukhei gives you one last look, but you wave him off, smiling goodnaturedly and silently assuring that you’re okay. He swoops down and leaves behind a soft kiss for you before going.

You walk over to the alcohol table, pouring yourself something to drink. Leaning against the wall, you take a sip of your drink, your eyes flitting over the rim of your cup and slowly scanning the room. It feels like forever, like everything is moving in slow motion, like the world is submerged underwater, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

You find him easily. After all, it’s hard to forget someone whose features you’ve memorized over the past four years. Your eyes map the delicate outline of his face once more, and for a moment, you wonder if red is still his favorite color, or who he shares a carton of Ben and Jerry’s with nowadays. You wonder if he thinks of you sometimes, too.

But then, you wonder where Yukhei is. You search around until you see your boyfriend still standing in the kitchen, laughing at something your mutual friend said. Your eyes soften when you see him grab your favorite snack. You turn back around, your heart swelling in your chest tenfold, and your lips curl upwards, an endeared expression on your face.

That’s when you notice that he’s looking at you.

You brace yourself, waiting for the tidal wave of emotions to wash over you and the quickening of your heart rate to greet you like an old friend. Because that’s what always happens when you’re around him. After all, he is the biggest what-if in your life. He is someone you almost loved forever, someone you almost stayed for.

And yet, nothing happens. You wait a little longer. The world still goes round, and you’re still breathing. There’s no shortness of breath, no erratic heart palpitations, no sweaty palms, absolutely nothing. Liu Yangyang is a stranger in a familiar body, and your heart remains still.

You give Yangyang a faint smile, nodding towards him, and it feels like a sudden jolt in his heart. Time stops, and all he can see is you. You look beautiful. You have always been beautiful. This is his chance. Whatever higher entity out there has taken pity on him and given him a second try to make it right. He finally takes a step towards you, and the tender, encouraging expression in your eyes gives him the strength to take another one. After all, the eyes are the windows to the soul. Clutching his drink in hand, he pushes his way through the crowd. He’s only eight, seven, six, five steps away from you now. A smile grows on his face as relief curls around his heart like a bandage. You’re standing there, waiting for him, smiling at him.

And suddenly, you’re no longer looking at him.

You stopped looking at him.

Yukhei makes his presence known next to you, excitedly chattering about something and gesturing towards the kitchen as he hands you something to eat. It’s a snickerdoodle cookie. Your favorite. Your eyes are fixated on the tall boy, positively sparkling as you beam at him.

Yangyang feels like he can’t breathe. The bandage is ripped off, and all he can feel is excruciating pain like a thousand pinpricks into his heart before the numbness hits. He freezes, rooting himself in that spot on the scratched hardwood floor as his colleagues and friends continue to jostle around him. As his world crumbles around him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you. They stay on you, the barest traces of nostalgia lingering in the dimmed golden flecks of his irises that you had still admired all those months ago. It’s like he’s trapped in a silent film, stuck in a fish bowl and swimming in circles, and he watches in horror as you outstretch your hand and intertwine your fingers around Yukhei’s, leaning up to press your lips against his tenderly. Your boyfriend looks at you like you hung the stars in the night sky yourself (He would believe it if you said you did).

You don’t look at him like that anymore.

Yangyang remembers when you used to. When you used to love him. When you were almost his. He feels something inside of him break for a second time.

The world continues to spin, and yet, he’s still not moving. He’s stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper as everyone around him moves on—as you move on. He desperately tries to keep you in his view, and his feet finally pick up as he lurches forward. He’s not fast enough. You’re slipping away, walking away from him, hand in hand with Yukhei, disappearing around the corner of the hallway, and he can’t do anything about it. It’s too late. He’s too late. The sticky remnants of cheap beer run down his wrist, and it finally registers in his mind that he had crushed the flimsy plastic cup in his hand sometime in between now and then. In a crowded room full of people, he’s left standing there, alone and lonely.

Almost is the worst way to love someone, Yangyang bitterly realizes. It hurts to lose someone you almost love. No, it was never an ‘almost’. He most certainly loved—loves—you. And it should be impossible to lose someone who was never his to begin with, yet he has. All this time, he thought he had you, but it had always been the other way around.

He was your August, he was your everything, and he is yours.

But you will never be his.

You let go of him in August.

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