#i am still on semi hiatus but i just needed to pop on and say that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Text

Real Life

Previously uploaded on my old blog, calumh-excess. Since edited and revamped.

The aftermath of Calum has left the rest of South’s people in a nasty spot. And Michael’s in an even nastier. Still needing to help his mother, he continues pushing. The only thing he doesn’t heed warnings and Marissa’s watching the aftermath of such choices. She loves Michael, but can she save herself?

Gang!MichaelxLatina!OC. CW: Gangs, descriptions of violence, brief smut/NSFW content. (18+)

A Two Part Series. Part One: Purple and Blue.

Masterlist (on a semi-hiatus)

The pool hall is cloudy, cigarette smoke filling Michael’s vision and nostrils. He watches his two ball roll down the green wool before clinking against the other balls in the pocket. He straightens and hands the cue to his baby, Mars–short for Marissa. She proudly rejected his first attempt at a nickname, Doll, stating she’s ‘no one’s Doll’ but she ‘would happily be his baby.’ So that’s his baby, tan skin glowing in the harsh lights, huffing as she lines up her next shop. They’re playing a couple’s game, him and Mars against Calum and Penelope. It’s pretty even between the two of them, but Penelope’s shockingly good and Mars’ still pretty new to the game. So Michael’s picking up the slack. He’s set her up for seven, not too far and not too difficult. It should only take a minor adjustment to the left of the cue for her to sink it. She moves too far to the left and it bounces off the wall.

Michael knows all too well the pout that’s about to settle onto her face. He rubs her back before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest. “Next time, Baby. You’ll get it next time.”

She huffs, flicking her wavy hair over her shoulder. Her words fall with a twinge of an accent. “You’re just saying that, amor. We all know I’m shit at this.”

Michael kisses the exposed skin of her neck. He loves it when she calls him that. He likes listening to her phone calls with her mother. The conversation moves fast, English and Spanish mixing midway through sentences. It’s a reminder of just how comfortable she in around him, that in some part she’s never felt like she had to hide who she was. Though Marissa wasn’t quite the type to keep too much quiet. She inhabited space and didn’t care who didn’t like it. And Michael wanted her too, he wanted to be herself.

But right now, he’s a little too focused on the smell of her perfume and the three balls that Calum and Penelope just sunk. They don’t really have stakes on this game. But it still sucks to loose, or be loosing. They haven’t lost yet. “Fuck,” he huffs. “You guys are fucking cheating.”

Calum chuckles, readjusting the hat on his head, keeping his head pointed slightly downward. His face is still pretty messed up, the skin still hues of blues and purples. Michael already knows how bad the damage was. They made him throw some swings, offered him one too many times the switchblade. He didn’t take it--not at first. But he could tell the heated gazes would only need one more sign of disloyalty to go on a rampage and throw him into the woes with Calum. And while Michael would do a lot for Calum, he wasn’t quite in a position to take a beating too. That’s what hurts the most--the shame in knowing that Michael could’ve done more but didn’t.

Michael looks away when Calum glances up. Calum doesn’t blame Michael. He gets it. Michael had to do all that stuff. No sense in both of them being beaten into a bloody pulp. He’s tried to tell Michael to not worry about it, that he’s long since forgiven him. But whenever Michael catches a glimpse of the bruises, sees Calum moves a little too slow, face twisted in pain, that lump grows in his throat again. Michael doesn’t have enough mouths, enough time on this earth to apologize for what happened. But Michael had his own family to consider, his own debts, and the choice is never fucking easy. But Michal wishes shame wasn’t such a heavy burden.

Penelope senses the tense moment happening. They happen all the time now between the two of them. She pops her gum loudly before speaking, “The last things we are, are cheaters. Just admit it Cliffo, you can’t hang.”

Michael glances over to her, a small smile lifting his lips. “Nah, I still vote cheaters. You can go first, Mars.”

“Rather not,” she mutters, stepping away from his warm embrace.

“Baby, you can get the 5. I know you can. Let me help.” She sighs but nods. Michael guides her to the pool table. She lines up, bending over the table. Michael slides in behind her, moving her angle a bit to the right. “Remember to follow through. You stop sometimes too soon,” he whispers into her ear. She shivers a little against his chest.

With a gin, she whispers, “I hate you sometimes Clifford.”

“Oh, but you love me.”

She laughs, pulling back cue stick. Michael guides her direction, pushing the cue stick almost like trying to push it through the middle of the cue ball. The five ball glides down the wool and taps the ledge with just enough speed and angle to fall into the pocket. “Mira, maybe you’re right,” Mars chuckles quietly. “But only this time.”

Michael guides her around the table, shot after shot sinking into their respective pocket. They clear the board, solids, stripes, and the eight ball. “They’re the cheaters,” Penlope states, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Mars flips her off, both girls laughing at the action.

A phone starts to chime. Calum pulls it off the countertop next to the table and kisses Penelope on the cheek. “Duty calls,” he laughs. Calum moved out of town and works at the pool hall and bar. It’s a hike for Michael, but he understands the distance. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on with Penelope considering her affiliation still with Block. But from what Michael’s gathered, some sort of legal battle’s going on so she can get guardianship of her siblings before moving in with Calum or least into the same town as him.

“We’ll straighten up,” Michael states, one arm snaking around Mars’ waist.

“Thanks,” he nods, sliding to the back, ID in his hands, ready to clock back into work. Michael picks up the plastic case the balls rest in and starts slotting them back into place. Staring down the black tray of the pool halls, all Michael can think about is how much blood was already staining the floors to the point some puddles looked black. A chill climbs down his spine when the memory takes over him.

Calum was already pretty out of it, one eye already was swollen shut. Michael didn’t want to hit him. But then South grinned, his brow quirked up. “We got a deal, son. You telling me you’re backing out now.” Michael hated that debt was hanging over his head. He hated, even more, he was still so young to the gang. Maybe it could make things easier. But South was really putting in on Michael to show loyalty. If his mother hadn’t needed the surgery, he wouldn’t be here. And it’s not like he blames her. He blames South for making such an appealing offer. He blames South for swooping in when he was vulnerable. Michael really hates himself for opening up to South. He knew South was no good, but he had been cornered, played like a fucking fiddle.

Michael threw some swings. He tried to make them look harder than they actually were. South handed him the switchblade, the first one to swipe over Calum’s flesh. His hands trembled. He and Calum were close, even though he was a newcomer. The last thing he wanted to do was harm his friend. He’ll admit Calum took the beating well, never cried out, never said a word to plead them to stop. He sat, groaning and grunting with the punches. One particular blow landed in his gut and the curse that fell off Cal’s lips still keeps Michael up at night sometimes. It’s not so much the curse it sound, but the howl that followed. The echo of pain and yet the silence from Calum. There was a strange peace with him. Michael’s not sure he could’ve reached that point--if he could’ve found a peace in the midst of all the pain.

“Hey, don’t tell me my boyfriend machine has broken?” Mars teases, gently placing a hand onto Michael’s back.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. It’s done. It’s over. He’s been forgiven. “Sorry, I’m alright, Baby.”

She nods, knowing that far away glaze to his eyes. He’s not okay. But she doesn’t push it. Instead, she rubs his back, and finishes putting the rest of the balls away. Mars splits the check with Penelope and they pay for the games. Michael leans into the table and lets out a shaky breath. Keep it together, Clifford. But it’s hard--it’s hard to keep it together when he knows for a fact that he should be letting it all fall apart. He should be sobbing. He should let the guilt overtake him.

Later that night, Michael’s phone wakes him. He jolts at the sound of it ringing. He reaches to the nightstand and wipes the sleep from his eyes. What the fuck is going on? Seeing South’s number, Michael throws his feet to the floor. “What’s up?” he answers in a whisper, looking over his shoulder to Mars. She’s shifting, waking. He reaches out and runs his palm over her hair, to try and soothe her. Though he complains about the curls being pushed into his face first thing in the morning, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He wouldn’t trade her for the world.

“I need to speak with you,” South states. His tone is cool, calm.

“Just tell me when and where.” Michael covers a yawn, as South rattles off the name of a small diner not too far from him. The phone call ends and Michael walks around to her side of the bed.

“Be safe,” she whispers, sitting up. More falls from her lips, a prayer he’s come to recognize and he holds still as she signs the cross over him. He’s not religious by any means, but it’s second nature to her in some respects.

Michael kisses the top of her head. “Always am.”

He slides into some jeans, sneakers and a jacket, throwing a snapback on before walking out of the door. Michael knows his appearance helps him. No one singles him out, no one questions him. The long fringe, the glasses, the clothes, it’s all him. But he’s conscious about it. He likes to keep up the appearance. And sure, Michael should be free to wear whatever he wants. But recognizes the edge it gives him and the edge it gives South too. Michael can get into places that a lot of the other guys can’t. South can push weight in a lot of places that would normally be off limit.

Though Michael wasn’t a fan of the three a.m. calls, they are fairly common. At first, he got to a point where he couldn’t sleep. Too afraid to miss a call from South and too afraid to sleep in case he somehow fucked up and needed to get away. Micheal was sure at some point he’d never sleep again. He’d always be looking over his shoulder. He’d always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never did. And getting comfortable was probably dangerous too.

But Mars made the thought so enticing. Coming home to a house full--either her family visiting or her cooking with the radio blasting. That’s enough to make him want to get too comfortable. That’s the life he’s always wanted and he can picture that with Mars. He can picture her teaching him the bachata or salsa and laughing when he fails miserably in front of her aunts, but knowing he was trying his best. That’s the thought, the picture, the dream, that he wants to give into. And yet this--this is his reality. Pulling into the diner parking lot.

Michael spies South leaning against his car. The neon signs reflect off the slightly wet pavement thanks to the evening rain. Unusual, the rain, but it was more than welcomed. Mars loved it, said she always dreamed of running in the rain with her lover. And though they missed this opportunity, Michael made a promise to himself not to miss the second one. The forecast was predicting more rain tomorrow.

Michael pulls up his sleeves, before stuffing his arms into the back of his pants and walks over to South. The diner is dark, the highway is fairly silent. “Going to my usual?” Michael chuckles.

South grins. “Someone’s happy.”

Michael shrugs. “I’m used to it.” And used to it doesn’t quite encapsulate the feeling. But it’s the only words he has, because he is used to his usual. Used to the early morning calls and the drives and the pushing. It doesn’t make it easier, just makes it more familiar.

Looking past Michael, South shakes his head, a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “No, you’re not going to your usual. Our smugglers got busted bringing in new products. We’re a bit strapped at the moment. The club needs its weight and I’m trying to make sure none of our asses get caught up.”

The question lingers in the air. Michael knows better than to ask why he’s out by himself with South at the side of the highway. So he waits, hands still in his pockets, watching the watery reflection of the cake in the sign underneath his feet. Michael is the pusher. If suppliers get caught, he’s a close second. Though, South is very good at keeping his good people out of trouble. Michael is hoping this conversation takes a good turn. He needs to be considered one of the good people right now.

“Don’t look so down. If shit gets any worse, you’re not gonna get named. On my word. But, look, tell me this isn’t true.” Michael looks up to South, nodding to signal that he’s listening. “I got some eyes saying they saw you hangin’ with Hood. Across the highway. He’s a traitor and I don’t give too many second chances.”

The only reason Calum got this chance was because of Block. The turf war yielded no new territory but it did create an interesting neutral ground within the city. Places that previously weren’t owned were split. Anyone could sell, anyone could use it as foot traffic. But they couldn’t fight. They had to keep it remotely cordial in those areas. It was area South was bound to loose of Block was pushed to the full extent of his manpower. And South didn’t really want to lose more men. So he had to agree to Block’s term. Calum couldn’t lose his life, but they could make a point. They could make him an example. And South used that leeway to the full advantage.

Michael wasn’t sure why Block cared so much about Calum--though Michael didn’t know about Penelope. But whatever the reason, South was quick to use it. And Calum was more than example, if Michael has anything to say about it.

Michael’s heart races. He’s glad his hands are in his pants now or else South would be sure to see the slight tremble. He doesn’t want to throw out accusations that someone is lying. That kind of accusation if turned up false is going to get someone else killed and them him. And Michael can’t lie to him either. South can smell a liar from 100 yards away. A hand settles onto Michael’s shoulder and squeezes. Hard. Michael blinks, jaw tightening to hide the pain. South knows.

Michael finally speaks. “He’s not one of ours. He chooses that hot piece of ass bitch over us.” God, he hates saying it. But it’s what’s going to save his ass. Right now, he needs that--he needs to save his own ass.

“All women are good for is fucking and trouble. You should know that better than anyone,” South continues.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The words fly out before Michael can think about the consequences. But he hates the way South grins, the quirk of his brow.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. While I mainly fuck with black women, I’m no stranger to a mamacita here and there.”

Oh God, Michael’s stomach tenses, turns into a knot. It wasn’t exactly a secret who he was dating. An unfortunate side effect of his job is that close ties eventually got found out. But that didn’t mean he wanted Mars to have to be dragged into this. And for sure, he didn’t want her to be disrespected. His fists are clenching. This is South, he reminds himself. This will not go well for him if he does anything. Hell, he really shouldn’t say anything either. “That’s really fucking disgusting,” Michael spits.

South closes the distance between them, the shit eating grin replaced by a chaotic and devilish smile. “Make my fucking day. Say something else, please.”

He’s dead in the water now. But he doesn’t want to apologize. He shouldn’t have to and he won’t that’s for damn sure. It’s completely disrespectful what he’s insinuating. That somehow Mars was a stereotype, a fucking doll, not a complex human being with a rich and sometimes saddening background. She was not just her ethnicity, she was not just a woman. She was a person, she loved animals and was struggling with her waitress jig to find a way to attend school. It was just hard, she was sending so much money back home to help with her siblings. Michael offered up his apartment because he saw how much being at home was hurting her. That saved her some cash since he never asked for any type of composition, but she always snuck a couple hundred into his wallet for electricity and water.

He stopped fighting her about it when it seemed her retaliation was to only sneak more money into his wallet with a very pointed pink sticky note on it, daring him to try again to make her stop.

“All I’m saying is that maybe the women you associate only want to fuck, but not everyone is like that. For fuck sake.”

“A man of respect. I like that,” South says, loosening up his grip on Michael’s shoulder. “I want you to know, I really do like you. But you gotta keep to us and our business. Calum had interesting circumstances. But I’m sorry to report, those don’t pertain to you. So no more running around behind your man crush or whatever. If I hear about it happening again, I won’t be so nice.”

The slap to his back is firm, way too firm. Michael’s skin lights with a stinging fire. He nods. “Understood,” Michael answers softly. South gives a soft tap this time and then slides in through the driver side door of his car.

Michael steps back, watching the low rider glide over the asphalt. Was Michael going to completely stop hanging out with Calum? Probably not. But now he had to be smarter. He needed to be safer. The prayer Marissa gives everytime he leaves rings back against his ears. Safer, smarter--that’s all he needed to do. He was still his own man at the end of the day. He was only it with South for a little bit longer.

“Yeah, but how much longer?” Michael asks himself aloud into the quiet night.

When he returns home, Mars is splayed out on the couch, the comforter from their shared bed wrapped tightly around her. She looks cute with her lips slightly parted, a soft snore falling from her mouth. She never believes Michael about the snoring, even with video evidence. But he never complains seriously about it. Sliding out of his Vans, and pulling the jacket off his shoulders, he fishes for his baby under the sea of cotton before sliding in behind her and pulling her into his chest. He’s too lazy to carry her to the bedroom. It’s sure to wake her anyway. He throws the comforter back around them and lets his eyes close. South may be heated about his affiliation with Calum, but they’ll just have to be more careful then. Michael’s not going to let him ruin one of the few genuine relationships in his life. Lord knows he doesn’t have many.

__________

“What time do you have to leave tonight?” Mars asks, tending to the eggs.

“No delivery tonight,” Michael says, removing the last of the pancakes. “Hey, easy on my eggs with that heavy hand you got.”

“Ay Dios Mios. You baby. It’s not that much, see.” She shows him the pan. “And what do you mean? Why else would South call?”

“Just wanted to talk. It’s nothing.”

She knows it’s nothing. When Michael changed shirts, she noticed a pink spot on his back. He didn’t have any other injuries. But clearly, the force of the blow was enough to leave something behind. That’s not a ‘nothing serious’ conversation. That’s a fucking warning. She knows one when she sees one.“So things are good?”

He hums, snaking his arms around her waist. “Things are good,” he whispers into the crook of her neck, the stubble tickling her.

Marissa gives a smile, but the fear trickles down. It prickles her spine. How many warnings would he get before he wound up dead in a ditch?

“Can we please add those strawberry shortcake creamsicles to the grocery list?” Michael asks as he grabs plates from the cabinet.

“Would those even be out at this time?”

“Not sure. I just really have a taste for one.”

“Having one does sound good,” Marissa notes. It’s like the summers she had in the backyard, the pools and slip and slides slick with water to beat the heat. Coolers were full of melting ice and just cold enough drinks. The whir of her grandmother’s ice cream machine blurs in with the speaker that someone brought to play music

Water hoses would spray them, or fill balloons and water guns for the games to be played later. She forgets the name of the icepops that came in plastic tubing and they’d freeze days before. But grape was always her favorite, staining her tongue and lips and even her fingers if she didn’t eat it fast enough.

“Baby?” A squeezes her waist and Marissa blinks. Her hands are still wrapped around the jug of orange juice but not yet pouring.

“Yeah?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What were you saying?”

Michael shakes his head. “No, no, what were you thinking about?”

“Just my summers. I sort of miss them. How things used to be back at home. Like as I kid you just never notice the bad because there’s always that next thing--birthday parties, going to school. After high school, it was clear what my parents wanted for me and I was trying you know. But there’s six of us and yeah.”

“The recreation center up the street has an indoor pool. We can invite a couple friends over, hang out. Bring your sisters too of course.”

The words almost fall, she almost asks who he plans on inviting, but she doesn’t. She nods instead. “I’d like that. What were you saying earlier?”

“Oh, just asking what time you wanted to go grocery shopping and if you picked up the extra shift on Saturday? Nothing major.”

_________

“Something on your mind, Baby?” Michael asks, stopped at a red light. They’re supposed to be heading up to see Calum and Penelope. But it’s in Mars gut that trouble is still lurking.

“South knows, doesn’t he? This is why we’re going so far out.” Mars doesn’t even look at Michael. She knows the truth. “He told you to stay away.”

Michael reaches out for her knee, but the second his hand lands on the denim covered skin, she pulls it away. “Yes,” he sighs. He’s not sure what her deal is, why she’s pulling away from him. But he’s not going to piss her off even more. So he settles his hand back on the steering wheel.

“You’d do this for Calum? Break rules?”

“I’d do it for you too if that’s what you’re wondering. I have done it for you.”

She huffs a chuckle, finally turning her gaze back to his face, the scratchy beard making a shadow on his face. “I wasn’t. I’m just concerned.”

“About?”

“Su vida,” she whispers. “South will not back down. I know you care; I know he’s your friend. I know your life isn’t exactly risk-free. But can you risk it even more? I-I worry enough as it is about you leaving late at night. My rosemary looks like it belongs to my grandmother. I have prayed so many times for you.”

Michael’s chest starts to ache. She cares. He knows she does and that she cares--he didn’t quite know to this extent. But to just leave one of his best friends all alone. To completely upend and cut off contact to one of the most consistent and loving people in his life–he can’t do that. No matter the risk.

“I won’t lie to you, Mars. You’re asking for the improbable there.”

“So not impossible?”

“No, I could stop--the possibility of me stopping is there. The risk is high and I know I should. I could cut off all contact. They’re all possible. They just aren’t probable. It’s highly unlikely. Besides, South needs not see me or have anyone that sees me. My mom now lives up in this area. If anyone questions things, I’ll have cover.”

“So you’d lie? On your mother?”

“No.” Michael turns off, taking the exit that will lead straight into his mother’s neighborhood. Mars watches as his jaw clenches for a moment. “I’d never lie about seeing her. I’ll just omit our pitstop afterward.”

Mars exhales, watching the houses fill out around her. The front yards, the kids playing footie. Maybe she ought to drop this, let him make his choices. But she can’t help but think about what could happen. She can’t bear even the imagined sight of Michael with a busted lip and bruised skin. She is not Penelope; she won’t be that strong. She won’t be able to put pressure on a knife wound. Her skin crawls at the thought of his blood staining her skin. She wouldn’t be able carry that weight and though it was a silly thought, because she does love Michael, she feels like she shouldn’t have to carry it. She shouldn’t have to be subjected to this.

And though it it feels like she should stick it out. She should stay with Michael through the inevitable end. She was her own person. She deserved someone to understand that she shouldn’t be on the second end of the equation. How many more times could she pray for a soul that didn’t necessarily want to be saved?

“Just know I’m concerned,” she states. She leaves it at though for the time being, seeing as they pull into the driveway of his mother’s house. And she doesn’t want to start an argument, but she doesn’t want to end the conversation.

Michael, turning off the car, looks as she pushes up from the seat and opens the door. She’s quick to pull the dish of buñuelos out from the back of the car. That’s a lot more than concerned, Michael knows. A lot more--but he steps out of the car and meets her at the front.

“Hey, look at me. What is it?”

“¿Acaso te preocupas por mí? Estoy muy preocupada constantemente.” Marissa exhales, feeling a bit better to get it off her chest. But Michael’s look let’s her know he didn’t catch it all. He’s learned a few things, but is still slow to translate sometimes. “Look, I want to have a nice visit with your mother. I do, I really do. But we have a lot to talk about.”

Michael nods. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m all ears, Baby. I’ll listen.”

She takes another deep inhale and exhale. “I really want to stuff my face. I hope your mother doesn't hate me for it.”

“She’d be happy to feed you with whatever she has.”

The visit with Michael’s mom goes by just like all the rest. She offers them tea, biscuits, any and everything in her fridge. She does not take no for an answer and she’s even more delighted at the addition of Marissa’s buñuelos. “Oh, you have to send me the recipe,” she gushes, grabbing another from the tin.

It’s nice, even though initially, Marissa is still tense. The laughs come easy and the treats don’t stop. For a moment she’s able to forget. She’s able to see Michael as the man that she knows he is, someone who loves his family, and is goofy, but so kind. That’s what she wants him to always be. Not the man she has to pray for, not the man that’s stubborn, not the man that she feels like sometimes doesn’t listen to her. And she knows initially she didn’t voice her concerns. But maybe after she did, things would change just a little. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like she’s fighting an uphill battle, which she knows she’s doomed to fail at.

As Michael and Mars go to leave, the hugs last twice as long as normal. But Michael and Mars just laugh and give into the older woman. They let themselves be rocked by her love, side to side, and whisper how good it is to see her. Michael promises before they leave that he’ll be by again very soon. Mars prays for his sake he does not get caught so he can keep to that promise.

The bowling alley is packed, kids screaming at the opposite end of the building. It looks like a birthday party wrapping up. The table’s a mess of paper plates, pizza boxes and a quarter of a cake left. Michael thinks back to some of his birthdays. “Next birthday, we’re having a party here,” he teases low in Mars’ ear, arms winding around her waist. “Complete with the ridiculous party hats.”

“Michael, please.”

He laughs and adds on, “I want an Overwatch cake.”

Mars rolls her eyes, laughter falling over her lips easily. “Fine, fine, fine. An Overwatch cake it is.” Normally she melts right into his touch, she slots in perfectly to his chest. But she keeps herself pushed forward, it’s hardly noticeable to anyone else on the outside. But Michael knows the difference--he noticed it at his mother’s house, though she eventually did settle into him. He can’t lose her. He squeezes at her flesh, willing her understand that he’s being smart about this. Or at least trying to be smart about it. But he can’t lose them both. There are very few genuine people left in his life and he needs them. He needs them desperately.

The bowling is the least of their fun. It’s the teasing. More than once Calum jokes about having to put the guard rails up for the girls. They decided to get boys vs girls. That earns Calum two sets of the meanest glares to land on him and the finger from both Penelope and Mars. Michael cheers as he lands his second strike of the night. He cheers, pumping his fist into the air, laughing as Mars glares at him. “We can get the guider too, the little rig for kids,” he offers as Calum wraps him up in a celebratory hug. Cal’s a couple pints in.

“You’re gonna need a ride home,” Mars huffs, holding the keys from her fingers. He’s had some drinks too. With the lopsided grin still on his lips, Michael walks over, bending over. He’s aware his breath is layered in beer but it’s okay. Her lips are soft against his, that’s all he cares about. Here with his eyes closed, fingers tangled in her hair, nothing else matters. She’s not worried about his safety, she’s not pulling away from him already. No, here, they are still the same. They give each other shit and the hugs, touches, and kisses are easy.

Mars wants to hang here forever, softly kissing Michael. Smiling as she does so because, god, is her boyfriend annoying but she loves him. She really does. She can love him even though others will say that his actions are morally wrong. She can handle that. He’s had to make his choices; he has to handle the consequences. She can be there for that. But would she ride this out even with her own destruction? Does this make her less than for having a limit?

Three games later and after the boys are a good five pints in, they leave. Michael giggles in the passenger seat. “You’re beautiful, Baby. You know that?”

A soft blush takes over her cheek, the heat rising fast. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“But it’s very true. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

They don’t talk that night, not like they need to. Instead they give into each other. Marissa can’t help but give into the way Michael presses her against the door of the apartment and teases her over her panties. The material of her shorts thin and loose anyway. And Michael loves it when she moans into his ear. The curses to God because he’s touching her just right makes his whole body feel electric and that’s all he’s ever needed. To feel electric with Marissa. Because in that electricity, they are safe.

Marissa digs her nails into his shoulder, attempting to get closer in their heated kiss and Michael hisses at the pain. But he loves it. He loves this and he loves her. And there’s no way he’s losing her if she responds like this to his touch. There’s no way he’s losing her when she kisses down his stomach and takes him into her mouth. No there’s no loss here, just the sinking into the pleasure they both give each other.

“I love you,” he whispers into her skin. It feels like a prayer as it falls repeatedly, punctuating several thrusts.

“I love you,” she returns. It’s with a sigh, and a moan, but she looks at him when she says it. And for the moment that’s all he needs.

__________

The way South grins, Michael knows he’s fucked. The man doens’t even need to utter a sentence and Michael already knows the trouble he’s in. But South speaks anyway--and Michael for a brief moment wonders if South gets off on the knowledge that all he has to do now is look at someone a specific way and they shake in their boots. “How’s your momma doing?”

“Good,” Michael answers, “thanks for asking.”

“How’s Hood?”

Michael gulps. He wonders who the fuck is tailing him. South wouldn’t be bringing this up if he didn’t have proof. And one time is not enough. South’s always required pattern of behavior. He does not ask without a fair amount of evidence. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Bullshit! I told you he isn’t one of ours anymore. You think I’d come at you without evidence? Without something substantial?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Michael opts. It’s still not the safe answer. But it’s biding time--that’s all he really has at this point.

“Then what are you saying? Because you’re implying someone’s a liar and I don’t take too kindly if you think it’s me.”

“I’m not saying it’s you.”

“You saying someone’s got it out for you then?”

“I’m not saying that either.” The only one that has it out for him is South, but Michael knows better than to say that.

“Then tell me what the fuck you are saying.”

“All I’m saying is that I wouldn��t know how he’s doing.” In fact, it’s been three weeks since they last hung out. Michael was trying to cool down the trail on him. So whoever was watching him was either delaying the reports or doubling up on them, and that would indicate either pressure from South for results or that whoever it was was going for Michael’s position or life.. But admitting that would mean again, admitting that he had gone against South’s initial warning. So Michael keps is mouth shut. Because the technicalities wouldn’t matter here.

In the silence, Michael steels himself for the first swing. He’s even ready for the second one. More keep coming to the point where he looses count. Not that counting them is like counting sheep. But keeping up with the blows, even with a small margin of error, meant he hadn’t fully blacked out. And that’s what he needed. In the end, it’s not too bad. He’s able to drive himself home, though his ribs are on fire. Breathing hurts, just sitting hurts too.

He grunts, opening the door and swinging his legs out. Inside the apartment, Michael catches the sound of some shuffling. He watches the shadows over the walls as Marissa walks into the bedroom. He sighs. He can’t face Mars. She’s going to flip, but this isn’t exactly the largest apartment ever. He grits his teeth and makes his way to the bathroom. Before he can get the door close, he hears a gasp. He’s been caught. Michael watches her look in the mirror, the wobble to her lip, the tears filling her eyes.

“It’s not too bad,” he reassures. “I’ll be fine in a couple days.”

“A couple days my ass,” she whispers. Her hands tremble. She wants to run. She can’t do this. She told Michael she was concerned. She knew it would blow up in his face eventually. South is pissed and there’s no stopping him now. “What-what can I do?”

Michael tries to tell her, he can handle it, but she orders him to sit on the closed toilet seat and he obeys the command. Her hands continue to shake as she helps clean up the busted lip and the bruise on his rib cage is bad, violently purple and red.

In bed, Michael resting on his back, Mars rests on her side, facing away from him. She understands why he does this. But how long will he defy South? How many more beatings are there going to be? This has to stop before it gets started. She can’t stand by and watch him get beat. He has to get out. She needs him to get out or maybe she needs to get out. And she wants to rip the thought out of her skull. She doesn’t want to leave Michael. But maybe she might have too. Maybe she might be forced to save herself.

Sleep does not find her that night or the nights after really. It comes in waves, for an hour or two and then she’s back awake, staring at ceilings or walls, or closet doors, wishing she could’ve done everything differently with him. Michael watches the bags forming underneath her warm eyes. He is doing this to her, not that he meant to, not that he wanted to. But yet, here he is, his actions bearing heavy burdens on her.

“What are you worried about?” he asks, sitting across from her. The diner is shockingly dead for once, a harsh buzz from the lights above settles in around him. Though Michael figures in the next hour people will be leaving clubs soon; they’ll be gunning for something greasy.

The sigh is heavy from her lips. Michael reaches out for her hand. Her lips screw up, plump like he’s always known them to be, but somehow the corners are turned down. She does not quite meet his gaze. “I’m worried about you getting hurt again. I can’t handle that. I’m thinking about how much more of this I can endure. And I--I don’t even want to think about asking you to get out. Not if the result is you dead. I want you alive.”

“It’s a couple of bruises, Baby. I’ll be fine.”

“Por Dios, you say that now. But what happens when it’s more than just a couple of bruises. What are you going to do then, huh?” She slides her hands out from Michael, standing to greet the patrons that just walked in.

Michael wants to promise her there won’t be a next time. He wants to promise that he can handle the warnings. But he’s already got plans to see Calum later this week. And the bruises still hurt. He can bear them, should it be at the expense of her?

Michael cancels the plans--he can handle that. And maybe he hasn’t been playing this smart. He tries to see if Marissa wants to go to the movies, but she picks up a double and those plans never get off the ground. Instead, he makes sure to have a bath drawn for her once she returns. Her favorite is ready for dinner and for a blip in time things could be on the right track.

But she doesn’t kiss him the same as before. And Michael doesn’t know what else to do when she rolls over in bed, away from him. They don’t share silly stories about their childhoods. And Michael misses all those stories about the casitas hanging on the walls. Or how Marissa couldn’t turn around in any room of the house and didn’t find some picture of the Virgin Mary or Jesus staring down at her. Michael misses hearing about the parties she missed throwing in the summer time, knowing the music could crush her skull but she loved it anyway.

Michael misses the way when she got sleepy Spanish would slip out without her even thinking and rather than stopping her, he’d let her go on in the story. She’d be telling him about the birthday parties with family holding the pinata and the smell of food that filled the house for days. The whispers were all he really needed to feel close to her.

___________

It happens and he knows it's happening too when he walks into the house to not even the muffled sounds of music. It’s on most of the time, always a soft tempo in the background, the soundtrack to her life. He knew it was happening all along. She touched him less, she stayed out more. They felt more like strangers in the apartment now. They past like ships, but instead they were sitting right in the living room growing further and further apart.

He was losing her; he came home one too many times bruised and bloodied. But he wouldn’t stop. South wouldn’t get rid of him; he’d just make his life hell for sure. But he was too valuable. Though, occasionally, Michael feared his value would be of no use. At some point, South would get tired of the warnings and beat him for good. But at the same time, South needed Michael--they both knew under all this it was South keeping up appearances. Because as much as Michael was breaking the rules, South wasn’t one to normally keep troublemakers around longer than they’d prove they weren’t going to stop.

But would it save Michael forever?

It was stupid to attempt to ride the thin line until it cracked. But it was all Michael had. He thought South would crack first. Or maybe he had hoped that so much that he believed it to be true. When all signs pointed to Mars being the first to go, he somehow ignored it, assumed that she’d be there forever. But forever isn’t as long as he’d hope for.

Because Mass was on the losing end of it all, having to take care of him. Having to take double shifts sometimes because there was no way in hell Michael was in enough shape to get out and push his weight. Mars had to reached her limit. And it was right in front of his face.

He watches her from the bedroom door, on her knees, throwing things into a suitcase. “I can’t do this, mamá, mi corazón can’t take it,” she cries into the phone.

His eyes are blurry, his side still aches from last week’s run-in with South. The sob pressing at his chest lights his being with fire. Everything hurts. “Then go if you must,” he whispers, “but let me ask you one question. Can I convince you somehow to stay?” He’s positive she didn’t hear it but Mars snaps her head up at him.

The tears are streaking her face, light gray splotches of mascara dotting her cheeks as well. “What are you talking– No, no, Michael. Let me call you back.” She pauses, mother urging to her not hang up. But Mars is no longer listening to the frantic barrage of her mother. “Explain. What are you talking about?”

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay with me?” Michael asks, letting the tears slip down his cheeks behind his glasses. It’ll make a mess of his lenses. He doesn’t care though.

“Convince me to stay? Comó? How are you going to do that?”

“That’s why I’m asking you. Whatever I have to do, I will do it.”

Mars stands, running her fingers through her hair. Her exhale is long and heavy from her lips and mouth.“No, there’s nothing. You won’t leave. Not with the complications now and the medical bills. You can’t leave your mother high and dry. And I can’t sit here and watch him beat you! I can’t do that--I’m not strong enough for that. I-I didn’t sign up for that.”

He’s lost her. There’s no more fighting. But Michael still tries. He gives it one more push. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy for you. But there has to be something.”

“Michael, there’s nothing, nada,” she hisses, standing toe to toe with him. “A fat nothing, zip, nil. Nothing.” The last word catches in her throat. Her body trembles.

Michael hugs her to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Baby. I am so sorry.”

She cracks, fisting the cotton of his black t-shirt into her hands. She doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to leave Michael. He’s caring, always listening. He’s there for the 2 am diner shifts when her feet feel like they should be falling off and her back is a mess of knots. He’s there for all the music she blares throughout their–well his– apartment. He’s there even when she can’t shoot pool to save her life. He’s there for the baking adventures, even though they end up with him covered in flour and cinnamon.

She wants to hate him. She wants to despise him for going against South. But she can’t. Marissa understands why Michael did it. But she wishes she didn’t. It would make leaving so much easier. Her chest wouldn’t ache this much. Her voice wouldn’t be hardly going if she didn’t cry, because she couldn’t empathize with him.

But she has to look out for herself too. She can’t keep sacrificing for a person that wouldn’t do the same in return, that won’t heed the warning she’s tried to give them. So she has to go. Staying would only destroy them both.

Michael breaks the silence first. “Dance with me? One last time?”

Her chest compresses even more. Her throat feels raw as the sobs fall over it. But Mars nods. One last dance with him. She can give him that, and she can take that with her. That even to the bittersweet end, there was still so much fucking love between them. She’d never think of this, that it would be possible for her to be leaving but still want to stay and still have love to give.

Michael guides both of them to the living room, the place where all other dances were shared. She remembers the first time she asked him to dance. He was a little stiff, completely unsure of how to move what was expected of him. So she guided, gently encouraging and with a few laughs at his tense, awkward nature. And it’s not to say he’s a charmer now, but the aunties don’t tease him any more at parties-that’s for sure.

It takes a few moments before his phone is paired with the Bluetooth speakers. But it’s as the cellos begin singing, and before the voice cuts in, Mars feels her knees go weak. The song she taught Michael to dance to, Esto Es Vida. It played on repeat for nearly an hour, but the smile on his face when he finally got it still makes her heart burst.

They fit all too well together, arms winding around the other, her nestled so closely and firmly to his chest. His scent is all too familiar in her nostrils, a mixture of their detergent and his musky cologne. She can tell it’s residual from the last time he used it. It’s not as strong, just a faint note in her nose as her ears are filled with soft strumming.

Michael’s face is buried in the soft curls over hair, the lingering floral scent of her shampoo somehow feeling like flames in his nose. He won’t smell that thing again, not in fresh post fresh wash hair. It won’t be covering his pillowcases anymore. He won’t be able to still it for his own hair when it’s far too lazy to replace his own shampoo. God, is he really going to let her go? Is he really going to let her leave? But if there’s nothing he can do to convince, he won’t force to her stay. That’s the worst thing to do, forcing her to stay in a situation that makes her uncomfortable. He’s never wanted anything but the best for her.

And this is his life, Michael thinks as he helps pack the rest of her things. He should be crying, alone, shouting at her to stay. But instead, he lifts the suitcase into the trunk of her car. He watches the brake lights pulling out away from him. The house is empty when he returns inside. He curls onto the couch, ribs still screaming at him for being in such a position. He puts the song on repeat, a bad move for him as his chest finally cracks and the sobs shake his body.

It’s Penelope that comes by in the late afternoon the next day. She only forces him to shower, noting the takeout boxes she’s left in his fridge. But mostly comes by because she knows her presence should remain more neutral than Calum’s.

“I knew I was losing her. And I still did nothing to stop her.”

Penelope’s a reassuring presence, but even she doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m an idiot aren’t I? Just letting the girl I love walk away? But I want her happy more than anything. She deserves that, you know?”

“I know.”

“What do you think I should’ve done?”

“I think we make the best choices we can at any given moment. Something in you knew you had to let her go for now. Maybe it’s not forever and maybe it is forever. But either way, I think you made the best choice you could’ve in the situation.”

“But I want her back.”

“Wanting things ain’t a bad thing.”

“I should get ready,” Michael sighs. He needs to make a delivery. And if not for the fact that he wasn’t trying to be any further down on South’s shit list, he would continue his rant.

“Okay,” Penelope states, standing. “Now promise me tomorrow, even if it’s the only thing you do, you’ll take your trash out?”

“One small thing for myself,” he repeats back to her.

“Call me. Anytime.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

On instinct, after dropping off the bag, Michael finds himself pulling into the parking lot of the diner. When he cuts off the car, he pauses, one hand on the door lever to let himself out. Mars doesn’t need a ride anymore. He shouldn’t be here. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Michael strikes at his steering wheel, throwing his head back into the not too soft leather. His ribs are bruised, his Baby has left him, he’s cried his eyes out once already and he’s about to do it again. Michael closes his eyes, smashing his lips together as the tears roll.

There’s a knock on his window. When Michael snaps his eyes open, he sees Penelope standing, a sad smile on her face. He nods for her to slide in. Michael lets out a shaky breath. “I fucked up. Hard,” he whispers. “Like really fucked up.”

“I came here, just so you know, on a hunch you’d fuck up. Besides, this is real life. We fuck up sometimes.”

“You probably shouldn’t be here. Block and all”

“I’m not worried about him. He got his money. Anything else he wants is his problem. Not mine.”

Michael hums. Why did even talking hurt? Maybe it’s because he knows Penelope has more information that him. And he knows that she may not sure it even if he asks.

“She will always love you.”

Michael nods, staring out to the parking lot in front of him, huffing. He’s going to cry again. Huge sobs. He can feel it. “I’ll probably never stop loving her. But I can’t get out. Too much is on the line.”

Penelope gets it. He actively needs the money, his mother’s medical bills are still piling up. He can’t afford to leave now. “No one’s telling you to abandon your mother. This life just isn’t made for Mariss. And it’s okay that it’s not. In all honestly, I don’t think we’re meant for the shit we’ve handled. You and I don’t deserve the shit we were handed. But we all make our choices. Real life has real consequences.”

“I never meant to hurt her.”

“We never mean to hurt the ones we love.”

“She deserves better. I’m no good for her but I want to be better for her. I want to love her. I don’t think I’m built to love anyone else.”

“And if you think that, then you’re going to need a plan. And you’re going to need to get further than we did. That’s for damn sure. But right now, I want to know one thing. Did you get anything? I don’t know if you saw what I left in the fridge?”

He nods meekly. “Yeah. thanks for that.” There’s a moment of silence. “Where is she staying?”

“With Calum and I for the moment.”

That was a bad idea to ask. She’s not too far from him. He knows that way all too well. He can be there in fifteen minutes on a good day of traffic. But he just has to make sure she had a place to rest her head. Going back home would never be an option for her, he knew that much. “Do you think Mars will ever take me back?”

“You’d have to ask her and not do whatever you did that fucked this up..”

“I didn’t listen soon enough. I kept thinking I could have it all. Wanted me cake and to eat it too.”

“Sometimes we can, sometimes we can’t.”

“Should I even be worried about that? Getting her back right now?”

“Probably not, no. You should be worried about your ribs and eating. Keeping your place clean. Showering. Keeping a low profile. Your mother. Keeping your head down.”

“You said choices have consequences. And I don’t want Mars to be one. I don’t want her to be a consequence.”

___________

Marissa holds the phone to her hear, catching just enough of her mother over the ruckus in the background to understand that her mother’s talking about some from the church. “Don’t start this--not again. The last boy you tried to set me up--”

“Ahh-Marissa that was just that one who wasn’t all the way there. How was I supposed to know he was married? He had no ring.”

“I’m just saying your church boys don’t look like they’re going to make it to heaven. So I think I’d rather stick with my own bad judge of character.” She only needs to grab a card quickly and a couple bags of candy. The card for a family friend’s birthday and the candy because Marissa had been craving it for a week.

The card aisle is quick. But as she stares down the candy aisle of this pharmacy, she knows it’s going to take her a minute.

“What about--what’s his name? That white boy?”

She almost says his name but steps herself. “What about him?”

“While it beats me, you seemed happy with him. You ever think about reaching back out?”

Mars did--and she had. But it ultimately was ruining her so she had to stop for good. “I-I don’t even know if his number is still the same.” It was, but she didn’t tell her mother that. Penelope and Calum still had contact with him so that’s how she knew.

Mars carries on down the aisle, trying to see if she can spot anything that jumps out at her. But some of the shelves are bare. An associate’s working at the end of the aisle and she doesn’t want to be in the way. “They don’t have it.”

“Have what, mija?”

“The big bag blow pops. I see laffy taffy, but I don’t know.”

“Sorry ma’am, I’m working on restocking--”

Mars looks up just as the associate finishes with the box they’re breaking down. “Michael?” she breathes.

“Mars?”

“That’s his name!” her mother shouts. “Michael! I kinda liked him. Don’t tell your father that. But he always--”

Mars mutes the call--she can’t hang up unless she’s risking her life. “What-what are you doing here?”

Michael taps the name tag. “I kind of work here.”

“At a CVS?”

“GameStop never replied to my application. So I figured maybe they weren’t interested.”

And he’s still the same. A bit sarcastic, but easy going. “But wait, a CVS?” And she whispers it, like saying it too loud would cause a panic.

“It took me a couple years to get myself straightened out. But yeah, now at a CVS. And while it’s mundane and exhausting, I figured it was by time to get my life together.”

Marissa listens for a moment and her mother is still going. “Like him dancing at Jessie’s party. It still makes me giggle.”

“But, uh, about the blow pops. I’m 90% sure it’s on my car to reshelf. And I can make it 100% my next priority if you’ve got five minutes for me to find it.”

“Oh you-you don’t have to.”

“I mean they kinda pay me to have to, so it’s not a problem.”

“I guess then, I’ve got five minutes to spare.”

Michael smiles, turning back to the cart at the end of the aisle and crouches down. “I can feel you staring. So go ahead--ask away.”

There’s a lot to be asked. But Marissa’s more shocked than anything to get one of them to come out coherently. Like how did Michael get out? Is his mother doing well? Where was he staying now? Would South be looking for him? But instead all Marissa can do is stare. The glasses have changed, but he still looks the same. And she’s not even sure he’d aged at all in the time it’s been.

“Found it!” He calls tugging on the box to free it from the pile. He makes quick work to open the box with his blade and then hands a bag to her. “Also, if you don’t mind, maybe we could catch up over dinner? There’s this diner I used to go to all the time because of this really cute waitress.”

Mars grins. “I think I know the place. What time?”

“I’m off Thursday evening. Say seven?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

#michael clifford #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford fic #michael clifford blurb #h writes #5sos fanfic #5sos blurb #5sos #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #michael x latina oc #michael clifford fanfic #michael clifford AU

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gossipgirls · 3 years

Text

indefinite hiatus

hi all. just wanted to post an update because it doesn’t feel right to go semi-inactive without letting anybody know, when i have so many lovely, loyal followers! i’ll be going on an indefinite hiatus on this blog starting now. i posted on this blog nonstop in 2020 due to a lack of... well... anything else to do during quarantine lol, and i explored so much of this show analysis-wise (as in, i’ve giffed almost every scene i hoped to gif when i did my initial rewatch from late 2018-early 2020 and i feel like i’ve answered almost any question that you could think of asking me) that i’ve just kinda been feeling burned out over the last few months and have really been wondering how much more i can get out of this show, especially as my opinions on it/the characters/the ships evolve. finding motivation to keep this blog active is particularly difficult now that gg is not as accessible to as many people as it was before the move to hbo max.

i am definitely not planning on staying inactive for forever, especially with the reboot coming this year - just need a break in which i don’t feel like i need to get back asap to answer asks or finish requests. i really do hope to come back someday and finish all of the gifsets/analysis posts/etc that i’ve always planned to make! i won’t lie, there’s a definite possibility that i’ll come up with a gifset idea in a few weeks and not be able to hold myself back, since i have never been able to stay away from gg for long lol. so don’t be surprised if you see me pop in with a random post every now and then. nonetheless, i’ll remain active on my main blog, which means i am very much still around in a general sense if anyone has any questions! i never expected this blog to grow as much as it did, i never expected anyone to be interested in what i had to say about this silly, wonderful 2000s teen show, and i’m ultimately so proud of what this blog became. this was all a long-winded (as always) way of saying: thank you and bye for now! ♥︎

p.s. i’ll still check my tag (#gossipgirls) for posts to reblog, and my queue will still be running for god knows how long.

#text

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joon-ipersgirl · 4 years

Text

O3 - “don’t leave me”

genre: strangers to lovers!au, angst, fluff

pairing: jimin x reader (f)

summary: they say home is where the heart is. you’re convinced yours was taken the day your father died. until you meet jimin.

you believe in love but after watching men cycle through your mother’s arms, rocky relations with ex-boyfriends, and broken friendships, you no longer see it in your future. so much so, you never settle in one place long enough to create ties and call it home, choosing a job where you’re always on the go and on your own.

on a chance encounter on a flight from new york city to bali, indonesia, you meet. flustered by jimin’s flirty advances but understanding and good-natured tendencies, you start to fall. what starts off as a work-trip soon blossoms into a budding romance, but will jimin’s secret destroy the relationship before it’s had the chance to truly begin?

word count: 10.6k.. lmao

warnings: mentions of anxiety, cursing

a/n: wow it’s been some weeks. school and work are kicking my ass but thank you to that anon who asked if i was still writing. i am. i’m doing my best to balance everything but your comment seriously motivated me to find some time to post this and it is a hell of a long part so i hope that makes up for the semi-hiatus. the next part is my fave part to date and i hope to have that up soon. seriously, all your comments mean the world to me so send them in, even if you think it’s something super small! you could be the difference between something be posted or not lol. anywhooo. thank you again for reading and vi for being my editor in chief. enjoy! :)

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

It was the additional warmth that alerted you that something was wrong. The fogginess of sleep wrestled with your consciousness as your body slowly woke up, the former forcing sleep to tap out. Your legs were cramped beneath you in the seat as you’d curled into yourself, the thin blanket tucked up under your chin like a butterfly in a cocoon. All of these were quite normal, except for the soft material underneath your cheek instead of the scratchy cover of the airline seat. Lifting your head from your makeshift pillow, your eyes focused on the smooth skin of Jimin’s neck. You jerked away, smacking your head against the curve of the airplane. Jimin groaned and turned to face you, his eyes still closed but his eyebrows furrowed.

“Jimin!” you hissed, shoving his shoulder away from you. His upper body was still pressed against your knees. “Get up!”

He finally opened his eyes, confusion was written on his face as he squinted from the soft lights filtering into the plane. Jimin shifted back over to his seat and you sighed in relief, still rubbing the back of your head in an attempt to soothe the sore spot. He shoved his hood from his head and ran his fingers through the soft waves of his hair, a few tufts sticking up out of place.

“Why are you yelling?” he groaned, holding his hands in his head. “It’s early as fuck.”

“I wasn’t yelling. And you were crushing me,” you huffed, attempting to stretch your legs out.

“You weren’t complaining a few moments ago,” he countered, his usual grin looking more adorable as he struggled to fully wake up.

You pursed your lips in irritation. It didn’t seem to take Jimin long to be back on his bullshit, even if he had just woken up. He stretched beside you, toned arms coming up above his head, the hem of his hoodie rising along with them. You turned your head back to the window, not wanting to be caught staring again. So much for avoiding cuddling into his nice, warm body. If he asked, you’d just blame it on the cold air of the plane.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent to Hong Kong International Airport. Please secure your tray tables and return your seats to their full upright position. We will be coming through to collect any trash you may still have. Thank you.”

You gasped as you realized you’d overslept and missed the opportunity to have your morning coffee. You rubbed your forehead, already feeling the symptoms of withdrawal hitting you. The in-flight monitor showed that it was almost 10 am in New York, meaning you were already one cup of coffee behind schedule. You could only pray that it wouldn’t take long for the next set of passengers to board and the in-flight services could begin again before your impatience truly reared its ugly head.

Shoving open the little plane window cover, you watched as the cityscape of Hong Kong came into view. The bright lights of the tall skyscrapers looked like lighthouses perched on the corner of cliffs and you awed at its modern beauty. It was almost as breathtaking as flying into New York City. You pulled your phone from your sweatpants’ pocket and took a video as the plane banked left, your brain not too bogged down to recognize a money-making shot when you saw one.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jimin whispered over your shoulder, his voice rough from sleep. You nodded, not turning to look at him, not trusting yourself to face him in your coffee-deprived state and question exactly who or what he was referring to.

With a gentle shudder, the aircraft landed on the tarmac and headed to its destination, the passengers on the flight applauding for your safe arrival. The pilot welcomed you to Hong Kong International Airport, telling you the current local time and temperature, and thanking you for flying with Cathay Airlines. At the ding! of the seatbelt sign disappearing, a few passengers rushed to secure their carry ons, no doubt antsy to make it to their connecting flight. You sank back into your seat, silently urging them on so you could be back in the air and on your way to Indonesia.

“One flight down, only one more to go!” Jimin exclaimed and stepped into the aisle, fully stretching his lean body after double checking no one else was coming behind him. You nodded and combed your fingers through your hair, trying to tame your own bed hair.

After a few idle minutes, you realized that no one else had gotten on the plane. Confused, you propped yourself up to see the front of the plane better. Aside from a few passengers stretching their legs like Jimin, no clean-up crew had boarded to clear the empty seats and restock the plane with food. The rest of the passengers seemed to notice the lack of activity as well.

“Excuse me?” a man a few rows ahead called to a passing stewardess. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes sir. We’re just having a few maintenance issues, but everything should be sorted quickly. No need to worry,” she said with a gentle smile. Maintenance issues? That didn’t sound good.

Jimin slipped back into his seat to let the stewardess pass. “Don’t look so worried, Shutterfly. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

You nodded slowly and chewed on your lip. It was already bad that you hadn’t been able to see the changes Michael had sent, but now it seemed like your arrival in Bali would be delayed, thwarting your plans even further. Would it be wrong to assume Adele’s phone call was to blame for your entire trip taking every possible delay and detour? Maybe Michael’s words had come true and you hadn’t planned well enough, your gifts truly leaving you in your time of need.

You busied myself with folding the airplane blanket and tucking it into the back of the seat in an effort to remain calm. It would eventually all be sorted and you could contact Micahel when you finally landed, possibly even convincing him that you deserved an extension because of circumstances out of your control.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. It seems as though our aircraft is having some slight maintenance problems and we will no longer be able to fly to our final destination on this particular plane. Our crew is working diligently to rectify the issue, but we’re going to have to ask you to please leave the aircraft. If you could make your way to the information desk right outside the gate, our associates would be happy to answer any questions you may have about getting you to your final destination. Thank you,” the announcement came over the speakers. An audible groan echoed from the remaining passengers.

“Well, fuck,” Jimin commented, shoving his book and hoodie into his backpack. “What a great surprise,” he mumbled.

You didn’t move. It was as though her words hadn’t truly registered and you blinked a few more times before you honestly understood what was happening. You were going to be late to Bali, your entire itinerary thrown off, not to mention whatever else you needed to add to the video. Your accommodations there would be gone and your deposits with it. Fuck. The familiar tug of anxiety filled your chest as you watched it rise and fall, your breaths coming much easier than you expected, though you felt you’d been submerged underwater for a few minutes. Tears pricked the back of your eyelids as you tried not to cry from frustration.

“Shutterfly! Are you coming?” Jimin was already halfway up the aisle, his old backpack slung low on his shoulders as he checked for your whereabouts, holding up the small line that formed behind him.

You grabbed your backpack and shoved your feet back into your sneakers, double-checking the time on your phone. As soon as you got off the plane, you needed to call Michael and update him on the situation. Though you knew he wouldn’t be upset with you, the gnawing feeling of guilt hung around your shoulders as you shuffled down the aisle with the rest of the passengers.

Hong Kong International Airport would have stolen your breath away had you been paying proper attention. You took a sharp left after entering the actual terminal, looking for an empty seat in a quiet space where you would be able to hear Michael over the protests of irritated passengers. Dialing his number, you waited for the call to go through but it didn’t. You tried again, the same “call failed” message popping up on the screen. Checking the number of bars on your phone showed you that you didn’t have any service. You stared at your phone, baffled. It wouldn’t even connect to the wifi. What in the good Lord’s name were you supposed to do now?

You slumped against the sleek metal column until your body hit the floor in defeat, your brain too frazzled to come up with any bright ideas. Unease wrapped her familiar fingers around your shoulders again. Her gentle whispers echoed in your mind as the uncertainty of the situation before you gripped you tightly. You felt stranded with her on a desolate island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and she was your only company. You drew your knees into your chest, trying to disappear as if that would make anything better. Frustration grew into anger and tears welled up in your eyes as you pushed up from the ground, backpack secured firmly in your grip, and marched over to the nearest Cathay employee.

“Excuse me?” he turned to face you with a warm smile.

“Yes, ma’am. How may I help you?” he asked.

“Hi. I was on the flight from JFK with the final destination to Bali. They said the plane has some maintenance issues? What’s going to happen now? How soon can I get on a flight out of here?” You tried your best to keep your tone neutral as he continued smiling at you.

“First, I’d like to apologize for the inconvenience. Second, we’re not actually sure -” your eyes widened, “- but we’re doing everything we can to fix things,” he finished.

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked. “So am I just supposed to stay in the airport until you guys fix this?”

“Well, we currently have no flights leaving for Bali that have available seats on them -”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me that I might have to stay in Hong Kong overnight?” You did nothing to try to hide the panic in your voice, forgetting that you were in a public place.

“It’s quite possible, Miss. Again, I’m very sorry -”

“Where am I supposed to sleep then? I can’t sleep here!” you wailed, cutting him off again. His eyebrows turned down in annoyance. You were probably being rude, but at this moment in time, you couldn’t give a fuck. You were in an unfamiliar country, where they spoke an unfamiliar language, under extremely unfamiliar circumstances. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

“If you could follow me, I can see if we have any complimentary hotel rooms available as this cancellation was not your fault,” he said, the cheerful customer service tone gone.

You followed him to the Cathay Airlines desk in front of the gate and wrapped your arms around yourself as he spoke with his colleague. It offered no comfort and you bounced with nervous energy as you waited for his verdict. You started to count the number of passengers you recognized from your flight when someone brushed against you and you jumped, your body hyper-aware of any small movement.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Jimin. You sighed and relaxed your shoulders slightly. “You disappeared on me. Is everything okay? You look kind of ill,” he trailed off. You scowled at him and crossed your arms tightly.

“Thank you, Jimin. That’s just what anyone wants to hear during a time like this,” you said sarcastically. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, and mumbled a small apology. “How are you not upset about this?” you asked, gesturing to the rest of the people.

He shrugged. “Things change, life happens. Nothing we can really do about it. Just have to figure out the next step. Have you gotten any updates about a new flight leaving?” you nodded.

“He’s supposed to let me know, but it doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good news,” you replied, chewing on your lip again.

“So we could be stuck here overnight?”

“It’s quite possible,” you told him bitterly, repeating the same words said to you. Jimin hummed in thought and excused himself, promising he would be right back. It was at this moment that the employee returned, his colleague in tow.

“Well, Miss -”

“Y/L/N,” you filled in.

“Miss. Y/L/N, my name is Joy and I am a manager at Cathay Airlines. Again, I would like to apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you. Unfortunately, all of our complimentary rooms have been given away at this moment in time and it seems as though our next departing flight to Bali, Indonesia with available seats will not be leaving until tomorrow afternoon. As of right now, I can only offer you a discount on your next flight with us and a free upgrade to business class,” she finished, her smile almost as sorry as the deal she was offering you.

You inhaled deeply and tried to swallow the bitterness threatening to spill from your lips. The combination of anxiety, anger, and coffee withdrawal had left you with nothing kind to say and Adele had been around enough to teach you good manners.

“Well Jennie, that fucking sucks. Are there any places you could recommend that have available spaces? Or a partner airline that could - I don’t know - actually have working planes and could get me to my final destination?” you asked, some of the bitterness slipping in there somehow. Jennie’s smile tightened just as Jimin returned.

“Sorry, she’s not really a morning person,” he said apologizing and tucking you tightly under his arm. “You said there were no flights available until tomorrow afternoon, correct?”

“Yes, sir. We’re doing our best to get everyone on their way as soon as we can,” she answered, her smile brightening at his presence.

“I’m sure you are -” he leaned down slightly to read her name tag, “- Joy. If you could be so kind as to make sure that we’re sitting together whenever you sort those arrangements out, I would seriously appreciate it.” You opened your mouth to protest but Joy was already agreeing.

“Of course Mr. -“

“Park,”

“Park?” She stared at him puzzled before her eyes lit up. “That’s Korean, isn’t it? Do you speak Korean?” she asked excitedly. “I’ve been trying to practice.” You stared at her incredulously, but Jimin entertained the conversation to your dismay.

“As a matter of fact, I do. How long have you -“

“Jimin,” you butted in, twisting in his grip. “Joy is a busy woman. In fact, she was about to go and get some information about places to stay since there are no flights leaving today. I’m sure you could have this conversation -“

“Oh, no need to worry about that, Shutterfly. I’ve already got that taken care of, but you’re right. Joy is a busy woman so we should let her get back to work,” Jimin said, beaming down at you, his smile easing some of your pent up frustration.

“David,” Joy turned to the man who had originally tried to help me, “please add Miss. Y/L/N under Mr. Park’s reservation for tomorrow’s flight.”

“I’ll need your first name, Miss. Y/L/N,” David told you. “For security purposes,” he added after you continued to stare at him without giving an answer.

“Can’t you just look it up under the old reservation?”

“Oh come on, Shutterfly. Don’t be difficult. Don’t you want to go grab some breakfast?” Jimin cooed while squeezing your shoulder. You’re sure you looked like any angry bull as your nostrils flared. Of course, the Universe would be on Jimin’s side to have it so that you couldn’t not give him your name if you wanted to secure a seat that Joy seemed so determined to give Jimin. Getting to Bali as soon as possible trumped holding out on Jimin. Unfortunately.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N,” you grumbled, arms still crossed, and pouted at your game ending. Jimin’s smile widened and David nodded, heading back to the desk to input the information.

“Thank you so much, Joy. For everything,” Jimin emphasized and squeezed your shoulder again. “Good luck with your Korean!” he added and started to steer you away.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Park! Please enjoy your time in Hong Kong!” she called after you. Jimin pulled you away from the crowd and you struggled to keep up as one of his steps was almost two of yours.

“Jimin, slow down!” you yelled and finally tugged his arm from around you. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“To get breakfast. What do you mean? Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, confused as he stared down at you.

“Jimin, what about the rest of our luggage? Well, I don't know if you did, but I have a checked bag. I can’t just leave -”

“Y/N,” the way your name sounds coming from his mouth had you pausing, your own mouth open mid-sentence, “your luggage is fine. They hold it until you can get on the next flight. You still have the original tag they gave you, right?” You nodded. “Then you’re all set. Come on! You’ll think and feel better once you have some food in you. And some coffee.”

At the mention of your favorite beverage, you let Jimin lace his fingers through your own and lead you further through the international arrivals terminal in search of somewhere to eat. You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair again, dodging the occasional traveler in this unfamiliar airport, in an unfamiliar city, with a slightly less unfamiliar man for company.

Though Jimin was optimistic about finding breakfast at 2:30 am, you were not. After walking through the terminal for 25 minutes and trying to convince Jimin that no sane business would be open right now - to which he responded that there had to be at least one - he had finally given up after passing the same vending machine for the second time.

“Okay, maybe you were right,” he mumbled and set his bag on the floor as he plopped down into an empty seat at a vacated gate and you hummed in agreement. He pushed his hand through his hair and let his head fall over the edge of the seat. You checked your phone again to see if you had any service, and was disappointed to see that there still wasn’t. You sighed quietly and sat next to Jimin.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“You’re chewing your lip again,” he pointed out. Your cheeks warmed as you realized he was right and you released your lower lip. You were surprised he had noticed your unconscious behavior and you resisted the urge to do it again, instead settling on playing with the sleeves of your hoodie.

“I just - I have a really big project to complete in Bali and with this delay, I’m not sure if I can get it all done. I’ve been trying to get in touch with my manager, but my stupid fucking phone doesn’t have any stupid service right now so I -”

“Do you want to use mine?” he asked, cutting you off and offering you his phone. You stared at him. “Seriously, no worries. I have an international plan that automatically connects when I travel. Here,” he said while unlocking his phone and shoving it into your hands. “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t wait for you to say yes before he was already halfway down the hallway. You tapped the screen of his phone before it locked again and dialed Michael’s number, grateful for the privacy. Bouncing your leg, you prayed he would answer the unknown number.

“Michael Callahan. Who is this?”

“Oh, Michael!” You sobbed out in relief after finally hearing his voice.

“Y/N? Is everything okay? What happened to your phone?” he asked, the concern quite evident in his voice. “Were you robbed?! Oh my gosh, Y/N -”

“No, Michael!” you assured him. “For some reason, my phone plan isn’t working. I’m using someone else’s right now.”

“Oh, that blasted Phillip. I told him to make sure your phone plan was taken care of as I had to step into a meeting - you know I would have done it myself - and I guess he forgot. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’ll get Elise on it right now. Elise!” he screamed away from the phone for his secretary. “You’re in Bali now, right?” he confirmed.

“Um, no. Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet?”

“Well, the plane had some maintenance issues and they couldn’t fly us out tonight. I’m in Hong Kong instead. We’re supposed to fly out tomorrow,” you explained.

“By yourself?! Where are you going to sleep? Oh honey no! Let me see what -”

“I’m not technically by myself,” you mumbled, just as Jimin was making his way towards you.

“What do you mean by ‘technically’, Y/N?” Michael asked.

“Just another passenger. It’s his phone I’m using. He seems nice,” you trailed off as Jimin sat down next to you, not wanting to talk about him while he was sitting within earshot. He flashed you a thumbs up and you returned it awkwardly, trying to calm down Michael’s growing apprehension.

“Y/N, you can’t just walk around Hong Kong with a stranger! And a man that you barely know?! Honey, how are you going to survive?” you rolled your eyes as the dramatics started to roll in. “You don’t even know Cantonese. If we’re quite honest, you can barely speak Korean. I knew Adele should have -”

“Weren’t you the one who told me to live in the moment? I’ll be okay Michael, just please get my phone on as soon as possible and add an additional travel notice on the card for Hong Kong so I can get something to eat. I’ll text you every hour on the hour with updates. This is Jimin’s number. Save it if you need to call me and my phone isn’t working. Thank you, Michael. You’re the best! I love you!” you hung up before he could protest.

“Is everything alright?” Jimin asked warily.

“Yep!” you chirped. “Absolutely!” Jimin’s eyes widened at your quick change in demeanor. “What do we do now?” Though it was almost 3:30 am and your stomach had started to grumble; your body was still on Eastern Standard Time.

“Well, I have a friend who lives here. He owns a hostel maybe 35 minutes away? I know we need some place to stay and I called him, explained what happened, and he’s more than willing to put us up for the night. I’m not sure if you’re down, but I knew it would be a lot cheaper than whatever hotel Joy was going to offer,” he replied.

You hesitated. Jimin was very much so a stranger. You had only had, at most, three full conversations. You only knew his first and last name, no idea what his actual occupation was and didn’t even know where he was from. He could quite honestly be some maniac looking to lure a pure, innocent girl to her doom. That girl being you. You bit your lip. Then again, you were already here alone, and if you didn’t go with Jimin, you would be alone in the very large, very empty Hong Kong International Airport. Deciding to take Michael’s words to heart, you decided to enjoy the moment and sent up a silent prayer that God had not decided your life would end at the hands of a certain toned-thighed man in the middle of the night.

“No, that sounds great. Thank you for including me,” you told him. He nodded and smiled.

“Of course. I’ll tell him to come get us.”

45 minutes later, you and Jimin were seated in the back of William Xiao’s trusty pickup truck along with his trusty sidekick Rosaline, a golden retriever. You had pictured William to be a younger man around Jimin’s age, but he was actually older - around mid-fifties - with greying hair. He navigated the streets of the city of Victoria easily in the early morning, the traffic was light as most people were still asleep. It was your favorite time and you felt relaxed against the leather seats as the wind lifted your hair, a small smile on your face. The tall skyscrapers glided past as you zoomed down the highway.

“So how long are you staying in Hong Kong this time, Chim?” William asked as he took the next exit.

“Ah, not long actually. We leave tomorrow hopefully,” Jimin responded, glancing over at you.

“And you’re going where again?”

“Bali. In Indonesia,” he repeated. William seemed to be a little forgetful and you chuckled at the thought.

“Right, right. And how long are you two staying there for?” he asked again.

“I’m not sure about Y/N,” his leg bumped against yours as William turned left, “but I’ll be there for maybe 2 weeks? I haven’t decided yet,” Jimin replied.

“Um, I’m there for 10 days. Well, I guess 9 now,” you corrected. You tried not to think about the impromptu changes. William nodded and continued driving through the empty streets, the car silent until Rosaline started barking.

“Oh be quiet old girl. I know we are almost home,” he hushed her and patted her head, her tail wagging excitedly in the seat.

William slowed and pulled his truck over to the side of the street. You stared out the window confused as you could only see small eateries. The street was actually filled with them, with everything from noodles to dumplings and rice bowls. Your mouth watered at the sight, though they all seemed to be closed and you frowned.

“Where’s the hostel?” you asked Jimin, turning to face him as William hopped out of his truck.

“You’re looking at it,” Jimin said and pointed to a narrow doorway right in front of where the truck was parked. Your brows deepened further in confusion. He laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll see.”

He exited the truck and you accepted his hand as you hopped down and shut the door, the distance much greater for you than Jimin. Rosaline greeted you on the sidewalk and you and Jimin showered her with love as she ran between you, clearly happy about the attention.

“Alright, Rosie. Calm down. You are going to wake the customers up,” William chided as he walked up the three steps of the narrow doorway and entered a passcode before ushering the three of you inside. He used a set of keys to open the second door and you entered the small lobby.

William’s hostel was airy and light, the pale grey walls with turquoise accents complementing each other well. A tiny front desk sat next to a glass door that read “Office” and a few turquoise chairs were positioned on the opposite side of the room. Different abstract paintings lined the wall above them, adding a touch of personality to the otherwise simple room. You were taken aback by how much space actually seemed to be available for use.

“This is lovely,” you complimented, walking over to get a better look. “I really like the artwork.” William beamed at you.

“Why thank you! They were a gift from Jimin,” he added. Jimin received the praise awkwardly and focused his attention on scratching Rosaline’s tummy.

Suddenly, the office door burst open and a petite woman stomped out while loudly whispering in what you assumed to be Cantonese. The two had a heated exchange while she angrily waved about a set of chopsticks and you worried she might poke poor William’s eyes out. It was only after William gestured behind him towards you that she peeked around William and spotted Jimin. Her face immediately brightened and she nearly ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist and giving him a tight squeeze. Jimin laughed as the two of them exchanged words and you stared at him in wonder at his knowledge of the native language. It was then that she finally noticed you.

“Uh, hi,” you said shyly, your face heating up slightly. You waved at her. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” She looked at Jimin expectantly. He translated and she nodded and waved back at you. You smiled.

“Y/N, this is Sonia, William’s wife. They run the hostel together,” Jimin explained.

“My wife only knows a little English. I am sorry,” William started to apologize.

“Oh no! Please don’t apologize. I’m sure we can communicate somehow,” you waved him off. Sonia said something to Jimin again and turned to you.

“Hungry?” she asked and made the motion to eat. You nodded furiously and she grinned. She beckoned you to follow her and took your hand, leading you to the office. Your eyes widened as you passed Jimin and he gave you an encouraging smile. He mouthed that he would be right there.

The office space was compact but functional. There was a little table and cushions as seats, a small refrigerator in the corner, and a few file cabinets tucked against the wall. Sonia gestured to the table for you to sit as she passed through another door, bringing three sets of chopsticks and bowls with her. You made to stand and help her, but she shooed you away so you sat quietly as she set the table. Jimin entered and you smiled at him, reassured at his presence.

“You didn’t tell me you could speak Cantonese!” you declared.

“You never asked,” he replied with a shrug as he sat across from you. “William’s gone to find us a room. I’m not sure if he has one with double occupancy, but he said he would check and see. I hope that’s okay.” You nodded as Sonia returned and placed a steaming plate of noodles in front of you.

“You eat, yes?” she asked. You nodded again and Sonia smiled as she served you and Jimin a large helping. You thanked her, grateful, and tucked in. Moaning in delight, you almost missed the way Jimin’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.

“What?!” you giggled. “It’s really, really good.” Jimin only chuckled as he filled his mouth with food. Sonia set some drinks down in front of you before she sat down herself.

“How long have you and William been working at the hostel?” you asked after your stomach no longer felt like it was touching your spine.

“20 years,” Jimin translated around a mouth full of noodles.

“Wow! And you’ve been married that long too?”

“They’ve been married for 35 actually. Sonia used to work as a chef before she started helping William out,” Jimin answered.

You silently awed at her resilience and courage. Sonia was probably married at your age and starting a family while you were here wallowing in self-pity over a man who had proved to you time and time again that he didn’t want you. You shook the thoughts from your head so as to not ruin the end of a great night and instead focused on the flavor of Sonia’s cooking, the spiciness of the sauce welcomed.

The three of you made small talk as Jimin translated for Sonia and yourself. She was a remarkable woman who was headstrong and did as she pleased, much to the dismay of her husband. Her beauty did not leave her as she showed you some pictures from when she and William first got together; her face remained the same except for a few deep smile lines and the occasional silver streak through her shoulder-length hair. The two of them balanced each other out and you could only admire their love story as Jimin helped her with the dishes in the other room and Rosaline came to rest her head on your thighs.

“Well, it seems like I only have one room available for the two of you. I hope that is okay, Y/N,” William said as he poked his head around the door. He sniffed. “Was that black bean noodles?” You nodded and giggled as he called for Sonia, heading through the other open door. Jimin emerged with a key in his hand, snickering.

“William is quite upset Sonia didn’t save him some black bean noodles, though I’m sure I saw her set some aside for him in the fridge,” he laughed. “I told them I’d tell you goodnight. He told you about the room?”

“Yeah,” you replied, still petting Rosaline’s head and lost in your thoughts.

“Alright, I guess we can go then. It’s almost 5:45 am and we should definitely get some sleep to be on Hong Kong time.”

“What was it that you said? ‘Reset the Circadian rhythm before Bali’ was it?” you asked, mocking him. He rolled his eyes and grabbed your backpack.

“You’ll thank me one day, Shutterfly,” he warned as he held the office door open for you. “This way.”

You followed Jimin past the tiny desk and into the main common area with a little lounge and kitchen area set up for breakfast; you beamed when you saw the pots of coffee all cleaned and ready to go. Your body buzzed in anticipation and you couldn’t wait to smell the dark roast in the morning. You continued through to a set of stairs and climbed up to the fourth floor, your legs protesting another step as you realized how truly out of shape you were.

Room 408 was basically nonexistent. You had heard about the tiny rooms in Asia, but actually seeing one was astonishing. A thin wardrobe stood facing the bathroom door which was equally as boxy, but you were grateful that you didn’t have to share as you had heard other hostels do. The walls were painted the same grey color as downstairs but lacked the artwork. The full-sized bed took up the majority of the space in the room, a small nightstand table on its right side. You bit my lip as you thought about having to share the bed with Jimin, knowing how cramped we already were on the plane.

“Isn’t this cute?” Jimin murmured as he set your bags at the foot of the bed after shutting the door and held up the two small plush bears sitting on top of the towels. You laughed uncomfortably as you took the toy from him and set it on the dresser.

“Do you have a side of the bed you prefer?” you asked quietly, standing in the middle of the room, tugging on the sleeves of your hoodie.

“Nope,” Jimin replied, popping the ‘p’. “Lady’s choice.” He gestured to the bed and you blushed.

“Cool, well do you mind if I take a shower first?” He shook his head as he pulled out his book and phone charger. “Cool, cool. I’ll be fast,” you told him and shut yourself in the bathroom quickly with your backpack and one of the towels.

You exhaled and massaged your scalp as you tried to channel tranquility. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was only sleeping in a bed with a man. Something you’d done numerous times, both platonically and romantically throughout your life. This would be nothing different. Except it was Jimin. A man that knew how to adjust AF fine-tune on pricey cameras, read books for fun, and also spoke multiple languages. You groaned and turned on the hot water. You thought you had shut all thoughts of Jimin away in that tiny airplane stall, but you guess you’d missed a few stragglers.

The water pressure was weak when you stepped in but you were appreciative that the water was still hot at this time in the morning. You took a quick shower, wanting to save some of it for Jimin. It was steamy when you stepped out and you wiped the oval mirror clear with your hands. Your hair was slightly damp and your skin was flushed from the steam. You tugged on the sleep shirt you’d packed in your bag yesterday morning as well as a clean pair of panties that you always carried in your carry on in times of emergencies, glad you’d remembered to do so for this trip. Jimin turned his head towards you as you cracked the door open to peer around it, shielding your lower body from his gaze.

“All done?” he asked. You nodded. “I think Michael texted you? Oh, and the password for the wifi is written here, just in case you need it,” he said, holding up a piece of paper from the nightstand. You nodded again.

“Don’t look,” You told him quite seriously, pointing a warning finger towards him.

“Are you going to poke me with your finger if I don’t?” he teased, turning your words back on you and you were glad that your skin was already flushed so he couldn’t tell you were embarrassed again. “I’ll step out so you can sort out what you need. Shout when you’re done.” He padded out into the hallway and slowly closed the door behind him. You sighed in gratitude and slipped out of the bathroom, double-checking your cameras were still okay before plugging your phone charger into an outlet and diving under the covers.

“You can come in!” you yelled. Jimin double-checked that the coast was clear before he locked the door behind him and rummaged through his things. As he entered the bathroom, you set up the wifi on your phone and thumbed a quick message to Michael telling him you were safe and well-fed. His message came immediately after.

Michael: Thank God! I was so worried. What is this Jimin’s last name? You know we can never be too careful. [6:01].

Park. He seems alright. I took a shower and he didn’t try to kill me so I guess that’s a good sign. [6:02]

Michael: Y/N, this is no time to make jokes about your life; I’ve already asked for his social security number to give to police if anything seems suspicious. Please send me the address of where you are, just in case. Also, Elise said that your phone should be working now. What time are you supposed to leave Hong Kong? [6:04].

Michael you can’t just ask people that! Tell her I said thank you. And I will. I’ll get it from William in the morning. They’re supposed to put us on a flight tomorrow afternoon. I’ll update you as I find out more. It’s six in the morning here and I need to reset my Circadian rhythm apparently [6:06].

I’ll call you in the morning and we can talk about the video after I look at the suggestions [6:07].

Michael: If you’re alive by then… [6:07].

Michael: And who is this William?! Why are there so many men where you are and why was I not invited?! [6:08].

Michael! And William is the guy who owns the hostel. He’s like 55 and MARRIED. [6:08].

Michael: As if that’s ever stopped me ;) [6:09].

Michael: Kidding! Sort of. Please call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is. Be safe. Love you Y/N [6:09].

Even though you’re probably going to Hell, love you Michael [6:10].

You locked your phone just as Jimin exited the bathroom, steam wafting from behind him. Black basketball shorts hung low on his hips, the waistband of his Calvin Kleins peeking through as he finished towel drying his hair. His thin grey shirt clung to his chest from it not being completely dry and you sank further into the sheets. You covered your face and took a deep breath. It was just one night together in the same bed. It would all be fine.

“Did you get to talk to Michael?” he asked while sitting on the edge of the bed. You nodded. “Good. I didn’t want him to think I had kidnapped you and held you hostage before I murdered you.” You snorted as you sat up.

“He didn’t actually say that,” you laughed. “Right?” You stopped when Jimin didn’t correct you. “Oh my gosh, Jimin! I’m so sorry. Michael is almost as dramatic as he is protective and I’m sure he didn’t mean to -”

“Jimin?” Of course, he would focus on only one part of what you said.

“That’s your name isn’t it? What people call you?” you asked, fidgeting with the end of the sheet, now wondering if you’d missed something.

“Yes, but I like the way you say it more,” he said with a grin, his wavy hair falling into his eyes. You groaned and threw the other small plush bear at him. He caught it easily.

“Are you always like this?” you interrogated.

“Like what? Devilishly handsome?” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you and you laughed again.

“No, extremely insufferable,” you replied. He laughed and the sound bounced off the walls, wrapping you up in its tone. He covered his mouth to try and stifle the sound. His grin cracked through him biting his lip, and you bit your own in response.

“For someone who finds me so insufferable, you sure do mirror my actions a lot,” he said with a chuckle. You released your lower lip and blushed.

“You are so cocky, Park Jimin!”

“I mean, once you Jim-in, you can’t Jim-out!” He shot you the finger guns before he realized what he had actually said. “I mean, not that I’m trying to fuck you -” your eyes widened “- I mean, if you’re down for that then I am too. 100%. Like seriously, fuck. I just meant that it wasn’t my intention to -” you hollered into the pillow as the words tumbled from his mouth. His smile was shy as he stood from the bed and set the bear on the nightstand with its partner. “We should go to sleep,” he mumbled and switched off the light. He cursed as he stubbed his toe on the corner of the wrought iron bed frame and you could only continue giggling at his misfortune.

“I’m glad my pain amuses you,” he said into the dark, his voice much closer than you expected. “Did you set an alarm?” You shook your head and he set one on his phone as he plugged both of your phones up to charge. He scooted back down and wiggled around like a dog circling their bed until he was comfortable, his back now facing you. “Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered over his shoulder.

“Goodnight Jimin,” you breathed.

You laid still on your back, your arms crossed over your stomach as you listened to Jimin’s breathing slow. The space between you was microscopic and you were acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body as the air conditioning blasted from the unit in the window. You turned over onto your side gingerly, facing the wall. It had been a while since you were in bed with a man and Jimin’s flustered words echoed in your brain as you pressed my thighs together. Speculating that he was interested in you was one thing, but having him admit it - even if it was only sexually - was conflicting. You scrunched your eyes shut tight as you locked away any inappropriate thoughts of what it would be like to not “Jim-out”.

You sighed in content as you pressed your body closer to his chest. One of his strong arms wrapped around your torso, the other tucked under your head, and his breath tickled the back of your neck as he quietly snored behind you. Your fingers traced along the curve of his palm while your brain slowly came to. Your legs were tangled under the sheet, intertwined with one another as you ran your foot up the back of his calf, surprised by the lack of hair you felt; Tiago’s legs were never this smooth.

Squinting in the lazy haze of the sunlight that peeked from underneath the curtain above you, you turned over. Instead of seeing tight blond curls lying against the pillow, you were met with the faint traces of black bean noodles and soft black waves. Opening your eyes properly, your eyes focused on Jimin’s parted lips. You jolted as you realized his soft embrace had caused you to remember your moments with Tiago. You stiffened when Jimin’s hand tightened around your waist and he pressed his hand against the small of your back, your t-shirt having ridden up in the middle of the night. It was then that you realized his own t-shirt had been discarded and your arms were trapped against his chest, his gold chain pooled around his neck.

Shit. You didn’t want to wake him, but you needed to get out of his hold, the triggering memories of Tiago too much to handle in this state. You tried to gently press against his chest with your arms, but Jimin only shuffled closer. You watched his eyebrows furrow in discomfort as your legs bumped one another’s before he ran his hand over the curve of your ass, along the back of your thigh, and hooked your leg over his hip. Your hips were perfectly aligned. You held your breath as Jimin exhaled, his face neutral, at peace and he rested his head on top of yours.

You pushed against his chest again and he groaned softly in his sleep as he rolled onto his back, not forgetting to bring your leg with him. Your head was against his bare chest and you heard the soft thump! of his heart. You closed your eyes and listened to it, lost in its steady beat for a moment before you remembered that you were trying to get out of his grasp and not succumb to it.

Pressing up onto your elbow, you double-checked he was still sleeping before you shifted to hover over him. Your knees were over his hips taking all of your weight as you tried your best not to press into the pillow with your hands, but not letting your ass brush against his lower abdomen. His abdominal muscles were almost as tight as the ones in his thighs and just as defined. You remembered his comment suggesting you should have asked to sit in his lap and you bit back a smile at your current predicament. Jimin shifted beneath you again and you froze, your smile dropping. He settled again and you exhaled; your heart couldn’t handle the back and forth.

The vibration of your phone startled you and you stumbled out of the bed to silence the call, nearly dragging the rest of the sheets off Jimin.

“Hello?” you answered in a whisper. You adjusted the sheets around his sleeping frame as he rolled over onto this stomach, his arm stretching out into your vacated spot.

“Y/N, why haven’t you called me back?” Adele’s voice rang out over the line. Had you seen it was her, you would have ignored the call. You slipped into the bathroom after grabbing your toothbrush and prayed the door would muffle some of the conversation.

“I’ve been on a plane, Adele. I haven't exactly had service to call anyone,” you stated, matter-of-factly.

“Well, where are you now? And why are you speaking so quietly?” she questioned.

“A hostel in Hong Kong. I don’t want to -”

“Hostel?!” she shrieked. “Oh Y/N darling, I know I raised you better than to wallow in low-class establishments like hostels,” she continued. You could picture the look of disgust on her face. You did not have enough energy to deal with her in your coffee-withdrawn state. Your temper was short.

“It’s actually very clean. We all can’t afford to live in unnecessary luxury like you, Adele,” you said while brushing your teeth. You spat at the thought of her in her high-end clothes and brownstone home paid for by different men.

“Your brother didn’t seem to mind the high-end luxury when he was here,” she replied smugly. you paused.

“When he was where?” you asked.

“Home. With me.” Her shit-eating tone was quite evident. “But you wouldn’t have known that.”

“Milo came home?” you asked again in disbelief.

Your relationship with your younger brother wasn’t as strained as your mother’s, but you weren’t on the best of terms either. You hadn’t seen him in five years. You still remembered how peaceful he looked as he slept when you kissed him goodbye. His calls and messages eventually stopped after a few months of you not answering.

“Of course he came home,” Adele snapped. “Miles enjoys spending time with his mother.”

You ignored her dig towards me. “How long is he staying?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Maybe you should have told me you were in New York and not run off on the next available flight -”

“You know, at this point, I’m not convinced Milo even came by. You’re just gaslighting me to come home after all these years and it’s not going to happen, Adele. Stop wasting your time and stop calling my phone outside of emergencies,” your voice slightly raised as you rinsed your toothbrush off in the sink.

“You’ve become so bitter, Y/N. I never forced you to leave; you left on your own accord -”

“You didn’t want me!” you yelled into the phone.

“If that’s what you want to believe, then fine,” she said indifferently. “I’ll prove to you I wasn’t lying about Milo,” she sneered. She never liked the nickname you gave her son. Her prized possession.

“Don’t call him that,” you growled, the emotion welling up in your chest.

“I’ll call him whatever I want. You’re lucky I was in a good mood when I gave him your number and I hadn’t spoken to you before -”

“Goodbye, Adele.” You hung up the phone and braced yourself against the sink.

Your body shook as you tried to process what exactly had occurred. Milo was back in New York. Your precious baby brother was back home. Unless Adele was manipulating you again, Milo could be reaching back out after you had fucked your relationship up. She had given him your number. A sob wracked your shoulders and you covered your mouth to stifle the sound. Silent tears ran down your cheeks and you wiped them away furiously, upset that you were wasting tears on a situation so old.

“Shutterfly?” you gasped as you turned to face the door, a sleepy Jimin poking his head around it. “Hey, are you okay? You weren’t in bed - Wait, are you crying?” He pushed the door open further and stepped inside.

“No,” you lied and turned back to the sink, splashing your face with cold water. You pleaded with the Lord that he wouldn’t be able to see your shoulders shake as you tried to control your breathing. You shut off the water as Jimin turned you to face him.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” He held your face in his hands, searching it for the answer to his question. You felt small under his gaze and extremely conscious of the little amount of clothes you were both wearing. You shook your head, trying to tell him it was nothing, that you were fine. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it. Can I give you a hug instead?”

“No,” you whispered. “I’d prefer if you didn’t right now.” He stroked his thumbs against your cheeks once more before he let go and stepped back. You didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment that flashed against his face as he nodded. You inhaled and exhaled deeply, finally feeling like you were back in control. “I would prefer if you brushed your teeth though. Your breath smells like noodles,” tiy said as you squeezed past him.

Jimin’s 10:30 am alarm went off as you were heading downstairs for breakfast, his teeth brushed and both of you dressed. You practically sprinted to the coffee machine and chose the biggest cup possible. There were a few other guests milling around the lounge area as breakfast was officially over, but Sonia had prepared something extra for you and Jimin knowing we were still extremely jetlagged, the 12 hour time difference taking a toll on your bodies.

Jimin was dressed casually again. A pair of olive green slim cargo shorts, an oversized black t-shirt, and the same black, white, and grey Jordans on his feet. His hair fell into his face as he helped himself to the instant noodles and fried egg Sonia served him, the two of them looking like mother and son as they chatted. It seemed as though Jimin also followed the same “pack additional clothes in your carry on” rule.

You sighed as you took your first sip of coffee, hugging the cup protectively between both hands. Closing your eyes in bliss, you let the hot drink soothe your nerves from last night and this morning, your conversation with Adele almost a distant memory. The energy flowed through you as you opened your laptop to read Julia’s updates, finally feeling prepared to handle whatever was thrown at you.

Hello Y/N!

Julia here. Thank you again for taking on our project. Michael was right to recommend you; your portfolio is absolutely stunning. As you know, we’re looking to promote our getaway package in Bali. Though we do want high-quality content, the company was wondering if you would be able to deliver a more “amateur” romantic feel. We’re marketing towards couples and would love to see some shots that represent that. You don’t have to be in any of the shots yourself, but it would be great if you could! I understand this is quite short notice, but I have complete faith in your ability to deliver.

Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any further questions!

Best,

Julia.

She had attached a few photographs of smiling couples on the beach and at dinner for reference. You groaned and rubbed your temples. You didn’t think there was enough coffee in the world that would be able to address these minor inconveniences. Intimacy was not your thing. Romance was not your thing. Love was not your thing, and yet here Julia was telling you to make those things a thing. A reality. You gulped down another mouthful of coffee, burning your tongue in the process.

“Food?” Sonia asked, pushing a plate across the wooden bench table in front of you. You smiled in thanks and began eating though not really tasting the food. Jimin’s eyes watched you carefully and you sighed, already knowing he was going to ask you if you were okay.

“Just work stuff, Jimin, nothing to worry about,” you said.

“You make it hard to not worry about you though,” he murmured, avoiding your eyes. “Sonia said you shouldn’t be working while you’re here, that you need to enjoy the city before you go,” he added.

“Tell her I have a really big project to complete and I appreciate her concern, but I can’t just ignore work,” you replied, pushing your fried egg around your bowl. Jimin translated again and Sonia shook her head before walking away. You hoped you hadn’t offended her.

“Is this for your Saipan video?” he asked. You shook your head.

“I got contracted by a travel company to create a “vlog” type advertisement for a getaway package they’re selling to Bali. Julia, the contact, sent over some new additions while we were on the flight and I’m not sure how I’m going to get it done, but they expect me to deliver, especially since Michael recommended me,” you finished.

“What exactly do you have to do?”

“Basically be in love and capture it on film.” Your mouth turned down in disgust at the thought. Jimin laughed at you. You turned your laptop to face him so he could read the email to show him you weren't joking.

“That doesn’t seem so hard,” he commented after he was done.

“For you.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. Love is a beautiful thing. It’s everywhere if you think about it. I mean, look at Sonia and William. Don’t you remember the first time you fell in love? The pleasure it brought you, the happiness. You can’t tell me you don’t want to experience love like that again,” he said seriously.

You faked thinking about it. “Nope. I think I’m good.” You stood and poured yourself a second cup of coffee, wishing you could pour all the memories of Tiago down the drain. Especially after this morning. You tugged on your ears, the blood rushing to them as usual.

“That’s what you think, but I’m sure I can change your mind,” he said with his shit-eating grin. You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious, Shutterfly. All you need is my true love and affection -” Jimin was interrupted by Sonia dragging William over to you, an envelope in her hands. She shoved it in his and waited for him to start speaking.

“Uh,” William scratched the back of his head, “Sonia wanted me to give these to you.” He handed the envelope to you. Sonia smacked his shoulder and gestured for him to continue before she turned her expectant gaze on you. “She said you should not worry about work and you should go and enjoy Hong Kong so she is gifting you with tickets to the Hong Kong Museum of Fine Art. It is a ten-minute walk and Jimin can show you his -”

“- favorite exhibits. Right. Thank you, William and Sonia,” Jimin interjected.

“You’ll go, right?” Sonia asked eagerly. You opened your mouth to protest but didn’t have the heart to say no to her in her bunny apron. Not when she had worked so hard to make sure you were comfortable and well-fed. But also because you didn’t want her to attack you with her wooden chopsticks. You nodded and she clapped in excitement before she started going off a mile a minute at William who cowered slightly away from her. Jimin chuckled at their interaction.

“Isn’t love amazing, Y/N?” he said wistfully as he cleared the table. You rolled your eyes and texted Michael that you’d seen the email, Julia was out of her mind, but you would do your best to complete the task so you wouldn’t disappoint along with the address of the hostel.

After returning your laptop to your shared room, you and Jimin set off for the museum in the sweltering sun. You were overjoyed that you’d chosen to wear your dark t-shirt from yesterday, though you were still conscious of your sweat stains being visible. Jimin looked elated as you walked through the busy streets and you struggled to keep up, your own Jordans way out of time with his own.

“So you have favorite exhibits here?” you asked slightly out of breath. He slowed as if he just realized how far behind you were.

“Yeah, I was here a few months ago and stopped by. They have some pretty cool stuff here.”

You continued walking and you gasped as the museum came into view. Perched on the edge of the water, the building stretched along the harbor. Its walls were textured and stone grey. Clear blue windows peeked through the exterior and there was a steady stream of people loitering outside. You wished you’d brought your camera as you snapped a few photos of the impressive architecture on your phone.

Inside was just as magnificent with its low lights and marble flooring. The cool air conditioning was an additional plus as you and Jimin stood in the lobby. A large sign displayed all of the pertinent information about the exhibits available for view. You’d always been a sucker for museums and you felt lighter just being there.

“Aren’t you happy you came?”

“Very,” you whispered, looking around in awe. “Hey look!” You pointed to the exhibit directory, “Garland Sans has an exhibit showing.”

“Hmm?”

“Garland Sans. Michael said he’s having an exhibit in New York in a few weeks and wants to go. It’d be cool to see some of his work before then. I’m not too familiar with his stuff,” you explained. Jimin nodded.

“Yeah, sure. We can start with some selected works from the Chih Lo Lou Collection and work our way through?” he suggested. You nodded and followed him to the second floor, excitement thrumming in your veins.

You’d spent the better part of three hours roaming all of the floors in the museum with Jimin and spending most of your time at the Xubaizhai exhibit, the afternoon rolling in with ease. You were lost in the stories of the Ming and Qing dynasties, amazed at how detailed the small villages were depicted using ink and color. It was like reading the stories of their lives. It also didn’t hurt that Jimin was there to translate the calligraphy on some of the scrolls. He seemed to enjoy the Garland Sans exhibit less and you debated the motives behind each painting endlessly. Unsurprisingly, he was well-versed in the arts, more so than you and something he chalked up to hanging out with too many artsy folks, and you wondered what else you would learn about him.

“Don’t museums make you just want to fall in love?” Jimin nudged you with his elbow as you headed back to the lobby. You laughed loudly.

“Not at all.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything in your cold, dead heart as we walked around the museum. You looked so content and at peace,” he added.

“I was. That was the effect of the artwork, not you.”

“So you don’t think I belong in the Greek statue exhibit at the MET Museum?” He flexed his arms behind his head as he winked at me. You did your best to ignore the flutter in your belly as you disagreed with him. “It’s okay. I’ll win you over. Even if it’s only for a really good video. I haven’t forgotten that I’m your muse.” You shook your head at his usual attempt to flirt when his phone rang in his pocket.

“Yes?” he answered, irritated. It sounded out of place from his usual casual tone. He excused himself and you sat on a bench in front of the museum to wait for him.

The view of the harbor was stunning and you welcomed the gentle breeze keeping you cool in the 84-degree heat. You took a short video of the boats drifting at the dock, a few of them further out bobbing along with the waves. Your own phone buzzing distracted you from the serene riverscape, Adele’s name appearing on the screen with a picture attachment. You opened it and nearly dropped your phone.

Adele: Told you so. [16:57].

Below it, a photo of her and your brother. He was smiling into the camera as the two of them posed. Milo’s face had lost its chubbiness, his jaw more angular and his cheekbones more pronounced. His dimples were just as deep and matched the same pair Adele sported. That particular gene had skipped you; you got stuck with the freckles. His hair was cut short, different from the long floppy locks he used to wear in high school. How he had managed to take this photo without Adele ripping that gold hoop out of his nose was beyond you and you smiled seeing that your rebellious little brother was still there. Milo really had come home.

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betweenthetimeandsound · 3 years

Text

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#160-151)

(Author's note: Sorry about it being a couple of days late--I wanted to rest a bit--which I will do again because we hit the top 150--and had to download quite a bit for the gifs. Please enjoy this bunch, though!)

#160: Dihaj -- Skeletons (Azerbaijan 2017)

“When we hook up it’s fantasy We’re just like alchemy I’ve never been so ready”

I completely neglected Skeletons during the contest, as I didn't listen to it beforehand and didn't watch songs 12-17 when watching the grand final live. Along with "Grab the Moment" that year, it sandwiched a horrendous stretch of songs in #13-16.

Despite this, I listened to it a lot afterwards. It’s equal parts intriguing and mysterious, especially with the almost-nonsensical lyrics with interesting images. I always imagined a concept film in which the main character meets a potential love interest in a night club, only to go too far and almost kill him.

The atmosphere the staging created was a bit strange, in that it incorporates masks and a world inside a school chalkboard. For each of these aspects, Skeletons is my favorite Azeri entry ever—it stands out in a unique way because of its eccentricity.

Personal ranking: 5th/42 Actual ranking: 14th/26 GF in Kyiv

#159: Tommy Seebach -- Disco Tango (Denmark 1979)

“Hun er en stjerne på et dansegulv Slår John Travolta i en rock ‘n’ roll På diskoteket ta’r hun kegler, og der ka’ man se Dem stå i kø og skæve, hver gang hun gør sin entré”

“She’s a star on a dance floor Beats John Travolta in a rock ‘n’ roll At the disco she’s scoring, and there you see Them queue up with an eye on her, every time she enters”

Disco and tango are two genres you don’t expect to work together, despite them being so fun to dance to. Despite this, Tommy Seebach makes it sound natural. There’s a bit of adjustment needed when listening to it, but it’s equally flirty and groovy all at once, as one gets to know the many quirks of the song.

The live performance definitely elevates it--not only with Debbie Cameron's enthusiasm (she would come back two years later with Tommy in a bigger part), but also because of the orchestration. The mix with strings and castanets in the chorus was definitely the best part and gets me shaking.

It’s different for Denmark, but definitely a song you should put in a disco (*clap clap*) from time to time!

Personal ranking: 3rd/19 Actual ranking: 6th/19 in Jerusalem

#158: Poli Genova -- If Love (Were) a Crime (Bulgaria 2016)

“Unafraid, never fade When it’s dark we illuminate”

Bulgaria’s comeback after a two-year hiatus sees them with a hyper energetic pop song with an uplifting message. While it seems like a simple one at first, the diverse Eurovision community can embrace it for its openness and determination. The great production upholds this gem, and the lighting on stage adds to it, especially in the end.

Poli definitely makes this song come to life with her vocals and her upbeat personality, making it shine even more! (And I did like her costume--not something for everyday-wear, but definitely one fitting the song and a bit avant--garde too). Compared to her first entry, which fights against those who put her down in a pop-rock way, she delivers with fun.

And they got their first qualification in nine years and a start to a nice run of entries as a result.

Personal ranking: 5th/42 Actual ranking: 4th/42 GF in Stockholm

#157: Athena -- For Real (Turkey 2004)

“All I know is you don’t want to be part of the crowd Realise yourself You say it but don’t feel it, what you sayin’ has no meanin’ Don’t hide your soul”

For their host entry, Turkey brings upon Athena, a ska-punk (and former metalcore) band with this bouncy song. And it’s such a great one—filled with energy and fun. A bit different from what we expect from Turkey, but it shows what their music industry could bring.

It's lively and fun, with Gokhan leading the charge with his presence. At times, he shouts more than he sings and it seems like he didn't dress up for a more formal event. That said, there's still a lot of charm in "For Real's" performance, ranging from the sharks in the background to the "Hi mom!" and the peace jacket. It comes along in an eccentric package, and makes for a solid predecessor to their rock-based entries four years later.

And it definitely hints at being oneself, which celebrates individuality in a fun way.

(Plus, that's the reason why my top three in 2004 isn't the actual top three. Haha)

Personal ranking: 3rd/36 Actual ranking: 4th/24 in Istanbul

#156: Katarína Hasprová - Modlitba (Slovakia 1998)

“Láska kráčam údolím sĺz A len ty môžeš zmierniť môj žiaľ Túžim sa dotknúť tvojich pier, tvojich rúk Prosím vráť sa mi, nevzdaj sa nás”

“Love, I am walking the valley of tears Only you can get me out of misery I long to touch your hands, your lips Please, come back, do not give up”

A comment on the interwebs suggested anybody who has Horehronie as their favorite Slovak entry has never listened to this. I could understand why people would gravitate towards the former, but this stands out more for me (and not just because of the religious title).

The introduction reminds me of “Kiss From a Rose”, which here, is less meant to be about plagiarism and more about the 1990s feel of it. Musically, it takes the same medieval elements from other 1990s entries, but it tells a different story, one about trying to fix a relationship on the rocks. It builds well, going from an otherwise delicate ballad to something more explosive when one gets into the chorus. The orchestration really helps it too!

Modlitba got six points from Croatia...and then nothing else. It's still a shame it did so poorly, but as a potential nul-pointer too? Sad.

Personal ranking: 4th/25 Actual ranking: 21st/25 in Birmingham

#155: Melovin -- Under the Ladder (Ukraine 2018)

“Nothing but your will sets you on fire Fire lasts forever...”

The song that inspired a fervor from Melovin’s fans, including me! While I’m not as enthusiastic as them, I still love this song—it's pulsating and intense, with quite interesting lyrics about getting up again(with some enunciation issues). There was a point where the song got a musical revamp, and I feared it would make the song worse, but fortunately it kept the whole thing intact with a few production changes.

Melovin proves he's a talented showman, and seeing the stairs go aflame made me smile (even though I preferred the effect more on his Vidbir performance; the flaming LEDs really helped there). Good thing the televote swooped in, because last place in the jury vote feels really wrong (though it could be because of said pronunciation).

Plus he has some good post-Eurovision songs—check them out! My favorite is З тобою, зі мною, і годі.

Personal ranking: 6th/43 Actual ranking: 17th/26 GF in Lisbon

#154: Joci Papai -- Origo (Hungary 2017)

“Be kell csuknod a szemed Úgy láthatsz meg engemet Hogy meghódítsd a szívem Ismerned kell lelkemet”

“You need to close your eyes So you can see me To conquer my heart You have to know my soul”

While Az en apam (#240) touches me more than Origo, one can’t deny this is the more creative song. It combines not only Romani influences, but also a dark pop foreground which allows them to shine.

In addition, the lyrics are absolutely masterful—they are rooted in Joci’s story and packs a punch in the message. It's tells of a relationship with someone who doesn't accept him for who he is (cursing her forever as a result), along with how Joci grew up and used music as a weapon for himself and his people. He's a compelling storyteller, and you can tell he sings it from the soul.

Combined with a compelling rap and a neat violin instrumental, you get a completely unique experience.

Personal ranking: 4th/42 Actual ranking: 8th/26 GF in Kyiv

#153: Blanche -- City Lights (Belgium 2017)

“All alone in the danger zone Are you ready to take my hand?”

Blanche had quite the journey in Eurovision--first her song gets released, and immediately becomes a contender. Then she has problems performing in shows and during rehearsals, at which the odds star dropping like flies. Then her semi-final performance was notably wobbly, but she still qualifies and places fourth.

Despite the staging errors (I would've personally have made the lighting gold rather than natural-colored), it was fully deserved and I think it was better than the eventual top three.

The vibe of this song reminds me of walking down the streets of Tokyo, because of the visuals involved. Everything is in a rush, but one's not sure There’s also tension, because of the dark electronic sound that dominates it. Despite Blanche’s nervousness on stage, it worked well with the song—it amplified the sensation of walking down a wire and wondering if the relationship will work. A startling entry from Belgium and one that really strikes at modernity.

Personal ranking: 3rd/42 Actual ranking: 4th/26 GF in Kyiv

#152: Frances Ruffelle -- We Will Be Free (Lonely Symphony) (United Kingdom 1994)

“Welcome to the land Where all our dreams are planned And fighting is a thing to do...”

The first of the UK’s attempts to modernize the contest in the 1990s, it’s a cool, funky song with interestingly-written lyrics. Someone compared the chorus to a protest slogan for social justice movement, but the rest of the song discusses a complex relationship. The opening lines are a highlight in particular, and everything flows fantastically.

A few bits of the live-performance went out of hand, like with the orchestration and Frances’ vocals, explained by how she was bopping up and down and was told that she needed to keep that down. As a result, she couldn't focus on her vocals and they turned out a bit sharp at times.

That said, she had a pretty dress and charming look about her. And while it placed in the top ten, I think it should've done better.

Personal ranking: 4th/25 Actual ranking: 10th/25 in Dublin

#151: Sebalter -- Hunter of Stars (Switzerland 2014)

"I state my heart has been well trained I’m gonna be your candidate I am the hunter and you are the prey Tonight I’m gonna eat you up"

This word-salad of a song makes it quite hard to choose a good lyric, as it has a bunch of nice lines but almost no meaning to them. Reading them again, it seems like one is trying to get his affections to like him, to no avail, unfortunately.

But beyond that, we get a fun and wholesome song, which features a prominent banjo and even a violin solo! From the opening melody I can't help but smile, or even whistle along at points (everytime the latter synchronizes, I feel a bit of accomplishment). It's a bit more folksy than what the contest oriented on the time (slickly produced pop with a bit of dubstep), which makes it even more special.

Finally, we have Sebalter himself, who really carries his own song! Not only is he quite good-looking, but also very charismatic and knows how to have a good time. While Swiss entries have become better known since then, you can't replicate Hunter of Stars; it's too special!

Personal ranking: 5th/37 Actual ranking: 13th/26 GF in Copenhagen

#eurovision song contest #esc 250 #esc top 250 #esc azerbaijan #esc denmark #esc bulgaria #esc turkey #esc slovakia #esc ukraine #esc hungary #esc belgium #esc united kingdom #esc switzerland #vintage eurovision #three minutes to eternity

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trustthetingle · 4 years

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My blogs:

trustthetingle - mcu / dcu ( semi-hiatus ) suchmayhem - stranger things / the outsiders / teen wolf ( semi-hiatus ) wickdgrin - billy hargrove , side-blog to suchmayhem ( semi-hiatus ) danceswiththedead - criminal minds / bbc sherlock / 911 / house md ( semi-hiatus ) bettercffdead - the walking dead / resident evil / apocalypse ocs ( semi-hiatus ) nomourncrs - six of crows / shadow and bone / the arcana / alice in borderland ( semi-hiatus )

Muses:

marvel

tony stark stephen strange steve rogers thor odinson clint barton sam wilson bucky barnes peter parker ned leeds gamora mantis vision yelena karli morgenthau loki laufeyson mobius elektra natchios

legion

sydney barrett cary/kerry loudermilk ptonomy wallace oliver bird clark debussy

x-men

wolverine/logan howlett magneto/erik lehnsherr charles xavier rogue/anna marie

agents of shield

daisy/skye johnson leo fitz

steve trevor wonder woman/diana prince batman/bruce wayne aquaman/arthur curry

sony

peter parker doc ock/dr. otto octavius

OCs

cassie knox niko harmon gwon min-seok

Rules:

mun is 21+. i won’t roleplay MATURE THEMES with anyone under 18, but other threads are totally fine.

feel free to send me asks, even if we’ve never rped before!

if you want to start a thread, or if you just want to say hello, pop into my IMs at any time.

OC friendly! all-fandom friendly! i love crossovers, AUs, canon stories, etc. throw your characters at me.

on the topic of mature themes, if I’m writing about anything triggering i will tag my posts for the sake of others. the last thing i want to do is make anyone uncomfortable.

i am slow. i’m talking sloooow. if you’re looking for someone to reply to you every day/every other day, i am not the girl for you. i will eventually get through my drafts, but it will take me months to do so.

on that note, please don’t pester me to reply. i don’t mind an occasional “hey, you still interested?” but poking me every single day will irritate me. like I mentioned, i’m slow! that’s why I put “slow” in my rules. xD

what i ship: tony/stephen, nat/steve, tony/steve, thor/steve, bucky/steve, clint/nat, sam/bucky, peter/mj, peter/ned, peter/wade, peter/ned/mj, peter/gwen, gamora/peter q, gamora/mantis, vision/wanda, wanda/strange, pietro/clint, yelena/bucky, yelena/sam, yelena/sam/bucky, bruce/nat, loki/tony, loki/steve, loki/mobius, sylvie/hunter b-15, mobius/ravonna, syd/david, clark/david, oliver/melanie, cary/oliver, logan/jean, jean/storm, logan/jean/scott, logan/jean/storm, logan/scott, erik/charles, rogue/logan, daisy/fitz, fitz/simmons, steve/diana, bruce/diana, bruce/joker, diana/shayera, diana/arthur, diana/mera, otto/norman. if a pairing isn't on here, please ask! (this doesn't mean we need to ship these characters. i just want people to feel comfy when sending memes). i'm also a sucker for canon / oc ships.

other than that, i’m up for anything. if you have any questions/are unsure about something, feel free to pop into my IMs.

drafts: 100.

#psa ;; important information #to be pinned

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souriisms · 3 years

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hello there, so ... it’s been a while huh?

i’m sorry for my disappearance, life just got real crazy and honestly that was a much needed hiatus and break. but!!! i’ve really missed being here and i think i am finally ready to come back! who’s missed me???

but with my return, i do wanna say a couple things. one, i am going to be dropping all my drafts and starting fresh, that’s just honestly much easier for me and makes the transition back into things much better. two, i’m still going to be semi slow and not super here all the time. i still do have a bit of in real life stuff going on and stuff that will keep me busy, but i’ll be here when i can! three, all of my canon muses for the time being are going to be request only. honestly i really just need to go through them and decide if there’s anyone i wanna get rid of and split them up into primary/secondary/request only but until i find the time to do that, they’re all request only. and the last is just, i have a number of muses i want to eventually add but for right now i have added just two new ones as they’re two i’ve been sure about for a while and that’s sirius black and blossom utonium.

okay, i think that’s all i wanted to say in my return post but anyways! i’m excited to be back, and start interacting with you all again. i’ve missed you all so much. also i’m gonna be popping over onto @shinctogethcr to make a post there too, and then get a starter call up on both blogs and maybe reblog some memes. come hit me up in the ims to chat if you want, i’d love to talk to you all and see how you’ve all been doing!

#( ooc )#(i've missed you all so much truly i have. i'm ready to unleash these little pains in the asses of mine onto the world once more)#(also let's hope me deciding to do this at 9 pm wasn't - too much of a mistake bc of time and yes)#(but i just finally sat down to do it and am too impatient to for wait for tomorrow)

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eurosong · 4 years

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Undo my ESC

Good evening, folks! If you saw my first instalment of “Undo my ESC”, the annual feature where I make a year’s Eurovision better for me by making alterations in each country, you might have thought that ESC getting cancelled had dulled my edge, since, comparing to usual standards, I hardly changed much at all there. Well, that’s because, once again, we have seriously uneven semis, and Semi #1 would have been killer, whilst Semi #2 would have been dead. Here is what Í would have done to even those semis up! 🇦🇱 Albania: The Albanian delegation had seemingly done all it could to wash its hands of, well, two years of comparatively excellent results with authentic, melancholically poëtic and qualitative tracks, namely Malland Ktheju tokës. They brought in Byuckman, in whose interest it is for the contest to become as generically “radio-friendly” as possible, and the genius who brought us lyrics like “this is love/rain falls from above”. As judges. Of a serious musical festival. The foreign jurors did as expected, and voted for the appointed “bop”, but were foiled, however, by one of the minority Albanian jurors on the panel who put it low in her ranks. An actual renowned music professor who got called all the names under the sun for doing so. And so, to an ensuing shitstorm, the classical and powerful Shaj prevailed instead. Unfortunately, the battle was won but the war was lost, because the representative herself took the lessons of 2018-9, threw them down the aeroplane toilet on the way to LA, and ripped the spirit out of the song, reverting back to the previous Albanian trend of terrible “revamps” and laboured translations into English. The result, Fall from the sky, is but a husk of the original. In my ESC, I’d probably simply keeping the original version of Shaj, which was my uncontested #1 of all songs, but part of me would opt for Ajër, which I love almost as well but which doesn’t carry the baggage of hanging over my head like the sword of Democles this entire season. 🇦🇲 Armenia: I’ve more often than not loved the entries of Hayastan, from the joyous Jan Jan to the soaring Fly with me and defiant Walking out. To say they took a step back this year is kind – it was more like a powerful jump backwards that landed them in the nearest ocean, where they sank like a stone. It was one of the most singularly unpalatable NFs that I have ever watched in this era. Rather than retraumatise myself by going into detail about it, I’ll just say, I would have sent Srbuk or Artsvik again to get the top 10 that I feel both warranted!

🇦🇹 Austria: What a journey for Österreich. From Conchita to this guy, a perky homophobe who explicitly said he wished his kids would not turn out to be gay. He comes up with a third-rate impersonator of a third-rate Benjamin Ingrosso impersonator’s third-rate impersonation of a Timberlake b-side. I would throw that in the bin and invite Pænda back from last year for a shot at redemption after her gorgeous Limits got slept on in 2019.

🇧🇬 Bulgaria: Some people had the neck to say to me “who needs Hungary when Bulgaria is coming back?” Well, I do. Hungary were constantly in the top of my rankings, and just quietly and consistently brought quality. Bulgaria has brought me one good thing – Poli Genova’s œuvre – and a tonne of hype. Their song this year was one of the favourites, and I still can’t wrap my head around how other than the force of PR. It’s a bizarre, unsettling combination of passive-aggressive “look how much you’re making me hurt myself” lyrics with Disneyish saccharine accompaniment, topped off with a key change?! For want yet again of a national final, I would bring Poli back – third time even luckier? 🇨🇿 Czechia: The Bohemians (and Moravians) keep it contemporary but superficial for a third year running, although, thankfully, for the first time since they began doing national finals, we finally have a song without a dubious attitude towards women in the lyrics. Not that there is much to analyse in those lyrics. It’s a merely ok song for me, no better, no worse: a superior alternative would have been Barbara Mochowa’s lush and contemplative second effort, White and black holes, or the glorious 90s British indie-influenced All the blood. 🇩🇰 Denmark: Did Denmark confound international monitors into calling it the world’s happiest country by exposing them to the relentlessly cheery songs that they pick for Eurovision lately? And yet – I really do say yes to Yes, To a certain extent, to a limited amount of exposure, and despite the fact that it leans a little too hard into the territory of sounding like a second Little talks. It was one of the few good songs from DMGP – I also liked the 80s shoegaze-ish Den eneste goth– and I feel so mad at DR that they won’t give Ben and Tan a guaranteed second shot to represent their country after they won in front of an empty crowd. 🇪🇪 Estonia: The days of Eesti being Beesti seem like from a distant memory to me, but there was some quality and quirkiness in Eesti Laul, buried under mountains of beigedom, like the rich-voiced Egert Miller’s soulful Georgia, the jazzy Write about me, or the feisty earworm that was Ping pong. Instead, we got a dreary dirge with sub-Hallmark lines about wot luv is, which would have sounded dated in a contest 30 years ago, sung by a repugnant guy who tried to get people to vote for him last year by leaning on the idea that he was the “only true Estonian.” I’d have Egert get his rightful place as Jüri Pootsmann’s spiritual successor. 🇫🇮 Finland: I was one of the few to be jubilant when a bizarre ode to an Italian porn star with a backing track sounding like a violated version of Eläköön elämä came second in the polls to its spiritual opposite: a shy and rather awkward guy singing a quietly moving song about the passing of time. I love Looking back and wouldn’t change a thing. 🇬🇪 Georgia: You never know what to expect from Georgia, except the unexpected, and yet even I was surprised by what they came up with: a close-shaven guy with veins popping in his head screaming “why don’t you love meeeee?” to a rocky, electronic backdrop. Me being me, I actually do like it a lot. “Take me as I am” sounds like a veiled potshot at the big 5 and a vindication of Georgia’s “keep it weird, send what we want” philosophy. I could suggest that the lyrics, that sound like those of a spurned angsty teen, change a bit, but that would be defeating the purpose of Georgia: one takes them as they are. 🇬🇪 Greece: So, somehow, despite S!STERS coming dead last with 0 pts in the televote last year, using exclamation marks to substitute the letter I is now a thing in Eurovision with the advent of Superg!rl. I spent an hour watching folk waffle on in Greek in its reveal show only for them to reveal the song literally at the very end, so after that, it was a little underwhelming, and nowhere near as good as Better love in 2019. I don’t hate it – and the music video’s concept of her being an amazing superhero who can change the world, but instead she’s stopping people slipping over bananas and rescuing cats from trees is weirdly endearing, so it can stay, but I’d improve the lyrics, particularly in the chorus. “I’m a supergirl, supergirl, in a crazy world, crazy world” is not much higher than “this is love, rain falls from above” in historically bad Greek lyrics at ESC. 🇮🇸 Iceland: Daði Freyr came back from near-victory with the delightful Is this love, added a lovely inspiration in his newborn daughter to a similarly funky and playful track, and came out with Think about things. Unlike what usually happens with songs that are a little bit odd, I was positively surprised to see it walk the NF, and become a phenomenon even outside the ESC fandom. This was perfect and joyous from beginning to end. I hope Iceland will not be like the other Nordics, and will invite Daði directly back .🇱🇻 Latvia: I have come to enjoy the bizarre chaötic energy of Still breathing, It’s a hot mess, but I take weird over dull any day. It wasn’t my favourite in Supernova – that would be the effortlessly cool Polyester, an earworm with a social conscience, written about the cost of fast fashion but dismissed by many people as “she luvs t-shirts song lol”. Given that Samanta Tina tried over half a dozen times to go to ESC, finally won and then had the chance ripped out of her hands by the cancellation, I don’t have the heart to remove her from my ideal ESC 2020 though. She stays, but maybe the staging changes? It’s odd to have what you believe is a feminist anthem but then relegate your backing singers to in the distance, their faces shielded away. 🇲🇩 Moldova: Life is too short to follow Moldovan national finals, especially when you know, lately, that whoever is backed by the hilariously inaptly named Dream team will win there. They are like a parasite, sucking out the colour and fun out of a country that once had plenty of both – cross-reference Hora din Moldova or Lăutar to name just two examples. I guess out of an uninspiring lineüp, I’d go for Moldoviţa for having at least a hint of the brassy folk that used to be their calling card. 🇵🇱 Poland: Speaking of calling cards, after a one year hiatus with an arresting combo of white voice and rocky instrumentation, Poland has returned to what it has most often done in recent years – presented us with an absolute dirge, Empires, which seems like it was written by an unenthusiastic English student whose homework assignment (for which they received a generous C-) was to write a poëm with a bunch of metaphors “we’re moths to a flame, birds to a pane of glass, gasoline and a match”. Despite having a big music industry from which to choose many gems, Poland offers me little alternative choice given that there were only three songs in their grand final – one by the Czech representative last year who, as you might guess from what I said literally a sentence up, isn’t even Polish!Horny Elf, who’s contractually obliged to write only creepy lyrics for songs, tried to represent Polska with a song inspired by a true-life situation where he went around Tel Aviv with a cardboard cutout of one of the hostesses of the show. It’s a love song inspired by gallivanting around with a piece of cardboard. Addressed to that actual hostess. And it’s an almighty earworm that hasn’t escaped my mind since. Amazingly, his Lucy would be my Polish representative. 🇵🇹 Portugal: Portugal is another country beloved by me by for dancing to the beat of its own drummer, or perhaps, rather shedding tears to the strumming of its own fado guitar. They struggled being different, they won being different, and for the last few years they’ve struggled again, despite having a lot of support for both O jardim and Telemóveis amongst fans. This year, the televote went for one interesting song, the charmingly Gallic, accordion-drenched Passe-partout, a song about a cultured girl shaking off her boorish ex who could “never even get into Piaf”, whilst the jury got behind another interesting song, Gerbera, an entrancing, arresting and poëtic song laden with metaphor about the idea of music competing itself. This let Medo de sentir,second in both polls, turn silver into gold. It’s a lovely, heart-felt track, but rather unexceptional - I would have had one of the other more singular songs win. 🇸🇲 San Marino: The weird boil on the face of ESC that somehow never pops, SM is back after its bewildering qualification with a tone-deaf dentist wailing to a microwaved disco song… with something actually palatable, sort of. The aptly named Freaky is dated, odd, overly busy, but Senhit has a lot of charisma, and the idea of “break[ing] all the rules, mak[ing] up some new [ones] and destroy[ing] all of them too” and “life goes by too quickly not to be freaking it up”, well, maybe we do get on board. 🇷🇸 Serbia: Serbia is usually a byword for quality at the contest – they won with one of the best 21st century winners hands down in Molitva, and also sent some of the most beautiful compositions in the contest’s history at the hands of Željko. This year, they decided to join in the leitmotif of reliable countries sucking by sending a group that sound like a third-rate mid-2000s girl band from Transnistria when beautiful songs like Cvet sa Prokletija were right there. 🇨🇭 Switzerland: Fair play to the Swiss for not doing a Cyprus and leaning in on their success with their male Fuego, She gat me, and instead going in a completely different direction with this moody effort. I’m not entirely convinced by the teenage emo-ish lyrics or the unnecessary falsetto, but Répondez-moi is a refreshing effort, and has the bonus of being in French too! And the automatic qualifiers: 🇫🇷 France: You’ve heard of France, right? You know, that wee country south of Belgium, north of Andorra, not much of a music industry… or so you’d think, given that the troolee jeenyuss new delegation, who abandoned their brilliant national final which showcased how diverse and qualitative their music scene is despite it being a huge success in the fandom, and instead reached out to the writer of last year’s last place song for the UK and a few other rentaswedes and they produced something that sounds like a b-side that not even Westlife would have recorded, replete with a stock key change. About as French as IKEA köttbullar. A real shame for one of Europe’s most highly esteemed cultural hotbeds. If they wanted to pick Tom Leeb, who seems like a nice guy and has written some lovely music, he could have made his own song and it would have indubitably been scores better than this. 🇪🇸 Spain: I’m going to apply this to all the automatic qualifiers voting on this semi-final: they scrapped a national final for this? OT was not an ideal format as last year demonstrated with its shit show of contestants sabotaging themselves so as not to get picked for ESC – but still. There’s not much I can say about this other than I don’t like it much and I’d rather Spain return to a proper NF. You don’t spend time trapped on a bus where this song with its torturous falsetto was on replay and emerge with fond feelings. 🇬🇧 United Kingdom: Usually, in this space, I can point to a song that the UK should have sent and that I fell in love with – like I wish I loved you more or You. Once again, though, another big 6 nation scrapped their NF after tanking it with a bizarre format last year. The BBC said nothing for months, then were unwilling to spend tv time on ESC this year so just blurted out an announcement of an announcement in about 40 seconds after some dance show. And then they dropped this song. It’s… passable at best, with an annoying chorus (especially that beat in “my last… breath”) and a staggering amount of repetition in a song that clocks in at only around 80% of the standard Eurovision song length. James Newman surely could have come up with something better. It’s a baby step in the right direction, but one taken at the shore where you need to start running to avoid getting pulled away in a rip.

#eurovision #eurovision song contest #opinion #esc 2020 #eurovision 2020

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