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anotherhumaninthisworld · 3 months

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Frev friendships — Fouché and the Robespierre siblings

A circumstance relating to one of the most important crises of my life must here be mentioned. By a singular chance, I had been acquainted with Maximilian Robespierre, at the time I was professor of philosophy in the town of Arras, and had even lent him money, to enable him to take up his abode in Paris, when he was appointed deputy to the National Assembly. Memoirs of Fouché (1825), volume 1, page 12. Fouché first arrived in Arras in 1788.

Robespierre didn’t like science, but he thought it useful for his vanity to research Fouché and to annoy him several hours per day in his office in order to acquire the reputation of scholar. Often, in order to appear intelligent, he interrupted his physics demonstrations to reproach him for being a materialist. Note written by Barère, probably shortly after thermidor. Cited in Fouché: les silences de la pieuvre (2014) by Emmanuel de Waresquiel.

Fouché’s first need […] was to tell me his entire life story, a recital that I find in my notes written down that very day as it seemed interesting for me to keep: […] I (Fouché) had known [Robespierre] since our youth, we had belonged to the same academy. I then had occasions to prove to him his inadequacy, a relative insufficiency because he was judged poorly. He had some talent, a strong, persevering will; simplicity, no greed; but he was all puffed up with a pride that I had humiliated. De 1800 à 1812. Un aide de camp de Napoléon. Mémoires du général compte de Ségar (1894), page 438. According to Robespierre (2014) by Hervé Leuwers, it would not appear Fouché joined the arrageois literary society Rosati of which Robespierre was a member, a claim which is nevertheless often invoked.

Fouché had shown the most ardent patriotism, the most sacred devotion since the beginning of the revolution. My brother, who believed him sincere, had accorded him his friendship and his esteem; he spoke to me of him as a proven democrat, and introduced him to me in praising him and asking me to give him my esteem. Fouché, after having been introduced to me by my brother, came to see me assiduously, and had those regards and attentions that one has for a person in whom one is particularly interested. Fouché was not handsome, but he had a charming wit and was extremely amiable. He spoke to me of marriage, and I admit that I felt no repugnance for that bond, and that I was well enough disposed to accord my hand to he whom my brother had introduced to me as a pure democrat and his friend. I did not know that Fouché was only a hypocrite, a swindler, a man without convictions, without morals, and capable of doing anything to satisfy his frenzied ambition. He knew so well how to disguise his vile sentiments and his malicious passions in my eyes as in my brother’s eyes, that I was his dupe as well as Maximilien. I responded to his proposition that I wanted to think about it and consult my brother, and I asked him the time to resolve myself. I spoke of it, effectively, to Robespierre, who showed no opposition to my union with Fouché. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 122-123. Charlotte places the courtship in the midst of the revolution, which can hardly be accurate given the fact Fouché was already married by then, but it does sound likely for it to have happened somewhere between 1788 and 1790, when both of them were unmarried and lived in Arras.

When [Robespierre and I] again met at the Convention, we, at first, saw each other frequently; but the difference of our opinions, and perhaps, the still greater dissimilarity of our dispositions, soon caused a separation. One day, at the conclusion of a dinner given at my house, Robespierre began to declaim with much violence against the Girondins, particularly abusing Vergniaud, who was present. I was much attached to Vergniaud, who was a great orator, and a man of unaffected manners. I went round to him, and advancing towards Robespierre, said to him, "Such violence may assuredly enlist the passions on your side, but will never obtain for you esteem and confidence." Robespierre, offended, left the room; and it will shortly be seen how far this malignant man carried his animosity against me. Memoirs of Fouché (1825), volume 1, page 12

Lamartine, in the first edition of his Girondins, wrote the following: ”A very small number of friends of Robespierre and Duplay were one after another taken into this intimity: sometimes the Lameths; Le Bas, Saint-Just, always; Panis, Sergent, Coffinhal, Fouché, who liked Robespierre’s sister and who Robespierre didn’t like, Taschereau, Legendre, Le Boucher, Merlin de Thionville, Couthon, Pétion, Camille Desmoulins, Buonarotti, roman patriot… […]” On the placard corrected by the widow and son of Philippe Le Bas, these words are replaced by the following ones: ”The Lamenths and Pétion in the early days, quite rarely Legendre, Merlin de Thionville and Fouché, who liked Robespierre’s sister and who Robespierre didn’t like, often Taschereau, Desmoulins and Teault, always Lebas, Saint-Just, David, Couthon and Buonarotti.” Le conventionnel Le Bas: d’après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 83-84. This could be read as Élisabeth Le Bas confirming, or at least not denying, that there existed links between Charlotte and Fouché.

…The representatives of the people in Commune-Affranchie, using the powers entrusted to them for the surrounding departments, have already purged several administrations in the department of Allier. So consult with your colleagues by going to Commune-Affranchie. The instructions that Fouché has acquired relative to the department of Allier, where he resided for a long time, will be all the more useful to you since, animated by the same principles, the same effects must result from your common energy. Letter from the CPS to Petitjean, written by Robespierre, January 8 1794

The Committee of Public Safety decides 1, that citizen Reverchon immediately travels to Ville-Affranchie to organise revolutionary government and that he, together with Méaulle, takes all the measures that the interests of the republic need. 2, that the representative Fouché immediately travels to Paris to give to the Committee of Public Safety the neccesary clarifications about the affairs in Ville-Affranchie 3, that all procedurs against the popular society in Ville-Affranchie, and especially against the patriots that were subjected to persecution under the reign of Précy and the federalistes, are suspended. The representative Reverchon and his colleges will severely persecute the enemies of the Republic, protect the true friends of the Republic, help the patriots in need and assure the triumph of liberty through a constant and inflexible energy. Committee of Public Safety decree recalling Fouché from Lyon, written by Robespierre (and signed by him, Collot d’Herbois, Billaud-Varennes, C-A Prieur, Carnot and Barère) on March 27 1794

The Committee of Public Safety, alarmed by the fate of patriots in Commune-Affranchie, considering that the oppression of a single one of them would be a triumph for the enemies of the Revolution and a mortal blow to freedom, orders that all proceedings against the Popular Society of Commune-Affranchie, and particularly against the patriots who were persecuted under the reign of the federalists and Precy, will be suspended: it further orders that the representative of people Fouché immediately travels to Paris to give to the Committee of Public Safety the neccesary clarifications about the affairs in Ville-Affranchie. Committee of Public Safety decree recalling Fouché from Lyon, written by Robespierre (and signed by him, Collot d’Herbois, Billaud-Varennes, C-A Prieur, Carnot, Barère, Saint-Just and Couthon) on March 27 1794 (don’t know why there exists two seperate decrees)

I have since learned that the step I took opposite Robespierre - viz, of calling upon him - was attempted about the same time, and with as little success, by Tallien and Fouché, each of them on his own part. I have learned that their eloquence likewise struck against a determined deaf-mute, and that to all their gentle, forcible, friendly, respectful, and feeling words Robespierre vouchsafed no other answer than an obstinate silence, an expressionless physiognomy, and neither word nor sign. There is in a like silence, on the part of a man wielding the scep tre of death, something more fearful to the imagination than uttered threats. Memoirs of Barras, member of the Directorate (1895) page 206

It is known well enough in what way [Collot and Fouché] conducted themselves [in Lyon]; it is known that they made blood flow in torrents, and plunged the second city of the republic into fright and consternation. Robespierre was outraged by it. […] I was present for the interview that Fouché had with Robespierre upon his return. My brother asked him to account for the bloodshed he had caused, and reproached him for his conduct with such energy of expression that Fouché was pale and trembling. He mumbled a few excuses and blamed the cruel measures he had taken on the gravity of the circumstances. Robespierre replied that nothing could justify the cruelties of which he had been guilty; that Lyon, it was true, had been in insurrection against the National Convention, but that that was no reason to have unarmed enemies gunned down en masse. From that day forth, Fouché was the most irreconcilable enemy of my brother, and joined the faction conspiring his death. I would only learn this later. Fouché never again set foot in my apartment, but I met him from time to time on the Champs-Elysées, where walked almost every day. He addressed me as if nothing had happened between him and my brother. When I learned that he was Maximilien’s declared enemy, I no longer wanted to talk to him. Despicable words have been spoken about me on the subject of that man, some have dared to say that I was his mistress before and after 9 Thermidor; this is an abominable calumny! Never did Fouché cease to have the greatest respect for me; and if in his discourse he had included any words tending to make me neglect my duty, I would have left him that very instant. Besides, Fouché had only sought my hand because my eldest brother occupied premier place on the political stage. That honorific of Robespierre’s brother-in-law flattered his pride and his ambition; to judge by that man’s conduct since, everything was a calculation with him, and, if he pretended to love me, that’s because he saw it was in his interest. What would have become of me if I had married such a being? Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834)

Robespierre murmured a lot about the forms that we had established in Lyon for the execution of decrees: he constantly repeated that there was no reason to judge the guilty when they are outlawed. He exclaimed that we had let the families of the condemned go free; and when the commission sent the Convention and the committee the list of its judgments, he was not in control of his anger as he cast his eyes on the column where the names of the citizens who had been acquitted were written. Unable to change anything in the forms of judgment, regulated according to the decrees and approved by the committee, he imagined another system; he questioned whether the patriots of Commune-Affranchie were not vexed and under oppression. They were, he said, because the property of the condemned being specially intended, by article IV of the decree of July 12, to become their patrimony, we had greatly reduced their claims, not only by not judging only a quarter of the number of conspirators identified by Dubois-Crancé on 23 Vendémiare, or designated by previous decrees, but also by establishing a commission which appeared willing to acquit two thirds, as it happened. Through these declamations Robespierre wanted to entertain the patriots of whom he spoke, with the most violent ideas, to throw into their minds a framework of extraordinary measures, and to put them in opposition with the representatives of the people and their closest cooperators: he made them understand that they could count on him, he emboldened them to form all kinds of obstacles, to only follow his indications which he presented as being the intentions of the Committee of Public Safety. Collot d’Herbois’ explanation of Robespierre’s dislike for his and Fouché’s Lyon activities in Défense de J-M. Collot, répresentant du peuple. Éclaircissemens nécessaires sur ce qui s’est passé à Lyon (alors Commune-Affranchie), l’année dernière; pour faire suite aux rapports des Répresentants du peuple, envoyés vers cette commune, avant, pendant et après le siège (1794), somewhat the polar opposite of Charlotte’s version.

Robespierre accused Fouché of having dishonored the Revolution by exaggerating all measures and erecting atheism as a doctrine. ”No, Fouché," he said to him in the hall of the Jacobins, ”death is not an eternal sleep." Besides, to use his own expression, he believed he "held him in his power in the matter of honesty,” as Fouché had been charged with not having been any too strictly faithful on the occasion of his mission to Lyons, where, outstripping his epoch in those early days, he was believed to have enjoyed a foretaste of that corrupt century. Reports, possibly mendacious, had reached Robespierre, according to which Fouché is said to have, in the midst of the demolition of the dwellings in the town doomed to endure his cruelty, behaved somewhat like the incendiaries who carry on their business by the light of the flames. It is that which caused Robespierre to assume so lofty a manner against Fouché, because Fouché was supposed to have begun "to make money" at a time when no one in the Republic had so far dreamed of doing such a thing, either because of the Terror, which was not disposed to indulgence towards thieves, or because of a sentiment of genuine honesty which dominated men whose sole thought was the defence of the Republic. Memoirs of Barras, member of the Directorate (1895) page 208-209

Fouché reads a report regarding Commune-Affranchie, where he was sent. After having brought up the slander repeated against the representatives sent to this commune, he proves by several observations the need of the measures that they took and the punishments that they handed out. He proves that the blood of crime fertilizes the soil of liberty and consolidates its power on unshakeable foundations. He also develops through much reflection the measures he was obliged to take in the last moments.

A citizen demands the floor in order to speak against Fouché.

Robespierre, after having declared that Fouché’s report is incomplete, pays homage to the patriotism of this representative and to the citizen who presented himself to speak against him. He presents some observations on what has gone down in Commune-Affranchie, and announces that the patriots, the friends of Chalier, and the companions of his suffering have been too modest against the schemers who put themselves in their place, and who introduced themselves among the patriots sent from Paris. He protests that without the schemers, the true patriots already would have plunged the whole conspiracy into nothingness. He recognizes that they have legitimate complaints to make, but he assures that the Committee of Public Safety, which is aware of them, has taken all the necessary measures to establish liberty in these unfortunate countries. Consequently, he invites the patriot who wants to speak, to put aside any kind of bitterness, to develop the facts and to give the knowledge that he considers useful.

I recognize, says this citizen, the validity of the principles of Robespierre, you will subsequently know all the facts. The truth will pierce through all the clouds; I’m backing down. (applauds) Robespierre and Fouché at the Jacobins, April 8 1794

Sure of having sown the seed, I had the courage to defy [Robespierre], on the 20th Prairial (June 8 1794), a day on which, actuated with the ridiculous idea of solemnly acknowledging the existence of the Supreme Being, he dared to proclaim himself both his will and agent, in presence of all the people assembled at the Tuileries. As he was ascending the steps of his lofty tribune, whence he was to proclaim his manifesto in favour of God, I predicted to him aloud (twenty of my colleagues heard it) that his fall was near. Memoirs of Fouché (1825) page 20

A deputation from the Society of Nevers presents itself at the tribune in order to repel charges directed against it. After having summarized the things done for the public sake by the Society which has sent him, the orator announces that the patriots have their souls broken and compromised in Nevers, because of atrocious persecutions of which they are every day the unfortunate victims.

Fouché (currently serving as president of the Jacobins): Your society deserves severe reproaches. If it is true to say that the impure breath of Chaumette could not exert its disastrous influence there during his stay in Nevers, it seems at least certain that the shadow of this conspirator hovers there today. Imprisoned suspects were released, and your Society made no complaint. Ardent and pure patriots, true sans-culottes, were slandered by federalist lawyers, and your Society remained silent. Finally, its correspondence is insignificant, it is null. As the Jacobins do not know how to disguise any truth, I make it my duty, on their behalf, to point out some false and very weak ideas that you have just expressed. The patriots, you say, have their souls compromised at this moment in Nevers. Citizens, strong hearts can never be compromised; Republicans know how to die for the truth as well as for liberty, and the perfidious person who tells you that he is not free to express his thoughts is a coward; the crime is in his heart, he complains of not being able to produce it. You hand us, as proof of your opposition to the maxims of the conspirators, the celebration that you are preparing for the Supreme Being; but in this you are only obeying the impulse given to nature. Add to this natural impulse the strength and courage to dedicate yourself to the defense of patriots and the annihilation of their oppressors; the exercise of democratic virtues. Brutus paid homage worthy of the Supreme Being by bringing the blade into the heart of the one who conspired against the liberty of his homeland.

I don't know, says Robespierre immediately, if the Society understood the motive and the object of the approach of the members of the Society of Nevers; I ask if the president's response can shed some light on this point. For my part, I assure you that I don't understand anything about it. If the president knows everything that concerns morals, it is his duty to explain. Everyone knows that Nevers was one of the main centers of the conspiracies hatched by Chaumette, in concert with the supporters of the foreign faction. We must remember that he abandoned his post as national agent, near the Paris Commune where he appeared to play a major role, to go, under a frivolous pretext, to plot in the commune of Nevers: it is important that we learn from what we were able to discover on such a journey. I ask that the president explain his response to us, and tell us frankly what he thinks.

Fouché takes the floor to give clarifications. He announces that, having served as representative of the people in the department of Nièvre at the time when the scoundrel Chaumette arrived in Nevers under the pretext of enjoying the native air, he didn’t hear from his mouth any counterrevolutionary expression; that he only saw him while in public, that, the popular society believing this Chaumette to be a zealous defender of liberty, it took him in without difficulty and without defiance. Fouché thinks that this immoral man hid away, because he saw the constitutional authorities strongly attached to good principles, and that he conspired in secret, and then returned to Paris to there continue his execrable profession of assassin of all public and private morality. As for the deputation that has just been heard, Fouché declares that, as the Society of Nevers has been indirectly attacked, it will send a deputation of its members to respond to the imputations that have been made against it, that there was a time when suspicious people, arrested, then released, and finally imprisoned again, managed to obtain an arrest order against the patriots. “This,” he says, “is all I know; I reproached the deputation on the weakness of the letters written by the Society of Nevers, and on the insignificance of its correspondence. The deputation presented its address to me when it entered, and it is on that I’m basing my answer.

Robespierre is surprised that the president and the delegation only say insignificant things that cannot enlighten the Society. He declares that Chaumette having hatched his plots in Nevers, it is impossible that neither the representative nor the Société populaire had knowledge of some of the maneuvers he employed. He recalls that at the moment when the Convention took a vigorous decision against the infernal plot of Chaumette, the Society of Nevers sent the Convention an address in which the decree was faulted.

Fouché observes that this adress wasn’t from the Society of Nevers, but from that of Moulins.

Robespierre replies that the latter is right next to to the other, that both corresponded to each other and that the information must have been the same; he continues by maintaining that the Society is isn’t instructed by the details that have just been given to it, and one has not sufficiently characterized the men who are called patriots, and those who are declared triumphant aristocrats. He is surprised to hear congratulations on the decree issued yesterday, mixed with observations presented by the Society of Nevers, as if this society could be aware of this decree. It is not by sentences, as he observes, but by conduct and facts that one must judge men: instead of stopping at the language of the deputation, one must ask the Society of Nevers if it fought Chaumette and foiled his horrible schemes? Very often the greatest enemies of the people use republican expressions, to better deceive unsuspecting citizens. It is not a question, he says, of throwing mud on the grave of Chaumette, when this monster has already perished on the scaffold. For a long time people have done evil while speaking the language of republicans. Today someone is spewing imprecations against Danton, who until recently was his accomplice. There are others who appear all fired up to defend the Committee of Public Safety, and who then sharpen daggers against it. The enemies of liberty have retained the same audacity, they have not changed their system; they do not want to appear to separate themselves from the patriots; they praise and flatter them; they even make vague imprecations against tyrants, and at the same time they conspire for their cause! It is to their friends the conspirators that they give the name of patriots; and it is the latter that they designate by the name of aristocrats: they surround the Committee of Public Safety and the representatives of the people only to intrigue, to lead them astray and thus destroy the Revolution. There are still two parties within the Republic: on the one hand patriotism and probity; on the other, the counter-revolutionary spirit, the crookedness and the improbity which are bent on the ruin of empires and the virtue of humankind. Patriots, you who in the career of the Revolution have only sought the public good, you who did nor go into it to serve a criminal faction, be more than ever on your guard; evil men use all imaginable artifices to destroy the Convention and slaughter the defenders of the homeland. Do not fall asleep in a false security, do not abandon the Convention and the government of which it is the center: let courageous voices be raised to make the truth known, stifle the clamors of the intriguers who surround us daily, who change patriotism into aristocracy, and reciprocally aristocracy into patriotism. Do not tire of instructing us, rest assured that the wish to sacrifice ourselves for all patriots is always deeply engraved in our hearts, that we are resolved to defend persecuted virtue with all our power, and to fight with strength and constancy the enemies of liberty and patriotism. This is the wish that I address, on behalf of the representatives, to the oppressed patriots; it is not natural that we remain indifferent on their account: the first of the republican virtues is to watch over innocence. Pure patriots, one is waging a war to the death against you, save yourselves, save with you all the friends of liberty.

Robespierre’s speech is followed by the liveliest applause.

Fouché observes that he hasn’t wanted to reproach the Society of Nevers for not having denounced Chaumette. This society didn’t know him as a conspirator, it wouldn’t have been late to accuse him warmly, had it suspected him of this. Robespierre and Fouché at the Jacobins, June 11 1794

Five days after (June 12) in full committee, [Robespierre] demanded my head and that of eight of my friends, reserving to himself the destruction of twenty more at a later period. How great was his astonishment, and what was his rage, upon finding amongst the members of the committee an invincible opposition to his sanguinary designs against the national representation! It has already been too much mutilated, said they to him, and it is high time to put a stop to a deliberate and progressive cutting-down, which at last will include ourselves. Finding himself in a minority, he withdrew, choked with rage and disappointment, swearing never to set foot again in the committee, so long as his will should be opposed. He immediately sent for St. Just, who was with the army, rallied Couthon under his sanguinary banner, and by his influence over the revolutionary tribunal, still made the Convention, and all those who were operated on by fear, to tremble. Memoirs of Fouché (1825), volume 1, page 20

Robespierre: The example of Commune-Affranchie can explain a theory that I have already noted. The patriots defend the patriots with all their means; they give no rest to the intriguers and traitors, they constantly badger and fight them; aristocrats do precisely the opposite. I knew Chalier at a time when the patriotic representatives of the people were themselves persecuted. It was he who first discovered Roland's perfidy, and denounced him to me for keeping an immense store of libels at his home, directed against the Mountain and against me. Chalier had no sooner known this conspiring minister than he abandoned him and renounced the justice he had come to demand from him, not wanting to owe anything to a traitor who sought to ignite civil war in France.

[Robespierre] adds that since this moment he has only known Chalier through the acts of heroism and virtue which immortalized his name. The enemies of the people were only able to establish their triumph through the assassination of this man, as patriotic as he was intrepid. He recalls the courage of this republican at the time of his torture, prolonged by the villainy of the aristocrats of Lyon who brought the ax down on his head four times, which he raised each time, crying out in a dying voice: Long live the Republic, attach the cockade to me.

After this touching story, Robespierre goes into detail about the services rendered by Chalier's friends; he knows them all, he also knows their persecutors. The fate of the former was to be oppressed by all the factions that succeeded one another. They opposed these tyrannical and unprecedented vexations with a calm and patience of which it is impossible to find an example in the history of any people.

When the overly prolonged siege of Lyon was over, and this commune had been returned to the power of the Republic, the friends of Chalier were not restored to the goodness that they had so well deserved by their constant virtue. One took care to make sure Précy and all the other conspirators escaped, although one went so far as to making the trick of the Committee the supposed remains of this monster. The gate of Lyon was opened to them at the very moment when the Republican army entered, and they left through the gate where the army corps commanded by Dubois-Crancé was, which remained motionless.

Another cause of the impunity of the conspirators is that national justice has not been exercised with the degree of force and action that the interests of a great people require and command. The temporary commission initially displayed energy, but soon it gave way to human weakness which too soon tires of serving the homeland, and it lost with all its courage, its devotion and its purity. After having given in to the insinuations of the perverse aristocrats, the persecution was established against the patriots themselves: the cause of this criminal change can be found in the seduction of certain women, and it is to these terrible maneuvers that we can attribute the despair that led Gaillard to kill himself.

Reduced to escape, the patriots come to submit their complaints to the Committee of Public Safety, which rescues them from persecution, and suppresses their odious persecutors with fear. Thus, virtue will be eternally exposed to the traits of two factions which, opposed in apperance, always rally to sacrifice the patriots. Here [Robespierre] swears to avenge Chalier, Gaillard and all the victims of the infamous aristocracy.

The speaker's principles are to stop the shedding of human blood caused by crime: the authors of the plots denounced, on the contrary, only aspire to immolate all patriots and especially the National Convention, since the Committee indicated the vices from which it must purge itself. Who are those who have constantly distinguished error from crime, and who have defended lost patriots? Isn’t it the members of the Committee? Those who demand justice can only be formidable to the leaders of the factions, and those who want to destroy the members of the Committee in public opinion can have no other intention than to serve the projects of the tyrants interested in the fall of a Committee which disconcerts them and will soon destroy them.

Robespierre ends by denouncing the author of all these maneuvers who is the same one who persecuted the patriots at Commune-Affranchie, with a cunning, a perfidy as cowardly as it is cruel: the Committee of Public Safety was not his dupe. He asks, finally, that justice and virtue triumph, that innocence be peaceful and the people victorious over all their enemies, and that the Convention puts all petty intrigues under its feet.

Couthon, who had interrupted Robespierre in order to cite charges against Dubois-Crancé regarding the siege of Commune-Affranchie, proposes that he be struck from the club’s list of members (adopted).

At the suggestion of Robespierre, Fouché is invited to come and exonerate himself of the reproaches which have been addressed to him before the Society. Robespierre at the Jacobins, July 11 1794

One reads a letter from Fouché, in which he asks the Society to suspend their judgement up until the Committees of Public Safety and General Security have made their report on his private and public conduct.

Robespierre: I begin by making the declaration that I am not interested in the individual Fouché at all. I could be connected to him because I thought him a patriot. When I denounced him here, it was less because of his past crimes than because he hid away in order to commit others, and because I regarded him as the leader of the conspiracy which we have to thwart.

I examine the letter which was just read out, and I see that it is written by a man who, being accused for crimes, refuses to justify himself before his fellow citizens. This is the beginning of a system of tyranny. He who refuses to answer to a Popular Society whose member he is, is a man who attacks the institution of Popular Societies. This contempt for the Society of the Jacobins is all the more inexcusable as Fouché himself has not refused his suffrage when he was denounced by the patriots from Nevers, and as he even took refuge on the [president’s] seat of the Jacobins. He was placed there because he had agents in this Society, who had been at Commune-Affranchie. He delivers a great speech to you on his conduct in the mission with which he had been charged. I will not seek to analyse this speech. The Society has judged that Fouché does not want to say anything, as his reflections are insignificant.

It is surprising that the one who, at the time of which I speak, craved the approval of the Society, neglects it when he is denounced, and that he seems to implore, so to speak, the aid of the Convention against the Jacobins. Does he fear the eyes and ears of the people? Does he fear that his sad face visibly presents crime, that six thousand looks fixed on him discover his entire soul in his eyes, and that, in spite of nature which has hidden them, one reads his thoughts there? Does he fear that his speech reveals the embarrassment and the contradictions of a culprit? A reasonable man has to judge that fear is the only motive of Fouché’s conduct ; well, the man who fears the looks of his fellow citizens is a culprit. He uses [the fact] as a pretext that his denunciation is sent to the Committee of Public Safety ; but is he forgetting that the tribunal of the public conscience is the most infallible? Why does he refuse to present himself here?

The obligation to give an account of his mission to the Committees of Public Safety and of General Security, which are the government, and to the Convention, which is its source or, rather, which is the government by definition, this obligation, I say, does not destroy the one of appearing respectable in the eyes of a Society, and does not excuse appearing to put it in contradiction with the Convention. A representative is responsible for his actions to the Convention; but a good citizen does not discard appearing before his fellow citizens. If the system of Fouché could dominate, it would follow that those who have denounced schemes outside of the Convention have committed a crime. This was the conduct of all conspirators, who, from the moment onwards when one has wanted to judge them, shunned this Society and denounced it to the different National Assemblies as a gathering of factious [persons].

I here call Fouché into judgement. He shall respond and he shall say who, among him and us, has borne the rights of the representatives of the people with more dignity, and struck down all factions with more courage? Was it him who unveiled the Héberts and the Chaumettes, when they hatched assassination plots and wanted to debase the Convention? No! It was us who, on this tribune, when the Hébertists claimed to be more patriotic than us, unmasked them openly. It was us who silenced the false denunciations.

They shall say if they would have been listened to here, these men who had only served the Revolution in order to dishonour it and to make it turn to the benefit of the foreign [powers] and of the aristocracy! All the vile agents who have conspired did not see their likes unveiled and punished sooner than they seemed to abandon their cause ; and, because we had dismissed the perfidiously spread calumnies against the Convention, they extended this principle onto themselves in such a way as to render it tyrannical. The slightest words against this kind of men have been regarded as crimes by them; terror was the means which they used in order to force the patriots into silence. They threw those into prison who had the courage to break it; and this is the crime for which I reproach Fouché!

He will not say that it were the principles of the Convention that he has professed ; the intention of the Convention is not to throw terror into the soul of the patriots, nor to carry out the dissolution of the Popular Societies. Which means would thus remain to us, if, while plotters conspire and prepare daggers in order to assassinate us, we could not speak in the presence of the Friends of Liberty?

Robespierre then declares that Fouché is a vile and despicable impostor ; that his move is the confession of his crimes and that the action which he takes is similar to the one of the Brissots and of the other crooks who slander the Society as soon as they are chased from it. He assures that virtue will never sacrificed to baseness, nor [will] liberty [be sacrificed] to men whose hands are full of rapines and crimes. I do not want to add anything, he says while closing; Fouché himself has characterised himself enough. I have made all these observations, so that the conspirators know once and for all that they must never hope to escape the surveillance of the people.

A citizen from Commune-Affranchie reports some serious facts against Fouché. The Society sends them to the Committee of Public Safety and, upon the motion of a member, Fouché is excluded from the Society.

The citizens Tolède and Dessyrier, who found themselves at Commune-Affranchie in the days of Fouché, and who claim to be accused, mount the tribune.

Robespierre observes that these two citizens divert, without wanting it, the attention away from Fouché, and that his cause must not be common with theirs. He recalls that the conspirators have always sought to save themselves by placing themselves beside pure patriots ; he hence invites Tolède and Dessyrier not to interrupt a discussion wherein they are not involved. – After members did justice to the patriotism of these citizens, they descend from the tribune. Robespierre at the Jacobins, July 14 1794

They are strange accomplices of Robespierre, those who, against his will, made a political report on the religious troubles, sheltered from all research in this matter the representatives of the people sent on mission in the departments, defended Tallien, Dubois-Crance, Fouché, Bourdon de l'Oise, and other representatives whom he relentlessly pursued. Réponse des membres des deux anciens Comités de Salut Public et de sûreté générale aux imputations renouvelées contre eux par Laurent Lecointre, de Versailles, et déclarées calomnieuses par décret du 13 fructidor dernier, à la Convention Nationale (1795) by Barère, Collot d’Herbois, Vadier and Billaud-Varennes

One man alone in the Convention appeared to enjoy an inexpugnable popularity: this was Robespierre, a man full of pride and cunning; an envious and vindictive being, who was never satiated with the blood of his colleagues; and who, by his capacity, steadiness, the clearness of his head, and the obstinacy of his character, surmounted circumstances the most appalling. Availing himself of his preponderance in the Committee of Public Safety, he openly aspired, not only to the tyranny of the decemviri, but to the despotism of the dictatorship of Marius and Sylla. One step more would have given him the masterdom of the revolution, which it was his audacious ambition to govern at his will; but thirty victims more were to be sacrificed, and he had marked them out in the convention.

He well knew that I understood him; and I, therefore, was honoured by being inscribed upon his tablets at the head of those doomed to destruction. I was still on a mission, when he accused me of oppressing the patriots and tampering with the aristocracy. Being recalled to Paris, I dared to call upon him from the tribune, to make good his accusation. He caused me to be expelled from the Jacobins, of whom he was the high-priest; this was for me equivalent to a decree of proscription. I did not trifle in contending for my head, nor in long and secret deliberations with such of my colleagues as were threatened with my own fate. I merely said to them, among others to Legendre, Tallien, Dubois de Crancé, Daunou and Chénier: “You are on the list, you are on the list as well as myself, I am certain of it!” Tallien, Barras, Bourdon de l'Oise and Dubois de Crancé evinced some energy. Tallien contended for two lives, of which one was then dearer to him than his own: he therefore resolved upon assassinating the future dictator, even in the Convention itself. But what a hazardous chance was this! Robespierre’s popularity would have survived him, and we should have been immolated to his manes. I therefore dissuaded Tallien from an isolated enterprise, which would have destroyed the man, but preserved his system.

Convinced that other means must be resorted to, I went straight to those who shared with Robespierre the government of terror, and whom I knew to be envious or fearful of his immense popularity. I revealed to Collot d'Herbois, to Carnot, to Billaud-Varennes, the designs of the modern Appius; and I presented to each of them separately, so lively and so true a picture of the danger of their situation, I urged them with so much address and good fortune, that I insinuated into their breasts more than mistrust, but the courage of henceforth opposing the Tyrant in any further decimating of the Convention. "Count the votes,” said I to them, “in your committee, and you will see, that when you are determined, he will be reduced to the powerless minority of a Couthon and a Saint-Just. Refuse him your votes, and compel him to stand alone by your vis inertiæ.” But what contrivances, what expedients were necessary to avoid exasperating the Jacobin club, the Seides, and the partisans of Robespierre.

My eye was on him; and seeing him reduced to a single faction, I secretly urged such of his enemies who still clung to the committee, at least to remove the artillery from Paris, who were all devoted to Robespierre and the Commune, and to deprive Henriot of his command or at least to suspend him. The first measure I obtained, thanks to the firmness of Carnot, who alleged the necessity of sending reinforcements of artillery to the army. As to depriving Henriot of his command, that appeared too hazardous; Henriot remained, and was near losing all, or rather, to speak the truth, it was he, who on the 9th Thermidor (the 27th July) ruined the cause of Robespierre, the triumph of which was for a short time in his power. But what could be expected from a drunken and stupid ci-devant footman.

What follows is too well known for me to dwell upon it. It is notorious how Maximilian the First perished; a man whom certain authors have compared to the Gracchi, to whom he bore not the slightest resemblance, either in eloquence or elevation of mind. I confess that in the delirium of victory, I said to those who thought that his views tended to the dictatorship: "You do him too much honour; he had neither plan, nor design: far from disposing of futurity, he was drawn along, and did but obey an impulse he could neither oppose nor govern." But at that time I was too near a spectator of events justly to appreciate their history. The sudden overthrow of the dreadful system which suspended the nation between life and death, was doubtless a grand epoch of liberty; but, in this world, good is ever mixed with evil. What took place after Robespierre's fall? that which we have seen to have been the case after a fall still more memorable. Those who had crouched most abjectly before the decemvir, could, after his death, find no expression strong enough to express their detestation of him. Memoirs of Fouché (1825), volume 1, page 18-22

…The fact is that, sent [to Lyon], after the sack of this city, I (Fouché) returned in revolt, with a report against Robespierre, and that, from this moment up until Thermidor, I was his declared rival! Robespierre had established himself at the Jacobins, and I in the Committees, from where I expelled him; you'll see! I was a Jacobin myself, but there were two kinds. As for us, we were not popular; we talked about equality, but deep down we were aristocrats! Yes, more aristocratic than anyone perhaps! The Jacobins of the opposite party, such as Hullin, paved the way; they would shout in the crowd on the floor; we only saw them in the stands. It was Robespierre’s henchmen who flattered this populace; Robespierre was its leader, its soul, attempting to reign through them and crush the Convention! But we were his antagonists there, me at the head! He feared me. […] [The fact that I had humiliated his pride] was enough to be certain that he would be my mortal enemy, his hateful and envious character would never forgive me for it, no more than Lacuée who, if it wasn’t for Carnot, he would have had guillotined! […] I understood that you couldn’t go and fight such a man in his club; that I there would be dominated, crushed, and that to resist it, it was necessary to choose another terrain, that is to say the Convention itself and its Committees. It was therefore there that, on my return from Lyon, I began with a report on what needed to be done to stop the complete disorganization of this province, of which I accused Robespierre. People were surprised and terrified by my audacity, Carnot among others, who in his emotion embraced me, praising my courage, but warning me that it would cost me my head! This did not stop me, I persisted; and, addressing all the enemies of the Dictator, either separately or in meetings that I convened as head of public education, I reassured them, encouraged them, and got the Committee to call Robespierre before it to defend itself. It was putting him in a false position, he did not accept it; he refused to present himself and confined himself to the Jacobins, where I proposed to have him attacked, seized as a rebel and thrown into the river! We were preparing the means when the 9th of Thermidor arrived, the day when Tallien, single-handedly, unexpectedly, without having warned us, without knowing our project, warning us, denounced Robespierre as the tyrant of his colleagues! He cited me in support of this questioning, to which Robespierre replied that this was a duel between him and me! You know the rest. But what we don't know is that, under the Directory, it was again me who destroyed the tail of this party, after having thus fought its head! De 1800 à 1812. Un aide de camp de Napoléon. Mémoires du général compte de Ségar (1894), page 437-438

The primary object of [Robespierre’s] ambition seemed to be to strike, in the first place, what remained or what might spring up again of those he looked upon as his personal enemies, of whom in his hatred he never lost sight. At the head of those he had marked for death stood Fouché, and as, in view of the point his personal quarrel with Robespierre had reached, he could not but succumb within a very short time, it had been concluded therefrom that he was to be one of those who would deal the first blows at Robespierre.

But the arguments brought into play to convince Fouché of his danger were not sufficient to inspire him with courage. He had certainly been at all times an ultra-Revolutionist, and had shown what he was made of in his support of the system of terror; but he had not exactly hit the idea of Robespierre, or rather he had become his rival, and had given him offence by going even further than he did. Fouché's position was therefore not one to afford him opposite his enemy a frank and clearly defined character enabling him to attack him openly. Robespierre had told Fouché that his face was the expression of crime. Fouché, far from replying, took it as a matter of course; expelled from the Jacobins, he had not been able to return to the fold; he no longer dared show himself even in the Convention, but busied himself actively and with a will with intrigues and machinations of the lowest kind. I sent him hither and thither to inform our friends of what we knew of the intentions of Robespierre, Saint-Just, and Couthon. His personal dread of the triumvirs served but to increase in his eyes the idea of their hostile plans. Everything that he already dreaded most sincerely was artfully exaggerated by him when seeking to stimulate those whom he sought to induce to make up their minds to action. Rising at early morning, he would run round till night calling on deputies of all shades of opinion, saying to each and everyone, "You perish tomorrow if he does not.” To those who mourned Danton, and who were threatened with the resentment of his executioners, Fouché said: ”We may, if we see fit, be avenged tomorrow, and tomorrow only will we be safe.”

In order to instil fresh courage into minds so stricken with fright more than one speech was required to place the question before each and every one in such a way that he should see his own interests in it. Hence it cannot be denied that Fouché, gathering together by his clever intriguing all sentiments against Robespierre, was a genuine resource in the midst of the elements extant ready to make a decisive move against the oppressors of the Convention. […] Matters were growing worse apace; no longer was there any possibility of a reconciliation, even under the mask of mutual deceit. Not only had hostilities been declared, but a war to the knife proclaimed. In spite of all Fouché's prudence, a letter written in his own hand had been intercepted, containing particularly the following line addressed to a colleague in the Convention: ”Ere a fortnight has rolled over us either Maximilien or we shall have ceased to exist." Hence the quarrel could end only by the destruction of one side or the other; nothing was left but to conquer or die.

Even at a time when he was brought face to face with the necessity of defending himself, it was not in Fouché to do so aboveboard. Indirect means, those of ceaseless and underground intrigue, in which he had served his apprenticeship at the Oratory, he was familiar with; and just as everything comes handy in a household, so in a conspiracy, which is itself but an intrigue more serious than others, skill and manoeuvring constitute the necessary elements; and it will be seen that Fouché was to be, if not by his courage, at least by his doings, a useful cooperator in what was about to take place. He has, in later days, boasted that he dealt mortal blows to Robespierre; the fact is that in order to flee from his wrath and, if he could have done so; from his relentless memory, Fouché no longer appeared at the National Convention nor slept at home; it was at night alone that, under various disguises, he would go the rounds of such of his colleagues as were busily engaged in preparing means of defence against Robespierre, and bring and carry from one to the other every particular as to what was taking place, and go on the errands it was requisite should be dextrously done in order to cement the alliances we were forming pending the moment, impossible to positively determine, when the decisive blow was to be struck. Memoirs of Barras, member of the Directorate (1895) page 207-214

Legendre: […] I did not see Fouché during his missions, but I saw him at the Jacobins; he surrounded himself with all the men who, before the 9th of Thermidor, were preparing for this great day. There he openly attacked Robespierre who, wanting to manage him or give himself the means to destroy him, had him named president of the Jacobins. Fouché seized this post to attack Robespierre more openly, and in his responses he designated this tyrant whom it was necessary to strike. I declare that I see Fouché as one of the elements of the day of 9 Thermidor. Tallien: On Germinal 12, at the time when I believed I saw in Fouché a man linked to the conspirators, I had the courage to denounce him. Since that time, I have had no relationship with him, but it is my duty to defend him by attesting to the facts that are within my knowledge. Fouché was proscribed by Robespierre, because he had opposed the measures taken by Collot in Lyon. Fouché courageously unmasked Robespierre, and declared that, even if his head fell, he would make this dictator known to the people. Every day Fouché came to report to us what was happening at the Committee of Public Safety, and the day before the 9th of Thermidor he told us: “The division is complete, tomorrow we must strike.” The next day, the tyrant was no more. Fouché, at the same time, wrote to his sister: “In a short time the tyrant shall be punished. Robespierre only have a few days left to reign.” This letter was intercepted by Bô, who sent it to Robespierre. These are the facts I had to make known. Legendre and Tallien at the Convention, August 9 1794

Madame Collot (d’Herbois) Mademoiselle Robespierre (their titles are common as well as their distress) Per month: 200 pounds Per year: 2400 pounds for special help. Collective decree granting Charlotte a pension from Minister of Police Fouché dated February 8 1805, cited in Charlotte Robespierre et ses amis (1961) by Gabriel Pioro and Pierre Labracherie.

#fouché wanting to throw robespierre into the seine😂😭#fouché #robespierre #maximilien robespierre #charlotte robespierre #joseph fouché #frev friendships #frev #french revolution

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dent-de-leon · 1 year

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Still trying to cope with the fact that Jester drew Caleb faceless—a mere shadow, a dark silhouette engulfed in flame—his favored element. His raw pain and regret. Caleb being lost in that burning fire, consumed by it. Staring up longingly into this spark of light just out of reach. It shows us his grief, his loss, his desire to atone. Even if the fault was never his own.

The Card of Fire: "Spark: Something is responsible for this. Maybe you. Maybe some asshole. Blaze: Sometimes there are consequences. Sometimes they hurt."

And then there’s Molly’s depiction of Caleb. Jester describes his card for us in the campaign: “The Magician. Molly drew this card for you, Caleb. It looks like you. You’re sitting in a room and all around you are strange orbiting lights. Veth is on the other side of the card. Well, Nott is. Isn’t that interesting?…Molly drew cards for all of us.”

In Molly’s own words from the Oracle of the Moon deck:

The Card of Exploration: "Tinkerer: Technology. Science. Progress. Discovery. The Magician: Magic, beyond mortal understanding."

It really comes down to fire versus light. Unlike the roaring blaze, The Magician shows these gently drifting lights. Warmth and comfort, illumination, fascination. Pure Magic. It's not the searing hate and raw destruction of fire. It's "the Card of Exploration"--self expression, creativity. Discovery, solace. A light to guide your way through the darkness.

We see this glimpse of how Molly finds the arcane alluring and captivating, yet it also escapes his understanding. There's something intrinsically interesting about Caleb Widogast that he can't quite figure out, that maybe he'll never be able to unravel. But he's enchanted by this unassuming wizard all the same.

Dancing Lights is just a cantrip, something Caleb could effortlessly cast a hundred times a day. But the little trick is still enough to dazzle Molly, to be worth committing to memory. There's something sweet about that to me. Caleb himself is quick to dismiss the rudimentary spell: "Anybody can make lights. Anybody can send a message through a wire. I want to bend reality to my will." But to Molly, that one simple spark of magic is beautiful.

More than that, Molly draws Caleb the same way he sees him in his memories. With that some fondness and love that he reminisces on in the final battle with Lucien:

"Another kiss came to him like a tricky word just on the tip of the tongue, elusive yet tantalizing, though the sentiment felt real enough--a friend in crises emerging to a kiss on the forehead. A tender banishment. Caleb. Softness and light. Clammy skin under rough lips. Molly's nose brushing Caleb's hair... Those memories were gone. All of it was lost to him now. Kindness is never lost or forgotten."

Caleb. Softness and light. When Molly thinks of his Magician, that's how he truly feels. And we see it in his cards.

#mollymauk #caleb widogast #widomauk #critical role #the fact that molly thinks of caleb as literally light and softness is everything to me hes such a romantic and his feelings are so sweet

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 24 days

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AITA for getting upset at my best friend for calling me a hoarder in passing?

My (29NB) best friend (also 29NB) have been going through major crises lately at the same time—we will call them Sun. So, yesterday, they sent me a text, when we weee talking about how they haven’t wanted to be over at my house for a while, mostly bc they don’t like my partner…although the subject was in discussion bc my partner and I are splitting up, and I will be living alone again in a couple months. At some point in this discussion, they mentioned the more pressing matter that’s caused them not to be over as much is that they are very allergic to one of my cats—but only the one I just adopted a couple years ago, they’ve had no allergy issues w the other one and they love her very much, she is their niece.

However, at one point, they mentioned that a few years ago, when I was using drugs a lot more irresponsibly than usual—to the point where I got injured from falling down the stairs—they had been speaking to my other close friends. Which is appreciated, and I knew about this already obviously since there was an intervention that happened around that time…the way they mentioned this was upsetting. Specifically, they mentioned that “they approached [other friend of mine] about my drug use bc they thought I was becoming a hoarder” and that MAJORLY triggered me—specifically the hoarder comment. The woman who gave birth to me/raised me is a hoarder, which is a well known fact to just about anyone who is close to me irl, especially anyone who’s known her irl, and ESPECIALLY Sun, who worked as her caregiver for quite a while. Also being compared to/told I am just like my abusive egg donor is the thing that will hurt me the most, bc she is the most cruel, manipulative, abusive people I’ve ever had in my life.

So the thing is, my house is indeed very messy…I have too much junk around, and it’s very difficult for me physically to keep anything clean. It’s actually one of the reasons I’m separating from my partner, and as ashamed as I am about it, I understand. However, it’s not a hoarding disorder at all—I don’t hold onto anything I don’t need out of sentimentality, and if I could wave a magic wand and simply get rid of all the extra shit I don’t need/make everything nice and clean, I would. Unfortunately, I am very disabled with too many chronic pain/fatigue conditions, and actually cleaning the house/sorting through shit to get rid of takes immense physical effort. But whenever someone offers to help me, I jump at those opportunities! I take things to be donated all the time (if I’m able to sort through the stuff that needs to go) and it’s entire worlds different than my egg donor refusing to give up several bins of my baby clothes bc she can’t bear to part with them, despite them never seeing use in her possession ever again.

So, I responded to Sun’s mention of a past conversation thinking I’m a hoarder, with offense and saying it hurt me. We had been discussing just downsizing and how we will be going through my stuff as we pack for the new place, and had mentioned that I should make sure to get rid of certain clothing things if they have holes/are worn out/whatever, which to me, sounded like they think I have a hard time throwing clothes away even if they’re not even wearable anymore. With that and the hoarding accusation in mind, I told them I was very hurt by this. I made sure to be respectful and kind yet assertive, but after explaining how this was an unfair assumption/description of me, they got upset and said I should’ve asked for clarification before coming at them.

Now, do me, I wouldn’t have even considered they meant anything other than how I interpreted it, so it would never have even occurred to me to ask for clarification if I’m not even aware there’s a miscommunication. Apparently, the reason they mentioned getting rid of clothes that have been too worn out is an issue they have themselves, but this isn’t anything I was ever aware of, and once again never would’ve thought was referring to anyone but me. They also say they’re aware that it’s my physical difficulties that make cleaning physically painful for me…but honestly, that’s not anywhere near the same as having a hoarding disorder, which is indeed what they’d accused me of.

Of course, I know the both of us overreacted—me, being offended about being accused of being a hoarder (especially since my immense difficulty cleaning the house is part of why I’m separating from my partner and is therefore something I’m incredibly sensitive about right now) and them, being offended that I took what they said wrong and being upset over some things they didn’t actually intend w what they said…but I’m just not sure if maybe I AM in the wrong here, for expressing being hurt by being called a hoarder here, or if I really am making the entire thing a big deal out of nothing.

So, AITA for voicing my offense at being called a hoarder?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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fatehbaz · 1 year

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In 1901, Liang Qichao, a prominent Chinese journalist, wrote an essay entitled “The New Rules for Destroying Countries” (“Mieguo xinfan lun”).

In it, he presented what he had come to understand were the patterns of nineteenth-century Euro-American colonial-imperialist world domination into which China was being drawn. Egypt is the first among five examples he cited of a people and a state crushed by these “new rules.” No simple military invasion or despoiling occupation, the new rules proceeded under a subtler logic. According to Liang, English financial advisers had inserted themselves into the Egyptian court, inducing the state to indebt itself so completely that international bankers could take over from within. This ingenious mode of domination constituted what Liang called “formless dismembering,” hardly detectable as it proceeds, and announcing itself suddenly once it has taken place. Without quite articulating it, Liang was theorizing the advent of finance capitalism in relation to colonialism, with Egypt at its core. [...]

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Aaron Jakes [...] takes up the relation between imperialist domination through the financialization of capitalism in the colonies [...] in his comprehensive account of the British occupation of Egypt from 1882 to 1914. [...] The [financial] crises, produced in the metropole [London, Paris, New York, etc.], were analytically and practically worked out by yoking colonies as productive places and colonials as laboring and culturally marked/racially othered bodies to metropolitan concerns over empire [...], making Egypt a “laboratory in which to settle those greater questions of the Empire” (25). [...] [T]he original goal of British colonial governance was to enhance [...] cotton-growing for export to the global market and capital investment/speculation. [...] The British restructuring of rural space and agrarian social relations [...] severely constrained the room for maneuver of the Egyptian peasantry, who had long used the porousness of the relations among land, property, labor, and power to gain whatever advantages they could. Peasants were now locked firmly in place, and when [...] [financial] crisis hit, their indebtedness left them relatively defenseless. By 1905, superficial prosperity hid roiling discontent with economic development but also with colonial legitimacy. [...]

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[T]he Egyptian journalist Ahmad Hilmi recognized the British discourse of development as “gilded speech” that created an economistic reality without accounting for the lived complexity of actual Egyptians. As Jakes puts it: “despite the occupation’s command over the means of representation, the shared sentiments and experiences of the Egyptian people were irreducible to the charts and tables that adorned the pages of Cromer’s annual reports” (118).

In comparing Egypt’s poverty to the British-produced poverty of Ireland, for example, the economic boom of gushing capital investment was revealed to be a mechanism of wealth accumulation for the few. [...] [T]he gap between rhetoric and reality [...].

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All text above by: Rebecca E. Karl. “Review of Egypt’s Occupation: Colonial Economism and the Crises of Capitalism.” Jadaliyya online. 21 June 2022. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#abolition #ecology #imperial #colonial

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emblazons · 1 year

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Still thinking about how understanding what happened in the S3-S4 relational narratives requires you suspend the belief that the last two (soon to be 3) seasons of Stranger Things are designed to stand alone.

With S1 and S2, the seasons existed as standalone entities—S2 was a sequel yes, but it wasn't a direct narrative extension of the action that occurred in the season before. You could watch Season 2 with only a bit of context from the first season (one boy got kidnapped and taken by the monster into another dimension, the girl from the lab with the superpowers showed up and they worked together to save said boy, but then she disappeared and was presumed dead) and watch the second season with little issue.

Its not the same with Seasons 3-5. If anything...it helps when analyzing to imagine Seasons 3-5 as one "season" in the same way S1 and S2 exist as single entities; the Duffers have already confirmed its true for Seasons 4-5, but it gets a lot easier to follow arcs and action, particularly for the youngest characters, if you stop trying to find coherence in single-season stories and look at each season as three parts of a whole.

This is true across the board, but it's particularly true in the case of understanding Byler, both as individuals and a pairing (though the full buildup of their romantic arc will take us across all 5 seasons). Understanding why S3 feels like you just got dropped into nonsense with them specifically (after two seasons of Michael "I'm the only one who cares about Will" Wheeler and Will "I am central to the story even when I'm off screen" Byers) is because The Duffers took the risk of introducing a brand new set of conflicts to the youngest characters: namely, ongoing romantic relationships, personal identity crises and sexuality...only without resolving the conflict and action in the 8-9 episodes they usually do, which is why you feel frustrated by it.

Basically: Season Three was the season where we set up the relational problems that need to be fixed—we just have three entire seasons to work through them, which means its gonna look bad at the start and good as we work through the problem (over the course of a few seasons) to get to the solution.

forewarning: ferociously long post ahead (with headers for clarity)

Will’s Arc: A (Queer) Coming of Age

With Will, the problem re-introduced in S3 is that he feels different from his peers, and not just because he's gay; its because 1) he is in love with Mike in a way that is more genuine than we are being presented in the third season (that "sandbox" "puppy love" "break up and makeup" summer fling energy that S3 has) and 2) he is unwilling to step into the lie of "maturity" as its being presented in the story, aka giving up things like hanging out with his friends over focusing on relationships or giving up games (DnD in particular).

(sidebar: I wrote another analysis touching on the above here).

A lot of people I've met who watch the show casually say things like "it just seems like he's not able to grow up like his friends" and even "he's falling behind," but I think that's on the right track while missing the point: the reason Will is written as "refusing to grow up" is because he is the character that represents the rebellion of The Duffer's heart and interests, and both of the things that seem like they would be a bad because they make his character different in the narrative are actually surprisingly positive for his "three season" arc...if you understand what the ongoing themes of Stranger Things are.

With Will, the “problem” in the story exists because he is the one who represents being weird/the outcast/queer and not giving into the social pressure to “let go” of that—he loves another boy, is more emotional than his peers and loves nerdy things like his tabletop board game and refuses to deny that to himself, no matter how brutalizing that is for him and his feelings. In that way, he is the character who “represents” the sentiment of The Duffers themselves—he is a nerd, a child at heart, and he has no problem taking DnD and anything else into “adulthood,” (looking at you “yeah, yeah I really did” during the rain fight) the same way The Duffers have.

That said: as we move into season 4, Will is presented with an evolution of this conflict—he wants to continue to be honest with and about himself, his feelings, and his interests…but it comes in direct conflict with his understanding of his peers & Mike, whom he loves.

We see this conflict show up repeatedly in Will’s actions in S4, especially in regards to the painting, which is the physical representation of both his love of Mike and his embracing of his nerdiness. Will shows up to the airport with his painting in spite of not speaking to Mike because his heart is to be honest and true-to-self regardless of anyone else—you even see this as he takes the painting on the road when they plan on going back to Hawkins, after he makes up with Mike. The problem is though (and this plays into the whole “we want you to feel like you lost” sentiment The Duffers spoke about, as S4 is the “down” before the “up”resolution of the whole narrative) that Will he realizes that his desire to be honest is getting in the way of (his perception of) the happiness of the people he loves, so he decides to betray his character and break the first cardinal rule of The Party…to tell his first lie.

There are plenty of phenomenal analyses on other aspects of Will’s connection to Vecna/the UD and the love triangle dynamic at play across this app so I’ll leave that alone here (I do have many thoughts on why the above makes Henry Creel the perfect villain foil to Will specifically), but: for the sake of understanding Will’s relational narrative arc, it’s critical to understand that our “low” for him is the betrayal of his ongoing S3 character—and that him undermining his self-honesty, nerdiness and love for Mike are the things that The Duffers have set themselves up to resolve in S5.

The resolution for Will is to re-embrace his differences —to realize that lying to yourself and other people about who you are and what you love (both in terms of “nerdy” interests and his queerness) is not who he wants to be, no matter how hard it is to stand up for in the wake of adversity—along with embracing the power of real love, which is also an ongoing theme the Duffers have set up in their relationships beginning in Season 3.

Now…on to Michael.

Mike’s Arc: Finding Yourself & Embracing What Makes You Different

—anyone with a single toe in this fandom knows that Mike Wheeler is one of the most divisive characters in this story when it comes to deciding 1) what his motivations are and 2) what his desires will be, but (and bare with me on this)…I think that’s kind of the point of his story. Mike’s “three season” arc is about him moving through a confusion of identity into someone who can embrace himself while addressing the things he is most insecure about—namely; being seen, being useful, and (very, very likely) the fact that the person who makes him feel most secure, seen, useful and loved is another boy.

There are several context clues that give credence to the fact that the reason Mike feels so wishy-washy / lacking in depth is because his struggle is not knowing how to find his place in the world, though you have to go further back than S3 to find them. Let me explain.

From the literal pitch of the show, there has always been an undercurrent of self-doubt and insecurity in Mike; his desire to escape the weight of feeling insecure has been a driving factor in his actions since before he was even on the screen, and it is impossible to understand what motivates him without first understanding that.

With Mike, his actions across all seasons have been weighed down by his desire to escape his insecurities through action—and as he’s gotten older, what he’s used to escape those insecurities (to be someone like the paladin he plays in DnD) has evolved and shifted, ranging through everything from turning the world (no pun intended) upside down to find Will; being willing to sacrifice his life to save Dustin from bullies; using any weapon he could find to fight a baby demogorgon; and wanting to be a heroic knight who protects the perceived vulnerable girl once he starts dating Eleven.

The point is: Mike’s deepest core need is to assuage his insecurities by doing whatever he can to be a good person—and when he feels like can’t do anything or protect the people he loves…he spirals. That’s been true since the start of his character…and everyone from The Duffers to Finn Wolfhard himself has mentioned it.

Now. With that baseline established, let’s talk Season 3.

Ironically enough, a lot of people feel like Mike’s character has “fallen off” because he, by the sake of all appearances, has achieved all the things he is supposed to want—namely a girlfriend, which (at least in his mind) is the physical embodiment of successfully “addressing” his core fears.

Because Mike has all the external markings of a well-adjusted kid—he comes from a wealthy family, has a solid group of friends (who are also mostly now striving for social normalcy) and even a girlfriend—he seems to have addressed what many people even in real life believe is the end of most arcs & the fulfillment of the fantasy. For Mike, the appearance of his S3 life seems to have assuaged the fears at the root of several of his insecurities, including the desire to be needed, the desire to protect, the desire to be useful, and the desire for acceptance…all because now he’s saved El and has her at his side, and having a girlfriend means he has everything a good, well-adjusted guy is supposed to want.

Or…does it?

With how The Duffers set up the story (with S3 as the introduction of a new conflict for every major character), the answer they’re giving you based on how Mike interacts with other characters is no—having a girlfriend and acting “mature” doesn’t solve anything, especially if the core problem of you having an insecure identity while being dishonest with yourself isn’t addressed…and it’s the arc of Mike learning that “lesson” that we find ourselves dropped into moving into Season 3.

Beginning in S3, the war on Mike’s insecure self-concept comes at him on two fronts: on the one side, El, who started her journey needing Mike because of her background but now has no real need for any of the things he so desperately wants to provide as a means to validate himself, and on the other Will, whose deep familiarity and history with Mike combined with his confidence in his own identity presents Mike with a challenge of self-reflection that he doesn’t exactly feel ready for yet.

(sidebar: my post on how Mike's arc is intrinsically tied to a subversion of the "Born Sexy Yesterday" trope is a helpful expansion on things I talk about here).

We see this in how Mike gets frustrated with Max for giving El the space and language to not need him (undermining his role in her life as someone who she needs to protect/guide her); we see it in how he says cruel things when Will behaves in a way that challenges the actions Mike has taken to be “mature” (how he insults Will for not also wanting a girlfriend / still wanting to play the games that set them apart as nerds/different); and we see it in how Mike still goes out of his way to fix those relationships in the best way he can—because he knows on some level that what he’s doing in several moments isn’t in alignment with who he wants to be, even though they are both presenting him with radical internal challenges.

Ironically enough, Dustin does a great job of summarizing the two sides of Mike's internal conundrum in what he says to Steve about Robin—Mike, somewhat like Steve, is struggling between what is socially acceptable in a partner (or "cool") and what he actually wants and enjoys in one—and as El and Will evolve, so does Mike's internal conflict about how he perceives their places in his world.

Between El’s supernatural abilities and rapidly growing autonomy making him obsolete to her in all the areas that matter to Mike (see: the ability to protect, be useful, and be seen) and Will’s reminding him that at his core he is just as much of a nerd as Will is, Mike finds himself feeling more confused and insecure than ever…and that is the internal conflict we see him end S3 battling.

The evolution of Mike’s narrative arc past the introduction of this internal conflict doesn’t happen until is the Byers/Hopper move to Lenora though…when he is literally left alone to process what that intense summer brought to light for him—which is the note we're left on as we move into the next phase of Mike's evolution in S4.

In S4, the development of Mike figuring out what he wants and needs from his relationships + the kind of person he wants to be becomes a lot more external—we see him going through a series of code switches as he tries to manage the ever changing landscape of his self-perception, where has started journey toward self-acceptance but is still insecure about following through with it.

We see this in the way he has now joined The Hellfire Club and shows sincere signs of accepting his interests and "outcast" status, but still looks forlorn when Lucas says “I’m tired of being bullied / I thought you wanted things to be different too” (Lucas’ struggles with some aspects of performing normalcy the way Mike does S4).

We see it in the way he shows up to Lenora dressed in what he thinks he’s should be wearing rather than as himself / the way he continues performing his relationship with El throughout that first day (and how he says it was Will who "sabotaged" things by being that same kind of radical honest about his feelings we talked about before)...only for the events of the day to spur him into meaningful honesty with both El and Will (to varying degrees of success) mere hours later.

We even see it in the way Mike seemed to have been “turning over a new leaf” once he and El fought, to the point he was okay with them ending the “normalcy” performance of their romance…right up until Argyle’s paranoia while burying Unknown Hero Agent Man struck the fear of god back into him (aka making him worry he was letting El down by not protecting her—aka tapping into one of his core fears).

Basically: Mike is leaning into accepting the things that make him different in little ways, but is still struggling to step into that identity fully—aka he is still using perceived social acceptability as a shield, even though he no longer holds as tightly to being perceived as normal. (Even Finn himself often jokes about Mike “just trying to be normal,” which I think is a good, simple explanation of what’s happening—that said, if we take that reading and combine it with those “narrative goals” I mentioned The Duffers have earlier…Mike trying to be normal is an issue to be resolved, not an identity to be embraced. But…let’s move on).

By the time we get to the infamous van scene, we’ve watched Mike struggle through the two sides of his inner conflict for the entire season now, and felt him very gently succeed at switching into a more honest version of himself (who doesn’t need a girlfriend as a shield / can embrace his “otherness” in the same way Will does) right up until his inherent desires to be needed and useful come rearing up the second El is in danger.

It’s why we see him look pleased (but also marred with conflict) when Will looks confident, happy and radiant talking about “playing dnd and Nintendo for the rest of their lives…” and why him being honest in that scene is actually a huge moment for him, because rather than being vague about what has been plaguing him for two seasons now (trying to be “normal” just because he feels insecure) Mike is finally verbalizing the internal conundrum of his now two seasons of looking critically at his insecurities.

Now—I could spend all day digging into just that bit of narrative alone—the way Mike finally externalizing his insecurities to be processed with Will rather than acting on them and hurting people unintentionally is a giant leap for him, and how when Will says “you’re sacred of losing her” Mike’s nod is an acknowledgement that Will is right…but his face is saying there’s more to that fear than he’s acknowledging—

—but for the sake of this analysis of the narrative arcs, the van scene is most important because it’s when the S4 “it feels like you lost” moment begins for Mike…and that’s because it matches up directly with the “you feel like you lost” moment for Will: him lying about the painting.

When Will lies about the painting—saying that his feelings and the art that (as I said before) represents 1) his love of Mike, 2) his embracing of his nerdiness and 3) that radial self-honestly Mike so admires Will for—it throws a wrench into Mike’s internal revelations because Will is essentially saying that the relationship that Mike was slowly realizing he used to assuage his insecurities (his relationship with Eleven) is actually what lines up best with "who he wants to be," which throws Mike’s slow growth toward Will + honesty about what (and who) he wants to be into a tail spin.

From Will’s lie onward, Mike is thrown into moment after moment of conflicting emotions and dire circumstances as well—and given that Mike's deep terror of losing people comes up strongest when the people he loves are in danger, it’s only downhill for Mike’s growth toward self actualization from here. In that sense, (much Jonathan's S4 omissions of his truths/fears to Nancy leading to Nancy's regression into complacency / social conformity with Steve), its Will's lie that leads us directly into the “you feel like you lost” moment for Mike: him moving back into "conforming" territory and confessing his love to El in the SBP.

The monologue (at least in terms of the narrative arc The Duffers are writing) is Mike’s “losing” moment because it’s when he has enough self-revelation to realize that being with a girl as a shield for his insecurities is no longer what he wants...but the drive he has to be useful, protect and love any way he can (on top of Will’s urging + lie) leave him feeling like his only option is stepping into the person he was at the start of S3.

In this moment, we see Mike say exactly what someone who is "acting normal” about loving his girlfriend and wanting to save her would….even though romantic love with El (and the socially-acceptable romantic relationship he has with her) are not what he really wants, and what we will watch crumble moving into S5.

Essentially: Mike having a moment of dissonance of that magnitude after an entire season of looking toward Will was what set us up to see all those "external markings of normalcy" Mike has held onto and had started grating against for two seasons now fall apart, given what we know about those core messages/themes/child-at-heart values the Duffers hold and keep at the heart of their show.

As of the end of S4, we can already see how this "regression" into his old self is not going to hold—the fact that everything Mike did to save El is rooted 1) in a lie and 2) not in alignment with Mike evolving understanding of his core desires makes sure of that.

We even see the beginnings of this "low" being resolved in Mike's arc in how Mike & El are not speaking (even with the 'resolution' of their surface-level S4 conflict with Mike's love confession) and how Mike is glued to Will's side even before Vecna is mentioned–which is how we've been set up to see the resolution of Mike's arc in S5.

With all this in mind, it becomes a bit clearer that the resolution of Mike's arc is him moving through the confusion of identity we've watched him go through from S3 forward and into someone who can embrace who he is what he truly loves without fear of going against what is expected—aka finding the courage not to conform.

Mike as a character is a lesson in how doing what you think you're supposed to (aka what is "normal") is often at odds with who you are and what makes you the happiest—and the only way to self-actualize is to move past your insecurities and into someone who can be confident embracing what (and who) they really want...even when it means stepping out of line from what you’ve grown up believing would do the self-actualizing for you.

Final Thoughts

Both Mike and Will's relational arcs revolve around an embracing of what makes them different—in terms of their (highly likely) mutual queerness, yes, but also in terms of them making self-actualized peace with being nerdy "children at heart" in much the same way The Duffer Brothers themselves are.

If Will represents a person who struggles because they refuse to deny themselves their identity, Mike represents a person who struggles because they don’t understand their identity, and are walking around just trying to do whatever they can to get along (because they haven’t been presented with the inciting conflict that will move them into self-revelation & growth).

Both of these internal conflicts are narrative arcs that have been built into the coming of age stories of both halves of Byler—and though we are currently sitting at the "low" of both of their arcs as of the end of Season 4, the setup and though-line for them finding themselves (and real, honest love with each other) has been clearly set up for exploration in Season 5.

—if you managed to get through all of this, I commend you. And yes, there are a million other things to be explored between these two, but...I enjoy sorting through the thematic / "moral of the story" through-lines in all my media, so of course I was gonna do it for for Byler!

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #THIS IS THE LONGEST THING EVER AND I'M STILL NOT 100% SURE ITS COHERENT BUT I'M TIRED OF SITTING ON IT LMAO #I will also probably be editing bits and pieces of it over the course of the next day for coherence so apologies if you find an error lol #but !!! this is the most cohesive way I could think to explain how their arcs work separately and individually #esp with the ' big messages' of the Duffers discussed /included #ANYWAY. HAPPY FRIDAY LOL #mike wheeler core #will byers core #my st commentary #stranger things #the me tag #the come back tag #duffer brothers

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gingerswagfreckles · 7 months

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After intense international pressure, Israel has agreed to turn the water back on in Southern Gaza. This is a very very small concession that in no way erases the ongoing genocide the IDF is continuing to commit in full view of the world.

Nonetheless, this is an extremely important capitulation by the Israeli government in face of the worldwide blowback against the war crimes being committed. This will significantly alleviate one of the most pressing crises the Palestinian people are facing, and allow at least some access to the most fundamental of life's necessities.

It is important to note that this would not have happened without massive international attention. While posting relentlessly online often seems pointless, it's only pointless as so far as it isn't being heard. With so much global support and sentiment on a single issue, we see that change does happen and is possible. Keep donating, keep posting, keep sharing verified news. The Israeli government is not invincible and the world can hold it accountable. The more pressure the whole world puts on Netanyahu and IDF to end this genocidal aggression, the closer the Palestinian people are to peace.

#gingerswagfreckles #israel #palestine #israel palestine conflict #i/p #i/p conflict #this is massively oversimplified ofc and like. maybe way too hopeful sounding #but it does matter that the world puts pressure on the Israeli gov when tbey commit war crimes

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vibingvoices · 4 months

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I spent 15 hours, across three days, watching and taking notes on the legal proceedings at the International Court of Justice, where South Africa filed a genocide case against Israel.

South Africa's case was a temporal snapshot that lay the weight of decades of historical context. Although the specifics of the case pertained to Israel's actions in Gaza, its overarching objective reached beyond these particulars. At its core, the case sought to address the substantial disparity between the lived reality of Palestinians and the narrative propagated by dominant political forces.

Across the globe, public anger regarding the events in Gaza has manifested on the streets. However, political leaders consistently chose to overlook, dismiss, ban, or vilify this collective sentiment. Maybe it is recency bias, but in my lifetime, there has never been such a disconnect between politicians and their people than when it comes to Gaza.

The significance of South Africa's case before the International Court of Justice is that it publically challenges the portrayal of the Palestinian cause as a fringe issue.

Beyond merely outlining the severity of events – 23,000+ killed in Gaza, the 1.9 million displaced, the 7,000+ missing under the rubble, and the thousands of bombs dropped, making this the deadliest rate of conflict of the 21st century – the case links these claims to the Geneva Conventions and human rights law.

But where are we as a society, as a human race even, that we are at a point where the case was brought forth in the first place? Such an initiative questions the legitimacy of the international response and underscores the diminishing persuasive power of Western logic in an increasingly multipolar world.

The case represents a broader confrontation within international institutions, raising doubts about the actual existence of the human rights infrastructure. The conflict has placed Western allies in the precarious position of undermining or neglecting their own established systems, eroding their credibility on the global stage. When you're against the United Nations and hundreds of human rights organisations and objecting to a submission in a global court (in the case of the US and UK, a court that they themselves established), you are simply pulling apart your house with the very tools that built it.

Western powers, having previously failed to support a Gaza ceasefire, will from now on be viewed in the global south as fighting on Israel's side. More so than they were already. And why wouldn't they be? These politicians have made it clear that they want to supply arms and military support to a regime, and their intervention, it seems, is contingent upon the safeguarding of goods shipment. These politicians assert that financial resources are lacking for reconstructing their nations, yet readily allocate funds for military endeavours. Why? How is any of this normal?

After the legal proceedings, Netanyahu said, "We will continue the war in the Gaza Strip until we achieve all our objectives. The Hague and the axis of evil will not stop us." Without compelling a policy change from Israel, what hope is there that South Africa's case will avail? It was obvious that Israel would use support from the US and the UK to prosecute the real agenda that Netanyahu and hundreds of Israeli politicians have hidden in plain sight (i.e. admitted on camera constantly): the destruction of Palestine and its people.

The recurring pattern is evident. Gaza transforms from an open-air prison to an open-air slaughterhouse under Israeli actions. Iraq faces invasion and fragmentation fueled by falsehoods and lies. Libya, once somewhat stable, descends into a state of civil war. Afghanistan witnesses invasion followed by prolonged failure and abandonment. Yemen endures relentless bombing, culminating in one of the most severe humanitarian crises in recorded human history. Syria? Also bombed, resulting in the displacement of thousands of refugees.

All of this, and more, is the legacy of Western "intervention", war, and policy in the Middle East.

Strangely, I find myself distanced from all this turmoil, yet the impact remains surprisingly profound. So many people I love have been impacted, yet I still experience a sense of detachment.

I go about my life. I have family and friends. I have hobbies and a job. But multiple times a day, it will hit me. I'll remember the videos I've seen of a mother crying over her son's body. Or the father carrying the remains of his children in plastic bags. Or the doctors performing amputations in overcrowded hospitals with nothing more than a dull butter knife. A wave of deep sorrow washes over me, settling in my chest like a persistent ache, lingering until I find a sufficiently absorbing distraction. And then, the cycle restarts.

But I don't want to be distracted. And I don't want to forget. I feel like I don't deserve to forget. It feels like the least I can do. Because I, unfortunately, do not have a megaphone loud enough to shout to those in positions of authority and tell them they are cowardly individuals sitting on chairs fashioned from the bones of Gaza's children.

In 2024, you would think that we would only be quoting Martin Luther King to learn about history and not to still use his message for current happenings, but he honestly said it best: "No one is free when we are all free."

#palestine #gaza #geopolitics #current events #ceasefire

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trailingoff · 9 months

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The first season of Good Omens brought me immense joy, so bright and pure that it burned out gradually over a few years, all through the pandemic and a big difficult thing happening in my life. So I watched the second season hoping for more joy. The fact it wasn’t forthcoming isn’t a flaw in the show or a failing on Neil’s part, and I think the story is brilliant, funny, engaging and heartbreaking. It still hurt because for me all the joy had been sucked away.

Yesterday I felt silly for ever believing there could be a canonical queer couple who met my admittedly very high standards. Cishets don’t have to yearn for representations of not only healthy relationships but idealised, near-perfect relationships as well -- they get those in bucketloads -- while I can’t think of another story, outside of fanfic, that gave me what GO season one did.

But then I remembered Margaret Atwood’s very short story ‘Happy Endings’. Here’s a link to the only copy I could find online. It concludes:

“You'll have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality. The only authentic ending is the one provided here: John and Mary die. John and Mary die. John and Mary die.

So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it's the hardest to do anything with. That's about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what. Now try How and Why.”

Neil has pointed out that Aziraphale and Crowley have faced similar relationship crises before. Season one could have cut off right after the bandstand break-up. Over six thousand years, how many times have they broken up forever and got back together in a relatively short time? For them, that could be a few hundred years. This seems to be the first time they’ve kissed -- well, some of what they said at the bandstand was probably a first for them too.

We aren’t at the end of their story. Hopefully we’ll never get to Atwood’s authentic ending. I’m holding out for an even heftier dose of excessive optimism and downright sentimentality.

#good omens spoilers #gos2 #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #neil gaiman #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses

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sophsicle · 1 year

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I'm not really one for reflections, or resolutions, or really anything that New Years demands we do (except drink champagne and kiss, very pro those things) But, last year, at this time, I felt very, very alone in this space. And very isolated. And very friendless. And this year I have so many of like the loveliest, funniest, most talented people on the planet around me and it just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and do little happy wiggles, so I wanted to say that I am so grateful for all of you, especially @kerrylouise22 @arik-readsbooks who have had to put up with me having multiple crises and panic attacks over the last few months. Kerry constantly reminding me that there are very nice people in the world and Arik constantly reminding me that I am seen and heard and understood. ANYWAY, usually I am a very pessimistic person, but, I feel very optimistic about this little corner of the internet. And very mushy and sentimental about all of the people I have in my life because of it. So Happy New Year everybody, hopefully this year we learn how to swim

#soph rambles

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ephemerlskies · 1 year

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The Stars as They Appear Above Us | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members: hoseok, taehyung]

⇢ genre: one-shot, angst, fluff, heartbreak au, college au, strangers to lovers au

⇢ rating: pg-13

⇢ word count: 19.6k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of death, mentions of homophobia, themes of grief, themes of depression/anxiety, alcohol consumption, codependency, many emotional ramblings and existential crises.

⇢ summary: misery loves company. against better judgment, yours sought out Jimin's. from one chance encounter to another, the question of whether your heart could brave the wreckage of loss and still retain the capacity to love again drew closer and closer to finding an answer.

alternatively

“Do you think the stars will remember us?"

inspiration: francis forever by mitski and mikrokosmos by bts

a/n: for my lovely readers. if you have yet to find love in yourself, i hope one day you do. i hope you can rejoice in the beauty and splendor of being you.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

"I think I'm falling out of love with you."

You wished what he said felt sharp where it struck your chest. That it would puncture the skin, clean and precise, leaving behind a sure but manageable ache.

No, this was dull.

This forced its way through flesh and met the bone with an unforgiving rage. A cruel promise that no matter how this wound healed, the scar would always remind the world of just how true his sentiment was.

"Wh-" Taehyung's hand found yours. You were tempted to withdraw, knowing comfort would only remind you of the very pain he'd inflicted. "What..."

You stopped yourself from asking how. You weren't sure you wanted to harbor the reason as to why you stopped being lovable to him. You weren't sure, because you couldn't defend yourself, his mind made up as sure as your heart broke. There was no evidence, no witness, no judge. Nothing, but the rawness of giving yourself entirely to him. Loving him, even when the world reminded you of just how fragile and damning of an act it was. You placed your heart in his hands without knowing it was a trial, without knowing it could end in a death sentence.

"I'm sorry..." As if it could resolve anything, he squeezed your hand. Maybe to remind you to breathe, the way he always had. Maybe to ease his own heart, pulsing hard enough to give life to another body.

There was a beat of heavy silence. A moment to stall, collect every bit of strength, and look into his eyes before you became a supporting character in his story.

"That's all?"

"What?" Surprise seized his eyes.

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

Your throat was tight; it didn't offer much, but it gave what was necessary. More importantly, it withheld what was too vulnerable to reveal.

Because he had everything else that was supposed to be yours. Your soul, your purpose, and worst of all your love. But not your pain, that was something you writhed with, the way a storm-front meets land. It would devastate all the beauty you created, how else to prove your power over something but by destroying it completely? This anguish, this was yours.

"Come on, ___. Don't be this way." Making demands of you after he plunged his bloodied hands into your chest, only to give back what he'd rejected, he knew his power.

"Don't be what way, Tae?" The heat in your face flared, you swore it lit something within you. "You want me to scream at you? You want me on my knees pleading? I'm not going to give you anything else, Tae. Not after I've spent three years giving you everything just to make you happy. I can't. I... I have nothing left. You win."

"___, it's not about winning. You think I feel so fucking great about doing this? I wanted to deny it, shit, I have been denying it because it's you, ___." The way he laughed out spite like an illness, you knew what was about to come. "You know what I think of you. You're the one I fought for. You know how much I care about you, how much of your dreams are no different than my own. I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. You amaze me and inspire me-"

"But not enough to be loved by you." It humored you how these praises fell from his lips. There was no way to explain how he can recite such intimate musings about your character one minute, then reject it all in another.

"___..." You wished he would stop saying your name. Taehyung called to you with too much love to keep your denial at bay. It hurt to be held by him now, even if it was just the way his voice held your name. "Please, let me explain."

"I was waiting for you to say that." You knew you were being cruel, but both you and Taehyung understood it wasn't entirely undeserved.

"I just feel like the only thing keeping us together is familiarity, like being together is a habit not a choice."

He paused, most likely with the hopes you would miraculously agree, that some sort of forgiveness would be surrendered. It was never that easy, though, not when it came to you and him.

"I feel like I'm standing still, and you're moving forward... or the other way around. But either way, I feel this distance that I don't know how to close." You did not have to look at him to know there were tears pooling in his eyes. "___, most of the time when we're together, I feel as though it wouldn't make a difference if I were there or not."

If it was neglect he was accusing you of, your tongue felt a sting to remind him all the late nights you two spent over how he kept the rest of his life so separate. How little words were exchanged over dinner when recounting your days apart. The number of opened and unanswered texts that sit in the graveyard of your messages.

"I'm not saying I am perfect either, I know I'm contributing to this emptiness in our relationship. I don't think I understand you, and it hurts to admit that I fall so short as your partner." Of course, he knew what you were thinking. He knew exactly how to respond to the words that were never kind enough to bring to life. "I just... we need to be honest with ourselves. We need to be honest about if we really understand what we need in life. If we know for sure that it's each other."

"Well, I guess there is a difference between us."

He was cautious, keen of your tendency to be quick witted before you could be transparent. Taehyung's eyes trailed along the outline of your body in preparation to defend himself.

"Even though I feel distance and there are issues between us and our relationship isn't always perfect, I would never give up on you." It was brutal, the way you spoke felt like inhaling fire, but at least you weren't the only one burned.

"It's not always as simple as love. Love isn't the only thing that keeps a relationship alive. How can we grow as a couple when you never let me get close enough to try?"

Your eyes seared. He found the wound. He knew exactly where to apply pressure.

"I didn't know trying was such a burden for you." Frankly, you found it difficult to locate what exactly he meant by this, but your heart hurt all the same. "Just so you know... falling out of love will be much harder for me."

Taehyung wondered how you could admit love as though it were a sin, how he had become the one who assigned punishment, how this hadn't stopped him from feeling the need to ask for forgiveness. And still you were able to lift yourself from where you sat, and walk away.

"___, I'm scared." It was true, you felt what one could only describe as desperation pooling in his words.

"Me too." Admitting this was far more crucifying than admitting your heart would always beat for someone who had forgotten how to love you back.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

It was difficult to look in the mirror. The person staring back looked so much like the person he loved. But that wasn't you anymore. The person in the mirror was the ghost. What worried you even more was the idea of someone finding out what a lie this was. This body of yours, each piece stacked so neatly, as though you could be anything more than shards of loneliness that cut with each step you took. As though you didn't live your life checking the ground that follows you, ensuring fragments of your soul were not being left behind.

There was no rule book on how to remain whole after a heartbreak. How to fill the nights with warmth and the mornings with meaning.

Taehyung would always remind you to lock the door, but it never felt so simple.

Lock the door, angel, don't forget!

Lock the door, I love that you forget. I love being the one to remind you.

Lock the door, and never stop forgetting. Never stop letting me remind you.

You stared at the doorknob until it started to feel like a broken promise, and it delivered your eyes a new kind of pain. One that couldn't render tears, because you were all cried out. Maybe if you forgot this time, he would come running to remind you once again. The way he always did. You sighed then winced. The click of the lock sent a shooting pain in your ear.

I'm falling out of love with you.

This confession began to feel more like an accusation. Your mind tucked his words deep. It never failed to rear its head right before you loosened your fist or a smile took hold of you, right before you almost let your body belong in the world with ease.

"Excuse me, you're next." A voice broke through your daze.

This has been happening frequently. One moment, you're gripping the doorknob. Another, you find yourself in a cafe, or a grocery store, or a parking lot of a grocery store. Your body moved through the world as a chore, abusing the skill of muscle memory to no end. You stopped caring where it took you, because you knew it wouldn't be with him.

"Sorry..." Your voice dragged along your tongue like a limbless creature. "I'm sorry you go ahead."

If you hadn't been zoning in on a specifically worn floor tile, you would have noticed the person behind you. Their eyes, thick with concern, studied you and politely yet firmly ignored the offer to pass you in line.

"You can go, I don't know-"

"Let me buy you your drink." He sounded like rain falling against the world. Inviting, comforting, and timid, asking permission in the gentle way raindrops cling to the openness of a window. It was momentary, the idea of sneaking through the back door to let him fall against your skin.

"No." You were quick to respond. Your heart ached you into a habit of rejecting kindness when you knew you needed it most. "No, you don't have to."

You didn't feel his body brush past you. Could he have somehow known as well, you needed a small kindness?

"Would it be too cliché of me to say I know I don't have to?" He said.

"Yes, and it would be even worse if you also said 'I know I don't have to, I want to.'" Your eyes finally peeled away from that jagged tile, and met his.

There was a smile woven into the way his voice sounded. It struck wonder in you, how he could vocalize something as invisible as joy. Within seconds, he made the intangible into something physical, something you could hold onto. Something a little less fleeting than the feeling itself.

"I'm Jimin. And I swear I'm like... super cool and unique so I won't say that." His hand, extended out to you, looked so soft. Almost as though if you dared to touch it, you would damage something. The tenderness adorning his body only sought to exemplify the sharpness of your own.

But, your desire to quell an awkward handshake rejection triumphed over your fear of destroying a purity you could not find in yourself. And you were right, his hand stretched so gently around yours. You swore it could have melted if you held on too long.

"___. And I swear I'm not always this cynical." It was a half-lie, but today a doorknob made you cry, so you had to defend yourself in some way.

"I think it's kinda charming." He laughed at himself, "I mean, not only did you ignore me in line, but you also managed to call me cliché before I even had the chance to be cliché."

"Actually, I think I was just doing you a favor. Giving you another chance to say something more original." This was the first time you let yourself smile without seeking repentance. Your joy was not a crime with this stranger.

"Mm... well, let me think." You could see in his eyes, he was piecing the unlikely together. "You want a cappuccino with a little bit of brown sugar?"

"How are you so sure of yourself?" Your brows furrowed, a hint of intrigue in your voice guiding him like a light.

"Well, you said you didn't know what you wanted yet, but I haven't seen you look at the menu once. Which tells me you probably do know what you're going to order, you just couldn't for some reason." He paused, and by now you knew it was to observe and conclude an honesty you buried somewhere no one cared to upend. "Judging by the slight dark circles under your eyes, and the fact that you yawned about three times during this conversation, you haven't had your daily dose. And in more ways than one, you seem tired."

You felt your body giving in. He was right, you were tired. So, very tired.

"That doesn't explain the brown sugar part." Speaking to him was easy. You wondered if he felt the same way.

"You just seem like someone who appreciates something sweet in life." Everything he said felt like a riddle, like there was an answer hidden in the crooks of his words.

"Jimin, you make quite the first impression. Are you always this invasive upon first meeting people?"

"Honestly? Yes, but specifically because I've seen you here quite a bit and I've become somewhat acquainted with you." Your head slanted and an urgency fell over Jimin, "I mean... in my head. You're around here a lot, and I've come to expect to see you. Kinda like how you expect to see the same buildings outside your window or whatever."

"I've never been compared to a building before. I'm flattered. It's nice to finally meet you." When he smiled, it offered more than you once thought capable of accepting. There was a dynamic you caught onto far before he did. Neither of you knew each other, however that only seemed to beckon both of your willingness to unravel the best parts of yourself, and hope to god it was as real and as good as it felt.

"Well, are you going to buy me a drink or not?" Jimin was quick to step towards the register.

It was easy to discern you were not alone under siege of his charm. The way he moved through the world, as though it was his to arrange and rearrange. How common it must be for him to acquire small talk and fond goodbyes like collector's items, how many people he must leave wanting more from him. Some quiet part of you ached to know where you belonged in his world, or rather if you belonged at all.

"What do you do? What's your thing?" His elbows rested on the counter with familiarity.

"I'm an artist. Painting, mostly. But I appreciate charcoal more these days. And, I- why are you looking at me like that?" You asked, couldn't help yourself. The way his eyes bore an opening into you was hard to ignore.

"Nothing, just kinda had a feeling you were some sort of artist. The paint stains on your jeans gave it away, if I'm being honest. I'm sure you create beautiful things, ___." It was so easy to let your eyes linger, even when his brightness overtook your vision and especially when he smiled.

"You don't know that. You've never seen my work." Your palm cupped your chin, and you put your fingers to good use, gating the smile that couldn't be subdued.

"Don't have to, you don't seem dense or shallow enough to make bad art."

This conversation uplifted in you something so close to hope. Enough so that when he paved the way to an open table, you followed him like it was a reflex.

"You're... presumptuous." Your will began to subside. The chance of this door you put up to the world remaining felt frayed. He'd find a way to open it. Perhaps he'd already found one.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I do?" His words were playful, enticing you into a game that seemed to have no real winners or losers, just a chance to participate.

"What do you do, Jimin." Your tone indicated you were in fact amused by his prodding. That you were more than willing to participate.

"I'm a writer. Mostly poetry, maybe I'll start a manuscript some day. But I'm not sure I'm cut out for something like that, you know?"

It was after he said that that you noticed a delicate dim in the lightness his voice carried.

"Honestly? I don't know, why wouldn't you be?"

Jimin hadn't been able to recall this budding hesitation when it came to talking with strangers. Usually, people would agree tentatively and construct a weak sincerity in response to him talking of his artistic abilities, or lack thereof. You however, inquired less about what he said and more on why he said it. In other words, people tend to deny consideration where it was inconvenient, but not you.

"I just- it's harder to create a story, and characters. I worry the world would look wrong the way I portray it. That it might give something away about myself I'd rather not reveal..." His neck, sheltered by his palm, grew warm. This feeling with you had felt like a forgotten memory, all the more exciting. He found that more than anything, he wanted to reunite with it.

"Ah, well. I don't know, Jimin. Within the little time I've known you, you've already read me pretty accurately. I really hate admitting that, but it's true." That smile, his eyes waning like two crescent moons, felt like encouragement. "You see people, things that are never displayed through physical indications. You voice the things people wish they saw in themselves so plainly, as if you could see it written on their skin. I think a story would come to life if you wrote it."

"That's..." As a writer, it was rare for words to be at a distance to Jimin, and yet. "You're... so..."

"Don't" Your head shook. "You don't have to. It wasn't a compliment, just an observation. Nothing, really."

"I'm not sure what you are, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to find out."

"If you found out, I'm not sure you'd get much of anything. Maybe a little regret and an unnecessary amount of art history knowledge."

You wanted this to stop, to retract your hand, only an inch from where he rested his on the table. You wanted to leave, to lock the door, to keep yourself tucked away where it was lonely, but safe.

And when his hand grazed the top of yours, you did none of those things. It was tedious to define safety when your skin knew a visceral hunger that your heart did not. You let yourself lean into this unrefined craving, and perhaps be known by Jimin.

"Wouldn't know unless I tried." His smile meant a number of things, but this time it resembled a challenge.

Because the last time someone tried, it proved to be just that. A challenge.

Though you met so recently, he'd already established a clear admiration that extended far beyond reason. His eyes gave way to vision only to find beauty. His senses were predisposed to seeking goodness. Even more impressive, he was someone who could bring it out in unexpected places.

But that was the exact reason why Jimin terrified you. Because what if there was nothing in you, no goodness that he could withdraw?

He was watching you, most likely on a hunt for something. His eyes were determined yet tender as they searched for answers in yours.

"Well, thank you, for the drink." Timing was generous today, granting an escape from the space he opened up for you in this moment. "I should get going, it's my first day back in university."

"Ah, where do you attend?" Whatever attempts he made to mask his disappointment were futile, and all too obvious.

"University of Crane River." As you dragged yourself back into a state of reality, it distracted you from his smile, though you wished it hadn't.

It would be nice, you mused, to get one last look.

"Well, I hope your days get better." Jimin held his breath, watching you depart felt no different to him than folding the corner of the page right before the ending. "Oh and ___!"

You turned back, half expecting him to remind you to lock the door, then remembering it would never be that. Still, what he said next wasn't entirely disappointing, but completely disarming.

"See you at school."

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

Decisions were hardly decisions at all to you. You never had to wait until choosing became necessary; your mind was always as sure as an anchor would sink, fate locked into you like a companion.

That was until you noticed the pen markings, impulsive and needful, under the sleeve of your cup. You let your finger glide over the numbers. An irrational attempt to see if they'd disappear. It made no sense, but life after Taehyung was nothing if not nonsensical.

You lingered at doors, waiting for someone to impossibly fill a role originated by the love of your life. You waded through crowds as if it would dispel the loneliness that weeps in you like a ghost. You lived in memories to resurrect something rotting and overdue for a burial. You ran a finger across those numbers knowing it was a fruitless remedy to erase the meaning they carved into a disposable cup.

As the bus carried you closer to the school, music flowed from your headphones. Though no amount of noise could drown the echo of Jimin's voice. His was a melody that learned how to swim.

You tried to keep your thoughts in order by mentally planning your academic day, busying yourself in ways that proved successful in the past. It seemed that your thoughts developed a sense to maneuver around denial, to sink itself into what you weren't aware you needed. When it came to Jimin, at least, you were just the shell of someone trying to hold on to what it felt like to be in his presence.

Despite how true all of these feelings, these untamed thoughts were, you refused to allow them to move you. The idea of seeing him again filled you with fear and eagerness all at once. Again, the decision to hide or to unfold yourself was not within reach. It felt like something that was less of a decision, more so in the hands of chance.

However, he was a writer, you a painter. The chance of sharing a class or even a building with him was slim to none. This soothed you less than you hoped, but then again, safety for you always reserved the remnants of disappointment.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

"___!" Before you had to turn, you knew exactly who wielded such a voice that reached every corner of a room.

"Hobi, I thought once we entered college you'd become a little more... I don't know... calm?" That was the truest word you could use that brushed past being an insult to him.

"Why would I be?" Hoseok's arm nestled along your shoulders, "Maybe you need to be less calm."

"Okay, whatever you say." Both of you avoided asking the compulsory 'How are you' and this was an unrehearsed consideration composed by Hoseok's thankless demeanor. He was a loud, robust dancer with a heart of gold, but no less observant than you. He knew not to ask, not to resurface the pain just below the skin, waiting to erupt.

"What's your schedule looking like?" He asked.

"Mmm." You searched through your bag to pull it out.

"You know they have these online, you don't need to print them out, nerd." This fond judgment didn't stop him from taking the paper from your hands.

"Any classes together?" You asked, eyes static on the pen markings etched along your cup while his was scanning your schedule.

"Nope... looks like we're just gonna have to spend extra time together outside of class." His smile lured one out from you too, the same way the sun channeled light where the world needed it most.

And then, like clockwork, that cruel mantra sauntered into the front of your mind again.

I think I'm falling out of love with you.

"Mm..." In times like this, expressing your care for someone felt like trudging through a storm. It was easier to still, to let the storm rage around you. But you loved Hoseok, maybe just as deeply as you could love Taehyung. There was just too much pain to be soft the way Hoseok was soft. Admiration and guilt forged into one heavy burden piling on your shoulders.

You hoped he knew this. You hoped the vacancy of words never translated into an emptiness he could detect. You hoped one day, you'd be able to out-love him, the way he deserved.

"___, I promise everything's going to be okay." How could you love someone like him enough? Someone who would demand a storm to rest just so you could finally move forward.

"I really want to believe you." The tears gathering in your eyes were infectious, spreading across bodies. Hoseok felt your despair prick at his own eyes.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand it either, ___. I really hate him for this." He spoke through strained whispers.

Before your eyes could corrode into water slipping down your cheek, his lips pressed into your forehead. It was something he'd been doing since you were barely able to reach the top shelf. He knew it wouldn't mend the pain, but it would give you enough love to last the day. And tomorrow, he'd be there to replenish. He was the 'always' you knew you could trust.

"I love you, Hoseok. Go to class, though. You're gonna be late."

"Shit, I'll see you soon! Text me after class!" He called back, already ten or so feet from you.

Hoseok loved and cared with every part of him, but even those qualities hadn't overruled his forgetfulness. Luckily, he always had you as a second conscious.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

There it was again. The memory of that night itching against your skin. It always began so faintly, but you knew by now what was about to follow. You knew ignoring a heart breaking would only aggress it more.

Under the guise of needing to use the restroom, you excused yourself from class. Though, you required more than a simple escape from the small art room that held you captive. The air felt stretched thin indoors, which is how you ended up wandering into a forested area of campus. Your legs demanded solitude, and apparently, running water.

Crane River, the sign read with resistance. Time chipped the paint and rusted the metal.

You peered over the edge of the bridge, water rushing against the riverbed. Somehow, your body responded to this view with a feeling you couldn't assign a name to. You knew though, it reminded you of being left behind.

What good are my lungs for if they stop working every time I'm upset? You criticized yourself unfairly between deep, unfulfilling gasps. It seemed that this was all you could give to yourself. How sad this must appear, a body rejected by the soul that calls it home.

It was true, nonetheless. You hated being you, feeling the things you felt. Pathetically clinging to the rail of a bridge, pleading with water to idle so you could keep pace. If this was how the rest of your life would be, you weren't sure how long you'd be able to hold on.

You closed your eyes, reeling in the moment this morning when you felt your heart beating in the same rhythm as the world, as him. It should have been clear to you how inevitable this would be. You, reaching into your bag to retrieve what should have been trash, dialing the numbers only to hover your thumb over the 'call' icon.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your courage and turned your phone screen back to black. This whole time, your body took in each breath manually. Innate functions such as breathing or blinking had become tiresome. So, when your focus shifted to the presence of another person, your breathing stopped altogether.

"Hey," His melody proceeded. "You."

"Of course... you." Fate had reintroduced itself to you, joined by regret.

"I know I got here after you, but, to be fair, I've been coming here since last year so... This time you're impeding on me." It wasn't bragging in the technical sense, but there was an underlying celebration in his voice.

You were almost too suffocated to do witty with him. Almost.

"Yeah, just waiting for you to come save me again." Your eyes remained where they were before he arrived.

"Is that it?" Jimin's voice grew in volume, even though he spoke softly. The edge of his body now seated in your peripheral. "Save you?"

"Mhm, I was just thinking if only someone would come and ruin my peace and quiet." He laughed, somehow privy to the honest relief obscured under the layers of sarcasm.

You gambled with bravery, craning your head to finally face his. He wasted no time returning the favor. For a brief moment, you were just a person catching the light of another's eyes. You could breathe, blink, and appreciate how normal could feel so thrilling with him.

Jimin's smile eroded the longer you held his gaze; it had you already pleading to earn his forgiveness.

"You were crying?" His eyebrows formed concern so beautifully.

"No... not really." You attempted to lie, but your eyes betrayed honesty to Jimin's.

"It's okay. We don't have to talk about it. I mean, we just met so..." Jimin let his admiration run unsupervised, indulging in how this moment stretched beyond time. "It's just... I hate the idea of you crying all alone."

"Why?" Regret finally broke through the adrenaline, more so when he said things like that. The desire to retreat came rushing, however you couldn't relinquish the victory of looking away first. "You don't even know me."

"Do I need to?"

Why had it sounded like a command?

"I guess not. But" Your throat nearly denied you sound. "I don't understand what you're getting from this."

"Jesus, ___." It would have felt like scrutiny if not for the protective armor of his laugh. "It doesn't cost me anything to be kind to you, but it seems to cost you quite a bit to reject it."

"I-" Why bother arguing with him? "It's hard."

"I know." You could have meant anything, but Jimin, overfamiliar with pain in his own ways, didn't have to know in order to know. "I'm sorry. Whatever is hurting you so much, I hope it subsides enough to let you live a little easier."

"Just a breakup. Nothing special, nothing new."

"Still, it sounds pretty rough. I'm sorry, ___. How long were you two together?"

"Three and a half years." Your exhaustion felt so justified after voicing how long it's been.

"Damn, it makes sense why this is so horrible. I mean we're still pretty young. Three years is a lot if you think about it."

"True. It was just really..." You watched as his eyes drifted comfortably along your face. Even if you wanted to pull back, it felt wrong to take that away from him. "Unexpected."

"You love him?" Jimin's inquisitiveness was partially selfish, but mostly born of genuine curiosity and care.

"Trying not to." The warmth collecting at your cheeks confessed some twisted form of shame around this.

"I get it. It's very justified to take your time with it you know? Don’t be hard on yourself." Jimin paused but even that was carried out with certainty. "He sounds lucky to have someone who could love him this much. Not sure if this is necessarily helpful in getting over him but, I think it is beautiful to love someone even if they aren't there to experience it."

You couldn't understand how he gave shape to your feelings with such kindness.

"Thank you, Jimin." Gratitude was a costly emotion to express, a tear or two expended no matter the circumstances. "You're sweet. I'm not sure uh... not sure I deserve this."

You smiled at that last confession, thinking it would lighten the weight of what was said between you two, perhaps distract you and him from the tears. But it soon felt like a mistake upon noticing it might've struck a chord with Jimin.

"Why wouldn't you?" This was not rhetorical in the way you wished it was. He asked, expecting you to answer, to voice the shame lodged into your body like a dagger. "Why wouldn't you deserve it?"

"I'm not..." You reached for answers that were not there. "I don't know. All I know is whenever people try to comfort me about this I feel so guilty. And like I can't give it back? I'm tired of needing so much from others. I just want to be good. Easier to love."

"For now, it's not your job to give back." How did his body extend in a way that reached conclusions never so accessible to you? “You do not have to be good to be easy to love. Someone would be lucky to love you.”

You watched the world regress, intricacies of this universe conflating into a singular truth. This man crafted simplicity from the chaos. You felt greedy, your heels already primed to run after him, to chase this world he'd created that made your movements fluid, rushing with no traction like water.

It must be a writer thing, you theorized.

By now, your arm had been pressed against his as you both leaned against the rail, overlooking the water. It was hard to release the notion that this might've been trespassing. Closeness, a risk that ended in punishment the last time you took it.

"Jimin?"

"Hm?" Jimin's wordless response felt assuring of what you were about to say, even before you knew yourself.

Speak, he seemed to say, bring any noise to your voice that does not know loss, does not mourn.

"How do you always know what to say?" Everything about you felt dangerously undisciplined. You'd been unraveling, completely negligent to how easy it had been to breathe in and out this whole time.

"To be honest, you don't make it the easiest." His careful nudge against your arm promised compassion without the words. "But, I like you. I like the way you see the world."

"You too. I like how you see things too." Rather, you liked how he saw you, how it never felt like a judgment. It was warm where your bodies made contact, heightened how frigid and starved the rest of you had been.

Somewhere, there was a world where you could find solace in togetherness; the borders of your body and his body ebbing from the way you held each other. Imagining this left a bitter taste in your mouth. Not because it seemed wrong, but because it felt so unattainable. It hurt to hope, to open your heart enough that it might discover another breaking point.

"I, um, gotta get to class." A sigh nearly slipped from you when he pulled away. "It was lovely seeing you, ___."

Jimin settled his hand right between your shoulder blades. His thumb tracing out a pattern only he could see. A parting gift, you assumed, a piece of him he felt necessary to leave with you. In one swift motion, you were reminded of how sentimentality was quick to filter your memories.

The way he touched you, so unsparingly, it must have meant there was more of him for the taking. And from where you stood now, looking down at the river, it lacked its usual hurriedness; almost as if it had stilled completely.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

"Hobi?"

"What's up?" He responded, stretching his hamstrings.

"Nevermind." This wasn't enough to curb his curiosity. You knew that all too well.

"___..." He expressed an expectation by calling your name, giving you another chance before he proceeded to more drastic measures. "What's on that little mind of yours?"

"Just..." A nervous tick flared, your fingers finding friction against each other to ease it. "How can you tell if you're a good person?"

"What are you an idiot? I love you. That’s how. You're kind and funny and intelligent and creative and fair-minded and all that good stuff." The question was obvious to Hoseok, so much so that he carried on loosening his muscles for dance practice.

You always sat in on his practices when possible, finding comfort in watching Hoseok move so freely, so determined. It impressed you how he made passion into a precision. Something so prone to growing rampantly, like a wildfire, restrained through the way he controlled his body movements. It was like he wielded passion the way a god would.

"I just don't get why though." You leaned against the mirror, exasperated by the vagueness of it all.

"God, Taehyung really did a number on you. Only someone so self-involved and immature and straight up stupid could not love someone like you." This began to swallow you in a well acquainted guilt where gratefulness was supposed to be, like you were tricking him into praising you. His kindness sat in your stomach like rotting food.

"Hobi..." You scolded despite the fact that he had done nothing to warrant it.

"Okay, you're right, let's not get into that now." Hoseok straightened himself, reoccupying where he stood so tall. Arms outstretched, ready to consume the world like prey.

It's what he always looked like when he was about to dance.

"Places!" The instructor’s voice filled the silence. Not long after, music took its place.

Right as everyone settled into position, the door swung open. A panicked series of footsteps and a haphazard toss of what sounded like a bag followed. Your focus busied itself with sketching because warmups we're not particularly engaging for you to watch.

"Oh, good afternoon!" The instructor was startled, but still maintained the patience to be welcoming. "Glad you could join us. Please, find a spot and begin warming up."

Their shoes shuffled along the practice room, a humble gratitude expressed by the swiftness in which they obliged.

"Hey, Hoseok!" Your brows pulled together when they spoke.

It couldn't have been.

"Jimin, what's up!" Your eyes tore from your sketch pad only to find Hoseok exchanging an informal handshake with none other than Jimin. It surprised you less that Hoseok had already been acquainted, being that socializing was a necessity no different than air to him.

Is this a joke? You questioned the mercilessness of the world. The more you saw him, the harder it was to shed the fondness pulling at the seams of your willpower.

It took a mere two seconds for Jimin to recognize the only person sitting among the piles of bags and discarded sweatshirts. It took much longer to release from him the mix of intrigue and delight that held his gaze captive on you.

He mouthed your name, partnered it with a coy nod before cutting his attention back to the lesson. The downturn of your eyes only accentuated the smile you were trying to dilute.

You selected your next move carefully, similar to how one would play a game of chess. A modest nod pawned back to him, timed perfectly to when you secured his attention again. He grinned without the boldness to look directly at you. Then, a flicker of hope that this meant a small victory lulled your nerves to rest.

You wondered if these uncanny collisions with him would become a routine. This man collecting moments of your life, all to give you a motive to make them worth something. And you realized then there was this feeling posed where you couldn't quite reach. Perhaps it was eagerness, a moment teeming with potential.

Throughout the practice, parceling your attention to anything but Jimin was hard. Whenever he had returned to you through gazes, your eyes retreated to the wall or your sketchbook.

But you pocketed every chance you could to take him in. Jimin was the only person that made you consider more carefully who the best dancer you could name was. Hoseok was still your favorite, of course, but any attempts to insist that Jimin couldn't move just as fluently in this art was denial at its weakest.

Every arch and extension he wielded as though his body was designed to move only to melodies. His arms were loyal to the choreography, but there was always a glint of reinvention embodied by his movements. Where Hoseok sharpened himself like a blade to the music, Jimin softened himself, the way a tree allowed winds to tangle through the leaves. It was full of a delicate generosity, an openness. He must earn applause not only for admiration, rather gratitude for being able to witness him dance.

Jimin was beautiful.

When the practice ended, you felt an urgency to restrain every feeling you encountered while watching Jimin. Quickly, you buried your belongings into your bag so as to not invite him over with your idling.

"I'm so tired." Hoseok elongated his speech, making it clear that even talking was too strenuous. The rest of his body surrendered to the fatigue building in his muscles. "Carry me home?"

"You know I can't but you did great today."

"Mmm... Thanks ___." You laughed softly. Tired Hoseok was hardly distinguishable from drunk Hoseok.

And there he was. Hair worn in from a one hour practice, somehow draped gracefully along his forehead, sweat-soaked shirt carving out his chest a little too tastefully. If you could've brought yourself to look away, you would have.

It was easy to ignore how the students' exhaustion translated as a potent thickness in the air, even how Hoseok's sweat invaded your skin where he leaned his head. It seemed everything that would normally bother you had reduced into unintelligible noise. There was no room for doubt. The answer always seemed to be him.

Before you were able to plot an escape, Jimin made his way over to you, mouth slightly hung and chest rising and falling with intention to circulate energy back into himself.

"Are you following me?" His attention wouldn't budge from you, even with a half-conscious man leaning on your shoulder.

"What was it? Oh right 'I was here first... you're impeding on me'. Is that how you said it?" You laced smugness into your voice like a drug, all the more intoxicating to Jimin.

"You're funny, you know that?" He'd squatted down to your level, now unable to ignore the intimacy passing through the bodies you and your best friend. Jimin could deduce he wasn't your boyfriend, being that you were currently heartbroken and too considerate to reduce someone into a rebound. However, his stomach fell when he saw you exchange a closeness he hadn't gained yet.

He was never one to get jealous, especially over someone that owed no loyalty to him. Even so, it was hard to not cross that bridge with you.

"This is Hoseok, but it seems you know him already." You jerked your shoulder to wake him, only for his head to limply drop back onto you. "We've been friends since high school."

"Ah, how sweet. Small world." You gathered that your response soothed him in some way. Likely because you were expectant of that reaction. Another moment stashed in your favor. "We met last year in an intermediate dance class."

"Yeah Jimin's pretty cool. I feel like we taught each other so much last year." Hoseok chimed in.

"Yeah, you were really great." You hoped this comment sounded casual, uncommitted. But from the way your heart nearly broke through bone, you knew it didn't. Jimin snuck you a smile. It looked selective, a gesture to deepen the feelings making waves in the air.

"How do you and ___ know each other?" Hoseok's question was innocent enough, not without making it clear he wanted details. Excruciatingly specific details.

"We met at a cafe. They were dawdling in line so I practically had to force them to let me buy their drink if I wanted to get mine." A grin strapped onto his lips. He aimed it at you in such a rehearsed manner. "And we just talked for a bit."

"Ah, ___, why didn't you tell me about this?" Whatever his tone had suggested, you feigned ignorance to it, and it had Hoseok and Jimin toppling over in anticipation. You were now compelled to choose what you said wisely, decisively. You kept flitting your eyes between the other two, hoping they would land at some point.

"I-" You pressed your lips tight. "It must've slipped my mind."

Hoseok garnered some energy, picking through the scarcity of words to unveil the things you and Jimin wanted each other to know without giving sound to them.

"Yeah, the bridge must have slipped your mind too, huh?" Jimin cleared the view of his forehead, hand seeking refuge in the lovely field of his hair. Your face stiffened to bury the smile threatening your lips.

"Must have."

"Bridge? What bridge?" Hoseok traded off between you and Jimin, neither of you could bring yourselves to break away from this standoff. "There was a bridge?"

"There was a bridge, indeed." He flirted with admittance, waiting for you to comply. Waiting to see how easily you'd confess to those coveted moments being known to the world, and all the more real because of it.

"Jimin, how long have you been a dancer?" You figured deflection had been your only option. Jimin tucked his head down, a smile most likely being shed in this position.

"Since I was about ten. I started in ballet, but slowly worked my way around to contemporary and hip-hop." He responded when he lifted his head back to you and Hoseok.

"You know, that's what I love about your dancing. You're so versatile." When it came to dance, Hoseok's seal of approval was rare. You'd only witnessed its appearance twice in your time knowing him.

The first was when your friendship was still new, the borders of your closeness still a bit unrefined. He was explaining how his dance teacher had been the one to inspire him to pursue it professionally. You took note of how his eyes blazed, honored to be caught in the fire. The second had a much more bitter tinge to it. A competition, one you couldn't even remember the name of, ended with Hoseok's peculiar silence as he turned the bronze medal over and over in his hand. You were giving him a ride home when he admitted defeat to the one that earned the gold, accompanied with a vow that someday he'd be the dancer others would have to overcome. The flame in his eyes was fed such fierce resolve, and still hungered for more.

"Thank you." Jimin was nothing if not cognizant. His eyes nearly pressed close from how wide he smiled. "You really inspire me, honestly."

You were pleasantly surprised how quick they took to talking, sinking into the background as they carried into conversation that permitted your silence, courtesy of your lack of dance knowledge.

Half of you tried to keep up with what they were saying, a nod here and there to feign engagement with the mess of dance terms. The other half tormented with an insatiable need to figure out Jimin. With every interaction, he unfolded more of him, meaning there would always be something to keep your heels from touching the ground. You hoped to find a crack, any break that would volunteer some hint of what else he had in store. And you also hoped you wouldn’t, setting aside agency over what excited you; the unknown nature of whatever Jimin meant to you delivered a complicated position for you to fill.

You resented yourself for what had always been around the corner from excitement: remembrance.

A sudden but familiar mourning crashed into you like a bird falling mid-flight. There was one person you had known so well. Someone that nullified any need to guess. The knowing of a person, of the private moments only to be shared through intimacy, of hearts precisely sure where to love someone, it could cast loneliness into a graveyard. This emptiness you weathered felt so full. It resurrected that loneliness in you, your body one long hall for it to haunt.

Two years ago

“I can't believe you convinced me to do this! This is so stupid!” Your pleas fell short, not even reaching his ears. The waves had drowned words. You worried that you were next. “What if we die?”

The cliff overlooked the Pacific. The very edge of land, a world you knew coming to a stop, giving way to water. It wasn't very high up, admittedly, an altitude that barely reached fifty feet hadn't deserved so much fear. That didn’t stop your pulse from turning into an unruly mess of panic. You turned to him, unable to meet his smile with one of your own. Taehyung ran his thumb over your brow, tense from worry. It only made him smile harder and fall in love with you more.

“I’d never let anything bad happen to you, ___!” Taehyung’s arm, as though it was a device to locate your fear, warmed the part of you he had sheltered. “Trust me, okay? If you get scared, squeeze my hand. And when I squeeze back, It means you’re safe. it means…”

He paused, pressing his lips against yours, slow and intrepid, “I love you.”

It was the first time he said it. Whether it was the way your eyes made the salt in the air taste sweet, or how your hand tightened around his like an instinct, Taehyung knew regret was far more difficult to shake than fear. He had to say it, had to make it known to you.

And your body seemed to align with that same truth. The waves, though treacherous and unwavering, did not carry the same bite to them. You peered over the edge, squeezing tight to the hand in yours, and when you felt it squeeze back all the fear that once detained you had sunk, been swallowed by something far more emphatic than any ocean.

“I love you too.” In unison, two bodies leapt into the chaos as though they were powerful enough to subdue it, or perhaps, become a part of it. The tides ushered your bodies with an intent to pull you in deeper, however your hand remained with his. That same force, the one that helped you jump from a cliff, the one that tread alongside the chaos of water, the one that loved Taehyung, was an anchor that you believed would hold you secure in the ocean with him.

Hoseok was the first to locate your somber resignation and through a silent alarm, Jimin squared his focus back to your face, glossed over with grief. Both battling off worry in their own ways, Jimin found a release by checking his phone, acting as though time had gotten away from him. It's not that he didn't want to be there for you, to ask you to unfold the pain you felt, to feel it with you like he’d done at the bridge. He did, however he knew it would be more appropriate if Hoseok filled that role. He knew he had to wait until you were the one to ask.

"Today was fun. Nice seeing you, Hoseok." He suddenly felt so mismatched. Eyes following how Hoseok's arms enveloped into warmth, it was an invitation not yet extended to him. "___, take care. I'll see you around."

"Bye, Jimin." You broke yourself in two trying to act normal. If you could speak without crying, you would have asked him to stay. Your hand tightened around the air you wished was him instead.

"See you next week." Hoseok said, cheer still lingering in his voice. He hadn’t spent any additional time letting your change in temperament go unattended. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really, you don't have to ask every time. It's always the same thing." You pleaded in a way that insinuated this was some sort of favor. He knew it wasn't.

"I just..." Hoseok wilted as he felt your body lean away from him. "We need to figure something out."

"I know." Only you didn't. You couldn't possibly piece together what could be done.

"Hmm, there's this party." On cue, two sets of eyebrows moved in opposite directions. Yours sinking and his climbing. "No, listen-"

"No..."

"C'mon, just like one hour!"

"Hobi." Whenever you whined, it meant there was allowance for persuasion.

"I'll be with you the whole time, swear!" Hoseok's hands cupped yours. "Don't you wanna celebrate being back in school?"

"Why would I want to celebrate that?" You argued even though your cynicism never carried enough potency with Hoseok.

"Because! It'll be fun." Hoseok pulled a shield over his ears when he wanted something.

A beat of anticipation passed. You rolled your eyes in defeat because how could you let his eyes limp on the ends and his mouth hang in such a heart wrenching way.

"Fine." Hoseok cheered himself into wakefulness. Already prattling on about the plans, the pre-gaming, the outfits.

This, you thought, was rewarding enough. His eyes became a house of stars while his smile reached to his ears. Hoseok was happy, and it miraculously made way for you to be as well.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

It’s not that you thought this wouldn’t happen, just that you knew you would never be able to arm enough resistance to the gravity Taehyung seemed to have on you.

There he was. A stunning ray of light dressing him like a saint. You played out what would have happened two months ago. There would be a kiss before a verbal hello. A hand remaining at the small of your back, holding to make sure you would stay close. Love exchanged through a single glance, so palpable you would inhale something denser than air. It was almost impossible to remember why such a connection could waiver, let alone collapse completely.

You were already making your way back home and you didn't want cowardice to strand you in an unplanned detour. No, you were going to face this pain. The damage seemed to ricochet a bloodthirsty bullet in the caverns of your chest when you tried to avoid it anyway. Taehyung's notice of you was tardy, just a second too late to pretend he hadn't.

He hadn't been able to fully drain the life from you, leaving your mass of flesh half-alive, panting like unfinished prey. His hands were still red either way. It's what made seeing you feel vindicating. Him, faced with the aftermath of a mercy kill denied.

"H- hi."

"Hey."

The ice felt so unbroken, frost hardly even brushed away.

"How are you?" He winced at his own question.

"You know. Getting by." Your knuckles had turned white. It matched accordingly with your shallow breathing. "You?"

"Yeah, uh- same. Just preparing for the school semester and all." He was an artist as well.

It was actually what brought the two of you together. He asked for an extra pencil from you in class one day, bartering a boxy grin to repay the favor. Your eyes were still fresh, absorbent of the beauty the world had to offer. You loved the kind of beauty he offered.

"Mm. I hope everything worked out with getting your classes." You couldn't help but reference a time when menial information like a class schedule and a good meal at lunch were things you kept tabs on.

"Thanks. It did work out since a few students dropped classes last minute." He auctioned off a pained smile. You sighed and wished he hadn't.

"Good. That must be relieving."

You were frugal with your eye contact, gaze warily hoarding itself against the floor. Whether this was to protect you or him was unclear. How could you weigh the severity of earning unwanted pity against the punitive fear that he would not care at all? Both resulted with betrayal exploring the parts of you that had somehow remained unscathed.

"Yeah for sure." Both of your voices were forced, held at gunpoint but unsure of who exactly commanded the weapon. "Listen, ___, I've- um, I've been wanting to talk to you."

"About?"

"Um..." His hesitation was rewarding, shamefully so. You wanted to make him say it, to voice the ugliness of it all. How criminal he must feel, seeing you limp through the world, searching for whatever you lost that made his love deter. "You know. About... everything."

"Taehyung." Before, you only said his full name when circumstances called for sternness. Now, it was the default. The kindness with which you addressed him drowned somewhere between the initial heartbreak and the fourth night spent emptying yourself of him through tears. "I can't really do this right now."

"I didn't mean right now, just sometime." Maybe a week ago, you'd fold yourself in half trying to fit into his life. You'd take out a notepad, write down all the things that went wrong so you could fix it.

But you didn't want to be fixed for him, not when he was the one who broke the two of you.

"Tae..." His nickname slipped out like acid. You had to release how it burned in your mouth one way or another.

"Please? There's just so much I want you to know." He punctuated his gaze on your boots, the ones he gifted to you last Christmas. "Please?"

It was selfish, rash. You'd finally gained an ounce of momentum. It wasn't always much help but it was something. Would he really be cruel enough to lay waste to it all? Just because he wanted you to know the gritty details of how he now found you to be unlovable?

You do not have to be good. His words were a lullaby that breathed for you when your lungs could not.

"I-" You felt frustrated with him, released something once held hostage. "Can you just respect that I might not be ready?"

You ignored the sting of guilt when he nodded so hastily.

"Yeah, sorry. You're right. I'm sorry" He was profuse with his remorse. Again, you wanted him to stop.

"It's fine." You said quietly.

"It's just... seeing you now," There had been a twitch in his arm, a motion overruled. You wondered if it was to reach out to you. "All I want is for you to be okay, ___."

"Thanks." This conversation began to run stale. You adjusted your bag, somewhat of a prompt for Taehyung to bid his farewells. "I'll let you know."

It was a promise already half broken.

"Okay." He exhaled. "I'll see you around, ___."

"Yeah, for sure." Whatever love you still felt for him was undetectable, buried deep beneath the rest of your feelings for him. Not all of them were bad, but certainly overpowering and abstaining from anything close to love.

Taehyung watched you leave and still so much of you stayed with him. He hadn't noticed how long it's been since your voice had touched his ears, hadn't realized, until now, that he missed it. He didn't know what to do with this, so he did nothing and hoped complacency would work out this time.

As you left, the pain grew a little quieter. It felt empowering to be the one that walked away. You never realized how much bravery there was in this until now, how your legs continued forward as some sort of defiance to the rattling of your heart, the shivers running along your skin. It was the same feeling of when you jumped off that cliff all those years ago with him. But there was no cliff. Just a person who walked away and hadn't needed an entire ocean nor his loving hand to consume fear.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

Dusk casted a blueness onto everything. It reminded you of the lost things, not just in your life, but everyone's. The forgotten things, abandoned things, things sacrificed and things surrendered. In some strange way, it helped to cope with loneliness, the idea that you were not the only lost thing in this world.

It was cold, a bit disheartening you had grown to feel so comfortable in this. Taehyung tinted the life you had shared, so much that you had forgotten what it looked like without him. You missed how he rested his head in your lap, how he turned his head into your hand when it brushed through his hair, how he used the backside of his fingertips to graze your cheek. It was a source of comfort and safety specific to you, but as you sat on your couch in the fetal position, you had no agency to stop him from doing the same thing to someone else's cheek.

You missed loving someone so fully, missed how it meant you were needed because it made you feel like something.

Now, you asked yourself, what could you be if not a home for his soul? More importantly, where had yours gone?

All these years, you were busy being someone else's. You dedicated yourself to others, set aside your own appetite for reciprocity, as though you could repay the absence of love by doubling down with yours.

Sure, you felt the cracks along your bones, felt the quiet exhaustion in your chest. However, you also felt the necessity to please, the gratification of sacrifice; it drove you this far in life all to break apart.

"Fuck." You released a deep exhale as your fingertips mimicked Taehyung's. If you closed your eyes, it was almost like it was really him performing that small gesture of love along your tear ridden cheek. Almost.

There was one person, besides Hoseok, that never took from you what they couldn't return.

Before you could convince yourself not to, your hand had already dialed in Jimin's number. And without attempting to rationalize it, you called him.

The rings felt like an alarm, warning you to end the call.

The ringing ceased, your pulse raged through your body.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hi." You said instead, knowing it confessed what you couldn't say out loud.

"___." He said, as though he was expecting this. And for some reason, it eased you.

Your hand dropped from your cheek.

"How are you?" He asked without sounding burdened by the unplanned call.

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"You called me just to say 'I'm fine' and 'mhm'?" He laughed fondly.

"Um... It's stupid, really. I- uh- wanted to hear your voice."

His laugh, even as it filtered through the phone, was lively, colorful. The room around you was a bit less blue, you could have sworn it. You had to stop yourself from thanking him out loud.

"It's not stupid. It's sweet."

"It's not... really. If I'm being honest, it's selfish. I'm just..." You sucked some air in. "Lonely."

His pause meant many things to you, all at once. Even in silence, you felt so much to decipher with him.

"I'm sorry. I get lonely too." Another part of him served to you, eager to be devoured. If a man like Jimin could be lonely, maybe you weren’t a lost cause.

"I guess it's pretty normal. To feel alone."

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be."

"Yeah." Your voice was feeble.

"Hey, can I tell you something?" He asked.

"Sure."

"I'm selfish too." Jimin said this quietly, a hushed guilt overlayed his voice.

"How?"

"You remind me of someone. Someone I miss a lot."

"Oh."

"They passed away."

"Oh."

"Does that scare you?"

"No,” You contemplated. “I wouldn't use that word."

"Okay, that's good."

"Was it someone close?"

"The closest."

"That's really heartbreaking. I'm so sorry, Jimin."

"Thank you." He wasn't sure where his gratefulness came from, just that when you saw his pain he felt the need to thank you for it. "They were an artist. Just like you."

"When you said you like me..." You hated yourself for needing to ask.

"Yeah?"

"It was them you liked? Them you were looking for?"

"Well... Not exactly but... I... maybe a bit."

Your skin softened like a bruise. It wasn't betrayal, but it wasn’t exactly virtuous either. You wished it just felt okay, endearing to be someone that resembled such a beloved person in his life. You wished it felt like admiration only, and not another proposition to lessen yourself for the sake of someone else.

You weren't sure if you were justified in feeling this, but you couldn't stop yourself from hurting.

He wasn't sure if he truly wanted you to become a replacement for his friend, but if you started to, he wouldn't know if he'd be able to stop you. If he'd want to.

"I see."

"I-" The panic was palpable, dry. It drained the simplicity that once made sense of the world, the one Jimin breathed life into just to drown it again. "I still like you though. You, not just because of the person I miss. I know it's not the same. You just remind me of them, that's all."

You wanted to be so much more than a reminder of someone who he missed loving, someone he needed back. But you were afraid of even having this desire. These tears were viscous, dread sinking down your face, wet and brutal. And at the same time, you were guilty just as much as he was. Had you not been tracing along the lines Taehyung had drawn first, just moments ago been failing to replicate an intimacy that you felt could be satiated through hearing his voice?

You wanted to accept this part of life, the part that was messy. For once, you wanted to be messy, to create havoc with Jimin and walk away unconcerned with who would be the one to clean it all up. Everything in you felt a strong gravitation to forgive what hadn't been apologized for, to put those parts of his grief he could no longer carry into your own hands, to hold it for him just so he could know weightlessness again. The same way he had recolored the word for you.

How bad could the mess be if it was so beautiful and light?

"No, don't say sorry, please. I’m flattered, I think." You muted your microphone, let yourself weep with slightly more sound. Your pain could not be known. Partly because it hadn’t felt right to let it be. Mostly because you were scared. "I'm just... I'm sorry. Who was this person?"

"A dear friend. I'd known them for so long. We grew up together. Shared so much. I never thought I'd have to live life without them. I'm not sure I know how to." There had been a gentle tremor in his voice, though it was not out of fear. He did not agonize over judgment, not with you. Perhaps it's because he somehow knew when he spoke, it felt like he was reciting your own thoughts back to you.

"How long ago was it?"

"Two years ago."

"I'm sure it must not feel that way."

"Yeah... You know, I haven't taken a picture since?" He admitted and almost laughed at his own absurdity.

"Why's that?"

"It would require me to open my photo album, to see all the pictures we had. There's so many. I can't even bring myself to look." This was only half of the story. The other part was that he didn't want to capture life through photos and suddenly make it real. His camera roll void of moments that were without them. He never left denial. It was the safest stage of grief. One that did not catalyze death.

"Jesus. I know grief never really stops, but it doesn't even slow down, huh?"

"Pretty much. Um-" His voice didn't have the strength to silence his pain and neither did his eyes. "We used to always go to this cafe together, even when we were definitely too young to go alone. Our parents weren't the most careful, but that's another story. Anyway, it was always like a safe place for us, a second home. They took me there when I got in this huge fight with my dad, bought me hot chocolate. And I took them there when they came out to their parents, and were threatened to be sent away to some camp. It was an empty threat, but still. It was uh, actually the cafe we met at.

It's dumb, frankly. I just sit in there for hours and hope that maybe, if I wait long enough, they'll walk through the door and everything will be normal again. I'd get to see their smile. Hear their laugh, talk about their day. I could wait forever, live off scones and lattes. I still remember their drink order, still want to order it when I order my own."

"Jimin. It's not dumb at all. It's quite possibly the most devastatingly beautiful and human thing to do." It was out in the open now, the way you were weeping for him. No possible way to hide it, not when he'd offered such genuine pain to you. You tried to picture everything he told you, to honor the life that had been lost by making it real in your head, making them exist in the world even more by searing it into your memory. You felt it was the least you could do.

"Think so?" He didn't want to talk over the phone anymore. Now, he wanted to be able to see your face, whatever it could reveal to him, perhaps wipe your tears away. "I've never told anyone this. I'm sure they wouldn't see it the way you do."

You thought it parallel to a crime to know what Jimin does and think of it as anything but the utmost act of love.

"This whole time, it must have been so confusing for you. So hard to find hope. So lonely. And still, you're this... you're kind and unafraid of love, even when the worst of life tries to destroy the very idea of it. You're the one mourning someone, and you still listen to me cry over a stupid boy who broke up with me." You laughed, not out of humor. Perhaps remorse or irony. "I- It's unfair, someone like you had to go through this. All that love you have. I wish you had somewhere to put it."

"You-." Even though the subject matter had been locked in the rawest, most painful part of him, he felt warmth, felt your care blossoming in him like Spring. "I feel so seen with you, ___. I can't tell you how much it means to me. How much you mean to me."

"You... mean a lot to me too, Jimin."

It was true, he meant a lot. The fine print of said meaning was something you decided not to examine. For now.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

You already knew Jimin would be at the party. Hoseok was always so quick to share intel about the social life you were never so keen on. You could only contribute to socialization within the parameters of Hoseok. With him, you'd been able to hold conversations, elicit a laugh or two, garner acquaintances that exchanged nods as you passed by them on campus. Though, nothing seemed to stick with you. Those connections were a spark bound to fade.

This made you wonder how long it would take for Jimin's interest in you to expire. Even though you knew your connection with him was much deeper, you saved room for disappointment. Old habits die hard and this one felt immortal.

Your clothes could barely do its job tonight. Resting slightly askew, seams etching discomfort along your sides at just the right angle. But you'd already tried using this as an excuse to skip the party. The taxi two minutes away from the address denoted how weakly your complaints pushed against Hoseok. He knew how hollow they were, and hadn't bothered refuting such backless protests.

The music spilled from any opening that would allow it. There was some form of chaos contained in the house before you and Hoseok. You were incredibly out of your depth, hand gripping your friend's forearm. He winced, trying to fend off the slight burn at the sinking of your fingernails.

"Alright. Game plan." He turned to you. "Let's immediately try to find something to get us more drunk."

You nodded along like a cadet following orders. It made Hoseok chuckle, seeing you stiff and earnest.

"Just relax, ___" He ran his hands up and down your arms. "We already had like two or so shots, it shouldn't be too hard to get tipsy enough to enjoy ourselves."

You appreciated how he used inclusive language like 'we' and 'our'. The two of you, a team. He involved himself in your feelings, ensuring you never actually took to heart how truly out of place you were.

"Sure, sure." Your agreement only surfaced because of a six-year and counting trust in him. "Just need to find some vodka or something."

"Yes! God, I love drunk ___. You get so giggly and excited." He smiled, leading the way to the front door.

Inside, a tumultuous scene laid out like a battlefield. There was nonstop movement, a body always knocking into another, a place more exciting than the last. Your hopes to source any kind of alcohol began to recede. It wasn't a particularly overpopulated party, but you could feel the hunger, how rapidly these people took to abandoning their sobriety.

"Follow me!" He hitched his voice to a half-scream, barking an order that sounded more like a warning since he held your hand tightly and began dragging you mid-sentence.

"Okay!" You were lucky to be caught in Hoseok's wake. A few unknown faces recognized him, making way with an eager greeting.

"Hoseok, what's up?"

"Hoseok! Finally showed up!"

Many more renditions of these circulated on the way to find drinks. One person, however, hadn't crossed paths with you yet. You warded off disappointment through your continual search for him.

The mini bar sat against the back wall of the room, a few people departing as quickly as they approached. To your delight, it was still stocked, generously so.

"Who the hell is hosting this party?" This question was provoked by the sheer amount of alcohol and variety in this corner of the world.

"Honestly? Not too sure, but they're probably rich as fuck." He responded, already sifting through the options.

"Hey, glad the two of you made it." This was the first person to signify your presence, acknowledge your quiet company with Hoseok. You knew it had to be him. You knew, because suddenly, you captured that rare sense of belonging.

"Jimin!" Hoseok may have voiced excitement, but it had not surmounted yours. As you turned to him, you felt your words catch in your throat.

It was nothing spectacular, nothing you'd remember on anyone else. His hair styled in a way that accentuated the beauty dressing his features like a picture frame. His loosely fitted button up, undone at the top, sleeves folded halfway up his forearms, revealing just enough to want more.

"Hey!"

"Hi!"

The two of you had indecisively stood across from one another, unsure where to go from here. Your bodies a soft rebellion to the movement surrounding you. How easy it would have been to reach out, collect his warmth as your own through embrace.

Hoseok broke the stillness, handing both of you a shot glass full of something clear and pungent. Jimin watched you take it from him, steadying Hoseok's erratic movements with your palms, hands so gentle they made him into something delicate, soft, easily broken, and yet shielded from harm by how your fingers curled over his skin. He watched, treading in wonder of what it felt like to be touched in such a manner by you.

"Okay, cheers!" You spoke through a laugh, interrupting Jimin's reverie.

The shot slid like hot coal down your throat. Hoseok's face contracted into itself while you steadied your breathing to keep it from coming back up. The punishing taste nearly made all this not worth the trouble. But tonight, you wanted to breathe again, to throw fear in the air, even if it meant there would be a crash landing. Tonight, you left your grief waiting at the door. Jimin had done the same.

"Okay another!"

"Damn, ___! I didn't expect you to be such a..." Jimin cautioned, making note of your spirited smile, "wild card."

"Oh this?" You'd finished pouring a second shot, holding out the bottle to the lip of his glass, alcohol eager to fill the emptiness. "This is just free therapy."

"___'s kidding. Kind of. It's like the only idea I had left that might pull them out of their slump." Hoseok explained.

"Ah, yes. The heartbreak." Jimin spoke as though it was an admittance to something.

"He knows?"

"He does." You confessed on behalf of him.

"How?"

"The bridge."

"The bridge." Hoseok's emphasis on the word assigned notoriety to that moment that was now referred to as ‘The Bridge’. Had your eyes been on Hoseok's investigative grin, you would have been more subtle. Jimin was too magnetizing. An affair of longing and reticence traveling from your smile to his.

"You know, I'm very excited to see how this goes." Jimin toasted, another shot of liquid courage burying your inhibitions as you gulped it down.

The three of you basked in laughter, excavating a bit of the tension. The fragments of your joy felt so complete with them, pulling from the bottom of your gut and falling into your hands like a long lost friend.

About three more shots in, you had to allocate more attention on where your feet landed. Your hands frantic for a crutch when your head couldn't provide stability or balance. Hoseok would be given hell for breaking the pact, wandering into the dance scene when he heard his favorite song playing. But you had Jimin, and Hoseok must've known that there was security for you in that, one more reason, besides him, to stay.

"Jimin!" Words sloppy and undressed of reserve, you let them rise from a part of you not often shown to the public eye. "You know something about you!"

"What? Tell me." He smiled. Tequila was a convenient scapegoat for how his hand found comfort on the groove of your waist, how your body curved against the invisible partition once held firm by sobriety. Jimin labored to keep his heart rhythmic upon feeling your torso fitting into the crooks of his so neatly.

"You, Jimin," Your hand slammed into his chest, "You are very, very troublesome for me."

"Why's that?" A glint of hope painted his words. His cheeks were a shade of desire that nearly formed a plea in the soft, pink expanse.

"Because..." The fabric of his shirt was welcoming as you inched your hand lightly along it just to feel the texture, and nothing else. At least, that's what you told yourself. "I was safe."

"What do you mean?" Curiosity settled in.

"I was safe," You rolled your head off kilter, a result of the drunken lapse in your neck muscles. His hand was quick to cradle your head back to the close quarters. "I was just in my own little world... I could just mope around all day. I was so close to being okay with loneliness. And then you came along."

You felt that your skin being the only part of you shared with him was not enough now. The boundaries contrived of fear had withered, and holding your bodies tightly together hadn't sufficed for the closeness you craved. You wanted to feel him in ways not derived from physicality, like if you pressed your hand deep enough into his chest, it would be no different than his own beating heart.

He had a mole on his neck. For some reason, you loved that he had a mole on his neck. Your finger had disobediently grazed against it. He tried not to let it show physically how it excited him, but you took notice of his Adam's apple rising then falling.

"Jimin." His name formed like a prayer in your mouth. "What do I do now that you've become a part of my world?"

"I-" He took in air sharply through a clenched jaw, hoping courage would follow suit. "I can't decide that for you."

Jimin embarked on his usual journey along your face, drifting down to your lips and staying there uncharacteristically long. They twitched under the cinch of his eyes.

"Hey." You whispered. "Can I- I want to..."

Before continuing, you drew in close. You barely spared any space between your soft breath and the shell of his ear.

"Kiss you."

"Yes." He swallowed what was left of his dignity and let the chill of how your fingers ghosted along his neck calm him. "I mean... please. I want you."

"Jimin." You pleaded back, only to make him, this moment, more real from the utterance of his name.

His thumb flushed restraint away from you, sliding down the curve of your cheek and gliding across your lower lip. There might have been a better, more responsible way to release the pressure building between two bodies needing more from one another. However, it didn't matter. Not when your thoughts stilled, when he took his lower lip between his teeth in an effort to make himself pliant so you could decide what was going to happen, when the world quieted into a whisper, then silence.

A collision transpired, erupting from the friction of your lips tangling messily, greedily into Jimin's.

He kissed you the same way he danced, soft and experienced, as though this was something he had rehearsed for. How many times had this moment been a fantasy starved in Jimin's mind? You couldn't bring yourself to find an answer, to care. When the warm flush of his tongue introduced itself to you, everything in you was dedicated to giving sustenance to him.

His hands held you, moving in ways that only brought you closer. Jimin was pulling threads loose, unraveling into a mess that only knew how to want you. Your back was warm where his need pressed into you, and you returned the favor with how your hands brushed into his hair.

"___." His voice, echoing into you, speaking life into you. Reinventing you, through the way he said your name. "Not bad too bad of a kisser."

Both your eyes had been lidded, found it difficult to open them and make what just happened real. But he knew your smile emerged, feeling your lips stretch into joy.

"Shut up." You nudged him. And when his body leaned, yours followed, crashing against him like a tide on the shore. You opened your eyes, feeling emboldened yet slightly unprepared. "Jimin."

Open your eyes, you pleaded, I want this to be real. I want to be found by you, now.

And when he did, his finger wiped a tear away, one that did not ask permission to fall. Something in your body had sunken and fear had infiltrated where desire had once sat. What could he possibly find in you that Taehyung couldn't? What could you be for him if not the remnants of someone he loved more? This was maybe too advantageous, too much for your brokenness, his brokenness to handle. You cried harder, but remained soundless.

I'm falling out of love with you.

What if it happened again?

"Don't cry. I'll shut up, if that's really what you want." His joke landed him another smile from you. "Did I- Was this not okay? Not what you wanted?"

"No!" You said with such immediacy. "I- it's exactly what I wanted. I'm-"

"What's wrong?" You hated when he did this. When the confusion, the implausibility of it all had lost its stake. His tone, it was comforting, tempting and made this so difficult.

"I don't know. But there's something wrong with this... with us." You'd stopped trying to figure out the tears, but he had not stopped his hands from cleaning up the mess of frustration falling against your cheeks.

"Why? Why does there have to be? Why can't it just be simple? Just a person who kisses another person. Why can't it be right for you?" He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of this.

"It's just not, okay? I haven't figured it all out but it's not. There's too many things. Both with me and you." Jimin winced when you freed yourself from his arms as though you'd severed off a body part of his own.

"___. Don't do this. Just stay." He managed to grab hold of your hand, holding tightly. Holding, thinking it was the only way to keep his limbs intact. "Please, stay."

"I can't. It would be too hard..." You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, trying to soak in what he felt like. "to keep myself from you. And when- if I kiss you again..."

Jimin's eyes set fire to the spark in your body.

"I want it to be right. For the both of us." Your feet found its grip, all the empty noise clearing away for your voice. Because you knew you were right, you hadn't felt this determined for something in a long time. Whatever it meant to make this moment right, it would be something you found out for yourself.

"If that's what you need." His lips pursed. Words he'd wanted to say sealed for your sake. "Can I see you again soon, at least?"

"Of course." Your hand fell to your side, finally, resigning once again to solitude.

He nodded, already forgiving towards the things he never knew he could miss from someone other than his late friend. You saw hope strangled into disappointment. You wanted so badly to keep true to this promise, only if fear would allow such grace.

"Bye, Jimin." His heart jumped. There was a faint finality in your farwell.

"Bye , ___." He watched you leave, losing sight as your body was swallowed by the crowd. It looked the way the light filters through the trees, like starlight that finds a pocket to hide in during the day.

You found it was easier to just let the crowd move you rather than moving yourself. You knew it would land you somewhere on the outside of the mess of dancing and laughing and talking. On the way, you spotted Hoseok, smiling and dancing so radiantly.

"Hobi!"

"___!" He grabbed both your hands, leading you into a groove to the music.

"Very funny." You played along for a bit, only because you hadn't been able to spend a lot of time with him. "Hey, listen! I'm gonna go!"

"What?" He bent down so he was in a better earshot of you.

"I'm leaving! Going home!" The frenetic swaying around you only reminded you of why.

"Why?" His voice, tense and sharp, made you laugh, only to ease his worry.

"It's okay, Hobi! I had a great time, I'm just tired!"

"Okay well I'm coming with you then, just give me a few." He said decidedly to which you shook your head with more firmness.

"No! You're having fun. I'll be okay." You brought him close, hugging until his body was convinced away from tensing. "I'll text you when I'm home safe."

You knew that offer would deliver the final blow, his protectiveness satiated.

"Okay, love you, ___. Thanks for coming. I hope it helped you."

On the one hand, Taehyung had only entered your mind once tonight. Admittedly, this was an accomplishment to some degree. Memories staying put, for the most part, staying exactly what they were supposed to be: memories, and not the past persisting through grief. Your mind kept busy with more pressing matters.

"I think it did help, actually. There are some things I need to figure out. Love you, Hobi."

He nodded, archiving the questions he'd already begun forming for a later time. You smiled and made your way to the door.

The air was crisp, abundant. A slight breeze pulled the residual heat of the party from your face. You knew things would be different after tonight. Whatever conclusions it could make about Taehyung, or endeavors it would make with Jimin, all that lied so far from where you were now. For now you stood still, eyes shut, and let your hands unfold at your side, waiting to receive.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

“I came here as fast as I could.” Hoseok panted out with hands full of two wine bottles and an assortment of snacks. You smiled, even a meek laugh found its way between the fever of your tears. “God, look at you.”

He ushered past you, setting down the empty calories and alcohol on your counter before swiftly wrapping you in his arms. At this, the tears began to grow furious, your breath ruggedly thrashing against your throat and lungs. You weren't sure where exactly your hands were holding, just that they tightened around him, and it felt as though your rage could not hurt the world when he held you like this.

“Hobi…” You said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” He tried not to let it scare him, the way remorse plunged a fist into your heart. There was no reason for you to be apologetic towards him, towards anyone. “___, I’m worried for you.”

“Hobi, I just don’t know what to do. Why? Why is this so hard for me? Why can’t I just fucking get over him?”

“Because, it is hard.” Hoseok’s hand secured your head onto his shoulder, slowly growing damp from being a receptacle for your crying. “I wish I could take your pain away from you. You don’t deserve this. I mean, you guys were planning to build a life together. I saw it too, saw how much dedication your relationship seemed to have.”

Your legs felt weak, burning where the muscles strained to hold you upright. Through instinct alone, Hoseok slowly kneeled to the ground and kept his arms around you, leading you to sit in the nest of his body. He felt this was all he could give you, his entire body. Skin to skin, exacting hollow and desperate demands that some parts of your ache would displace into him. He hoped it would be enough this time around.

“How could he do this?” You spoke rather softly now, the ebbs and flows of your emotions were an unbridled wind storm that had suddenly decided to let the air stay where it was. “Hobi, everytime I try to get over him, I feel this emptiness. It scares me. I feel like I am nothing without him. How did I let that happen? How did I lose myself?”

“Even if you did, lose yourself, that is, that doesn’t mean you are lost completely. Because there’s so much of you that I love, that I have held onto. And I didn’t fall in love with Taehyung’s partner. I fell in love with you. And to me, no matter what, you are always going to be the person I love.” His hand brushed through your hair, repetitive motions that seemed to wash away your anguish. “You’re still my best friend. I think that should count for something. You are so much more than you could ever know. I haven’t lost you yet, and I plan on keeping it that way.”

For a while, both of you had stopped talking. The only sound repelling a stark silence was his soft breathing.

“___, remember the first dance competition I attended after I got that bronze medal?” He asked. Your lips parted, but sound had receded somewhere deeper than your throat. It was too difficult to reach for it, so instead, you nodded plaintively. “I told my own parents not to come. I was so afraid of losing again. I didn’t want to give anyone except for myself the disappointment of my failure. Of not being good enough."

It surprised you, how openly he spoke about his fears, especially since those fears were surrounding dance. He was perfect, and still he was afraid. The whole world, it seemed, sought safety in their own ways. Even the most skilled dancers could fear a stage.

"I don’t know how the hell you even found the stadium in the first place." He chuckled, the delicate rumble in his chest was nourishing when it echoed through your ear. "But when I finished my performance, there you were. Exactly two rows from the front. You showed up. I remember exactly how I felt. In that moment, I was good enough for you no matter what. I was good enough. You loved me more than I could ever love winning. That’s the kind of person you are. To this day, before my performances, I close my eyes and imagine your little hands clapping like crazy, your eyes entranced with me all those years ago. You’re the reason I still dance today.”

You looked up at him, and him down at you. He smiled because your eyes never changed. The way you looked at him, it never changed at all. “I know it’s hard now. But you will get through this. I know you will. You need to show up for yourself, the way you showed up for me, again and again.”

You couldn’t deny this, deny the friendship that survived the harsh shift of the seasons, and many things do not make it through the Winter. But you and he always had. As your grief ripped through your body like a dam corroding, water pulsing through as though it was your own heartbeat, when the ugliest emotions emptied, you were left with one thing. You were left with love.

“You’re right. I know I can still do it. I know because I will never stop loving you, Hobi. There’s a lot more I need to figure out, but I’d say that’s a strong start.” Your arms regained something you hadn’t known it was missing, and whatever it was, it allowed you to hold him back, the way he held you. “Thank you, for helping me believe again. For believing in me.”

“That’s just what we do, ___. Always. Promise me when you do find yourself, find whatever you’re looking for, that you’ll let me stay by your side?” He asked out of courtesy, because he already knew your answer, could feel it as your chest rose and fell against his.

“Always.”

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

Jimin watched the stars vigilantly. There was a credence stressing at the dead center of his eyes. He thought he was going to miss something. Some sort of astronomical miracle.

He’d never seen a shooting star. It felt juvenile, how he clung to the rail of his apartment, how something so banal was arresting him away from sleep. The breeze snuck beneath his shirt, but he ignored how his body searched for warmth. He needed this tonight, to glean anything but a cold-shouldered stillness in the night sky, to come face to face with something and watch it come alive.

In some impossible way, this might make sense of it all. What he felt for you, what you meant to him, when it's right to hold on, and when it's time to let go. How could he know when his heart was shrouded in grief, when he sought answers in the sky only to uncover even more silence, a galaxy of questions he couldn’t answer. He felt audacious to think the stars uncertain where they were fixed along the dark canvas above. The falling of one would be submission to clarity.

All he knew was that he wanted to call you and that your voice, gentle and steady, was perhaps the only remedy for a silence so formidable. All he knew was that when he reached for an answer himself, he found his hand, instead, reaching for his phone, to call you.

Jimin hadn’t tried guessing what reasons you had to pick up, just that when you did, and your voice heavy with sleep filled his ears, he was grateful to them.

“Jimin.” You almost sounded pleased. “You know it's two in the morning, right?”

“I lost track of time.” He said, half-invested in responding to you.

“Mm.” A pause traveled between your phones. You, tucked under a drowse, felt your eyelids weaken. You spoke, breaking the undefinable silence just to keep awake. “What made you lose track of time so late at night?”

“I was just stargazing.” The reverence softened his voice into a whisper.

Of course. You thought. Of course Jimin was stargazing the night before he had an 8:00 a.m. class.

“Can you come over?” His voice remained a whisper, but it blared through the phone like a scream.

“What?” You said, only so he would repeat it again.

“Come over. Please? You said we would see each other soon, but you haven't reached out.” When he said this, your heart ached, punishing you with sharp pulses.

It wasn't necessarily that he was persuasive. You were already out of bed, staring out of your window, watching the same sky Jimin was. “Okay, I’m coming. Just give me ten minutes.”

Jimin exhaled. His restitution felt a bit more grounded, like he was moving in the right direction. And as you drew near to his apartment, the sky had lost its might. With you here, the world below felt brighter than any light the sky could offer.

You knocked. It felt too formal; you were compelled to just wait at the door, hoping your presence alone would summon him without having to sound it out. The door was eager, quick to open. Jimin’s hair was lazy, falling tiredly on his forehead. It was new to see him this way, the rawness of him, the way he looked right before he let himself sleep, let his guard rest for the night.

You looked the same way to him. Raw, intimate, vulnerability taking over where your body softened for sleep.

“Thanks for coming.” He reflexively pulled you close. The incident at the party afforded him an inclination to hold you, and you to hold him too.

“It's nothing.” You let your exhaustion spill out, soak into Jimin through how you leaned against his body as though it were no different than a bed. “I-”

He loosened his arms, not to let you go, but to soften the embrace a bit. It somehow made you feel more held by him.

“I missed you.” You said.

“I missed you too. Watch the stars with me?” He felt your head nod, then pulled away to lead you to the back porch. The outside air did not offer the same comfort as his apartment, but as you sat down with Jimin, he was warm. You didn’t need to take cover inside to keep the cold at an arm's length. Never, when you were with him.

“I’ve never seen a shooting star.” He admitted. You thought it endearing. He would be someone who cared about experiencing the simple wonders in the world.

“Let’s change that.” You asserted such conviction in this, as though it were not up to chance, but will. “Tonight.”

He smiled, eyes peeling from the sky to catch sight of you. So beautiful, He thought. You felt his stare, a presence against your face that resided with fondness in a way that made you nervous.

“If you keep staring at me you’ll miss it. Eyes up, Jimin.” You commanded, and he obliged more out of respect to you than the heavens above. The stars looked so dull, entirely unimpressive compared to you.

"It's funny." He spoke of a thought that must have ruminated long before he said anything. "It's funny what you notice when you spend enough time somewhere. What stands out to you."

"Yeah? What did you notice in all your days at that cafe?" You asked.

"Lots of rude customers. Tired employees. People living their lives as fast as they can. And..." If you were looking, you'd see the smile that crept on his face. "And you. I always noticed you."

"Really?" You were suddenly aware of how close you were to him. The night winds felt like nudges, quiet urges to move you even closer.

"Yep. You didn't live your life fast, didn't feel like you were trying to escape it. And one day, you just stood at the back of the line, for almost five straight minutes. I thought, 'What are they waiting for?'" He kept the realization private, that he saw himself in you. A soul in waiting.

"And you must have thought the answer was some overly familiar writer and dancer who stares at strangers more often than appropriate?" When you laughed, he laughed with you. It was simple, a momentary feeling of delight. And it still managed to mean the world to both of you.

You were amused more than taken off guard when you heard a digitized camera shutter go off. When you looked over, you saw the aftermath of a secret photo being taken. His hands moving sharply down to his lap and a smile covering up his tracks, like a kid caught doing something they weren't supposed to.

"What was that?" Your expression cut in half, eyebrows furrowed and mouth half-grinning.

"Nothing!" Jimin locked his head towards the view of the sky as though it was true.

"You're so weird." You said and it hadn't sounded like an insult to him.

"You just looked too beautiful." Your heart would not still at this. You couldn't bring yourself to figure out what it meant, that yours was the first memory to be memorialized in his camera roll since his friend died. It was far bigger than you, more than you could ever understand. Your mouth opened for a response that wouldn't come. So, you said nothing.

Five minutes passed, though it felt much longer. Silence stretched out time like a marathon, leaving you desperate for rest, for time to stop altogether. Still, you remained pensive, even went so far as to sparse out your blinking just in case it caused you to miss a crucial glimpse of the night sky.

“So, why exactly do you want to see a shooting star so badly?” You asked, your voice protruding from your mouth as white clouds.

“Dunno. I just want to.” It was an unconvincing, partial truth. It hardly satisfied you, but you let it go for now.

“You know they say some of the stars we see right now have died long ago.”

“Really? I didn’t know.” Jimin felt daring, placing his hand over yours, bracing for you to either pull away or push closer. You chose the latter and his breath released with a smile.

“Mhm. Even the stars as they appear above us now are actually what the light looked like long ago, since light takes a long time to travel and stuff. It’s like a little time capsule don't you think? A way to see into the past.” You turned to him and gathered his beauty. His eyes reflected the stars, but the longer you stared, it seemed maybe the entire fabric of the sky, all the beauty scattered along it, had been fractals of light from his eyes.

“So, one of these stars…” His pain surrendered to tears, nearing collapse as he continued speaking. You wanted to cry too. You would have, if only you let yourself. “Maybe we’re actually seeing it burn when my friend was still alive.”

“Maybe… Definitely.”

You acted as though the stars appearance didn’t take light years to travel to Earth. Much longer than any human walked along these grounds. For him, you wanted it all to be true. That the stars were time capsules, delivering a much less distant past back to us when the world rests, reminding us how love remains in loss through how light remains even in darkness. For him, each and every star would persevere when someone’s life did not have the same chance to.

“That also means,” His hand fastened around yours. “There are stars up there when your heart wasn’t so broken. All those stars…” Using his other hand, he gestured to the specks of light, “They remember the person you were before that wasn’t full of pain and loss. I hope they remind you that your happiness is enshrined into the universe. That some piece of the universe burns brightly as a reminder that you can love again. That you will love again.”

If it was true, what Jimin said, if you would love again, you knew precisely who it was you wanted to love.

“Do you think the stars will remember us?” At this question, he turned towards you.

You're going to miss the shooting star. You caught the reprimand in your throat, and instead let yourself be seen. You couldn’t protest. Not when he seemed to see beneath the shell of your being. When he looked at you, his eyes were full, and in turn, you must’ve been the fullness that made it so, your soul flowering petals, becoming real, becoming yours.

“I think the stars would recite prayers just to get the chance to burn for us.” He was a romantic. Everything about him moved in order to love the world. You wanted to do the same thing.

“If that’s the case…” You kissed his cheek, a brief warmth traded where your lips touched him. This time, it was you who left him with a parting gift. “Please, trust me. I will come back for you. But I need to be there for myself right now.”

I will come back for you.

He never knew it would be so consoling to hear that, couldn’t have guessed that it would make him want to wait for someone other than his late friend. But when you said it, the stars rewrote themselves for you.

“I'll wait for you, ___.” He let go of your hand.

You walked away, but differently from how you had done so with Taehyung all those months ago. You made strength into something much kinder than a weapon against pain. You made it into love. Your footsteps were resolute, even as they took you away from Jimin. The stars that had yet to burn would remember your promise, would someday become a light of hope in someone else’s night.

You took the long way home tonight.

For so long, you thought happiness would be a product of you belonging to the world, finding a place or person that would accept the shattered, unfinished mess of your soul. But right now, you didn't need Taehyung, Jimin, or even Hoseok to find a warmth that made itself seen through your smile. This moment, it belonged to you, this was something you could call your own. The world settled, the stars echoed their light like a song, the night stilled for a brief moment so that it could be a part of you.

The starlit streets had shed a calming, generous glow, allowing a blanket of light to tuck yourself into. You were alone, though the usual bout of distress or longing hadn't intruded on you. When you peered back up to the soft stars, you loved how its light made the world look blue, like a galaxy full of possibilities.

I am the world, too. Your whisper hadn't reached the ears, hearts of those you missed. But it reached you, and you felt as though that made it just as meaningful.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

Three months. It’s been three months since you had seen Jimin. It’s been three months of breathing slow in the midst of terror, shuffling from class to class, spending time with your best friend, painting everything that made you smile and everything that made you cry, locking doors without the need for his reminders, and rediscovering the beauty life had to offer you. Three months, and you felt that there was nothing fragile about you. Not in the way your arms held onto all the things you had to love, including yourself, especially yourself, or in the way you moved against gravity, against the odds. Looking back at your memories with Taehyung no longer felt like you’d unearthed a corpse. It felt like something sweeter, like watching the sun set or clouds pass by overhead.

On a particularly warm Sunday evening, you wrote a letter to Taehyung, though you had no intention to actually send it out to him. It was something to soothe your soul, to let go of what you once believed to be your future and embrace the unexpected.

Dear Taehyung,

I wish you knew how afraid I was. Then maybe, we could make more sense of what happened to us. I loved you, and a part of me will always love you. I think that’s exactly what scared me. Loving you meant so much to me, maybe more than it should have definitely more than it should have. You told me that I never let you close enough. And you were right. But not because I didn’t want you to be close. I just didn’t know how, didn’t know it was even possible for someone to want that from me. I don’t even think there was enough me, enough humanness, personhood, whatever you would like to call it. There was nothing that you could get close to. I hadn’t learned at that point what it meant to be my own person. That’s what made loving you so natural to me, so necessary. I was shapeless, like water, filling any container that would accept me. Did you feel it too, Taehyung? Did you feel the way my entire being spilled into a mess on the floor when you emptied yourself of me?

Perhaps I should thank you for knowing this was not enough, not what a relationship should feel like. Because in never becoming someone for myself, I could never truly be at peace. I felt like it was all I was good for, loving you, and when you left me, the one thing that proved my worth was gone. I worried maybe this meant I hadn’t deserved to love you in the first place. I realize though, it was never that.

What I was looking for was always in me. I need to understand myself, to be kind to myself. Nothing can tell me what I deserve except my own actions. I want to move forward with bravery and acceptance. It’s still scary, but I know there’s so much life for me to experience, for me to fall in love with. It never had to be you. I do not need to be a person that lives for others only. I can live for myself, too. There will be a day when I forgive myself for what I couldn’t do for my own heart.

So, thank you, for giving me a chance to live for myself. I understand now that love can look like many things, but letting go is possibly the hardest, most selfless act of love. You have done this for me. I’m still learning things, still growing. But I know that just means I’m heading towards something. Something bigger than what we had. Goodbye, Taehyung.

With love,

___

You didn’t want to be water, formless, waiting to take shape within the dimensions of another person’s soul. You wanted your own soul, something that could house all the allure of being alive. You wanted love to be your choice to make, not some calling that fell into the hands of someone who could never love you in the right ways. And there was a choice you did want to make, someone you knew would never let you erode back into water.

It was 4:30 p.m. If you started running now, you could outrun the odds of being too late. That was on the chance that he would still be there. But knowing him, trusting in the unwavering love of Jimin, you’d take that chance anyday.

The wind divided where your body surged through it. There was a force stronger than your muscles, more willing than your heart taking you to the cafe. When you arrived, the sun settled into a muted warmth. The metal door handle grew temperate from the grip of your hand. The large window framed this moment, almost still, eager to be introduced to movement.

And there he was, patient as ever, occupying the same table, stretching into a love that lied so far away. You never felt more sure of yourself that you could bring it closer to him.

I will come back for you.

The second you opened the door, his attention was stolen from his phone. A number of things flashed through his eyes, as though they were spelling out a eulogy.

“What’s with that face? I told you I’d come back.” You tried your hardest to steady your breathing.

“___.” His eyebrows hiked up high, incising lines into his forehead. Surprise had never looked so endearing to you. “Wh- What are you doing here?”

“Um, you know…” You bypassed asking permission, filling the empty seat across from him. If only you knew, any table he found himself at always had a seat waiting for you. “Just visiting the area. Decided to get some coffee.”

“Were you now?” He was quick to settle back into stride with you. The two of you pretended not to notice that you had no intention to order, hadn't even bothered to get in line.

“Yeah. You know, I was just thinking.” You spoke through a mild suffocation. Breathing was still precarious, but it had not been due to the running anymore. “I think I have to stop waiting for things to ‘feel’ right.”

“You think so?” It was the same charming lilt in his voice, but you developed a familiarity with it. You missed him.

Had he missed you too?

“I do. I have to start living my life. Even though it’s hard and sometimes right and wrong aren’t very obvious. I do know I’ll be one step closer to finding that ‘right’ I’m looking for if I try. Try everything, but especially love. I want to try at love, whenever I’m given the chance. You helped teach me this. And because of you… I mean…” One more sigh, and you welcomed air into your lungs with ease. “I could be spending this Friday evening doing anything else.”

“But you’re here.”

“I’m here.” When you answered, it wasn’t only for Jimin. “I used to be so scared of the things that make me happy.”

“And now?”

“You make me very happy, Jimin. And I am not scared of you. And if you’ll have me, I’ll stay.” You sighed, took his hand, and intended to never let go unless he asked. “I'll make sure that when you wait in here all day, you won’t be waiting alone."

"You don't need to do that." He said, smiling through tears.

"Why?" Your heart pounded.

"Because you're here now." His other hand covered yours. "I don't have a reason to wait here anymore."

The most skillful thing a writer can do is to choose silence and eventually, action.

The momentum of his racing heart led him to this, to his lips reuniting with yours. This time, it wasn’t starvation that fueled his kiss. It was far more buoyant than before, deeper as you cupped his cheeks. You pressed your lips harder into his as though to test the boundaries of your skin.

When you’d burned through the momentary passion fostered from two hearts colliding, he turned his face into the caress of your palm, leaving behind a chaste kiss there too.

“___.” Jimin’s whisper left a compassionate chill in your hand.

“Yes?” It didn’t take long for an urge to reconnect your lips to settle back in when his thumb grazed your jaw.

“Let's go home.” His eyes were brimming with tears, finding company with your eyes, love flowing freely between them.

It wasn’t important where home was, just that hope emerged when you nodded, allowing him to move on from this memorial overrun with inhibitions. He was ready; he wanted this cafe to be embalmed in something sweeter than aimless longing. Perhaps, grief in its most loving form, the kind that does not keep him static.

Even as the mouth of worry formed into a grimace, neither you nor Jimin turned away. Your skin was bound through a commitment, one where water is water and you are human, flesh, bones, blood and all.

You passed through the door as if it was an altar. There was a vow embedded in your departure, communicated through your hands lacing into his. To grab hold of the goodness wherever you may find it, to look for it, and most importantly, to love yourselves enough to untether your hearts from the tired grip of the past. Because neither of you belonged in the past anymore.

It was undeniable. The only place you belonged was in this moment, one that brought you and Jimin together.

“Look up.” He said. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

Your gazes lifted into the sky. The night was tepid, the most beautiful shade of blue, a calmness making the air around the two of you weightless and open.

And those stars.

“Yes, it is.” Yes, we are. You recited again, to yourself.

“Let's give them something to burn for, my love.” He said, guiding you forward, guiding you home.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

a/n: i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! take what you need, leave what must be let go. embrace love in all forms. as our boys say, love yourself. i believe in you. <3

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts writing #bts x reader #jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts one shot #jimin one shot #bts fanfction #bts strangers to lovers au #the stars as they appear above us #ephemerlskies

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