#i ended up sobbing in the subway parking lot today and i just.

[thewafflekingdom]

Keeping Touch - HinaYachi

Part of her was afraid she would lose touch with the boys after graduation, just as she had lost touch with some of her upperclassmen. And it was only exacerbated when it came to light that none of them would be going to the same university, much less near the same cities.

She messaged them often during the summer break, usually in the hopes of setting up a hangout with them, and she found herself gently rejected each time.

Kageyama had much to prepare for, so she wasn't surprised there.

But Hinata?

“I'm sorry, Yachi-san,” he murmured softly over the phone – his voice wobbly and sincere. “I can't right now.”

It wasn't as if she didn't have a lot to do, either. Her university of choice would be a bit of a drive from home, so she had a lot to think about in terms of housing. Join the dorm waitlist or tough out the commute? If she got into the dorms, she would need to think about bedding, what clothing she'd take with her, and also maybe figure out if she had any pet peeves about anything. She'd heard much about nightmare roommates.

But there was more than that.

Her major? Finding a job on campus or nearby to pay for food? Her mom wouldn't cover everything.

But through all that, she felt her heart twist and tug at the thought of not getting to say a proper goodbye to either of them. She lied in bed staring at the ceiling at the end of the day, tears welling in her eyes, and wondered if they could really be that busy.

And then of course she began wondering if maybe she had imagined them being a lot closer than they were.

Yachi devolved into typing out messages to the boys – long, emotional, even vengeful messages – and then slowly deleting them before she could work up the courage to send them.

It's okay, she wants to tell them. We don't have to see each other right now.

I just miss you.

She felt herself sob a little, so she had to put away her phone before she couldn't take it anymore.

.x.

It was the week before she was supposed to leave, finally deciding to move forward with the dorms – after all, staying at home would only further twist the knife – when she finally received the message she had been waiting for.

Do you have time today?

Her heart felt like it was going to burst. She had to quickly remind herself that she should be angry. There was absolutely no reason why this message should be making her as happy as it was.

You blow me off for weeks , she felt like responding, and all of a sudden you want to meet up??

No. There was no reason to be scornful. Hinata was doing just a touch better than Kageyama was at this point, after all.

They agreed to meet at the park. Maybe grab a bite to eat from there.

Yachi had packed her things already, so all she had left were her dressiest dresses. It had been weeks after all. Maybe getting dolled up for once wouldn't be a terrible idea. It wouldn't make any difference to Hinata.

She showered, applied her favorite perfume, and sat down to smear some makeup on. It took a few several tries before she wiped everything off and settled on curling her lashes, applying mascara, and dabbing her lips in a pink gloss.

“Okay,” she said. “Stop it. You're extremely overdressed.”

The dress was one she had considered for her graduation. She'd worn it out on family dinners before. It was a starchy, sunny yellow fabric with bows on the shoulders. The skirt fell to her knees, and the waist was cinched modestly with a thin belt. On the way out, she decided to add a white cardigan to hide her shoulders.

For some reason, that felt like a step too far, allowing him to see just that much more skin.

The whole way there – walk, subway ride, walk some more – she reined in her heart rate and steadied her breathing. Just last month, seeing Hinata would never have elicited such a reaction from her. It wasn't as if he had changed since then.

“Seriously,” she mumbled to herself as she stepped out of the station and into the warm glow of sunset. “Relax.”

At last the park came into view. She checked her phone as she waited at the stoplight, but couldn't yet ascertain if he'd made it or not. Would he already be waiting for her at some park bench?

Hinata lived on the other side of town. The outskirts, really, where there were more houses than shops. She'd always wondered what his house looked like, and if it was as warm as he was.

Or as loud.

The park was fully in use. Children ran and played, dogs were walked, and a group of people in jumpsuits stretched and danced in a clearing. Yachi wandered around, clutching her phone, and glanced at every single person she passed.

“Yachi-san,” she heard him murmur from behind her.

She whirled around, nearly dropping her phone in the process.

Hinata stood some paces away, hands stuffed into the pockets of a red hoodie. He gave a half smile, and she felt her heart squeeze again.

Of course he didn't look any different than usual. He wore a pair of black joggers, his old, scuffed up sneakers, and his hair had the exact same cowlick it always had. He reached up now to rub at that cowlick anxiously, and she became aware that she was staring now.

“Hinata-kun,” she said, smiling. “How have you been?”

“Good,” he said, pocketing his hand again. “More or less.”

More or less?

“Wanna walk?” he asked, before she could say anything in response.

“Oh, sure!”

He led them down the sidewalk, in the direction she'd been heading before. “How have you been?” he asked, while she tucked her phone back into her bag.

“Busy, busy,” she said, wiping her hands dry of her sweat. “My semester starts soon so I'm getting ready to move.”

“Move?”

“I'm gonna dorm there,” she explained, somewhat surprised she hadn't mentioned it to him before. Though it could have been because she was angry with him. “It's just too far of a commute, you know?”

“Makes sense,” he said thoughtfully. After a moment of awkward silence, he asked, “Won't you be homesick?”

“Of course I will,” she said with a shrug. “But you have to do what you have to do, right?”

He grew quiet at that.

After a couple of slow laps around the park, he finally suggested grabbing lunch at a nearby sandwich shop.

Yachi mulled over the options as they stood in line – deciding and then re-deciding the closer they got to the front – and he remained pensive beside her. “What are you getting?” she asked, attempting to get a better feel of her appetite.

Or maybe just trying to settle the anxiety his silence was causing her.

“Uh, Italian,” he said absently, checking his phone.

She fidgeted with her sleeve nervously. “...Maybe I'll get the same.”

“It sounds good.”

Yachi then spent the remainder of their time in line agonizing over that. Why was his detachment making her feel as if she was swallowing sand? And why was he acting like this? As if he really, truly, wanted to be anywhere but here?

He placed his order, then turned to her and said, “I'll get yours, too. You wanted the same thing?”

“Oh,” she croaked, surprised. “Oh, it's okay, Hina—”

“No, it's okay. I got it.”

“Um,” she mumbled, clearing her throat. “Yeah. Same as you.”

“Something to drink?”

“Just water. Thank you.”

He handed her the water cup and led her to the soda fountain. Then he proceeded to wait for her to fill her cup before leading her over to a clear booth next to a window. “Wanna sit here?”

“O – Okay.”

They sat across one another, and he sipped and sipped at his water until he had to get back up to refill it. By that point, their order was being called, so he collected their sandwiches on the way back.

He placed the tray between them and took his seat again.

She didn't unwrap her sandwich until he did. At this point, she found she didn't have much of an appetite.

“So...what have you been up to?” she asked at last, watching him scarf down his food as if he hadn't eaten all day. “Aside from preparing for university.”

He set his cup down and examined it for a second, as if he hadn't heard her. Just when she thought he wasn't going to answer her, he said, “I've been doing some thinking about my future. And researching.”

She folded back the wrapper of her sandwich thoughtfully. “Researching?”

He swallowed dryly, not looking at her. “I've... I think I know now that I want to do volleyball for the rest of my life. Or...at least that I wanna do it for as long as I can. So I don't know if wasting any more time at school is really gonna do me any good.”

“Wasting?” Yachi choked out.

“I know,” he mumbled, visibly ashamed. “It's not actually a waste, and I really should continue. But... But what good will it do? It's not as if spending all my time in a classroom or in libraries studying is gonna help me improve.”

“Hinata-kun...” she began, and he held up a hand.

“I've already decided. I'm going to join a team, and I'm going to improve.”

Yachi grew quiet, and after a few minutes, Hinata continued eating. At a much more reasonable pace.

She did the same.

.x.

“So, if you've already decided,” Yachi said as they walked, cradling her wrapped half sandwich in the crook of her arm, “have you also decided where you're going?”

Hinata had stuffed his hands back in his pockets, and he took a few minutes to respond. It wasn't until they were standing at some empty corner, where the light had not yet turned, that he said, “I'm going to Brazil, Yachi-san.”

All the air left her lungs. “What ?”

He swallowed visibly. His eyes tightened. “I'm sorry I'm telling you now.”

Yachi thought about these past few weeks. These past couple of months. The lead up to their graduation, all those promises to stay in contact, and then the radio silence. She had half-expected it from Kageyama, who had never seemed exceptionally attached to anyone except Hinata, but not Hinata. And she thought about that, too. The days she spent staring at her phone, and how his one-word responses had cut away at her like knives, and how she kept making excuses for him. He had to be busy prepping for school. He had to be just as busy as she was.

All this time. All this time missing him, and practicing restraint, reminding herself that he had a whole future to prepare for and that he would make time enough soon.

And of course, even if he went to school in a different town, they would see each other. Just like she saw all the rest of them. Just like how she sometimes met up with Tanaka, or Shimuzu, or –

“How long have you known this, Hinata-kun?” she mumbled.

He had been moving to cross the street, but when she stayed where she was, he turned to her. His eyes widened a little, and then he couldn't look at her.

“Hinata,” she said. “Have you known this whole time?”

Some questions shouldn't be asked, she realized now. Some questions didn't need an answer.

They just hurt too much.

“Sort of.”

Yachi squeezed her eyes shut, and with it came tears. Ugly, unreasonable tears. She went to cover her face, but the sandwich was there, and before she could throw it in frustration, Hinata was there also.

“Yachi-san,” he whispered softly, hands on her shoulders.

He wasn't so much bigger than her, but he bowed into her space to catch her eyes and it felt like too much. She turned her head away, clutching at the stupid sandwich and seeking some way out of all this. Some way home, where she can curl up into herself and wait for next Sunday to come. So she can leave. So she can get started on her new life and never think about this person again.

She could do it. She could really do it.

“Yachi-san,” he said again, and this time his hands fit themselves to her face, steering her back to him so that she'd look him in the eye. “I meant that I'd been thinking about not going to college for a while, but Brazil...this was a spur of the moment – ”

“Then why did you – why did you blow me off this whole time?” she squeaked. She felt her face flush at the petulant sound of her own voice, and she tried again to turn away from him.

He was, of course, much stronger than he looked. He didn't allow an inch. “I... I thought it would be best.”

“Best?” she asked. “ Best? For who?”

He swallowed again. “For you, Yachi-san.”

Her hands curled around his wrists, staring, bewildered, at him. It wasn't until his lashes fluttered, second-thinking himself, that it dawned on her. She twisted out of his grasp. “Were you not going to tell me?” she asked, stepping back. “Were you – Were you just going to ship off to Brazil and never tell me?”

“I was going to tell you,” he protested, and then ducked to pick up the sandwich from the ground, where she'd apparently dropped it. “I – I swear. I just. I didn't want to distract you. You have so much ahead of you and you worked so hard on me and Kageyama and we – we – we just didn't end up... We weren't...”

He fell silent, again. She waited a second, before reaching for the sandwich.

He didn't let it go.

“I didn't want you to worry yourself over me. You needed to focus on getting ready for school.”

Yachi sniffled. She understood what he was trying to say. If she had known any sooner, she wouldn't have been able to focus.

Would she have spent all of her time trying to convince him not to go? For what? For him to stay in Japan, miserable at some school he never wanted to attend, just so that she could see him sometimes?

Or would she have spent all her time with him, trying to make up for the time they were about to lose?

It no longer mattered. This Sunday, she would be moving to a whole other city, and her semester would promptly begin the following week. And Hinata would be leaving the country entirely.

When would they have seen each other next, anyway?

Yachi found herself stepping into him, weaving her arms underneath his. Hinata pulled her even closer, without hesitation.

They've hugged before, of course. But this felt different somehow.

She squeezed him, and he squeezed her right back, even tighter. Her face tucked into his shoulder, and she became aware for the first time of the way he smelled. All the times before, post matches or post training, he smelled sweaty and boyish and hot. But now he smelled like soap, and the onions from their sandwiches, and the evening sun.

A small sob left her, suddenly realizing that there was a lot about Hinata she didn't know. It was the sorts of things you learned with time, with intimacy. What brand was his soap? Was it his favorite? Did he wake up early today for his usual jog? Would he keep doing so in Brazil?

And how was he going to move to Brazil and not know a word of Portuguese?

For one wild, irrational moment, Yachi suddenly wished she knew how to speak Portuguese, just so that she could teach him how to speak it. Just one last thing to teach him, before he left for good.

“How long will you be gone?” she mumbled, and squeezed her eyes shut when he rubbed a hand gently across her upper back.

“A while,” he murmured.

“Will you write me?” she asked meekly.

He gave a small laugh as he pulled away to look at her. It was then she remembered that they were out in public, and she was grateful that for some reason, nobody else wanted to be on this corner.

His hands landed back onto her shoulders.

“Wouldn't it be faster to just send an email?” he asked, smiling. “Letters are outdated.”

“Letters are cool,” she protested. “Something to look forward to.”

“They take so much time.”

“Because you have to think them through,” she said softly. “You can't waste a single line. You can't redo them once they’re written.”

“You can redo them tons of times,” he shook his head. “Am I hearing you right? You want them handwritten, too?”

“Of course I do. That way you won't forget everything I've taught you. You're going to be learning a whole different language, after all.”

He hung his head. “Right.”

“You'll write me?”

“I'll write. But also, I'll call. It'll be faster.”

“And expensive.”

“Oh... Right.”

“I'll miss you,” she said.

“I'll miss you, too,” he replied, before pulling her into another hug.

.x.

The first letter came a month later, and then another the month after that.

Hinata messaged often, and called whenever he had the chance. But he continued to write as promised, even going as far as attaching photo printouts. She kept them in a shoe box. The one time she decided to pin up a photo of him, her roommate asked, “Your boyfriend?”

“My best friend,” she corrected.

It gets lonely out here, he wrote at first. And the climate is so different. But the people are nice, and the beaches are beautiful.

She pinned the photo he took of it for her.

I'm glad I did this. And I'm glad you're doing good, too.

“You're more evocative in your letters than over the phone,” she commented one day.

“What's that mean? ” he asked, his voice cracking a little. After a pause he said, “Oh, okay. Okay. Maybe? ”

“You looked it up?”

“ I...had to. ”

Hinata talked about all the new people he was meeting, all the new food he was trying, and of course how much he loved volleyball. He lit up when he talked about it, or at least she imagined he did. Over the phone, it was all about the feeling of playing. The rush he got from it, even now, even months after high school. But in his letters, he went into depth about the things he was learning. New tactics, re-evaluating the game play, and everything in between.

“ Also Oikawa was here? From Aoba Josai, remember him? ”

“Of course I remember him. Small world. What was he doing there?”

“Hanging out, I guess.”

“Uh-huh. That follows.”

“Follows what? ”

.x.

Naturally things petered out somewhere around the one-year mark. Yachi was immersed in her courses, somewhere on the brink of re-deciding her future once again, and when break rolled around, in the spring, she thought about asking him: “So...when are you coming back, again?”

She assumed it would be too expensive for him to travel back just for a few weeks, so she decided against asking at all.

“Any other familiar faces lately?” she asked him, when their conversation lulled into silence.

“Surprisingly, no,” he said, which wasn't surprising at all. “Have you seen anyone lately? ”

“From Karasuno?” she asked needlessly. “Tanaka is really good about keeping touch for some reason. He visited a couple of weeks ago.”

“ Ah, I miss Ryuu... ”

She smiled. “He misses you, too.”

“Noya?”

“He calls. So does Yamaguchi. And Shimizu, I saw her recently, too.”

“Kageyama ?”

She tapped her fingers against her knee anxiously. “No. I haven't seen him...in a while.”

“Jerk.”

She gave a shaky smile. “It's okay. He's really busy. He checks in sometimes.”

Hinata went quiet for a few moments, and she could hear the sounds of dishes being washed. The good thing was that the time zones weren't so different. Hinata was either preparing dinner, or cleaning up after dinner.

“Are you busy? I can let you – ”

“ No, I'm... Well, I wanted to tell you so that we don't run into the same problem as before ,” he said, shutting off the water. “ I'm planning on staying another year. Then I wanna... Then I'll come back. ”

Her breath hitched.

Another year.

“That... That's good. I know you're having a lot of fun.”

“It's more than that,” he protested. “I'm learning a lot, Yachi-san. I've grown so much. I think it'd be really good for me.”

She nodded, eyes wet, but she wiped them away and cleared her throat. “I think so, too, Hinata-kun. You have to do what's best for you.”

“Are you excited for another year?” he asked, maybe to change the subject.

.x.

Between classwork and projects and part-time work, she didn't really have time to dwell on much else. The weekly phone calls turned to every other week, and the letters came few and far between.

But they came. Less often, and in sporadic lengths, with random items included, but they came all the same. Sometimes photos, sometimes recipes he'd become fond of. It depended on how much time he had at any given moment.

Her birthday rolled around, and he called as he always did, but that day she also received a package. Which explained why he nervously said, “I hope it got there on time...”

In retrospect, it was pretty obvious what he meant.

She sliced the package open, which was wrapped in several layers of tape and postage, and sat on the floor of her dorm room carefully bunching up and setting aside the trash she was accumulating in the process. Inside was a sort of self-care package. Or it had to be. She couldn't make much sense of any of it.

There were several objects stuffed inside, with some half-attempt at organization.

Topping the stack were several packets of what looked like candy. She couldn't read any of the writing, so she spent some time typing in the brand names into her phone to translate to herself. Chocolate, mostly, but also gummies of some sort. Guava flavored, tamarind, strawberry. She hesitated, but unwrapped one to taste.

Her face scrunched. Very sour. Maybe an acquired taste.

She set it aside for later.

Next it appeared he sent her some perfume samples. Maybe to get past customs. She took a little time sniffing and sampling them.

Some colorful, scented candles. Some fluffy, pink slippers. A couple of cute spiral notebooks with matching pens. And at the bottom, folded carefully, was a beautiful knitted quilt. It was colorful, and exceptionally made. Maybe by hand?

She stood to unfold it to its full size, admiring it, then brought it closer to feel the fabric against her cheek.

With a start, she realized it smelled just like his soap. The very one she noticed when they hugged.

Before she could help it, she buried her face into the quilt and breathed in.

Seven more months, and he'd be home for good. Or at least for a while.

Hinata spoke about his future in terms of immediacy . He talked about coming back, sure, and all the things he'd do once he's here. But what about after that? What about the year after next? And the year after that ?

She folded the blanket across the foot of her bed with a sigh.

I just got it , she messaged him. Thank you. I love everything.

His answer was immediate: Ahh that's good! I was worried it wouldn't arrive on time!

She tucked everything away, and that night she slept under the quilt, wondering if he'd used it, too.

.x.

These last few months, it finally occurred to her that she'd been moving through her required courses with the same conviction one would their nightly skincare routine.

She had to do it, but she didn't really want to.

As of late she'd been working part-time at her mother's company, and with time she fell into a routine she was beginning to really like. She had asked her mother before how she had chosen this career path. Her mother was still so young, and was younger still when she had decided this was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

“I picked and I chose,” her mother said simply.

It can't be that easy. How could it be that easy?

But maybe it really was. Maybe she'd been overthinking it this whole time.

Sure, she had tons of friends that had made it these past couple of years and realized they had no idea what they were doing, so they restarted or decided to take a break or had meltdowns in the middle of the library and then decided they were overthinking it, too. And sure, she might have had a few connections to career paths that they didn't, and she tried not to overthink this, but sometimes this wasn't the blessing that it appeared to be. Sometimes people ended up in places they didn't want to be, because they wanted to make their parents happy –

All this to say, Yachi realized that she was happy going into work right now. And this might not be a forever thing, but what was?

“Sometimes you pick and you choose wrong,” her mother told her. “You're only nineteen, Hitoka, dear. You have time. It'll be okay.”

Yeah.

She had time.

.x.

Hinata greeted her with a hug. Somehow even tighter than the one he'd said goodbye with.

He squeezed her into him, and she could only squeeze back.

“ Hinata-kun ,” she mumbled, so softly it was almost a breath. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, and he smelled so different. And he was just a little taller than the last time she saw him. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she sniffled, tucking herself against his shoulder.

“Thanks for making time for me,” he said, rubbing at her back.

“Are you kidding?” she asked, as they pulled away from one another.

Hinata had arrived the other day. She was surprised he hadn't decided to spend more time with his family. But of course, he wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

He assured as much now, taking her hands and squeezing them gently.

“You've basically been my paypal this entire time, you know?”

“It's pen pal, Hinata-kun,” she laughed.

His face reddened. “Oh.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked, squeezing his hands to regain his attention.

“I'm always hungry.”

There was a good spot within walking distance. She'd met him at the subway station, carrying a little gift bag with all of his favorite snacks.

“Oh, I could kiss you right now,” he'd said to her, as he rifled through the contents of the bag.

She blushed happily. “The snacks you sent me were pretty good.”

“Nothing compares to these bad boys,” he said, popping open some bag eagerly.

The waitress greeted them with a brilliant smile. “Just two tonight?” she asked as the door swung shut behind them.

“Yup,” he chirped.

She led them to a cozy booth. “Take your time, alright?”

“So what's the plan now?” she asked him, scanning the menu.

“I'm thinking combo number two,” he murmured, holding the menu up to his face. “Seems like the best bang for your buck.”

She laughed again. “No, I meant for your future.”

He rubbed his forehead, laughing. “I must still have jet lag.”

“No, to be fair, I keep accidentally not giving you context.” She looked at her own menu. “Combo number two sounds good to me, too.”

The waitress returned to take their orders, beaming at them as she made small talk. “Are we out on a date of some kind?”

“Sort of,” Hinata replied, without seeming to think about it.

The waitress clapped her hands. “ Wonderful . You two make such a cute pair. Would you like to start with an appetizer?”

Yachi stared at Hinata, bewildered.

“Do you like wings, Yachi-san?” he asked, still looking at the menu. Unbothered. Maybe even unaware.

She stuttered, struggling to ignore the weird feeling starting up in her middle all of a sudden. “Um – yeah – I. I'll eat wings.”

“Buffalo?”

“S – Sure...”

“Excellent,” the waitress smiled, glancing between them with an expression that made Yachi's heart rate pick up. “Be right back.”

“ Hinata! ” she hissed at him, as he gulped down the glass of water the waitress had placed before him.

“What?” he asked, wiping his mouth with his wrist.

“You just told her we're on a date!”

“Did I?” He took up the glass again to drink some more. “I mean, a hang out is kind of like a date. But between friends.”

“That's not accurate at all! A date is a date.”

“I mean, I guess it's dependent on what you mean.”

“A date is...” she trailed off anxiously. “Like, a nice dinner and a movie. Holding hands and stuff.”

“Sometimes we hold hands.”

“When you're leading me around places, yeah,” she laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Same difference, no?”

“Absolutely not.”

The waitress placed the basket of wings between them. “Need a refill there?”

“Thank you.” He leaned back to let her pour from the pitcher. It wasn't until the waitress disappeared again that he said, “I guess I wasn't really paying attention. But it doesn't matter if she thinks that, right? Two people out to dinner, and you look pretty. And I'm wearing a new jacket.”

She looked down at herself. She was wearing a cozy knitted long-sleeve and a pair of comfy jeans.

Pretty?

He twisted to look behind him. More customers were beginning to trickle in, filling the space with noise.

“It's a popular spot,” Yachi said, when he straightened.

He took a wing. “Do you come here a lot?”

“No,” she admitted, folding her arms on the table. “I... I've been here a couple of times. The first time I actually was on a date.”

He started, almost dropping the wing. “Really?”

“Once. The first and only...so far.”

“Well, this is the second,” he said plainly, looking rather serious.

“Uh-huh,” she said, smiling again. “Right. Well, on this date, he ordered wings, too.”

He placed the half-eaten wing back into the basket. “I'll send these back.”

“No, you won't,” she scoffed, still smiling.

He lifted his hand, whose fingers were still covered in buffalo sauce, and opened his mouth to call the waitress over.

Yachi stole forward and grabbed at his hand. “Hinata-kun! Stop that!”

“When did this date happen?” he asked, grinning now. “Where did you meet the guy?”

“He was a mutual friend. Or a friend of a friend. They set us up because we were in the same major, and he happened to be about the same age, I guess. He was nice,” she sighed. “This was... I don't know, a little over a year ago?”

“You never told me?” he asked, folding his arms. He almost looked hurt.

“It wasn't worth telling,” she said. “He brought me here, and the food was good. But he just wasn't...it. We had nothing in common aside from the courses we were taking and maybe a couple of shows we liked. He talked over me. He definitely thought he was smarter than me...”

“Smarter than you? ” His chin landed in his palm, staring openly now. “No one's smarter than you, Yachi-san.”

“I don't know about that...”

“Here we go!” The waitress appeared, balancing their orders on a tray. “Hope you're hungry!”

Hinata dug in immediately, almost as soon as the plate was in front of him. His appetite had always been impressive. She wondered suddenly if he'd gone for a jog this morning.

She chewed mechanically, staring down at her plate.

It didn't take very long before he asked, “You okay?”

“I'm okay,” she said, tapping the ends of her chopsticks against the plate. “Well. Actually, I wanted to ask you something... I've been wanting to ask for a very long time. Ever since you left.”

“What?”

“How did you know that you wanted to go to Brazil?” She leaned forward, and so did he. Watching her with rapt attention. “That's such a huge step. You left everything and everyone behind on a feeling, right? That this would be the right move for you?”

“More or less...” he murmured, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“It was...on a whim, right?”

Hinata shrugged, deciding if that was the right word. “I guess you can say that. I did a little research leading up to graduation. And I asked some of the older guys. You know, like, what they would have done if they were in my shoes. It led me to Brazil, and I didn't have anything to lose.”

“But that was it?”

“I guess it's hard to explain,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yachi – you. You're so smart, and so talented. And driven, and organized. You have so much going for you, and your hobbies aren't...”

“All-consuming?” she filled in.

“Yeah. They don't consume you.”

She smiled.

“I – I needed to do this, Yachi-san. I had no choice. I had to get better. I had to. It would have killed me if I hadn't even tried.”

Yachi thought maybe she wouldn't understand. She had hobbies, of course.

None she would leave the country for, though.

“Weren't you scared?” she asked.

“Yeah, I was pretty scared,” he said. “But that's usually my sign that it's a good idea, you know?”

“Oh, Hinata-kun,” she said, barely stifling her laughter. “That's so bad.”

He laughed into his bite of food. “Yeah, probably.”

.x.

He carried her leftovers on the way back to the station, and as he did, he joked, “Do you have time for a movie? We can make it a proper date.”

“I definitely do not,” she said. “But neither do you. You look tired.”

“I'm never tired.”

He probably wasn't lying.

“Maybe next time,” she sighed. 

Because there would be a next time. He promised he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and Hinata, she’s learned, always kept his promises.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

.x.

Note: Also posted on A03, here's link.

#hinayachi #fanfic #hq #haikyū!! #hinata x yachi #my-fanfic

[kachinnate]

as you all know, the only venting i ever post on here is reblogged subtle depression feels *sparkle emoji* or an explosion of all the shit that’s happened to me like every three months because i cannot take Any More under a read more 

the three month deadline has come now 

triggers below, check the tags please

this year has unabashedly been the worst year of my life. 

and that sounds dramatic, and i know i could have it worse, and maybe i’m being selfish because literally all the things that have happened this year have been all inner turmoils and i’ve literally had years where my family went through financial struggles + death and stuff and even that doesn’t compare to the emotional toll i’ve went through this year but it’s just. bad. it’s so bad. 

i don’t know how or why but my depression seemed to just fucking turn itself up 8 notches after january hit to the point where i had to tell my dad that i needed medical help lmao... and i got my first diagnosis, my first perscription.. and it didn’t work, so they upped the dosage, and that didn’t work, so now i’m on a new medicine which has a starting dosage of 150mg, and my doctor told me if this one didn’t work she’s going to refer me to a psychiatrist, and i must have looked so broken and on the verge of tears when she said this because she immediately had to reassure me that this wasn’t a failure on my own part, which logically makes sense right, but at the same time it’s just so?? fucking disheartening?? after months of my upper dosage not working i just cold turkeyed them until my next appointment which probably wasn’t the Best Thing because shortly following that i realized that i wanted to k*ll mys*lf more in a two week period than i’d have ever in my entire life, and i thought that suicide idealization was an issue i struggled with since forever, but boy howdy was i wrong because these past couple of weeks have been sooooooo fuckin bad lmao. like i struggle opening my medicine because sometimes i dump like all of it out and just. look at it. in my hand. i never actually do it because i’m way too scared of having a seizure or my dad doing something stupid if i were dead but what if. what if what if what if. it’s more of an intrusive thought than me planning on it, but. what if. my new medication has a specific warning that it’s dangerous for overdoses which is. genuinely kind of scary. what if. 

i realized that i don’t have anyone friendwise irl anymore over the course of this school year. to save you and myself the retelling of the most bullshit high school drama i’ve ever been apart of, i realized that all my friends in my Group (tm) couldn’t care any less about me than they already do. i’ve always adored them and loved them with all of my being, and yeah i am not endowed to their appreciation back i guess, but watching them slowly and gradually ditch me and exclude me and ignore me and go out of their way to show me that they don’t care about my existence has been the biggest fucking emotional blow. people outside of this group told me that they were awful people and bad for me and so incredibly toxic and guess what? i defended them and now the fact that i was wrong makes me want to tear my fucking guts out. i spent three whole years with these group of people only for them to decide in the past six months that i’m not worth it. i feel so fucking empty. one of those people was supposed to be my best friend of nine years. and i still fucking love him despite all of that, y’know? i love all of them even though they have made me sob every night over the latter course of a school year and feel unsafe in a club that i was once prominent in and that’s so bullshit and so unfair but it’s fine it’s whatever. and like, i should have seen it coming, because the build up was them treating me so fucking badly. it’s an ongoing joke that despite being rank 1 in my class, i’m.. an idiot? like it’s a joke that haha i’m short and haha i’m stupid and haha i can’t interact with people and i have debilitating anxiety and i make mistakes all the time and i’m the ditzy lesbian of our friend group, even when i express that i hate being called stupid but they just insist that they’re joking with me and that i’m too sensitive. i can count on one hand the amount of times they picked at me for my eating habits even though at least one of them knew i have a pretty bad ED. they picked and picked and picked at me and then when we have our first fight they all immediately fucking drop me, and i still love them and i still try to fix everything but suddenly i’m not worth the effort anymore. it’s draining. i’m so, so tired. outside of the toxic group(tm), anyone that was close to me as i friend (or otherwise) i ended up pushing away or drifting away from or fucking up the relationship on my own, and even if it’s ‘Okay’ on objective terms, to know that i fucked up something that was once really really nice and now i can’t even feel comfortable opening up a message first because i know i’ll get left on read or, even worse, have to read a one-sided, hardly caring/pitying conversation makes me just not want to bother at all. it’s so hard to reach out to the few people i know do kinda sorta care for me, but the fact that i’ve been absent for this long? it makes the few relationships i have strained and forced so i can’t even bring myself to put myself out there knowing that it’s only going to make me feel worse

working makes me?? so miserable ????? i worked at pizza hut up until the beginning of june and while i was good at it and i had friends there, i didn’t get paid enough so i had to quit. i started a new job. i fucking hate it. i actively dread going there. people refuse to train me or are incredibly fucking disrespectful/unfriendly to me if i ask for help or just don’t know how to do something. i feel bad ranting about it because every single person i’ve asked for advice from just says that i’ll get used to it or it’s in my head, which.... regardless of whether or not it is, making me feel like it’s my fault or that i’m being crazy makes me feel sooo fucking sick and like i’m actually insane. i heard it enough from my friends this year. i’m so tired of being blamed for things happening that, while they might be worsened by the anxiety in my head, it isn’t JUST THAT. sometimes things are just BAD but they’re not because I’M making them seem bad, they genuinely just are!!!! not everything is in my head !!!!! things can be upsetting with it being solely because i’m fucking anxious every moment of every fucking day !!!!! regardless i need money so i can’t quit but goddammit i hate every minute i’m not at my house. 

all in all, i just feel so, so fucking alone. i have friends on here, and i’m so thankful for them - i’m so grateful to every lovely message i’ve gotten on anon and i’m so thankful for my buds on discord and i’m so thankful for streams and my stream team and i’m so thankful for people who follow me for musicals or art and actively talk to me about them - but it’s just.. here. when i log off and step back from my computer, i’m just immediately fucking alone again. if i were to disappear one day, no one would know what happened to me or where i went, and eventually no one would even care, given that anyone even noticed my absence to begin with. i’m so replaceable. i’m literally just another fucking face on here. another cutesy musical blog ran by a very, very fucking dysfunction kid

anytime i’m shown any shred of kindness, i just. start sobbing. like i cannot even interact like a person, or hell, like the person i was a year ago. this girl i’d been talking to momentarily told me that for as much as i’m there for other people, i need someone that i can jsut lean on and have care about me, and like. i cried. so much. when was the last time i had that? when was the last time i just had someone, anyone just to be here for me? and again, not saying it in a way like i deserve that or am entitled to that, but god fucking damnit i haven’t just rant on and on or spilled my feelings to someone without worrying that they’d get upset with me or deflect it back onto themselves in so, so long. i just want someone to listen. i just want someone to care. 

and it’s who i try to be, all the time. the person that cares, the person that listens, and that just might be part of the problem. i say this all the time, and it’s a mantra and probably one of the main highlighted points that comes with my depression: i put so, so much out, so much energy and love and time, and i get almost nothing back. and it takes suuuuch a fucking toll. in such, it causes me to retreat and suddenly just cut people off or distance myself because i’m scared of letting myself get hurt again because the emotional turmoil i go through genuinely, genuinely almost fucking kills me every time. when that whole thing happened with my friend group, i went days without eating and just. wouldn’t talk. wouldn’t do anything other than school. because school is my safety, i can always rely on school, school will always be there - so i threw myself in school and overworked myself and overmaxed my credit hours and like. if i didn’t have that, if i didn’t have my classes, i really don’t know if i’d be here right now. and it sounds dramatic and i’m sorry, i hate it too, but it’s just the fucking truth.  but - yeah again, i’m the person that’s always there. that’s why i never fucking rant like this on here. i don’t want to be triggering, and i don’t want to cause people distress, and i want people who are having a hard time to see my blog and maybe feel a little bit better and feel happy and have fun. but in the end, this is the only place i have to scream out into the void because i genuinely don’t have a space to do that in real life anymore. nothing. there’s nothing else. 

i’ve always said that when i go to college, i’m just going to do a hard-reset and change up everything. reinvent myself. but sometimes i really don’t see myself getting out of this year alive, or at the very least in one piece. i’m already fucked in so many regards. i’m predestined to be an alcoholic. my brain is actively trying to fucking detonate itself. i’ve never been in love, and sometimes i worry that i never will be. i cry and cry and cry out, but i can’t get help. my solutions to problems is just working until i forget or sleeping until i forget or just finding an alternate way to fucking forget. everything that i’m looking forward to is so incredibly temporary or so short lived or so pathetically small in the grand scheme of things. i have to stay alive to see my AP scores on july 5th. i have to stay alive because i promised my friends i’d stream on this day. i have to stay alive because i promised addie i’d go see this show with her in september. but it’s not for me. it’s never for fucking me. i couldn’t care less. 

i’m not going to ever kill myself because i’m too scared of the pain or the symptoms that i’ll feel right up to it. but otherwise, i really don’t know why else i’m obligated to stay here. 

#suicide mention #ed mention #self harm mention #depression mention #overdose mention #read more #irrelevant #garbage.txt #this was more for my own personal catharsis(?) than anything else #i ended up sobbing in the subway parking lot today and i just. #needed to summarize 2019 for myself #get it all out there #because i feel like i never get to talk to the full extent of how bad i feel at any given moment #i'm always the happy go lucky wacky lesbian #and even after this if you're a person who knows me irl you know i'll be acting the exact same way i always do #it's just who i am at this point #a stupid fucking facade #i'm sorry for new followers i promise i don't always do this #this is the first in like forever #my content is primarily musicals and memes tee hee #i'll probably delete this later #or archive #please don't feel super obligated to reply to this #it's not why i wrote it #it was just to vent because yknow #like i said #don't really have any other way to do that these days #long post #longpost #sorry if parts of this don't make sense i'm not proofreading it for my own sanity

[rachaelswrites]

Breakups are Hard

Sebastian Stan x daughter!reader

Word Count: 1,595

Requested by: Anonymous 

A daughter reader fic (u choose) where they help reader through her first breakup?

A/N: I loved this idea! please send keep sending in more requests.

Warnings: language, men are trash 

You thought today would be a good day. You and your friends were going on a group date during school at lunch. You were really excited because you and your boyfriend were approaching your six month anniversary (which is kind of a big deal for teenagers). You were expecting something nice from him, but what you got was a lot worse. 

You had met up with some of your friends in front of the school, waiting for everyone else. You spotted them and waved them over. You ran and hugged your boyfriend. He was your first boyfriend but you were genuinely in love with him. You found it hard to meet people who really wanted you, not because of who your dad was. Since starting high school, you made a bunch of friends freshman year and then a boyfriend sophomore year. You hadn’t told your dad, worried that he would give you the “Be careful honey. He might only want you for x,y,z” talk. You knew it was a possibility, but your boyfriend assured you he truly wanted you. 

“ Hey y/bf/n! How has your day been so far?” you asked him, kissing his cheek. 

He wrapped his arm around your waist, “It's ok. Could be better I guess,” he shrugged. 

“I know what’ll cheer you up,” you pecked him on the lips. You saw him smile a bit and you grinned. You grabbed his hand and led him to the subway. You two sat next to each other but he wasn’t engaging in conversation. The ride there was silent and awkward. You tried making small talk but he wasn’t interested

  The group was heading to a café that a lot of kids in New York went to. It was always busy during lunch time, but you called ahead and reserved spots for all of you. It was only a short five minute ride from school. You all got off and headed inside. The group sat down and ordered. You all made small talk until your food and drinks arrived. 

You noticed your boyfriend being distant, so you pulled him away from the table to talk to him. 

“Hey are you feeling okay today? Do you wanna talk about something?” you asked him. 

 “Um yeah. There is something I want to talk to you about,” he mumbled. You urged him to continue, “Look. Y/n. I really care about you but, I don’t think we’re working out. I think we’re just too different. I’m sorry,” 

You looked at him in shock. “What do you mean? I thought we were fine? We were having fun. At least I thought so,” tears started to fill your eyes and spill down your cheeks. All your now-ex did was shrug and go back to the table. You were still standing there, while he acted like nothing happened. 

You wiped your tears and joined your friends. Everyone knew what happened. You ate in silence and waited until you all had to leave. You would have left early, but you didn’t want everyone to worry about you. 

Eventually you were back on the subway. You sat across from your ex and saw him flirting with a new girl already. You rolled your eyes. Sadness now turning into anger. 

The rest of the school day was horrible. By now, news spread of your breakup. People would look at you in the hallway and whisper. You were sick of it. By the time the final bell rang, you wouldn’t have been surprised if there was smoke coming out of your ears.

You slammed the door of the apartment shut, making your dad jump. When he asked how your dad was, you only huffed in response and stomped upstairs. Sebastian has never seen you this angry before. You slammed the door to your room as well. He knew he needed to address whatever happened with you. “Y/n? Can you please come back down here for a sec?” 

You were flopped on the bed when your dad called. You groaned and decided to listen. Sebastian was never strict with you, but he could definitely put his foot down when needed. “What!” you yelled from the top of the stairs. 

“Down here sweetheart,”

You stomped down the steps and stood in front of him, arms crossed over your chest, “What?” you asked, a little nicer this time. 

“What’s going on? Why are you so angry today?” he was concerned. Normally, you would have already told him, You were very open with him about this stuff. 

“Nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine. Can you just leave me alone please?” you pleaded. You knew if he kept pressing you, you would spill. 

“There’s something going on. I want to know and I want to help you please,” he looked into your eyes, searching for any signs. 

“You can’t do anything anyway. So don’t even bother,”

“I can’t help because you aren’t telling me,”

“Stop! Leave it the fuck alone already!” you screamed.

Sebastian sat there stunned. You never raised your voice at him and you never cursed in front of him like that. Before you could turn and go back upstairs, Sebastian stood up and grabbed your arm. You tried to pull out of his reach but he pulled you into his arms and held you tight. You didn’t even bother trying to fight. You had broken down into tears now. Sobbing into your dad’s chest. “Shh. Shh. It’s ok. Let it out. I’ll stay here as long as you need me to ok? I’m here for you baby. Let me know when you want to talk,” he whispered. He kissed the top of your head while you continued crying. 

“He broke up with me,” you hiccupped. Sebastian looked down at you, confused, “I don’t even know why. We were doing so well,”

“Who broke up with you?”

“Y/bf/n. You met him a few times. We were together for six months. Well… almost six months,” you stepped out of your dad’s grip and wiped your tears, “and he did it in front of our friends. It was horrible,” 

“I’m sorry baby. That’s awful. Breakups are hard but, I know you’re strong enough to get through it,”

“You think so? I’m just a mess,” you sniffed. 

Sebastian laughed and placed a hand on your shoulder, “Sweetheart. Look at me! I’m a mess. It’s just genetics,” he teased, “Tell you what. Go take a shower and change into some comfy clothes,” 

You nodded and he kissed your temple. You ran back upstairs and did what he told you to. You took a nice, long, hot shower and changed into sweatpants and one of your dad’s old sweatshirts from high school that you stole from him. You met your dad downstairs, keys in his hand. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, extending his hand out to you. You grabbed it and walked downstairs to the car with your dad. You didn’t notice he had a backpack with him until he tossed it into the back seat. He started driving out of the city. He pulled into a gas station and parked the car. “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said. He put on some sunglasses and got out of the car. You saw him walk into the store and disappear in the aisles. 

About ten minutes later, you saw him at the register. You tried to see what he was getting, but a magazine stand was blocking your view, He came out and put his sunglasses on his head. He opened the door and tossed the bag next to his backpack. 

“Whatcha get Dad?” you asked him. 

“You’ll see in a bit,” he responded. He turned on the radio and you looked out the window watching the rest of the buildings and cities disappear. 

An hour had gone by and you were getting concerned. It was a school night and your dad always told you how important it was. “Hey where are we going? We’ve been driving for awhile and I have school tomor-”

“Hey. Don’t worry about it. You need to relax Y/n. Besides we’re almost there,” he said. He took an exit off the highway and drove a little farther. He ended up driving to an empty field. He parked the car and got out. You stayed and watched him open the trunk. He moved around and grabbed the bags and pulled the back seats down. He opened the backpack and pulled out a white canvas and a blanket. He set up the canvas so it was hanging from the top of the backdoor. He pulled out a small movie projector that you had no idea was in your house. He climbed onto the folded down seats and patted the spot next to him. You got out of the front and sat down next to him. 

He handed you the blanket and pulled out food and drinks from the gas station. He also pulled out one of your favorite movies. “I know how much you love Chris and how you love early 2000s movies, so I got you Not Another Teen Movie. I figured it would cheer you up,” 

“Thank you dad!” 

He put the movie in the projector and you snuggled up to him. The movie finished just in time for you to watch the sunset and see the first stars appear. You helped Sebastian pack everything back up and head back home. You fell asleep on the way back. 

Breakups are hard, but you found a way to make them better. 

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @teenage-incompetence

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x daughter!reader #sebastian stan x teen #x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #sebastian stan daughter #sebastian x daughter #sebastian x teen #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfic

[addysonsophia]

Pressed Coffee

Pairing: Johnny x Reader (gender-neutral terms were used, but I had a fem!reader in mind when writing this).

Genre: Fluff, angst, some suggestive situations (not really).

Word Count: 9.1K

Summary: This is difficult to explain. I had to write this for a college lit class following the form of David Levithan’s Lover’s Dictionary, which twists the “normal” way of defining words. Told through the lens of a man we learn about his relationship, the reader doesn’t know the sequence of the events that are taking place before our very eyes, through the words that he has chosen to define with tableaus of his love life. I did this with Johnny, and I think I did a good job. Wow, this was a bad summary. Let’s try: How coffee can lead to a beautiful romance. Yeah that’s ok.

Warnings: None, some angst near the end. 

Caffeine n.

           I was late, like always.

           I woke up a whole hour later than normal, and that caused me to do a speed-run version of my morning routine. Good thing I shower at night—a great time saver. I left my apartment in twenty minutes; as I stepped out the door the noises of the morning surrounded me: cars bumper to bumper through the city making their way to work: morning joggers with their dogs and strollers zooming past the seemingly frozen vehicles; birds swooping down from the sky to the land, hopping, and hoping for some food.

           I quicken my pace as I head to the subway station on 48th Street; my shoes just a tiny bit too tight today, barely allowing me to keep my speed. Closer, I get to the orange sign, the faster time moves, never letting me get ahead, leaving me two steps behind. Down the stairs with a quick hop in my step, and a swipe of my subway card, I wait on the platform for my train. I looked to my watch, then to the board above the tunnel—the train was seven minutes way.

           “Crap.” Was what I said out loud but, in my head, I was breaking down. It takes a lot to make me stressed but being late was suspect number one. Being late, is like a mortal sin that has been ingrained into my psyche from a young age: all my after-school activities in high school emphasized how important being on time was. “If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late. If you’re late, you’re dead.” That is what many band teachers, drama directors, and coaches have said to me. In college, there were consequences to being late, the beginning of practices would be spent running for every person not there (if they didn’t inform the coach that they would be late), then when the offender would arrive, they would run. Being on time shows that you are respectful, aware of other people and their time that they are giving up to also be there.

           With the rising levels of stress, I shot my boss a quick text:

           “I’m running a bit late. I’ll be in soon. Would you like me to pick anything up for you?”

           A minute later, she responded with:

           “That’s fine, you don’t have tons of work like normal. Can you get me a coffee? You know my order ;)” A sigh of relief fell from my mouth at the message, and the growing squealing sounds from the tunnel. I send back a thumbs up and slip my phone back into my pocket.

          The wind of the underground picks up as a silver train flew by, slowly coming to a halt. As the doors open, people being to push their way into their spots—I take mine towards the front of the car, another hand joining the many others on the rail overhead. Swaying back and forth, the lights flicker above me as the air conditioning blows; a baby sits on their parents’ lap in front of me with the biggest smile on their chubby face. A small wave is all it takes to grab the baby’s attention, smiling back, I make a funny face at them, and now they’re bubbling with the cutest laughter. They reach out to take my hand, their ravioli sized fist wraps around my pointer finger, and the last of my stress melts away with this little angel in front of me. The parent, also has a smile on their face, appeased with the behavior of their child—any form of travel with a baby is hard, so I try and make it a little easier for them.

          Sadly, my stop was up, and I waved bye to my new friend. I stepped off the train and headed up the stairs to 110th street. I already knew what coffee shop I was going to: there is a small café down the block from my office that has the best drinks and snacks—which was prefect because I had to skip breakfast. Hauling ass through the streets towards Papaya Acres Café, I mentally prepared my order.

           “One large, caramel swirl ice coffee, two and two liquid sugar; one medium hot coffee with regular cream and sugar; and a croissant with butter, warmed.” The bell chimed as I pulled the glass door open and was immediately bathed in the scent of coffee and sweets. I inched forwards in line towards the cash register, when I made it, I recited my order perfectly, paid, then waited at the pick-up counter. The bell above the door twinkling when more customers came in, the melodic music coming from the speakers, and the whining from the espresso machine. I pulled my phone out to kill time before my order was ready, I opened Twitter and started scrolling through my feed.

           “Dude, you can’t just, like, look at someone like that and not expect to get punched in the face.”

           “I didn’t mean too! There was a-a-I don’t even remember, but she didn’t have to punch me.” What did this guy do? I know that I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it, I had to listen in.

           “I don’t know, I saw your face, and I would have punched it too if you were looking at me like that.” The man, that was facing me, had brown hair that was styled away from his face, leaving his brown eyes on display—they were light and full of mischief. He wore a grey sweatshirt that looked comfy as hell, and he had a smile stretched across his face.

           “Well, he seems nice.” I whisper to myself, my lips dancing into a smile. I turned my back to them, deciding it better to not listen in anymore.

           “I don’t know any—”

           “Miss, here’s your order.” Two coffees sat in a carrying tray and a bag—hopefully containing my croissant—in between the drinks.

           “Thank you, have a great day.” My smile grew as I picked up my order. Turning back to the door, I began texting my boss that I was on my way. I made it a few steps when my hands were knocked towards me.

          He was early, like always.

 Frustrated adj.

           Today, out of any day, today was the day that I was going to cry in public. Now, I never usually cry, not at movies (sometimes I do, I’m not heartless), not at sad songs, not when I’m stressed, and definitely not in public. But this just broke the dam.

           There I stood, in the middle of a coffee shop, with both boiling and freezing coffee down the front of my white sweater—well, my now, brown sweater—and cute black pants. The clear plastic cup sat crushed next to the paper cup, the rest of the hot coffee melting the ice on the floor. A pair of faded, black converse faced my black shoes. Tears begin to pool in my eyes, the tiled floor becoming blurry, hands clasp my shoulders and my head snaps up.

           “Are you okay?” Deep brown eyes stare back at mine. The tears being to race down my face.

           “Yeah.” I nod slowly.

           “Then why are you crying?” A soft hand comes to my cheek, his thumb brushes a tear away. After that I just completely broke down, like big ugly sobs, snot—everything. His hands shift, moving from my face and shoulder to caressing my head and holding my back.

           “I woke up late, then my train was late, but my boss said it was fine and wanted me to get her a coffee, and then I split it all over me. But this is the fifth time I’ve been late this month, and my supervisor said that if I was late one more time, I have to meet with her.” With a heaving chest and choked sobs, I managed to explain my short morning. Sinking further, I wrapped my arms around the kind man and just let it out. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but he was so warm, and I was so tired—sometimes you just need a hug.

           “That was my fault, I’m sorry.” He whispered into my hair, a hand running up and down my back. Slowly, I began to calm down, savoring the hug for a few more moments before I pulled away. I looked at his grey sweatshirt and saw dark marks from where my face was and the remnants of the coffee.

           “It’s okay, I’m sorry that I got tears and snot on your sweatshirt.” Dabbing at my tears to dry my face, I turned away, getting mascara on my sleeve—the sweater was already ruined so it couldn’t get any worse. I pulled myself from his arms sighing, I bent down to grab my phone (thankful undamaged) and texted my boss what happened. I turned to the counter to reorder, and the worker already has my order ready.

           “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” I begin to pull my wallet out to pay, but she was just shaking her head at me.

           “After what I just saw, you are fine. Don’t worry about it.” Her smile was kind. I went back up to the counter and put a couple of bills in the tip jar.

           “Thank you so much.” I turn back around and see the man still standing were I left him.

           “Hi, my name is Johnny. Can we start over again?”

Gilded adj.

           Being with Johnny was like being in a world of sunlight. Everything was filled with loud laughs, quiet whispers, longing glances, quick kisses, and loving touches. Of course, there were arguments and disagreements, we were a normal couple in a not so normal world. His job is demanding, long hours and weeks spent with the only kinds of communication are texts and FaceTime calls. At first, this arrangement was strange: dates spent at hole in the wall restaurants in a back-corner way from the other patrons; dinner and movies—at home; late (like 1 a.m.) walks in the park, and food from convenient stores. It was easy to get used to, and I get why it had to be that way. When your boyfriend is part of a world-known group, you can’t really go outside in broad daylight and be seen together—it would most likely ruin his career, and some of the fans go too far.

           I rolled over, a mess of blankets and sheet caught between us, and I just look at him. The sun streamed in through the curtains, filling the room with a warm glow. His hair turning a rich golden brown, the light doesn’t stop there, bathing his skin a shimmering yellow. The sight making me gasp, because in that moment, he looked ethereal—in that moment I knew I loved him.

           Soft breathes fell in the space between, I moved my hand and started tracing his face. Thick eyebrows, long lashes, strong nose, full lips, sharp jaw; this man looked like he was carved from the Gods themselves, and he was all mine.

           He groaned when I stopped my movements; arms moving, coming to pull me closer to his chest.

           “Morning.” Eyes still closed.

           “Morning.” Eyes opened, the brown catching the light and turned gold. I leaned in and placed a quick kiss to his lips, then tried to get up. But he wasn’t budging.

           “Where do you think you’re going?” He raised himself up on one arm, holding me with the other.

           “Bathroom.” He shook his head, I moved away again. Then he lifted himself up, arms coming to either side of me, only to lay himself on top of me, effectively stopping any attempts to start the day.

           “You’re not going anywhere.” His lips tickled my neck as he spoke. I sighed out and began to run my hands through his hair, and his breathing slowed. Shortly after, the snores started, and there was no way I was getting up for about an hour. I wrapped my arms around him and started to fall back to sleep.

           Perfect, it was perfect.

Hostile adj.

           It was a rare date night out, and I was brimming with excitement. Tonight, we went to our favorite restaurant then headed for a movie at my place. On the walk back to my apartment, something felt off. Footsteps and whispering followed every step of our own. I pulled my face mask higher up on my face as I looked around—to not cause suspicion. With a glance behind us, I saw a group of girls, and my heart sank. This was it; this is where the relationship ended; they were going to find out and tell everyone.

          See when you date a celebrity, there are rules because there are consequences. The fans of most groups are wonderful, the kindest people you will ever meet, but then there are a few that are not. These fans think that they are entitled to the artist: they stalk them; find their phone number, and call them constantly; they send death threats to anyone who gets close to their favorite artist—or worse to the artist themselves. To say I was scared would be an understatement.

           “John, there’s a group of girls behind us. They’ve been following us for a while.” I lean my head on his shoulder to not cause alarm.

           “John? Wha—Oh. Ok. Ah, let me think.” He became serious: eyebrows furrowed under his black cap; lips pursed behind his face mask. I don’t know how they found us; we were so careful.

          Steps grew closer, and I could hear some of what they were feverishly whispering about.

           “Do you think it’s him?”

           “It has to be. I mean, look at him.”

           “If it is him, who is that?”

           “I don’t know, but I think if I can get close enough I can—” With that they dared more steps, for every two we took, they took three. This was getting serious.

           “Ok, after we reach this corner, we are going to enter that store—see it? The bookstore? —then we are going to walk around inside until they follow us in, then after a few seconds we are going to leave, then make a break for it down the block. Sound like a plan?” It was a stupid plan, but it was the only one we had right now.

           “I guess, this better work.” My grip tightens on is arm, trying to ground myself in the situation.

           “Wait!” One of the girl’s screech behind me, I slightly turn my head to hear better.

           “—said that she spotted him on 1st and 3rd Street. Let’s go.” They all crossed the street and headed in down the block—away from us.

           “I think we are going to have to stop with the dates outside for a little while.” With a sigh, he nodded.

Lend v.

           It was a cool day, in October, and I forgot my jacket. Walking through the streets at night would have been fine if it were summer, but it wasn’t. I had been in such a hurry to get out of the apartment to meet up with him, that I just completely forgot to grab the jacket sitting on the hook by the door. I didn’t notice until I had made it to the restaurant.

           “Did you walk all the way here without a jacket?” I scooched my chair closer to the table, grabbing my glass to sip some water.

           “Uh, I forgot it to grab it when I left.” A chuckle falls from his mouth, his eyes curving to crescent moons, then he reached across the table to take my hand, his larger one encompassing my own.

           “You’re a freakin’ loser.” An often-used term of endearment. Eyes rolling, I squeezed his warm hand.

           “Takes one to know one.” His face breaks into a wide smile.

           The waiter came to take our order, and when he left, we just sat in each other’s gaze, content with the moment. The food came, bites were shared, and when the bill was paid, he offered to walk me home.

           With the moon rising higher in the sky, the temperatures dropped. Lights from shops, apartments, and streetlights created a world of color, drenching us in greens, blues, reds, and yellows. A gust of wind came from behind us, and in a moment of silence after—he dropped his jacket onto my shoulders. I laughed.

           “Thank you.” I looked at his profile, a strand of hair fell into his eyes, and he just left it. Lips were curved into a small smile—proud of the smoothness of the execution; a black turtleneck was the only thing shielding him from the weather, and from the looks of it, he was winning.

           “Always. Can’t have you freezing on me.”

           “I’m not going to freeze, Johnny.”

           “Not when I’m here, duh.”

           “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

           “I’m lucky you’re mine.” Not only was my body warm, but my face was too.

           He was smooth.

Loneliness adj.

           He was gone. Days had turned into weeks, and the bed had grown cold as nights were spent hoping for his return. Time seemed to move slower without him by my side; the sun and it’s jovial rays never seem to set, and when they do the moon and its frigid compassion surround me in an endless longing for the light. I know that I shouldn’t be acting like this, but he was my world.

           I made my way to the kitchen, the cold floors numbing my bare feet. The blanket wrapped over my frame providing little warmth. The rising sun casted an orange glow in the room. I slowly set my mug into the sink, washing the rings of coffee from the inside wall, my movements becoming sluggish as the world caught up with me.

           The lock beeps from the front door, gradually opening. Shuffling could be heard in the entryway: keys being placed on their hook, bags being set down, shoes being kicked onto the rug, and jackets being placed on the rack. Water running down the drain was the only thing that filled my ears—deaf, I was to the footsteps drawing closer. Mug in one hand and scrubber brush in the other, I gazed to the beginning of the day: lights flicking on room by room in the building across from me, people making their way of from their homes, cars starting to head towards their destination. Vibrations come from behind me as warm hands snake around my blanket, hands turning into arms and a chest pressed into my back. It does not shake me from my trace, still I gazed out the window—until warm lips press onto the top of my head. By the time I had set down the mug and scrubber, I was turned around, facing him. As I looked into his eyes, my own began filling with tears. Like the play button had been pressed, my hands shot out to grab his arms, pulling him closer.

           “You’re back?” uncertainty filling the room.

           “I’m back.”

           My world had returned. He pulled me from the sink, taking one of my hands and his other sliding to my back, he begun to sway. There we stood, dancing in the kitchen at 6 in the morning—revolving around each other, for we were the centers of our universe.

Nervous adj.

           The energy in the venue was high, everything was buzzing: the lights, the speaker, the crowd, and my heart. This was the first time that I saw Johnny’s group in person, I’ve seen concert videos, fan-cams, and their online concerts, but never in real life. He has been on tour for two months—which is a long time to only talk through FaceTime and texts, but it was well worth the wait. I managed to get tickets to their last show, shortly after followed plane tickets and a hotel reservation.

           The beginning of my day was spent sleeping in to get rid of the jet lag, once I was up and ready, I headed to the venue; the concert may start at 8 p.m., but you also have to get there early so you can get fan-made stuff and merch. I arrived at 4 p.m., and began to wait, making friends along the way, excitedly talking with them about the members, songs, moments, and theories for the next comeback.

           I made it to my seat, light stick, and fan banner in hand as I pulled my phone out to text him good luck—as I did for every concert. I went on Twitter to see that the concert was trending, a smile on my lips as I liked the groups’ pre-concert posts. The fan sitting next to me saw my fan banner.

           “Ooh, you like Johnny?” Their eyes sparkling in the bright fluorescent lights overhead.

           “Yeah, as much as I love them all, he’s my favorite. Who’s you’re favorite?”

           “Haechan, he’s so cute. But I also love all of them members too.” After that we got more friendly, names were swapped, and then we started talking about everything about the group. As time for the concert began grew closer the more my heart began to race, my palms became sweaty, and my stomach was in knots. Soon the lights dimmed, and the crowd thrummed with energy, light sticks turning on and the space changed into a green ocean.

           The screens on the stage flickered to life, beginning the VCR introduction. The lights flashed and there he was in all his glory, standing before me. The music played and the members came to life, moving as one before the crowd.

But he always stood out to me.

Smitten v.

              He had seen me during the concert and had someone come get me when it finished. Going through some ‘STAFF ONLY’ doors, and many turns later, I was in the dressing room waiting for the guys to finish going over the concert.

           Sitting, on my phone, still going through the concert tag on Twitter, I heard them coming from a mile away with their excited yells and laughs. The door opens and they all flood into the room, the sound following them in. He was the last one, of course. Eyes scanning the room, going from person to person trying to find something, someone—me.

           When our eyes met, it was as if the world going on around us had melted away, it was only him and me. It was perfect. Slowly, I rose from my seat and started to make my way to him, he was pushing through the people blocking us. When we got to the middle, he slowly, but surely, wrapped his arms around me. It was warm and whole, and I accepted it—eagerly. I buried my face into his chest—slightly heaving from the two-hour long concert, the sweat was felt on my cheek— and I smiled into it.

           “Hi, I missed you.” Quiet, we were, afraid that this moment could end in the next breath.

           “I missed you too.”  He kissed the top of my head, then rested his cheek there, I wanted him to stay there forever. But our reunion was stopped when the others joined in on the hug—turning into a dog-pile. I let it happen for a little while, but then it started to get hot, and they were all sweaty—so, so sweaty.

           “Guys…I can’t breathe anymore.”

           “You let Johnny hug you, so why can’t we.” Mark said from somewhere from the outside of the pile.

           “Because he’s my boyfriend, and ya’ll are gross and sweaty.” I squirm in Johnny’s arms, but none of them budged. “I’m going to die in here, aren’t I?” I whisper.

           “Probably, but at least I’ll die with you.” He whispers back.

           “No, you’re not, you Giraffe. You get fresh air and everything, while I’m down here in the depths of gross boy stank.” I resorted to whining, I’m not proud but I needed out of my prison.

           “Guys, you heard them, give ‘em some space. They’re right, you do stink.” He started pushing them away, chuckling.

           “Is that better, Baby?” He brushed my hair out of my face when I looked up at him.

           “Yes, Handsome. I can only handle one stinky boy right now.” His hug became crushing as he lifted me a few inches off the ground that left me squealing.

           “Stinky?!” Eyes wide. “I’m stinky?” He asked, voice raising a few decibels.

           “Big time.” Then, my life flashed before my eyes as he starts to rub his head all over my face. Gagging, I push his nasty ass away from me, but with his grip around me, he wasn’t going anywhere. A hidden smile on my face turns into a frown when he lifts his head up to look at me.

           “You’re gross. I don’t want to hug you anymore.” I push again, but that only encourages him. His hands shift from my back to my sides, then he starts to wiggle them over the covered skin.

           “Stop it! No, Johnny! Stop!” Forced laughs escaped as tears start to run down my face.

           “Then, take it back! Say you want to hug me!” He wasn’t letting up, if anything, he was picking up the pace.

           “Never! I told you that I don’t want to hug stinky boys!” My chest began to rise and fall at a rapid speed, air rushed into my lungs only for it to be ripped back out. There was no end in sight as one of his hands grasped my side to stop me from trying to twist out of his attack.

           “I’m not stopping until you say it AND give me a kiss!” A huge smile and crescent eyes are all I saw as he brought his face closer to mine, smile slinking into a smirk. “Be good, and listen, Baby.” Time to bring in the big guns.

           “Jaehyun! Help me! Please!” I whip my head around to not only look for my hopeful savior, but to hide my flushed cheeks from his comment. As fast as I called his name, two more arms wrapped around me, and pulled me from Johnny’s ruthless hold. I push off from Jaehyun; finally, away from the constant contact, I slowed my breathing down. Smoothing my hair down and running my sweaty hands down the front of my jeans, I stood up straight and looked at Johnny.

           “That was mean.” Lips: full on pout mode, Eyes: puppy dog mode engaged, Arms: crossed over one another. I was the picture-perfect example of how to get an apology. With his jaw dropped and eyes wide, Johnny was the perfect example of forming an apology.

           “Mean?! You said that you didn’t want to hug me anymore!” True.

           “But I was just joking. You didn’t have to rub your sweaty head on me, then tickle me.” Jaw snapped close, and eyes turning into soft brown ones, we were at a standstill. The others were lightly laughing at the scene going on in front of them, one seen many times before, but always with a different victor.

           “You hurt my feelings.” One step closer.

           “You hurt my nose and lungs” One step.

           “You were mean.” One step.

           “You were meaner.” Last step. We met in another hug; the winner was obvious.

           “God, they’re so whipped for each other.” Mark whisper to Jaehyun with an eye roll.

Telephone n.

           “I love you.”

           “I love you more.”

           “Not possible.”

           “I think it is, Johnny. I love you so much more than you love me. You fill up, like, 54% of my heart.” With a slight nod, I won this time.

           “Only 54%? Are you loving other people on the side?” A dramatic gasp and a flared hand placed on his chest caused me to laugh.

           “Of course, Loser. The rest of the boys take up about 6%, My mom has 10%, Ms. Jenkins and her cat has 7%, and I have the other 23% saved for a rainy day.” My cheeks began to hurt from smiling so much; one thing that I love about him is that no matter what, he can always make me smile.

           “Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret, Baby.” I slightly leaned forward, even though it did little to minimize the actual distance between us. My breath caught, as I strained my ears to hear him as he whispered.

           “I love you, 3000.” My face dropped, a chuckle bubbled out, turning into a laugh, then into a cackle, and finally, I was in bed with tears streaming down my face and I couldn’t catch my breath. Once I finally calm down, I looked at him with a serious face.

           “You are the love of my life.”

           “And you are the love of mine.”

           “I miss you.” Sigh.

           “I’ll be home soon.”

           “You’ll always come back, right? Back home? Back to me?”

           “Always.”

           That night, neither one of us hung up, content to still in a comfortable silence until he fell asleep. Then I soon followed, the sound of his breathing lulling me to sleep with one word on my mind.

           Always.

Voyage n.

           I watched the sun sink beneath the tall buildings. The sky had been graying all day and with the dark clouds rolling in, all the signs pointed to a storm.

           But there was going to be more than one storm tonight.

           Hours over the stove, wasted as the meal sits in the oven waiting to be eaten. Slowly, they lose their heat, mine steadily rose. The cars filter through the street below, reds, blues, blacks, but not the car I was waiting for. The rain falling on the street, coloring it dark; the hum of electricity fresh in the air as a flash of lightening lit up my face in the window. I looked around my dark apartment and felt empty. With a huff, I head to the bathroom, limbs stiff from sitting folded up on the couch, waiting. I looked at the mirror, sighed, turned, and left. Walking through the dark apartment, I heard thunder booming overhead, followed by a crack of lightening, brightening the room for a second, before being shrouded again.

           Four times. Now, five times, he had missed our date. There was no text, no call, no note. Nothing, there was nothing.

There was one thing: loneness.

There were two things: loneness and anger. Two things that don’t work well together. One eats at the mind, and the other eats at the soul.

           Hours passed, and I was still alone, sitting on the couch. Still waiting. That’s what this relationship was, waiting: waiting up for him to come back after practice, waiting for him to come home after months of being away, waiting for him to show up to dates, waiting for love. That was the hardest part, the love. Being away from each other as often as we are, you don’t feel loved—I don’t feel loved. Nights spent lying in bed waiting for him to hold me. Days spent waiting for any sign of life on his end. And the in between spent always waiting.

           It was a moonless night because of the storm, still pounding away. They say thunderstorms are caused by the Greek God, Zeus, king of the sky, when he’s angry. How I shared his rage tonight. How I wanted to scream at him, but no sound came out. Nothing came out. The door beeped, then opened; shoes kicked to the floor, and keys hung up on the rack. A sigh fell from the doorway. I looked at my watch, the glow threw shadows around the living room as it read: 11:23 p.m. Steps heard, a light clicked on, a name is called—my name. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

           My named echoed through the apartment, he wondered into the living room—light still off.

           “Baby, what are you doing sitting in the dark?” A chuckle falls from his lips, a sigh from mine.

           “Waiting.” My mouth too dry to put power behind it, so it came out as a whisper.

           “What?” He made his way closer to me, only halfway to the couch I was curled on.

           “Waiting.” It was a little louder this time.

           “Honey, speak up. You’re whispering.” He was almost in front of me know, I could smell his sweat mixing with his deodorant.

           “WAITING! I SAID I WAS WAITING FOR YOU!” A crash of thunder boomed in time with my declaration. He stood, staring at me like I had grown another head.

           “I’m sorry.” With my chest heaving, I pulled myself off the couch, making my way to leave the room to cool down. I passed him and he grabbed my arm, halting me. I turned to face him, his eyes moving quickly over me—searching for the reason of my outburst. A crack of lightening spilt the sky and lit his brown eyes that were wide with worry.

           “W-What’s wrong? What happened, Angel?” He grasped my hands and held them in between us. I scoffed, head shaking. Did he really forget? Something so important—a date—and he doesn’t even know what he did wrong? I let it go the first few times, but this—this tipped the scales.

           “You forgot.” I spoke, words filled with a venom that I could feel the burning at my tongue and throat, itching to get out. I stared at our connected hands, frustration filling me up, I could see it collect in the corner of my eyes. The wind started to slam against the windows, as another clap of thunder sounded.

            “Oh, Sweetheart. I am so sorry. I got hel—”

           “You got held up at practice.” I laughed, because of course he did. He always did. I was beginning to feel hot; I dropped his hands and crossed mine. He reached out for me, but I stepped away—needing space.

           “Darling—”

           “Stop with the nicknames, Johnny! Stop trying to defuse the situation!” I paced around the living room—still in the dark—trying to ease the anger. Johnny walked away to turn the light on; the room bathed in a hue of gold. He was wearing those sweatpants that fit him just right, and a black long sleeve; a tired look on his face, but his eyes were guarded—trying to read my fire-filled ones.  

           “There is no situation, I don’t see why it is such a big deal if I miss a date.” Annoyed—that’s what he was, he was annoyed with me. But the feelings I had, were worse.

“Oh? So, that’s how you feel about it? You don’t care about our dates? The only thing you seem to care about is work.” My back was turned, I didn’t want him to see me cry.

           “Are you fucking kidding me? The only—Wow. What is wrong with you?!” The level of his voice was rising—so was mine.

           “What’s wrong with me?! You have missed five dates, Johnny!” I turned around in time to see his eyes rolling. “No calls, no text, no heads up! I would have been fine, but I stood for hours over the stove cooking your favorite meal! I had set the table all nice, I got your favorite wine, your favorite candles, and your favorite music! But you just didn’t show up—too busy dancing with your friends—leaving me alone!” Hands thrown up in the air, I moved into a corner of the room.

           “Do you want to know what you sound like right now? You sound like a brat.” The word being spat out of his mouth. “You think I’m just singing and dancing all day?! I am working my ass off to make people happy! I work all day, and I just want to come home and sleep!” There it was, the guilt, beginning to build in my gut. “You knew what you signed up for going into this relationship, you knew that things weren’t going to be easy! But here you are, whining like a little bitch because I missed some dates!” The storm outside matched the storm inside, the loud rage was inescapable.

           “What did you just call me? A Bitch? I—Ok.” I ran my hands through my hair, I was boiling now, nothing was going to stop the war he just laid out. “I do know what I signed up for! But when you’re in a relationship, things go both ways, Johnny! I don’t think you recognize that! When was the last time you planned a date? When was the last time you went out of your way to do something nice? When was the last time you showed me you cared? I don’t remember, and after all of this, I doubt you do.”

           “Are we serious arguing over this?”

           “Don’t change the subject!”

           “We are seriously fighting over a date?! A DATE?!”

           “ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!” The windows rattled from the thunderous boom. The storm or the shout? That is something that will be unknown for the rest of time.

           “What is this really about? Are you jealous? Are you jealous at the fact that I do something I love? Are you jealous because you work a meaningless desk job?” My mouth dropped. One of my biggest regrets was not pursuing what I wanted to in college, I did what my parents wanted and that was shared in secret with him. Late night talks, quiet whispers so no one in the world could hear our confessions.

           “I can’t believe that’s what you think this is about! I know you love your job! I love seeing you happy because of it! I-I just can’t keep this up.” Tiredness just rolled over me as I was sitting down on the couch, and holding my head in my hands. The storm still raging outside.

           “This?” He sneered.

           “This! You! Coming here late every time you stay over! Dates spent here, your place, or some random restaurant at 10 at night! Not seeing you for weeks at a time! You’re never here anymore, Johnny! There’s always some excuse as to why you can’t come over. And sometimes there’s nothing at all!” The rain on the windows matched the tears on my face. “I’M SO LONELY, AND YOU DON’T EVEN CARE!” My chest heaves for a different reason as sobs echoed through the apartment. I spared a glance at him, the anger was gone, replaced with realization and sadness. His hands shook, eyes searching around the room, mouth slightly open, trying to find something—anything—to say. But the damage was done.

           An eternity had passed, but only mere minutes had. One question weighed on my mine. One that needed to be said. One that could change everything.

           “Do you even want this anymore?” My eyes shut, waiting for his response. But none came. When I opened them, he was standing in the doorway, mouth open, eyes frantic. With a sigh, I rose from the couch and headed to the door. I walked by him and when he didn’t say anything, I scoffed. I slipped my shoes on and unlocked the door.

           “Wh-Where are you going?” He sounded so small. My baby—no, not anymore. He may not have answered the question, but his silence did.

           “I don’t know.” It was like I took a backseat to the situation and I was now only watching it.

           “When are you coming back?” Opening the door was the easiest and hardest thing I had done all night.

           “I don’t know.”

           “I’m sorry.” I hummed in response, slipping out the door.

           I don’t know how long I walked for, but the moment I had stepped outside, I was soaked by the rain and guilt. It wasn’t cold though; it was surprisingly warm. I had shut my phone off after Johnny had left his 6th voicemail. I want to be alone, but my thoughts kept me company. The mind likes to bring up memories, I found, after a something like this. Mornings spent waking up to breakfast in bed with a loving kiss in between bites, soft pouts led to a forkful of food, and warm gazes fueled breakfast being forgotten for a little while. Beautiful flowers placed on my desk at work, with a dorky note attached to it; doorbells rang with deliveries of even more flowers when he was gone for months at a time. Date nights that came to an end with a slow dance in the living room as music circled us from some random playlist on his phone in his pocket, after a while, hands, and lips begin to wander, one pulling the other down the hall to the bedroom. Late nights shared in bed, hair slighted messed, hands tracing shapes onto skin, lips moving in hushed whispers, and eyes full of love. Sleepless, nightmare filled nights, glasses of water at my beckoned call, hugs were endless, and a soft voice always lulling me back to sleep.

           As I sat on the curb of some random street, crying, these memories showed me that he did care. Love is shown and spoken in different ways, and I was so focused on the verbal, rather than the actions. God, I was so stupid. Last week, he had made me lunch for work, he even took the time to cut the fruits into hearts.

           I raised my head up and looked towards the sky, rain hitting me in the face. I sighed, then reached into my pocket, and tried to turn on my phone, but a black screen stared back at me. This night couldn’t possibly even get worse. So, I stood up and tried to find a street sign to figure out where in the hell I was. I spotted one above a bookstore and figured that I was about a 30-minute walk away from my apartment. From the love of my life. Walking in soaking wet clothes and shoes in the rain is very much uncomfortable, but it had to be done to get back to my life.

           Street after street I grew closer, after some wrong turns and a very nice lady who gave me directions, I was almost home. As I waited at a crosswalk, I heard something being called from across the street. But I ignored it, it was most likely nothing, just a random noise from the city. When the light changed, I heard it again, this time sounding like my name, growing louder. I made it across the street when I heard it clearly, this time I looked to where the sound was coming from. Combing the streets, I saw brown hair, a black long-sleeve, and track pants that fit just right. I started down the sidewalk, tears forming in my eyes, and a smile on my face. His back was to me when I met him, so I ran into him at full force engulfing him in a hug, starting to sob.

           “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was dumb and I know you love me.” He turned in my arms and wrapped his own around me. I looked up, his hair was wet, and his shirt was soaked. Tears fall down his face, his eyes sparkling. I raised a hand to his cheek, he pressed into the warmth, and I wiped away a tear, only for it to be replaced by the rain.

           “I’m so, so sorry, Johnny.” He took my hand and kissed my palm. “I-I was being selfish and I didn’t see all that you did for me. Can you forgive me?”

           “Always, Baby. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t loved, because I love you so much, and my heart broke when you said that.” He dropped his head into my neck as his shoulders shook with tears, his hands gripping the back of my shirt like I was going to disappear from his hold. “I let you down, you didn’t feel loved when all you were doing was giving me love. I wasn’t doing-I wasn’t being enough for you. I’m sorry.” He broke down, he’s sobs echoing into the night. We stayed like that, in the rain, until he started to hiccup, my hands soothing up and down his back when he calmed down. I took his face back into my hands and raised him so he could face me.

           “Look at me, Handsome. Please look at me.” When he opened his eyes, they were sparkling and red. I brushed his wet hair out of his face and put a smile on mine.

           “Johnny, you are enough for me. Mornings with breakfast in bed, surprise flowers when you’re away, lunches when your home, dances in the living room. You show me your love, and I appreciate everything you do for me.” I reach up to place kisses all over his face, making sure to cover every inch, I wanted him to feel my love.

           Here we stood, in the rain, in the middle of the city, staring into each other’s eyes. His hand raises up to hold my face, and I hold my breath. He leans in, slowly I close the gap. I melt into him; his lips were soft against mine—there was no rush. We broke apart, with rain falling onto us, I break away from his arms, grabbed his hand and walked towards the apartment. In the light of the city, hand in hand, we felt the love for each other again—in that moment he became my everything, and I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Wander v.

           The night was full of life during the walk we took in through the city. Lights glowing, shinning onto his beautiful face; with our hands entwined we made our way to some unknown destination. Papaya Acres Café. I laughed as I saw the café.

           “Do you remember that day? The one where we met? I was a mess; I was surprised that you even had the balls to ask me out on a date after I rubbed my snot into your sweatshirt.” In the moment, it was probably one of the most embarrassing times of my life. Now, it is a funny memory that gets laughs when we tell people how we met.

           “Of course, I did! It’s not every day you bump into an angel and make them cry, so I had to do something to make you smile again.” His hand squeezed mine as we entered the café, the bell chimed as he held the door open.

           “Why, thank you, kind sir.” A curtsy.

           “The pleasure is mine, my lady.” A bow. Followed by giggles.

           “Welcome to Papaya Acres. What can I get for you?”

           “Handsome, I’m going to the bathroom. Order for me?” With a nod, I turned and went into the bathroom. Soft jazz played through the green tiled room as I entered a stall. I wrung my hands into a paper towel and headed back into the café. Johnny was sitting at a table near the pick-up counter. My chaired squeaked when I pulled it back; wincing, I sat down.

           “I missed you.” His lips pouted, face sitting in his hands, eyes soft.

           “I was gone for like three minutes, Loser.” I laughed out.

           “I always miss you when you aren’t around.” I pulled one of his hands from his face and held it in my own, comparing the size difference. I hummed as I laced our fingers together.

           “I missed you too.” A playful smile appeared on my lips.

           “Here is your order.” I looked over and saw three cups? Huh, that’s weird. Maybe Johnny wanted to try a new drink or something.

           “Thank you. Have a good night.” He got up to pick up the drink tray, and I waited for him in the middle of the café. My hand got cold when he passed me my drink—I drink iced coffee, no matter the seasons—and his were now full with his two drinks. Putting my drink near his face, he took a sip from the yellow straw, humming in delight when he pulled away.

           “You got two drinks? What kind did you get?” When he told me, neither of which was something that I was going to try; when one of us orders something, the other automatically gets to have a taste of it, it’s a rule we made after many meals were pouted over because no one would share.

           Walking through the park down the street from the café, arms bumping as our laughs reverberated on the trees and buildings around us.

           “My dad knew I liked beans. So, he was like playing with beans. Then he dropped it, and then he dropped a rock. And then it slid, and then hot water started falling. And then, coffee.”

           “You actually think I believe that? Johnny, I’m not Mark.” I chuckled.

           “Hey, don’t be mean to Mark.” He chuckled back. He walked over to a trash can and tossed mine and the cup he had been nursing away, leaving the untouched cup in his grasp. He, now having a free hand, connected in the middle, brought our clasped hands to his face and placed a gentle kiss on my knuckles, his fingers running over my ring finger—something he had only started doing recently, but I paid no mind. I looked at his face, and he wore a serious expression—his thinking face: eyebrows furrowed, and lips pursed.

           “What are you thinking about, my love?” My free hand brushing away some hair that had fallen into his eyes. He sighed; a small smile played on his lips.

           “I was thinking about how it would look if you had a ring right here.” He pressed on my ring finger. I laughed with a smile. He looked at me with wide eyes; I looked at the cup in his hand, he was shaking.

           “Johnny? Honey, you’re shaking. Are you ok?” My hands cupping his face now, I searched for the reason for his sudden nerves. His eyes snap to mine as he takes my hands off his face, and he steps away. My heart is now in my throat, as my mind races to find out what was causing his anxiety. My hand, acting on its own, reaches out for him, but he only laughs with his head down.

           “You are truly something different, you know? You are the reason I get out of bed now; there are days when I don’t want to go to work, days were I just want to give up, but then there you are with your cute little texts, cheering me on, notes left from the last time you were at the dorm. When practice runs long and I can’t give anymore, you pop into my head, and then I remember that tonight you are waiting for me to come home—so I push ten times harder.” He cleared his throat, and shook the cup in his hands, a dull rattle followed. He swallowed. “I know it isn’t easy being in a relationship with me, the dates, the secrecy, but you are always there.” He brought his hand up to push away hair that wasn’t there. “God, this is hard.” He whispered, his hand moving to run down his face.

           “What’s hard?” He looks at me. He shook the cup again; the same rattle came from within it.

           “I want you to be there.”

           “What? I’m right here, Baby.” Now it was my turn to furrow my brows—in confusion.

           “I want you to be with me. For as long as you’ll let me. I want to grow old with you; have kids, have a family—maybe a dog. I want to dance with you in our home when we have gray hair and wrinkles.” I get it now. He chuckles. “You are so beautiful, and I just want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to make breakfast with you, I want to go grocery shopping with you, I want to do puzzles with you—”

           “I hate puzzles, Loser.”

           “That’s beside the point, don’t interrupt—it’s rude. Where was I?” The rattle started again.

           “You were listing things you wanted to do with me.”

           “Oh, thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I want to sit with you in the living room and just spend the day reading, I want to take you out and have photoshoots that I can post for everyone to see. I want you, Baby. I’ve never wanted anything so much.” I smile and move to close the distance.

            “Johnny Suh, are you asking me to marry you?” A rattle.

            “Well, duh. But now you ruined it.” He whined.

            “I didn’t ruin anything. Now, go ahead and ask me. Should I practice my surprised face first? Hold on, I need to warm up.” I started pulling faces with different sound effects and hand motions. He let out a long whine and stamped his feet a little.

           “Stop,” He drug out, “This is serious.” I cleared my throat, wiped my hands on my legs, and pushed my hair out of my face.

           “Of course,” Serious face, “Continue.”

           “I love you with my whole heart, you never stop running through my mind, you are magnetic. And I can’t help but to be draw to you.” He popped the lid on the coffee cup and stuck his hand in, pulling something into his fist. Then he got down on one knee. “My love. Will you marry me?”

           Remember when I said I don’t cry in public? Not only has this man made me a liar not once, or twice, but now three times. I guess, you could say that I wanted to make him sweat a little bit.

           “Let me see…” I tapped a finger on my chin as I began to walk around him. Adding to the act, I hummed and muttered, nodding, and shaking my head. When I got in front of him, I covered his hands in mine and stared into his eyes.

           “Of course.” I whispered. He jumped up, picked me up and spun me around. When he set me down, he took my hand and slipped the ring onto my finger. He kissed the ring, then me. There we were, in the park at 10 p.m., with our love in the air.

           “I love you.” Were the words we whispered for the rest of our lives.

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Thank you for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought!

I could possibly be interested in writing more of these if you guys like, doesn’t matter the length, member, or group. Just send in a word or words, member/group, and if you want it angsty or fluffly!

Thank you again!

#nct #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct johnny imagines #nct 127 johnny imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #johnny imagines #johnny suh imagines #johnny seo imagines

[comfortmarvelimagines]

When You Can’t Find the Quiet pt 3

thank you guys so much for being patient for this! I will preface this with a warning that there is an implied slur (r word) mentioned in here, but is resolved with much fluff. Other than that, hope you enjoy! 

part 1 | part 2

“Y/n”

“Hey, y/n”

“Dude, the bell goes, in five minutes, are you gonna start packing up or what,”

“Y/n!” Peter jabbed you in the arm. “You look dead.”

You ducked your head, uncomfortable with his staring.

“When was the last time you slept? Like, properly slept?”

In lieu of an answer, you turned your attention to shoving your pencil case and notebook into your backpack. The same stationery that had sat unused on your desk as you drifted half into unconsciousness, head buried in your arms, throughout the period. Sleep and functioning and, well, humaning, weren’t really happening today.

“Okay, we can talk about that later when you come to my place so me and May can make sure you actually sleep and eat. We gotta go to decathlon practice now, before MJ roasts us for being late agaaaaaain,” Peter drew out the last syllable as he shoved his chair back under the desk. You stood in imitation, wishing that you could just leave already. Sitting up the back of a class when the teacher couldn’t care less about how engaged you were was one thing, but decathlon meant people were actually expecting you to, you know, do things. Think actual thoughts.

***

It wasn’t a fully Bad Brain Day, not really. The input of school wasn’t painful, per say; more like it was turning into brain static, like your processing filters were on strike. Even thinking was hard, an effort. Talking was an absolute no-go. Even though that wasn’t unusual, it was never easy trying to communicate that communicating was hard to people that didn’t get it. Peter and MJ and Ned got it. Tony got it, after the whole situation of the last Bad Brain Day you’d had at school. The decathlon team, apparently, did not.

“Look who decided to turn up late after promising not to. Next time you’re going alternate, loser.” “Wow, thanks MJ. Nice to see you too.” As Peter and MJ talked, you chucked your bag onto the ground and slouched into a seat. Ned turned to you.

“Hey, y/n!”

You held your hand up in greeting, a half wave. As Ned turned to move on, Abe interjected before he could join in MJ’s roasting of Peter. “Hey, y/n, shouldn’t you say hi to Ned? He was being nice to you,” “They said hi, they waved,” Ned responded.  

“What, you haven’t trained your pet idiot to speak yet? That’s pathetic, what a re-” Flash was cut off by a pen colliding with the side of his head. He turned to find MJ standing, fuming, hands planted in fists on the desk as if in lieu of planting them in Flash’s face.

“You don’t say that word, ever, especially not about them. Some things are harder for y/n, like talking, but that doesn’t… Not that it’d matter if they didn’t, but they know what’s going on. They’re their own independent person. We don’t… They…” “We don’t own them,” Ned finished. Peter had since sat down and taken your hand, rubbing his thumb in circles. You tasted salt, and only then realised you were crying.

“Do you wanna leave?” Peter whispered. The nod of your head was almost imperceptible, but you felt frozen. The whole team had disintegrated into a rambling mess of arguments, half wanting to punch Flash and half agreeing with him in a weird way that tried to avoid coming off as blatantly mean. You heard all of it, and it hurt. They were talking about you, not to you, and as much as you hated it you realised that they didn’t really see you. They saw what you couldn’t do, what you didn’t do, but not who you were.

“Okay, lets go,” Peter slung both your backpacks over his shoulder and gently tugged your arm upwards. You allowed him to lead you out, not paying attention to where but following anyway.

“I texted May, she’s leaving work now to pick us up. I’m guessing the subway wouldn’t be a great idea right now.” You shook your head, meaning no. Meaning May shouldn’t have left her shift, meaning you could get the subway, meaning neither of them should drop everything for you. Peter interpreted it as confirmation that you didn’t want to take the subway back to his apartment. That was one of the worst things about days like this; even your best friends didn’t get it right all the time, and it really wasn’t realistic to even try to correct them. You folded over, head on your knees, gravel of the school stairs digging through your jeans, right hand still encased in Peter’s left. It was humiliating.  

***

You’d met May several times before, but definitely not to the point where you were expecting her to come running up to you and Peter and envelope you in a hug. She pulled back and held you at arm’s length. “Hey sweetie, Peter told me what happened. Are you okay?”

You tilted your head, a non-committal nod. You weren’t okay, not really. Not when that word that Flash almost said was bouncing around your brain relentlessly. She accepted it regardless. “Alright, let’s go home. The two of you deserve a break, I know Peter’s been studying constantly for finals!”

Peter ducked as she reached out to ruffle his hair. Pulling open the door for you, he climbed into the back seat next to you. “You kids okay with pizza?” May asked.

“Sure, May. You’re still okay with y/n staying over tonight, right?”

“Of course, how could I forget?” She pulled the car out of the school’s parking lot, merging into traffic. Peter pulled out his phone.

“MJ texted me to say she’s sorry Flash was a dick, and to make sure we get you ice cream to make up for it.” He pulled his hand out of your grip to type a message back, and you giggled, reaching up to wipe the last of the tears from your eyes with your sweater sleeves.

You missed the sad smile Peter gave May in the rear-view mirror. The kind that said ‘I got this, I’ll fix it later’. You missed the hesitation in Peter’s eyes when he looked away, wondering if he really could.

***

From then, you managed to push the Bad Thoughts to the back of your mind, smothering them in the Parkers’ easy banter and cheese-drenched pizza. Hours had passed and seeing as neither you nor Peter were wanting to follow a complex plot, it was a night of easy sitcoms followed by a David Attenborough documentary (part of May’s thinly veiled attempt to get the two of you to sleep- it was no secret that insomnia plagued you both more often than either of you’d admit). It was nearing midnight when you moved from the worn couch to Peter’s bunk, you on top, staring at the ceiling, headphones on. Even music couldn’t drown out your obsessive rumination.

“Hey, y/n!” Peter’s voice came out as more of a stage whisper than anything else, loud enough that May could probably still hear through the thin walls if she was awake.

“Mmmn”

“I know you’re awake”

“Obviously, dummy, I responded to you.” You almost surprised yourself; it was the first fully coherent sentence you’d managed all day. Amazing what being in a supportive and calm environment could achieve. “I don’t know, sometimes I talk to you and you actually do make weird noises in your sleep,” Peter paused, shifting the tangent of the conversation. “Anyways, about what happened…”

“It’s fine.” “No, it’s not, and you’re not fine.”

“I just don’t like that word. I’m being a baby over nothing.” “You’re allowed to not like that word. Flash shouldn’t have even thought about using it. You know he’s… Wrong, right?” “No he’s not. Are you forgetting why I am the way I am? It’s practically the definition of… That word.” You blinked, trying to force the hot tears back into your eyes. It wasn’t worth crying over twice in one day, not in front of your friend.

“That’s wrong and you know it. That word does not describe your diagnosis, and your diagnosis doesn’t describe you- I mean- Wait, what, I’m confusing myself, that didn’t make sense, uh…” Peter trailed off, leaving a second of silence.

“I get what you’re trying to say, but it’s still… I guess he’s not exactly far off the mark.” You rubbed your hands together anxiously. “They were agreeing with him, Peter.”

The way your voice cracked at his name was enough to send you into sobs. The awful, silent, curled-in-on-yourself, fist-in-mouth to stop yourself from screaming kind. You barely registered Peter half-helping, half-carrying you down the bunk ladder, sinking onto his bunk, hugging you.

“They don’t matter. They’re not half as smart, and intelligent and brave as you are. You get out of bed every day and...You know what? You kick ass,” he poked your shoulder with each syllable, and you sniggered into his now tear-soaked pyjama shirt.

“No! I’m serious! This world isn’t… The city isn’t made for your brain but you still manage to get to school every day. The school system isn’t built for your wild cool brain, but you still do-” “The school system isn’t made for anyone’s brain. Unless they’re a robot.” “Okay, fair, but you get my point. You know MJ and Ned would kick your ass if they heard you say that about yourself, and they’d kill me for letting you think that. You’re worth so much more than what that word means.”

At some point, the two of you had ended up laying on the bottom bunk, Peter’s chin on your head and your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt (in your defence, it was soft and a much better stim than your default hand-bone-rubbing distressed stim). It was entirely platonic, but that didn’t make it any less needed; if there was one thing Peter was trying to convey, it was that he had your back, and if there was one thing you were trying to respond with it was that you trusted him wholeheartedly.

The last thing you said before sleep took you prisoner was a whispered, “Thanks, Peter.”

And if May Parker was standing behind the door frame and overheard, before sneaking a picture of the two of you curled together like sleepy octopi? Then that was certainly, definitely blackmail material, and not confirmation that in her heart, that she loved her strange adopted children more than anything.

#peter parker #may parker #ned leeds #MJ #michelle jones #flash #flash thompson #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #spiderman #actually autistic #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #avengers imagine #tony stark

[quagmireisadora]

[Jinki / Jonghyun] The Writing on His Face

Rating: R  Warning: none Genre: face blindness au  Length: ~9300 A/N: this is for @jjongyyu who was looking for an old and popular fic that disappeared. While I never read the story myself, I got a rough summary and have tried to recreate it to the best of my abilities. I don’t mean any copyright infringement to the original author, and hope they are doing well, wherever they are now.

Title based on the poem 얼굴에 쓴 글씨 by Kim Hyesoon

—–-

Long arms rose above the patrons and waved in wide arcs. Only Minho would, Jonghyun smirked to himself. 

He walked among the tables and when he reached the other, he mumbled a low greeting. Usually they would come in here at lunch, after a few matches of badminton at the university sports ground. It was a Saturday afternoon tradition between them. But this morning, he woke up to a message telling him to come straight to breakfast. 

He sat down with a sigh and picked up a menu. Almost immediately, fingers rapped on the other side of the laminated page.

“I already ordered for us. The usual, right?”

“What’s the usual?”

Minho sighed. “Yah… is your memory failing you now, too?”

“What if I wanted to try something new for once? Eh?”

“Ah, then show up early next week!”

Jonghyun would’ve continued their farcical argument had he not given into the other’s ridiculous expression – eyes wide, brows raised, lips pouting angrily. It always managed to make him laugh. “This joker…” he chuckled.

Minho’s own countenance melted into a sheepish smile. “Anyway, what do you want to do today? The courts are closed for a month.”

“Maintenance again?”

The other shrugged. “Could be. News is, they had a burst pipe from the storm last week. Flooded the street downstream. All the old people in the big houses near the campus were complaining about it.”

“See?” Jonghyun pointed. “This wouldn’t have happened if they’d taken our advice earlier this year. I told them they should take advantage of the annual upgrade and change the clay pipes in for PVCs. I told them!” he insisted, then waved his arms. “But no~ it’s too excessive~”

Minho giggled, flicking some complimentary peanuts into his mouth. “Still doesn’t change my question—what are we going to do? It’s even nice outside for a change…”

“You could go see the flowers at Everland this year,” a voice suggested to them from a distance. “I hear they’ve come in really pretty.”

“Hyung!” Minho looked excited enough to clap. “You’re back!”

“I’m back,” a man with a pot of coffee and a striped apron casually walked up to their table, smiling at Minho with affection. “And man, is it good to see you two after all the weird people who’ve come in here this week. College students, ah…” He poured the steaming drink into their cups and placed a couple of paper napkins next to each one. “But? I see you two boys are stuck indoors again—look at the weather! What are you doing here?”

“Uh, hyung, you’re not supposed to drive business away?” Minho joked and they both chuckled with each other.

The man turned. “Jong ah,” he nodded amicably. It was the expression most people used with him, no matter how close they may be. Unsure, faltering, tentative. It was natural for them to be that way – after all, they were never sure if he’d recognize them. Several times, they would have to explain their identity and show him photos of themselves with him. It tended to get embarrassing for all parties involved. “How have you been? Everything good at home?” the man tried to smooth over some of his hesitance.

Jonghyun concentrated on the pronunciations. He concentrated on the texture of the speech. Silk, his brain conjured the word. Every time he identified someone correctly, he flooded with a deep warmth; a self-confidence rivaling nothing else. This time too, a radiance grew in the center of his chest, piercing its way out of his rib-cage like it was trying to give away all his secrets. “Jinki hyung,” he greeted, much to the man’s surprise. “It’s nice to see you again, this one was starting to miss you,” he jerked his chin in his friend’s direction.

“Hul…” the server gasped. 

“I told you he was getting better at the voice thing!” Minho said in an oddly boastful tone, then realized he’d just admitted to talking about his best friend behind his back. 

“You were right,” Jinki grinned. 

“How was your trip?” Jonghyun inquired. 

“It was good. I got to talk to a lot of universities. They offer a lot of options these days, unlike when I got out of school so… I’m hopeful about it. Yeah,” he ended the statement with some indecision. 

“That’s good. I’m glad you got to go.”

They exchanged a friendly smile, and then Jinki jumped like he’d just remembered something. “Oh right! Are we still going to that exhibition this weekend?” he asked.

“The built history one?” Jonghyun felt excited just discussing the meeting. He’d seen the post on his SNS and immediately thought of Jinki, the aspiring architect who sketched in a dog-eared little notebook in his free time. Jinki, who was trying with all his might to get a degree so he could register as a professional and find better work. When Jonghyun forwarded the post to his friends in the industry, he knew it would make its way to its target. “Yeah, of course!”

“I’m… not invited?” Minho inquired with a frown, then his expression lightened before turning impish. “Are you two going on a daaaate?” he teased, then waved his arms and made silly wooo~ sounds.

Jonghyun threw a napkin at the guy’s face. “Be quiet. It’s an educational visit.”

“I can be educational!” the other garbled. “I do… I do education!”

“Shh!” 

“Haha, well that’s great,” Jinki chuckled. “So, I’ll see you here tomorrow, after my shift? We can take the subway there. Cool?”

“Cool,” Jonghyun agreed.

Minho rested his face in his hands and leaned his elbows on the table, looking dreamy. “Ahh… a date. How cute~”

“Yah, what’re you saying?!” he was given a not-so-serious scolding. 

——

Jonghyun woke up with a start.

He staggered out of the blankets to look for his wallet. “Where is it…. where is it…” he mumbled under frustrated breaths. His heart pounded with fright as he combed through a pile of laundry. When he finally found it, he flicked the wallet open to look for the photo he had put in it many years ago. It was a picture of him in his high school graduation robes, two well-dressed women standing on either side of him, looking on with adoration. Hands shaking, he took the photo out of its clear pocket and held it up in front of his bleary eyes. He blinked hard, once twice thrice. He meant to blink away the sleep. Instead, tears flooded off his lashes and rolled onto his face, fell on his arms, dripped to his shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut while his lungs sobbed, but he tried again. It was expected, it was what happened every time he looked at the picture—at any picture. It was expected and he knew what would happen when he did it. But it still hurt. A twist of pain spread from his heart to his torso to the rest of his body.

He dropped everything and went to his phone. With trembling fingers, he dialed the number and waited for the ringing to stop. 

“Jong ah,” the elderly woman greeted in a groggy voice. “What’s wrong? It’s so early in the morning.”

“Ma…” he rasped in the silence of his room. “Ma.”

“Jong ah, what’s happened? Are you hurt?”

“Eomma, I don’t remember your face.”

——

“You look… unwell,” Jinki stated as politely as it seemed he could.

“I’m fine,” Jonghyun tried to brush the attention away. “Just had a rough morning.”

“Is that what the sunglasses are for?” a hint of playfulness sprayed from the other. “Or are they your way of blocking out the unnecessary overload of faces?”

“Both,” Jonghyun joked in return.

They strolled through the park for a few meters until the other spoke up again. “Listen, we… really don’t have to do this today.” He looked concerned. “We can come back another time. I mean, I’d rather you go home and get some rest.”

“It’s the last day of the exhibition, hyung.”

Jinki scoffed. “An exhibition isn’t as important as your health, man,” he muttered.

Worry like this was common, regardless of who he met. It secretly irritated him, but he’d honed the skills to avoid a confrontation whenever it happened. “I tell you what,” he started to lighten the mood. “Why don’t you buy me an ice-cream when we’re done. That way you can pay me back for being here and being miserable.”

The other looked on, uncertain at first, then picked up his usual joviality. “OK!”

They walked some more until they arrived at the artificial hanok village. Houses on low wooden plinths circled a paved courtyard. The organizers had placed a row of old-fashioned shoes outside each house. Colourful paper art hung from lines overhead. Clay tiles gleamed and slate shimmered. Red square-spirals adorned the walls at mid-height. The smell of seaweed soup and pork dumplings was in the air. Tables had been set out for anyone interested in a game or two of baduk. In the distance, two women in traditional clothes played the zither and the flute, while a bunch of young boys in hanboks competed in hacky sack.

It was as if they had been transported to another time. “Just like a sageuk drama,” Jinki sounded a little breathless, running his hands over pillars and walls. The tips of his fingers were stubby, and sometimes came away with plaster or paint. But he still touched everything he could, still tried to feel every surface within his reach. “It’s like a… a dream!” he turned around, eyes sparkling with excitement. Jonghyun grinned at him.

They explored their way through the fair, picked a few things to eat and a few others to drink. At one point, they stopped to watch a dance and drumming performance. They clapped in time with the beat and shared a look before laughing at the MC’s jokes. 

When it came time to leave, Jonghyun requested they take a selca. Jinki consented and proceeded to make silly faces at the camera. Later on, out of the other’s sight, Jonghyun chose one of the photos as his lock screen, happily running a thumb over it.

“How about that ice cream?” one called as he walked ahead. The other nodded.

They ambled as they left the exhibition grounds, taking in the sights of the riverside. Streamers and lanterns hung between light poles, announcing the event. Some more girls walked past in full traditional clothes, giggling about something.

“… and I thought they were very clever in the way they negotiated with the locals, tried to get their input to feed back to the planners, cause it’s so important to understand the user grou—you’re not listening,” Jonghyun stopped talking when he saw the other simply watching him.

“No I am!” Jinki assured cheerily as he veered to one side of the walkway. He propped himself against the railing. “I like listening to you talk. You’re very passionate about your job.”

He pursed his lips. “I guess… it pays really well, and I get to work by myself, away from people. So that’s nice.”

“Hmm… you get your own space to think.”

“Exactly.”

The other’s smile was a hint rueful. “How nice.”

“Hey. Hyung,” Jonghyun closed the distance between them. “You’ll get there too, soon,” he encouraged. “I mean… you’re saving up for the education you want, you’re talking to universities so you can make the best choice. You’re clearly driven.”

“I’m also really old,” Jinki sighed. “My mother says I’m being too unrealistic with all this and sometimes… sometimes I think she might be right. You know?“ he shook his head. "A degree in architecture is difficult. And after I’ve done all that, I don’t even know if I’ll ever get a job. In this economy?” He scoffed, scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Ah… I’m thirty and I still haven’t done anything with my life… I’ve wasted so much time.”

“You were in the army, it’s not a waste of time.”

The other offered a grateful smile, but his eyes were suddenly tired. Jonghyun leaned against the railing next to Jinki and said no more. They shared that little island of silence, watching the fair and the mountains in the distance. The sun grazed against their necks and shoulders, hugged their arms as they stood motionless, listening to the sounds of chirping birds. Because of the way Jonghyun’s visual memory worked, he needed constant speech to prompt his brain with information—I’m with this person, we know each other though such and such place, we’re here today on such and such errand. He liked when he could use people’s voices to give them a name because it made him feel safe, feel like he belonged where he was just then. But Jinki’s soft exhales allowed him to be alone for a short while, and he used that time on his own breath.

The spell was broken by a, “Oh, right, I heard you moved to a new apartment?” 

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Some weeks ago, now.”

“And you haven’t had a housewarming party yet, have you?”

Jonghyun tilted his head at the other, stating the obvious. “Minho?”

Jinki laughed. “Who else but the one and only?”

He shook his head. “That boy and his big mouth… No, I haven’t had a party yet,” he admitted. “I… honestly, I don’t like parties. They’re really. Disorienting.”

“Hmm,” the other hummed sympathetically.

“Plus, I have way too many people I’ll need to invite, and it’s going to be stupidly difficult to call them all up, confirm with each one, then order all their favorite stuff. Clean up the mess when they’re gone. It’s… ah, it’ll be a hassle.”

“You…” Jinki nodded with admiration. “Sound like you have a lot of friends. I’m actually jealous.”

“Yeah well,” Jonghyun started with some bitterness. “Still doesn’t stop me being lonely.”

The other chuckled. “How can you be lonely? This world is so insanely full of people, it’d be impossible.”

“See, that’s what I hate?” he pointed out, frowning and gesturing with his hands. “That in my life, lonely and alone have never met. They’re miles apart.”

Jinki studied him at that, eyes narrowed, lip worried. His hair fluttered in a zephyr and one of his cheeks shone gold against the setting sun. There was a sadness in that stare. It reached out with its arms as if waiting for someone to come pick it up, to come take it away because it didn’t belong there. The sadness seemed to weigh enough that its owner’s vision sagged to the ground, tired of holding itself up to face the rest of the world. If Jonghyun could, he’d have reached out and wiped it clean off the man’s face. But he couldn’t.

“Yeah,” Jinki said lowly, nearly whispering. His gaze moved to the ground, to his own shoes. “I know what you mean.”

——

“What’s up?” Minho answered the phone immediately. 

“OK, let’s do it.”

“You mean let’s start a band? Yesssss!”

“Ye—what?” Jonghyun barked into his phone. “No! I’m talking about the thing you’ve been bugging me to do for weeks.”

“Yeah! Start a band!” Minho reiterated.

“Idiot, I mean a house-warming party.”

There was silence for a few seconds. “Ohhhhh… so I take it the date went well huh?”

“It wasn’t a date, we aren’t dating, I was only accompanying him to the fair,” he patiently listed, but bit his lip because he couldn’t really lie. Not to Minho. “And yeah, he did bring up my move and all that but—”

“A-ha!”

“What’s a-ha?” Jonghyun panicked.

“A-ha is you finally deciding to throw a party so you can get Jinki hyung to visit your hooome~ oooh~”

“Yah, yah, yah…!” he warned over Minho’s stupid noises. “It’s nothing like that, don’t go around spreading rumors OK?”

“You’re in loooove~”

“Hang up, right now!” he yelled.

——

He nearly didn’t hear the doorbell over the din. As he balanced a bowl of chips and dip in one hand, used his hip to push a trolley of glasses, and tried to twist the door knob with the other, someone walked past him giving instructions to bring out the drinks. He frowned after them but couldn’t pinpoint with any certainty who it was. When he gave up, the newcomer at his threshold waved.

Jonghyun frowned. The guest had short hair, a hooked nose, wore a loose sleeveless shirt and jeans, and carried a small bouquet of red roses. Nothing in their appearance could give away what or who they were. “He-hello…” he tried. 

The other person tried to ease off the awkwardness. “Uh, thanks for inviting me,” he said with an appreciative nod. “Sorry I’m late, I wanted to pick these up for you–”

“Oh! It’s you, hyung,” Jonghyun sighed with relief. “Come, come on in!” he waved.

“Wow!” Jinki immediately let out. “This place is…”

“Big?” Jonghyun raised his eyebrows in suggestion. “Huge!” the other’s eyes were wide. “So… so Miesian too, like all the glass is really. Fresh and modern and—”

“Tell me what you think later, here take this off me and feed yourself,” he offered the bowl and started walking back to the kitchen. “I’ll be right back, just try to find Minho, he’ll show you around.”

When Jonghyun wheeled the trolley to the kitchen, a woman was standing there, leaning against the island. He offered her a bottle of beer. “Can I help you?” he asked her.

“Yah, you know I only drink beer when there’s fried chicken,” the woman responded, then suddenly perked up at an idea. "Did you order any fried chicken?”

“Noona,” Jonghyun whined with a sudden rush of tiredness, walking over for a hug. “This is so difficult,” he muttered into her shoulder.

Sodam patted the back of his head. “You’re doing fine. And I’m right here. Just call out, if you need me, OK?”

He hummed reluctantly before he was sent back into the crowd. Jonghyun trudged to the living room, a case of beers in one hand. A circle of guests waved to him with congratulatory words, and although he recognized no one, he did his best to behave amicably. As soon as he could excuse himself, he set the bottles safely onto a table. On cue, someone climbed onto his back with a loud proclamation of “Jonggie hyung!”

With the affectionate term, and the bounce in the other’s voice, the connection to face and name was instant. “Oh! Taeminnie!”

The boy got off and hugged him tightly. “Ahhhh, have I missed you,“ Jonghyun was swayed to and fro. "We don’t even meet like we used to every morning, now that you’ve moved. You’re so far away… I had to take two trains to get here.” Taemin pouted cutely.

“You’re here now,” Jonghyun said with love, grasping the other’s shoulders. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“This party’s great! Everyone’s here!” Taemin skipped a little in place. “I even ran into Jongin and Hyoyeon noona in the balcony. I haven’t seen any of you in so long, ah~! Remember when we used to go on a drive in the hills?”

Jonghyun nodded happily. “And how is Naeun doing?” he inquired.

“What, she hasn’t filed for divorce yet?” Minho’s warm voice slid into the conversation. “I’m shocked, considering what a headache you can be on your best da—ack!” Taemin tackled him playfully and Jonghyun decided to leave the two of them alone to their stupid wrestling.

“Just don’t break anything!” he called out after them with a grin. More unknown faces and more good wishes ambushed him. And they would’ve continued to do so for the good part of the evening, had he not bowed out of conversations before they turned unpleasant for him. 

At a moment of leisure, Jonghyun’s eyes looked through the crowd for any sign of red roses. When he found it, he started to swim through the throng to get to it. All along the way there, people commended him on the new apartment and gave him all sorts of compliments. He thanked them as best as he could without seeming too rude. With Jinki’s familiar back within earshot, he called out.

“Hyung, I—”

“Oh, there you are,” the other turned around with a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.” Jonghyun wondered if he’d ever been privy to it before, because there was nothing but sunshine in that smile. It glowed like gold and warmed his cheeks as if summer had landed on his face, resting against his skin after a long flight. He wondered if Jinki had ever shown him an expression like that before, and wondered if it would’ve made Jonghyun’s cold nights more bearable–had he been able to remember such a smile. He almost blushed, almost shied a little at the thought but the other pulled him over by his arm.

“We were just talking about you,” Jinki held the roses out for his host to take, and motioned a third man standing next to him; a scar on his eyebrow and a piercing in his lip. The newcomer looked from one to the other and gave a soft smile.

“Hi.”

Jonghyun squinted. “Hello, I’m so glad you could come,” he attempted, in a manoeuvre to identify who the other person was.

“It’s me,” the man said, as if it should’ve been obvious who he was by now. “Kim Kibum?”

“Oh,” Jonghyun’s nervousness cooled down. He shot the other a sheepish purse of the lips. “Hey. I meant it, Bummie. I’m glad you’re here.”

Kibum’s momentary coldness disappeared. “How have you been, Jjong?”

“Good,” he nodded. “Very good. So…” he took a deep breath. “I see you two have already met.”

“He’s been singing your praises for a while now,” Jinki assured. “And giving me some very interesting dirt on you in the process,” he teased. 

“Dirt?” Jonghyun shot a worried look at Kibum. “Wh-what dirt?”

Jinki stared at him in disbelief for a moment. “I’m joking!” he laughed. 

“Don’t mind him,” Kibum said. “He’s always like this. Always makes a mountain out of a molehill.”

“No, I don’t,” Jonghyun challenged, willing to argue over the fact.

“See?” and the other two giggled. “Anyway. This is a great house, Jjong. And a great party too,” Kibum placated. “I only wish there were some music, you know?”

“Yah, he’s already confused as it is, you want to add to the confusion?!” Minho appeared behind them on cue, carrying a tray heavy with refreshments for other guests. “Use your brain!”

“At least I have a brain to use!” Kibum retorted and Minho squealed with laughter, nearly spilling all his food. They all chuckled along.

“OK, you two have fun, I need to say hello to some more people,” Jonghyun bid them farewell, not wanting to to leave but also not wanting to stay. On his way, Minho took him aside and described a few visitors to him: told him their names and what they were wearing, just so he could avoid the discomfiture of meeting the same group of guests more than once. He nodded and tried to remember everything, tried to smile at everyone he passed, tried to give everyone his hellos and offer a drink to whoever asked about his health. He tried to enjoy himself, take pride in his new home and his old friends all gathering to celebrate it with him. He honestly tried.

Through it all, he made sure not to turn around and look back at the other two again. But when he was at the sliding door to the balcony, and the setting sun caught in his eyes, his gaze naturally strayed back to the place he’d last seen Kibum and Jinki. Kibum with Jinki. The sight made him feel bitter. One leaned on the other’s shoulder, guffawing. The other blushed and grinned, looked somewhat pleased with himself. Both seemed like they were in a world of their own, neither appeared to remember what brought them together.

And that’s when Jonghyun knew this party was long over.

——

But he didn’t give up. 

The next chance he could find, he went out to their usual café on his lunch hour. He’d had to take a train and walk in the sun for fifteen minutes. By the time he’d arrived, his shirt was soaked in all the uncomfortable places. He loosened his tie and fanned himself with the menu. A few minutes later, a familiar frame walked over to him with a pot of coffee. 

“Oh, hyung, how have you been? Sorry I meant to call after the party but there was so much to do an—”

“Ah… excuse me?” the server said in an odd, unfamiliar voice. A gravelly, discordant voice. “Do… we know each other?”

Jonghyun watched the man in growing shock. He blinked gawkily. “I—I’m sorry,” he bowed in his seat. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Ah, really?” the man said with clear skepticism. “Do they work here?”

“Y-yeah, I’m actually here to meet Jinki hyung?”

“Oh, no,” the server shook his head. “He doesn’t work the afternoon shift on Tuesdays. He’ll only be here after five. If you like, I could take a message to pass on to him,” the man offered, but not with any sincerity. The look on his face seemed to accuse Jonghyun of something. Something like insanity.

“No…” he declined, mortified and crestfallen. “That’s OK. Thank you.”

He didn’t return to work after the ordeal. He called in sick and went straight home, answering none of his co-worker’s perturbed questions. He didn’t bother picking up his bag from the office, didn’t even bother picking up his dinner from the usual dumpling house near the apartment block. On the subway, his phone buzzed but he ignored it. In the lift, someone greeted him pleasantly, but he paid them no heed. As soon as he was indoors, he locked himself up, drew all the curtains, took a hot shower, put on his softest pyjamas, lit a candle on his bed side table, and went to sleep.

——

“I’m sorry, I should’ve given you my number so you could contact me before you came over,” Jinki spoke in hushed tones. Between them sat a basket of fruits and a card that read get well soon! in English. Obviously, Minho had put him up to this. 

“No, it’s my fault,” Jonghyun shook his head. “I wasn’t sure what I was thinking, dropping in like that.”

The other tilted his head but said nothing, as if waiting for him to elaborate. But there was nothing much to add. Jonghyun had tried to reach for something that was far out of his grasp. When his fingertips had made contact with it, he’d tried to swing his arm like the motion would help him find some purchase. But just like the time he tried to show off at the pull-up bars in high school, his grip grew sweaty and he slipped. The fall was hard, and the humiliation amplified the pain.

Jonghyun had made a fool of himself.

“I… just came to ask how the party was,” he shook his head. “Yeah,” he let out a chagrin-filled laugh when he saw the confusion on the other’s face. “It was stupid. Coming all the way to the other side of town for something stupid like that.” But he still looked at Jinki expectantly.

The man shook his head. “It… it was good. I—we all had fun, yeah—” he assured in a jumble. “I could tell you were meeting a lot of those people after a very long time, so they were happy to be here.”

“Yeah… that’s true.”

“Jong ah, what is…” the other slid off his stool. “What is this actually about?”

“Nothing,” Jonghyun chuckled it away, clapping his hands, rubbing them together in a habit from his disgraceful high school days. “But I’m happy you enjoyed yourself. And I could tell you liked meeting my friends, too,“ he nodded. "You’ve always been close to Minho, but you and Kibum seemed to really hit it off with each other that day,” he said in a tone that insinuated things he wasn’t willing to say.

“Jong,” Jinki nudged again, his tone constantly and unbearably calm. “What’s going on?”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling like he’d find courage hidden there. His visitor walked around the kitchen island to close the distance between them, but Jonghyun stood and took a step back, motioning for Jinki to stay where he was. “Don’t,” he requested. “Please.”

Jinki’s expression took on a hint of helplessness. “Jong ah—”

“I want something,” he was cut off. “From you,” Jonghyun emphasized to put his point forward, gulping. “I want you to give me something that is unreasonable to ask for, and that’s why I act like an idiot.” He let out an exhale that came with the reprieve of confession. “I want you to give me this thing, and I want you to give it to me unconditionally—no, hyung! Hyung,” he cautioned. “Don’t come any closer, let me finish.”

The other sighed heavily. Jonghyun’s own breath had sped up by a large measure. 

“I can’t say, that… that I can give you anything in return for that something,” he shook his head. “I can’t say I can make you happy, because,” his eyes burned at the sound of his words. “Because I have never made anyone happy. Least of all, myself,” he let out a mirthless laugh. “I can’t say that I can give you everything I have, because I have nothing.”

Jinki carefully walked forward at that, regardless of all warnings. “What do you want?” he whispered when they were an arm’s length away. It was getting late in the day, and the kitchen was slowly being flooded by darkness. Deep shadows played on the man’s face. “Tell me what you want.”

“You couldn’t give it to me, even if you wanted to,” Jonghyun looked away. “I mean, Kibum tried and look what happened—”

“Why do you keep bringing him up?” the other scolded. 

Jonghyun turned back to him with incredulity. “Do you really not get it?” he looked from one amber eye to the other and found no trace of cruelty in them. Jinki wasn’t playing games with him, he was genuinely clueless.

“Hyung, Kibum and I were together for a long time.”

“I gathered.”

“Then do you know why we went our separate ways?” Jonghyun straightened up to his full height. “Do you know what fucked us up?”

“No, and I don’t really care—”

“It was me,” Jonghyun told him anyway, anger finding its way to the edges of his words. “I constantly mistook other men for Kibum and it ruined our relationship and… and once I kissed someone else. And I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Jinki said nothing. 

“Do you understand what that means?”

“… Jong ah,”

“It means that no matter how faithful I want to be to someone, no matter how much I love someone, no matter what I do to try and not fuck it up?” his voice broke against his tears. “I fail. I fail all the time. And everyone knows that,” he defined angrily. “Every single person who has ever met me, knows that. And I have to look at their faces when they realize it, over and over. I have to see them think it when they find out what I am, and that—” he sobbed. “And that is why I can’t ask you.”

Jinki pulled him into a hug then but was immediately rejected. “Hey,” he tried again, slower, softer. But when Jonghyun violently fought him off a second and third time, he gripped the man’s arms hard and trapped him against the kitchen counter. “Sto—stop it!” he yelled. 

Jonghyun sagged against him then, quaking like a child.

——

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Jinki agreed.

They’d ended up lying on the carpet of the living room, feet pointing in opposite directions and temples nearly touching each other. Jonghyun was calmer now, arms crossed over his chest as it moved with his breathing. But his nose still sniffled and a stray tear or two still dripped to his ears. He’d wipe each of them away, just so Jinki wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“I’ll be with you, Jong ah, but you need to make some changes in your life,” the man said.

He nodded wordlessly. He approved of that sentiment. “Yeah.”

“First, I want you to see a therapist—no, hear me out,” Jinki tamped out the protest Jonghyun started to make. “I want to help you, I really do. But I can’t help you with everything. Some of this stuff… Jong, some of the things you feel are really powerful, and they’re eating you up from the inside. There is a way to deal with them, but I don’t know it. You need professional advice to face those feelings. Do you think that’s reasonable?”

He didn’t want to admit defeat, because that’s what it felt like he was doing. Therapy was always seen as a last resort, a shameful alternative to being fine. Being whole and perfect and happy. He wanted to stop thinking of it with the narrow-mindedness of society. It was difficult. It was tough to accept. But he would certainly try, on Jinki’s insistence. “OK.”

“Good,” the other turned his head, their faces close enough to lean in for a kiss. But Jinki didn’t attempt, and Jonghyun didn’t seek. “Second, I want you to remember that you are not alone,” he felt around for Jonghyun’s phone and saved himself as a contact. “Now you can reach me whenever you like. Even if you’re bored and want someone to talk to. Call me anytime, alright?”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I want you to just remember that I’m here for you.”

Jonghyun turned too, this time. Their eyes met and stayed met for a long series of moments. “Thank you,” he whispered again, between them.

——

With several months behind them, their lives—and schedules—plateaued into each other.

Saturday morning was still dedicated to badminton and lunch at the café. Jinki still served them but lingered to chat with Jonghyun, sometimes playing with his hand, other times giving him a complimentary slice of cheesecake. Minho would whine things like unfair and I want to date someone too, and they’d giggle about it later. 

After a lot of scheduling, cancelling, and rescheduling, Jonghyun settled for therapy sessions every Monday straight after work. He stuck to the routine no matter how shameful it felt to admit the fact to his family and close friends. 

Wednesday nights, they would meet at the apartment where one watched TV and another worked on his portfolio for university applications. Sometimes, when the weather was pleasant, they went for walks along Cheonggyecheon. Sometimes, they invited Taemin and Naeun out on double dates. Sometimes, they just sat on the floor and played board games.

Most of the time, Jinki was close and listening attentively.

Jonghyun was happier. He could honestly say that, with no embellishment and no stretching of the truth. He felt lighter than he had in months. His mind was clearer, and he was able to make more of an effort at recognizing faces – putting names against voices, hair, mannerisms. His self-confidence would rocket every time he guessed correctly, and the few mistakes he made never weighed him down. He’d actively made an attempt to forgive himself, to move on from his slip-ups and not carry them around with himself. He was happier.

But he didn’t want to stop here. He wanted to keep moving forward. He wanted to keep climbing. And he decided to bring it up at dinner one Wednesday. 

“So, the voice thing,” Jinki said as he polished all the food off his plate. “Tell me how it works. I’m curious,” he questioned while munching through a mouthful of side-dishes.

“It’s easy,” Jonghyun shrugged, hissing at something spicy. “I just connect peoples voices with images that remind me of them. For example, Taemin,” he explained. “We lived in the same neighborhood as children, and he used to own this… huge colorful beach ball,” he motioned with his hands. “Everyone wanted to be friends with him because everyone loved that ball. So, when I hear a voice, and it sounds lively and fun, I’m immediately reminded of that ridiculous beach ball. And that’s how I know it’s Taemin.”

Jinki smiled, nodding his comprehension as he settled back into his chair. “What about the others?”

“Minho sounds lazy. Warm and lazy, like wool and hot chocolate.”

“Well, he does like his scarves.”

They shared a laugh at that. “Yeah, he does.”

"I’m sure his wardrobe is filled with them and nothing else.”

“Kibum is like… well, his breath always smelled of cigarettes when we were dating, and he used to wear a lot of silver rings. So I know when I hear something cutting or sharp, it’s him.”

“You do him so much justice,” Jinki chortled.

“Hey, you only met him for a couple of hours. Get to know him a little, and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Heh,” the other was amused. “What about me, then?” he asked, leaning forward on an elbow, looking sleepy and tired after all the time he’d put into his applications that night. “What do I remind you of?”

“I…” Jonghyun blushed. “I don’t want to say, because you might think I’m silly.”

“This is reverse psychology. Now I want to know!”

They giggled. “You’re like…” he pursed his lips. “You’re like a silk worm.”

“Wow, harsh.”

“No, no, hear me out:” Jonghyun rushed to clarify, chuckling and holding the other’s wrist. “You know how silkworms work really really hard so they can produce little pieces of string? String that we then collect and make into something beautiful? Yeah… you’re like that. You work hard on whatever you do. And it ultimately gives people happiness.”

Jinki watched him with an adoring smile. “You really know how to impress me, don’t you?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Jonghyun said, trying to act charming but immediately breaking into a fit of laughter at himself. The other watched him for a while, matching his mirth. And suddenly the urge to lean across the island for a kiss intensified. But in the six months they’d been together, they hadn’t tried to get too attached. There was a mutual unspoken pact that they didn’t want to rush into anything. Things needed to move slowly, not on impulse. And although Jonghyun’s last relationship had been long and deeply intimate, this contrast in pace was pleasant. Beyond holding hands, he decided to respect the distance as best as he could. “Hyung,” he said in place of it.

“Hmm.”

“Let’s go on a trip together.”

“Sure, where?”

“I…” Jonghyun hesitated, trying hard not to sound too forward. “I really want to go to a nice resort somewhere. Maybe Fiji?”

“Ah…” Jinki looked unnerved. “Jong ah, hyung doesn’t have that kind of money…”

“It’ll be a gift,” the offer gushed out. “From me to you. I-I mean—” he faltered. “You’re going to start university next year, and we may not see each other as often anymore. This could be a… going away present?” 

Jinki licked his lips, seeming a little worried. “Jong, the university is right here. In Seoul.”

“Yeah, I know but—”

“And it’s a generous offer, really, it is. Thank you, I’m… I’m flattered that you would want to go away on an island vacation with me. Really, thank you.”

Jonghyun blinked. “But?”

“But…“ Jinki blinked. "I need to think about it. It’s a lot to consider, I hope you understand?”

“Hmm…”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t want to go with you. Trust me, if I could drop everything right now and leave, I would.”

“I’m sorry. I… seem to have burdened you with something unnecessary again,” Jonghyun said sheepishly. 

But Jinki didn’t reply. He shook his head with a muttered this person, walked around the table and embraced the other’s forehead to his stomach.

—–

Jinki did say yes in the end, acquiescing on the condition that he be loaned his half of the expenses. Jonghyun had wasted no time in booking flights and accommodation, then.

To be quite honest, he had wasted some time jumping around the apartment like an excited child. He’d skipped through the kitchen, slid down the railing of the stairs, done a little jig in the living room–tripped and nearly hurt himself on the corner of the centre table, too. But the holiday was to happen, that much was certain, and now he felt like he was filled with air: light, warm, soothed like the sighs of an admirer.

He kept the expenses low, out of consideration for the other. But he also didn’t stinge on where they stayed, and how long they stayed for. On their first day in Fiji, a private ferry picked them up at the port and an hour later dropped them off outside a quiet little cottage, concealed on all sides by large bursts of vegetation. Jinki looked undeniably amazed when he stepped out onto the sand, and Jonghyun simply ran up to what would be their home for the next two weeks, flailing his arms and rolling on tufts of dry grass — willing to appear childish now that no eyes could see him.

They spent their mornings gorging on the breakfast buffet, spent their afternoons snorkeling or kayaking in the ocean. And at night, when the crickets were singing outside, Jinki would bring out his laptop so they could watch a movie under shared blankets.

On his part, Jinki never left Jonghyun by himself for longer than necessary. He would have friendly conversations with the people they met on the trip, and he would make additional bookings or requests on their behalf. Jonghyun didn’t mind being a passenger in those situations. There was no loss of autonomy in it, he realized. It was the other’s way of protecting him. And he was grateful. He felt an odd sense of safety. 

——

On the last evening of their trip, they sat down by the shore. Waves lapped on the sand and turned to froth against their toes. Jonghyun hugged his knees and Jinki brought out a pair of beer cans, their fourth… or no. Maybe their fifth of the night. In the distance, the last ferry ride of the day drifted out to the mainland, only visible by the lights on its front and the din of its engine.

“I could live in a place like this.” It didn’t matter who breathed those words out into the cool air. They both felt it: in different ways, in varying degrees. Where one envied the isolation of an island, the other loved the way silence reigned over it. One enjoyed the feeling of sand against his naked heels, the other missed the sun baking his bare shoulders. One could float on the undulating ocean forever, another could fall sleep in the shade of mango trees. Jonghyun could’ve stayed and if Jinki had the courage to, he would’ve also forgone leaving here. But the renouncement of something would never come without the sacrifice of something else. They knew this, and they spoke it to each other. Silently. Between sips of cold beer and grips around condensation.

“Thank you,” Jinki suddenly hushed. “For bringing me here. For showing me things I would’ve probably never seen.”

Jonghyun shook his head. “If you’d never said yes, I wouldn’t be here, either. So I should be thanking you,” he turned and smiled, leaning his chin on his arm. When the other returned the smile, he dipped his face shyly, hiding it behind the inside of his elbow. And the thought that he may be drunk occurred to him. The buzz in his cheeks flushed down his neck and into his chest. His skin fizzed with excitement, his lungs coursed with anticipation

“Let’s go for a swim,” he said. The disbelieving pause between him slipping off his shirt and Jinki’s startled eh?! was long, and a little funny. Jonghyun chuckled, dizzy with the emotion, high off of more than alcohol. “Come, hyung,” he beckoned, tilting his head to the water.

“You know there’s going to be all sorts of stuff in the water now, right?”

“That’s OK,” Jonghyun had been really worried about stepping on fish when they went snorkeling in the daytime. He’d even yelled out when he accidentally squished a sea cucumber. But now. No fear resided in his gut anymore, just a heavy pulse. To keep going. To keep stripping.

If Jinki felt any shame from seeing his host unclothed, he didn’t show it. He followed Jonghyun’s face with his sight, first in confusion and then in curiosity. “Wait…” he tried when the other began to walk in. “Wait, you’re drunk.” But he threw off his clothes as well, following close behind.

The water was cold, the tide gentle as it lapped their ankles their thighs their waists. The moon shone over them, its light folding them in cool blankets. Jonghyun stared up at it as he walked then swam. He turned to connect his eyes with Jinki once: not to check if he was still there, just to assure him that he wanted this. Wanted to be followed. Wanted to be chased. Wanted to be caught. 

Jinki’s gaze seemed to understand.

They swam for a while, first in a line and then at a point. One stopped and the other continued, cutting the water in a diminishing spiral. One looked and the other looked back. One thought he was drowning and the other knew they were soaring. One stalled, swirled, kept himself afloat. Waiting. The other moved, dived, approached as if from all sides. Wanting.

They waded deep enough that their feet stopped touching the sand. Jinki’s circling stopped, too. He swum to a halt in front of a sobbing Jonghyun. It was only them riding those waves, then. Only Jinki, only Jonghyun, and only the moonlight wavering between them on the water.

“Why are you sad?” Jinki asked. His voice was tender, the words seeming to cradle Jonghyun in their arms.

“Because,” he said, laughing and weeping all at the same time. “Because I can see you. Clearly. And I know you. I know in my gut, to give you a name. To give you your identity. I…” Jonghyun shook his head, bringing his hand out the water to wipe his face and drenching it further. “I know exactly who you are. Right now. In this second. And–” he cried. “And I’m sad because this second won’t stay. It will go away it will never come back and I don’t want that, I don’t want to leave this time I just–”

“Then let’s stop time,” Jinki said before he swallowed Jonghyun into a gasping kiss and the water swallowed their bodies whole.

——

It had been written on the sand of Jinki’s island. It had been scrawled on the beach, scratched on the rocks that fell towards Jonghyun’s sea.

It had been written that they would meet like this, when one eroded and the other abated.

It had been written a long time ago that they would meet when Jonghyun washed to the shore, flung to land by the waves. Jinki had been waiting ready, with his arms open to catch him.

It had been written that their lives would be pulled together like sticks bound in rope. That they would float and drown together, as driftwood, every morning. And when dusk finally came they would swim. Home. To the place they built. Dug into the ground and poured in like cement that dries even when the monsoon comes. Even when showers flood and lighting crashes it was written they would be held. As one. As together. As Jinki and Jonghyun.

And when the sun set. When the moon danced into view it was written that they would spin. They would roll their memories together like dough between their hands, flatten them into the circle of time before throwing them up into the sky. At the stars. At the universe. Into Jonghyun’s sea where they dissolved and disappeared. Absorbed into his tongue where he could always reach them but never bring them to his lips. It was written that Jinki would step aside when Jonghyun fell back into the water. When he swum out with the determination of getting away from the island. From his survival. From Jinki. It was written he would be given way. Despite the fear of his never returning. Despite the fear that time would start turning again and twist in their chests with pain.

It was written that life would draw messages on the beach, reminding them of the second their chests pressed together and their breath danced in the middle of folding lips. Even as the waves washed everything away, over and over. The memory was drawn until life broke its stick. And left them to maneuver through their splashing night and their blushing morning.

——

A year passed.

It was time for Jinki to go to university. They’d moved in together some months prior. Jinki had fought the suggestion hard but when he noticed how expensive rent could get in the university area, he was defeated. Jonghyun had reasoned it would still give them time together, even with work and studies. "It’ll be good for us, hyung,” he’d insisted.

And it was the truth.

Every day Jinki slowly brought in more of his things and every night Jonghyun made more and more room for him in the previously bare apartment until it felt full. Full of things, full of memories, full of happiness. And with every addition Jonghyun felt fuller too. Even if Jinki complained his things were a little scruffy or a little tattered, he didn’t mind. He bought new sheets and new quilts. He bought a second pair of pillows. He bought a set of drawers for the other’s clothes. He bought more cutlery to share. He bought everything they would need to go from being more than one. More than just him. 

Every morning Jonghyun spoke a soft, “hyung?” to confirm if it really was Jinki lying next to him. Some days the other joked and said something silly like, “No, it’s your conscience.” Some days a soft kiss would be answer enough. Some other, rare days, Jonghyun would cry and hide his face in his pillow, feeling frustrated that he couldn’t even identify the man he lived with. The man he loved and was obviously loved by in return. Jinki stayed by his side for a long time on those mornings, hushing and comforting him, never tiring of him, never complaining or walking away. 

“You’re sure about this?” he asked one afternoon as they lazed on the sofa.

Jonghyun said nothing, snuggling up to the other. He wasn’t sure about it at all. He felt no certainty in letting another person into his space. The space he had guarded fervently up until Jinki had knocked on the door and held out a bunch of red roses. He wasn’t sure. But he would remain unsure until they tried. And that was all this was. Trying. To be happy, to be whole, to start again. That was all this was. He said nothing as Jinki put an arm around him and kissed the back of his head. He gave and gave and Jinki received and accepted until at some point in their cohabitation. On some mundane morning as he sat in the train to work, Jonghyun wondered if he was a little Jinki, now. If the man he shared his apartment with was in actuality, half-Jonghyun.

He thought about it all day, all through work, even all through the night when they met and hugged and kissed and ate dinner. He thought about it when the other held him close in bed, gripped him hard, pressed a pair of soft lips to his ear and showered him with compliments as he moved deep inside him. He thought about it in his breaking voice and his scratching fingers and his peaking moans–maybe he wasn’t himself. Maybe the other wasn’t himself, either. Maybe they became each other’s, on a dark and sandy beach in the middle of an ocean. Maybe they melded, became an alloy. A Jinki-Jonghyun that couldn’t be separated with ease. He wondered even after they came back down from their high, the sheets as sweaty as their foreheads, the bed as creaky as their thighs, the air as balmy as their breath.

“You’re sure about this?” Jinki asked again, several times. And Jonghyun never answered. But the response slowly blossomed in his chest as the days became months.

His life had less uncertainties in their time together. Even when work became hectic and university took up all the time they could’ve spent in each other’s arms. Even then, Jonghyun grew less unsure. Less negative. Less unstable on his feet when looking at faces and listening to voices. He knew that the clatter of plates in the kitchen was Jinki. Or the sound of music in the late afternoon was Jinki. The jangle of keys at the door was Jinki and even the hushed sigh behind him in bed was Jinki. Even if he didn’t always recognize the things he should’ve–the picture of his mother, the friends on his phone, the sound of his own heart. Even if all that fell to unfamiliarity, Jinki never did. Not his summery grins, not his happy clap, not his hot kisses or his rippling muscles.

A year passed.

But Minho continued his complaints. “How come no one will date me?” he stamped his feet as they finished their run in he park. “I’m cute! Hyung, am I not cute?” he demanded of Jinki. 

“Adorable,” the other panted, bending over and supporting himself on his knees. “How is he not tired…?!” he said incredulously.

Jonghyun cringed and wiped his brow, but glared at the tall man, the stitch in his side making him unable to answer back. 

A year passed.

But Taemin and his wife still met them, often. They would eat and go for walks and sometimes. Sometimes Jonghyun would listen to the sounds of the baby in Naeun’s belly, closing his eyes and giggling. Imagining who the child would take after, even if their faces never registered in his mind. And then he imagined what Jinki would look like holding it. Holding any child, cradling it and humming it to sleep. He would feel warm at the image of sturdy arms around a delicate bundle of blankets. 

A year passed. 

Sometimes the thought of Kibum would still interfere with his mind. Make him remember the things he was ashamed of, things that embarrassed him still. Things he wished he could forget as easily as the faces surrounding him, but was slapped by on his worst days. And he fought Jinki over it. Birthed arguments from stupid things like forgetting to switch off lights or leaving a dirty spoon on the counter. He yelled and screamed and cried his eyes out while Jinki waited quietly for him to finish. Then he sobbed against the man’s chest, being soothed and being led to bed, being comforted to sleep it all off.

A year passed. 

And it wasn’t a perfect year. It wasn’t always happy. It wasn’t always a bed of roses. But it passed regardless. And while Jonghyun still couldn’t tell people apart, still had to listen closely in important meetings and critical situations. Even if that was still as it had always been, he was different. He was no longer just Jonghyun. He was more.

#jongyu #long fic #au #shinee

[blankdblank]

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 14

Smut in this one. and the drama builds.

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 -

Tags –

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars

X all Rich. A - @abiwim, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione​, @deepestfirefun, @rhaenaatargaryen

@obnoxious-in-pink,

…

Silence. Sheer unbearable silence. For near a month now you had not gotten a single reply from Richard. Something you greatly needed as work had picked up again and even with Lee there trying to be best friends again you had to tolerate Jordan and his friends lingering around all night you couldn’t get a single moments rest until you got back to the den of family abandonment. The solace you once got from your band of French transfer student had just shifted into an endless bout of suggestions that you should give Lee another chance when he was so clearly into you.

That thought seemed to be all too easy, just luring Lee back into another bout of dating when you knew he could be so easily led astray again. But then again that had been your same painful pattern. The few dates you had in Texas, Lee, and now Richard. The saying is ‘Always a Bridesmaid, never the Bride.’ Well, for you it had been more like being the second Wife who’s husband is on the way to his third.

The end of February was nearing and you were eager to just get this month over with. By the painfully specific voicemail you had received while at work, a long stretch of shows in London and one night out afterwards too many and Tiffany had weaseled herself through the crowds to get him so shit faced drunk to get him into bed. With the distance and the fact you had told him you could consider it a break while you were apart, knowing he’d had casual relationships before, assuming that if you gave the green light this time it wouldn’t hurt.

Worst decision ever, but, you knew she would try again. You could see the signs miles away, first with Jordan and now with Tiffany, blaring tornado warnings from the first mention or sight of them as you got to meet the pair now known excruciatingly as exes. For all the promises and wishes for the future it seemed you were now moving to London alone and could now add the Green Pearl to the list of places you no longer go to in hopes of avoiding the brothers you truly loved and hoped to have in your life forever.

That garbled jumble of words recorded on your phone you couldn’t help but keep listening to just to hear Richard’s voice once again, had spelled it out clearly, “I don’t deserve you.” … “Don’t worry. You won’t hear from me again.” Then the dreadful click that ruined your life, stirring up a seemingly endless bout of tears and long lonely nights curled around your pillows dreading always being ‘too good’ for all the guys you had dated. Just once you wanted to be enough, you wouldn’t mind being settled for, as long as it meant you didn’t feel this pain anymore.

A ring from your phone tore you from your miserable bout of staring sleeplessly out at the stars from your counter with the empty bowl from your mac ‘n’ dogs meal between school and work. Hastily you sniffled and wiped your cheeks on your shoulders grabbing your phone you opened and hit talk feeling another sting at the UK calling code, “Hello?”

Chris’ voice sounded through the line in a pained and slightly panicked tone, “Jaqi, please don’t hang up.”

Shifting on the counter you set your bowl into the sudsy sink to soak, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, per se, Richard’s been an idiot and he’s terrible and I know you’re probably pissed at him…”

“I told him he could see other people while we were apart. He likes casual flings, so-,”

“You are not casual! Now, I know what he said, he’s given me so many play by plays, just, a few more days, week tops, I’ll get him to email you if I have to tape him down.”

“If he doesn’t want to talk to me-.”

“He does! Trust me! He does! Won’t stop kicking himself and moping about to torture himself and you, hell, I can’t imagine how bad he’s hurt you by not just talking to you. Please just give me a bit of time, we keep pressing it and he’ll crack.” With a sigh you felt another tear roll down your cheek as a crash was heard making him groan and say, “Bloody Charles, all damn thumbs. Anyways, I love you Sis, please just bear in there a bit longer. He loves you too, he’s just too busy being an idiot right now to act on it. Just a bit more time, Please.” When he hung up you were back in tears again curled up against your bent legs sobbing until your alarm sounded and you went to wash your face, pull on your jacket and head off to work.

.

Work seemed endless but at least it was the weekend and you could once again slip away for just a little while. Today you managed to find yourself in Central Park Zoo. Somehow it always seemed to calm you down, so far from your apartment and everything you assumed you had escaped only to hear the soul crushing sound of Jordan’s voice. A stolen glance back confirmed him hand his friends were here and headed straight for you, even without Lee around he seemed to haunt your every step. Though a british accent split through your swirling void of pain. “Gorgeous!”

On your right you couldn’t help but smile up at the brown eyed, curly haired brunette standing with his hands in his pockets smirking down at you, “Fancy seeing you here.”

He chuckled pulling the torn card out of his pocket you had given him your number on, “Just debating when to call you. In town for a couple days.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “Few friends and I got these tickets for a Broadway show, made a weekend holiday of it. You’re here alone?”

You nodded, “Just got off work. Needed to unwind.” In the distance you could hear your name being mentioned with a few inquiries as to who you were talking to.

“Care to join us then?”

As his hopeful grin spread you giggled then answered, “Sounds like fun.” Stepping back he guided you towards his group as you mentally screamed at yourself for using this apparently sweet guy as a life raft to escape the group pitifully stalking you as you greeted the gaggle of brits, mainly comprised of couples, further explaining why he might have flagged you down again.

“Guys, this is Jaqi.”

Smiles spread on their faces as they led you to the next exhibit sharing how he’d told them about you making him burst back in saying, “And you all said I made her up. Purple eyes, impossible!” He scoffed back at them.

Sheepish chuckles came from them making you giggle and bump your arm against his, “It’s alright. I get it a lot.”

He chuckled and stole a chance at the passing of a group of strollers to rest his arm around your back and close the distance stirring up a ripple of comments from the group. You stole a glance at before turning back to the lion pit at the brits were laughing at when the lion got pounced on by his cubs and let out a fake roar of pain. After that moment you stopped glancing back at the other group, focusing on the brit who had eased his fingers between yours and asked you along to the film they were going to see.

On your path into the theater you listened as the couples called their areas making you smirk curiously as Orlando folded his free hand around yours saying, “We get the best spot then.” Grinning at his friends he led you towards the steps up to the back corner in the two seats behind the rails over the entering hall, where he managed to raise the arm rest between you and sneak his arm around your back as you sat down. In the light of the previews you caught Jordan’s group entering and searching the room for the best spot for both spying on you and Orlando. Though the notion of being watched for this whole 2 hour film did nothing to calm your irritation at just what film the group had chosen, after seeing the musical on Broadway they had chosen, Les Misérables.

Overall you had a few favored songs, and with the right cast no doubt it could be bearable for you but there was just something that seemed dull about it and the notion of having to sit through a dramatized non musical version of it, let’s just say you hoped it would rain, hard. Hard enough for the power to go out and they would have to evacuate the building, you would rather face the flooding subway back home that sit through this film. But to escape Jordan and keep the adorable smile on the face of the chocolate eyed bombshell on your left you would endure it, hoping that the splitting up of couples meant your assumptions would be true. Swollen lips and the awkwardness of making out with an attractive stranger be damned, you would not let Jordan spoil your spur of the moment date.

A few handfuls of popcorn later and you spotted the first of the couples initiating their make out session. Cautiously you took a swig of your soda and subtly smoothed your tongue over your teeth searching for any bits of popcorn that could damage another’s tongue, and in good time too cuz in another not so subtle scoot towards you your hair was brushed behind your ear. In a tilt of your head you caught the darting glance from your lips back up to your eyes and then the movie was over for you.

Damn you missed kissing, not that you’d had a lot of practice past Lee and Richard, but your fortunate fall into this muddled mess with this pouty lipped stranger wasn’t all bad and you swore you wouldn’t hate yourself for this later, a lie you knew you just had to tell yourself. What you had guessed to be filled with sneaking hands and lewd whispers in your ear stayed heated but overall respectful.

With only a move to rest your legs over his, possibly to help hide the growing arousal under his jeans from the people down the row from you. Almost the full film his lips stayed fixed on yours between lulling glides of his fingertips around your neck and chin while his other hand remained fixed on your back helping to keep you upright against his side. A stolen brush of your fingers under his jaw drew a muffled hum against your lips, and the drop of your hand to your lap again signaled a teasing nip at your lips from him. As his legs shifted it caused your hand to slide onto his lap right over the pulsing muscle forcing him to plant his lips on yours again trying to hold back his reaction to it.

He barely stayed a few more minutes, until a set of gunfire began and the stolen brush of fingers along his crotch made him pull back through a poorly garbled moan against your lips. Hastily he leaned over you snatching your half full drink then blurted out, “Refill.” Pecking you on the lips in his practical jump up and trot down the stairs.

Leaning back in your seat you shook your head and curled your fingers over your lips propping your feet up trying not to giggle at either his avoiding what he expected to be a hand job or to handle his coming in his pants. In a glance to your left you grabbed the abandoned popcorn for another handful. Hoping to distract yourself as you stared up at the battle playing on screen. Ignoring the stolen glances of Jordan and his friends until Orlando and his wide grin trotted back up the steps and eased into his seat with your new drink, with a pink cup instead of your former green one and a box of your favorite candy. “So, they apparently don’t refill the green cups, but the guy recognized me from earlier by you so he just swapped the cups and added more, and said you didn’t get your usual candy. You come here often?”

You nodded tilting your head to peer up at him as he opened the box for you and poured some into your palm before pouring a few straight into his mouth making you smirk, “Least once a week.”

He chewed his candy watching as you ate yours a couple at a time then asked after he swallowed, “You’re friends with him?”

You tilted your head spotting a hint of jealousy in his eyes and shook your head, “No, we live in the same building. I save him the best washer on Fridays and he slides me some extra snacks on his discount.” Making him smirk then tilt the box giving you more after pouring more into his mouth.

A glance at the screen stirred a surprisingly irritated grumble from him before he swallowed and leaned in to whisper, “I don’t know why but I just never got into this musical. I’m usually a sucker for them, this one-,” he shook his head and you giggled under your breath making him look at you again with a confused smirk.

“At least I’m not the only one.” Nipping at his lip he scooted closer to you easing his arm around your back another grumble left him as he sunk a bit lower on his seat and furrowed his brows at the screen making you giggle again drawing his attention to you.

Your sudden kiss took him by surprise, but to escape the film his lips melted against yours again returning to your same amorous escape almost instantly making him hard again stirring a giggle from you at his irritated grumble against your lips. But keeping the escaping going you were shifted again flush against his side easing your hand against his neck until the sound of the first credit song began urging him to steal one last peck on your lips before helping you to your feet and guiding you down the steps. Quietly you listened to his friends around you hearing of their plans to head back to their hotel for an early night for their flight home the next day.

Outside their hotel on the way to the subway you waved goodbye to the group as Orlando gave you a regret filled puppy dog stare, “It is a pity I didn’t have the nerve to call you yesterday.”

You shook your head, “It works out how it does. I hope you have a safe flight back.”

He grinned again looking you over as if trying to memorize you in case of never seeing you again, “I do hope we run into one another when you’re back in England.”

With a weak giggle you rose up stealing one last kiss then walked around him making him turn to watch you in your backwards steps before your turn, “Perhaps. If not, you have my number. Have a cuppa for me when you land, it’s so dreadful out here on the selections.”

He chuckled and nodded as you turned away again giggling, “I will.” Stealing one last glimpse of you and your bounding curls swaying around you before you rounded the corner and he went inside. In the sting of another cold breeze you found the entrance and trotted down the steps sniffling at the inevitable sting of the lovely evening you were certain would remain just that. Yes he had your number, but you knew he would never call.

…

At least it was Saturday, you grumbled on your longer shift at work through the day, unwilling to think up what the lonely night would stir up with you alone in your apartment. The entire shift you were certain Jordan had shared the news of your date keeping your friend at an awkward distance until you were free of Jordan in the break room for lunch where Lee sat in the seat beside you opening his lunch bag as you opened yours.

“I thought you hated Les Misérables.”

Without looking up you unfolded the wrap around your sandwich, “I didn’t pick the film.” He nodded and you added flatly, “His name is Orlando.”

Lee’s eyes narrowed and he asked, “Where’d you meet?”

“Back in London on winter break.”

“He flew out here to see you?”

You shook your head, “Nope. Him and his friends got tickets for Broadway, they flew home today.”

“So, you just meet up and make out for two hours?”

“We didn’t plan it. I was at the zoo, happened to be there. Besides,” you let out a sigh, “I miss just making out.”

“Then make out with me.” You turned your head to face him with a brow raised, “Fuck Jordan.”

“No thank you.”

He nudged your arm, “I was an idiot. I’ve missed you terribly and have been trying to, find a way to ask you out again.”

With a sigh you heard Jordan calling for Lee outside the hall leading into the back room, “Why do I sense a case of déjà vu coming on?”

He shook his head, “It’s not going to be like last time.”

Nodding your head you wet your lips then ensured you were alone in the room then said, “You know what, since I’m graduating anyways, it’s casual, no labels. We can make out, possibly hook up,” his lips parted and you cut him off to add, “Just know, the minute you touch him again it’s over. I am not kicking that beehive again.”

“Why would you want that? Casual I mean.”

It’s simpler in putting off the inevitable second break up, besides, this way I have someone to make out with and you can finally get that blow job you desperately need.”

“I-, what?” His cheeks heated up in a blush.

“You, for the uncertainty of whoever you’re attracted to, you gotta get past this fear of yours to nudge it further. Jordan is an ass, why you were so scared to go farther with me I don’t know, but if you had to choose between the two of us for crossing that line, to be completely narcissistic I am a catch and you made a serious plummet down.”

His smile grew and he nodded, “Ya. Especially with his latest ego trips with the other dancers.”

“Ya, especially Chloe, dropping her like that on purpose. He could have hurt her.”

Lee nodded, “I don’t know, he just, he’s the first guy to be all interested in me.”

You nodded, and caught his sheepish glance, “You really don’t think I don’t get that. The whole, ‘He’s the first one to look my way,’ thing. I lived in that zone back in Texas. You are far from the first into being flattered into dating some asshole. You are among the idiots who keep leading him on worsening your own life.”

He nodded raising his sandwich, “True.” Taking a bite and chewed, tucked the food in his cheek to ask, “What am I supposed to do about him then? He won’t leave me alone.”

“Ignore him. No matter what. Don’t take his calls, messages, notes, carrier pigeons, no matter what he does. Tell your parents he’s not allowed in the house and you’re not friends anymore. It’s gonna suck and he’s gonna get worse but you gotta put that foot of yours down or he’s gonna keep thinking you’re his and he can keep pushing until you cave. Cuz he’s assuming you will. Unless you want to be at his beck and call for the next two or three years.”

He sighed, “I have to tell my parents?”

You nodded, “You’re the one that watered the mogwai, lover boy.”

Peering at you while you ate he took a bite of his own after saying, “Fine, casual, we can do casual.” Slowly regretting those words as he began to chew his own now tasteless sandwich realizing just how badly he’d hurt you finally, all to the point of not getting another chance to fully be your boyfriend, possibly ever.

.

For all his regret at losing the full title Lee settled giddily back into the same solace of a sane relationship with the teen he knew now he had not so subtly fallen for. Each day through school clinging to you as usual completely avoiding the now fuming Jordan growing more boisterous by the day at the fury coursing in him at Lee’s ignoring him.

Though where Lee’s resolve was wearing thin by the end of the first week Jordan’s third purposeful dropping of another dance partner had triggered a chain reaction he could not stop. For all his boisterous bragging of his so called talent and top notch grooming to be the best, he was deemed a hazard to the other students, called into the office, expelled and banned from the premises. A breath of relief coursed through the whole school without him there to distract from everyone’s reasoning for being there.

Each day, between your calls on progress from Chris you tried your best not to feel so terribly awful at attempting to dull the pain with yet another make out session with Lee. But in the sea of muddled pain once again you were tangled up in a mess of arms and in the easing of your fingers down his navel he forced himself not to flinch this time and failed in holding back his throaty moan against your lips when you first gripped him for a loose stroke.

Barely an inch from his lips you asked, “Did you want a blow job?”

“I-, you don’t, have to.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully as he bit his lip moaning lowly again at your next stroke, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” A soft gasp left him when his head fell back at your urging to keep yourself from laughing at his exasperated expression.

Under you he tried not to squirm only to mumble, “Oh no” a few minutes in before his sudden climax he promptly covered his face with one of your pillows after. With an amused grin you covered his groin again with his boxers, then zipped and buttoned his pants before shifting to pull the pillow off his face. Your soft giggle and peck on his cheek made him open his eyes again, “I highly doubt that is the last ever erection you’re going to have in your lifetime Lee.”

A grin eased onto his face and he inched up kissing your cheek back, “I don’t know what to say, thank you?”

You giggled again, “You don’t have to thank me. You do have to help me carry the take out though. Come on, we should eat.” He nodded and climbed to his feet looking you over as you tied your converse on again then stood beside him.

Leaning in he cupped your cheek stealing a fiery kiss, “I’m buying.”

With a playful smirk you said, “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to butter me up for another.”

He narrowed his eyes in return and stole another fiery kiss making you giggle at taking a step back to steady yourself in your lean backwards at his hunch forward, “Come on. And I’m getting you extra egg rolls.”

His hand fixed in yours and you said, “Ooh. How you spoil me.” Making him chuckle and guide you to the door glancing around on his way.

“Did you think about furniture shopping yet?”

In the last shriveling piece of your hope at one day moving in with Richard finally wilted and you nodded, “We can look.”

He grinned, “Good. We can browse around tomorrow.”

..

Over the next week you spent each day roaming through shops for ideas on new and second hand furniture catching glimpses of the sulking Jordan shadowing your path making Lee only drape around you more. An early Saturday morning brought a new couch and an odd looking cube coffee table you just couldn’t leave in the second hand shop when you first noticed it stirring up an awkward waddling through the subway for the trip you and Lee made carrying the absurd piece of furniture back to your place.

By ten Lee was back at your door with a wide grin, leaning in to kiss you when he laid his eyes on you then pulled back saying, “Ok, let’s see it.”

A giggle left you at his seeming growing amusement in each new piece you added to the apartment, something you didn’t realize he was taking as another piece of proof you were inching back to possibly staying, possibly forgiving him finally to trust him enough to be just his. In his path to get a drink of water you read the latest message from Chris, more of the same, another excuse that Richard was out filming something, but they were still hounding him on getting back in touch with you. Another full day of work with lounging after soon melted into another make out session ending with his sheepish bringing out the bottle of lube you had bought and box of gloves he insisted on you using when the subject had first come up.

If he was going to be honest he was terrified but you were the only one he would ever want his firsts to be with. Again he couldn’t help but chuckle at your grin at his growing harder at your adding the glove, “If this makes you hard I’d be interested to see what happens at your check ups.”

He shook his head nipping at his lip then sat up pulling you into a kiss straddling his lap, “As long as you’re wearing the white coat we can play Doctor any time.” Steadily his moans grew more frequent until his head fell back completely at your finger pressing into him making his eyes roll back when your lips sank around him again at the same time. Timidly his hips would rock allowing you deeper making him moan louder until his final shuddering moan at his climax.

Again and again he would allow you to do more accepting this new wave of experiences he was sharing with you all until he groaned behind the hand covering his mouth as you left him on the curb when you walked into the sex shop. For a few passing moments he stood there in shock, then at the next wave of people passing he quickly darted inside then froze at the flannel clad woman behind the counter with bright purple hair. He forced a quick smile then glanced around and hurried after you on your way to the section of strap ons. Lowly he mumbled, “Can’t we do this somewhere, more-,”

With a grin you kissed his cheek, “Why are you so scared? Trust me, they have the shop because people buy them. If it makes you better I’ll buy a toy for myself and tell them I have a girlfriend.” He drew in a breath and you giggled turning your head at the drag Cher walking out, still in full costume from their clubbing the night before.

“First strap on?”

You smiled and nodded, “Trying to think of the right size to start out with.” You said turning to face the toys while Lee turned bright red trying not to look anywhere but the toys to keep from letting out his nervous laugh that would only make matters worse for him.

On the other side of Cher a drag Dolly Parton leaned on her arm asking her, “First timer?” Cher nodded and Dolly moved closer pointing out one of the boxes, “This was the first one my ex tried with me. Not bad for a one sided affair.”

Cher nodded, “If you’re wanting a dual pleaser they have these,” she walked around Lee to grab one of the boxes in a bright yellow she showed you pointing out all the features, “The bartender at our club just goes nonstop about this one her partner got her. Just go slow on the harness vibrator, it can get a bit intense right off the bat.”

You nodded and by the time ten minutes had rolled around five more plus the man in a bright pink shirt with the store’s logo had joined the conversation and all but smiled when Lee cleared his throat softly on the side and lowly asked Dolly a question about one of their suggestions. An action that seemed to break him a bit out of his shell and signal him inching more into the conversation brightening the grins on the other ladies’ faces until they had to go but made sure to pass you a flyer to their club. “You should come out and see the show some time. No worries on the age, as long as you’re 18 you can get in, you’ll just have to drink virgins all night.”

With a grin you took your choices up to the counter and giggled at the woman sending you a wink after saying, “Have fun.” Slipping a complimentary bottle of lube in the bag as Lee scanned his eyes over anything but her in his turn to follow you to the door.

“Oh I will.”  You said at the door freeing you and Lee out of that unknown bubble of a world he had yet to fully accept for himself to be a part of openly to the whole world.

Pt 15

#Richard Armitage x Reader OC #Lee Pace x Reader OC

[of-another-broken-heart]

Right then. 

I did manage to sleep, very briefly. I woke up with my original alarm at... 11:45. Then took two 15-minute snoozes, so I got out of bed at 12:15 and hustled to get kinda-sorta presentable. AKA, I took off the sweatshirt I’ve been wearing for the past week or so, put on an actual shirt and my gray sweater poncho thing, and smeared some deodorant in my pits. Oh, and brushed my hair. 

There was a pretty significant car accident on my way to my appointment. I counted at least 4 cars that weren’t police vehicles there, two of which seemed damaged. It looked a lot like someone rear-ended another car. There was all manner of debris in the road, and the incoming traffic lane was completely blocked off with traffic being diverted down a side-street to take a meandering path into town, instead. The lane I was in was thankfully unobstructed, so I didn’t suffer any delay. 

I got to the office a bit early, actually. My appointment was pretty short and pleasant. My psychiatrist let me know she thought I “looked” better. I’ve been thinking about what to say and how to describe my experience on this medication so far, for at least a week, so I “performed” that well. I don’t know how I feel about being told I “looked” better. On one hand... yay, I guess? On the other hand, I don’t want my actual feedback dismissed just because the pieces of clothing I tossed on today made me “look” better or something. 

I set up another follow-up with my psychiatrist. Supposed to be a 2-week follow-up, but the next opening was actually in 3 weeks. Between that and anticipated inclement weather, my psychiatrist went ahead and put through a refill order for me, so I won’t end up without meds before I see her again. 

I have actual therapy on the 28th as my next appointment, and the 31st is my next psychiatrist follow-up. 

I still need to go have my blood drawn for the repeat tests my doctor wants done. I’ve been meaning and trying to do that nearly every day this week, but things haven’t panned out yet. Right now is actually a good time, but... I just finished eating a big lunch. So that’ll screw with at least one of the test results she wants done. 

That big lunch was a foot long sub! My aunt gave me a giftcard for Subway that she claimed she wouldn’t use anyway - it had been some sort of secret santa or raffle prize during the holidays at one of her jobs. She gave it to me before I left her place last time. 

Going from my healthcare facility to Subway was not a great cruise. I didn’t use my GPS today, so I best-guessed my way from point A to point B. Thankfully, that panned out. There were some hellish drivers on the way, though. I was genuinely scared I was going to get t-boned at one point, because a car just started pulling out of a restaurant parking lot, towards/into me - in the midst of other traffic, it’s not like I was the only one on the road! - before I had even got in front of them. I was in the actual road/traffic - which you’re supposed to yield to, when pulling out of a parking lot with no traffic light of its own. I swerved a bit into the shared center turn lane, to be safe, because they were seriously fucking close to my vehicle, and slowed down so I wasn’t careening wildly and frightening other drivers- 

And that was a good thing! Because another vehicle had decided to pull out across traffic in front of me from the other side of the road, with basically no wiggle room between it and me, or it and the upcoming traffic roundabout. 

So I came to a complete stop, straddled over the line separating my traffic lane from the shared center turn lane, waiting for this fresh new hazardous dipshit to merge into traffic already so we can all get on with our lives. 

A vicious point of irony, I think, is that this happened within 100 feet of a hospital. I can’t help but wonder how many of the patients in there are harmed right the fuck outside its doors because people are in too much of a goddamned rush to, I dunno, follow traffic law and avoid collisions or something. 

THEN, I finally get to the shopping complex that has a Subway in it, and the nearby parking is pretty packed... but I see a spot that doesn’t have a car shadow being cast from it, so I roll my way over - only for some fuck in a Jeep to do a pull-through, forcing me to dodge a bunch of aimless pedestrians who don’t know what the fuck the sidewalk is, and an armored bank van, just so I can swing back and try a different aisle of the parking lot. 

I ended up parking twice as far as necessary and angrily stomping my way through half the lot in the freezing wind (it was literally 32ºF/0ºC) just so my car was alone and less likely to get victimized by the disastrous imbeciles out in force today... 

There was a line inside, but that was no big deal. It let me cool my briefly flared temper and look at the menu and prices. I’m a Dirty Poor(TM) so familiarity with food place’s menus is not a thing I’ve got. They still had my favorite bread (Italian Herb & Cheese) and all the fixin’s for my favorite build-your-own sandwich, so I waited my turn and got turkey and provolone (toasted) topped with shredded lettuce and red onions and black olives, glued together with a drizzle of ranch. The ranch was a new addition - I don’t usually bother with any dressing on this sandwich. But it was a treat today, so I went for it. And I opted to do a combo, so I got a lil bag of chips and a fountain soda, too. 

I get to the register to complete my order, though, and some uppity self-important nurse from the hospital barges in, cuts the entire line, and interrupts the cashier to demand she be tended to immediately, because “you guys screwed up my veggie sub.” She gives the guy a brief verbal lashing, then graciously agreed to let him finish my in-progress transaction. 

Her replacement sandwich was ready and waiting, because she’d apparently got her sandwich already and took it all the way back to the hospital without bothering to check it, even though she “doesn’t have time” to come back for this replacement... So she called to complain and demand both a replacement sandwich and a full refund because she had to come back. Like... holy fucking hell. If I’d been behind that counter, I would’ve been sobbing. That lady was a nightmare. And also wrong, because the wretched demon with such highly valuable time should’ve taken the two goddamn seconds required to check her fucking order for mistakes. Seriously, I don’t even know anyone who takes their McDonald’s DRIVE-THRU orders without checking that the stuff is all correct! How are you going to be so pressed for time that you order-ahead a sub sandwich, use your whole lunch break to go pick it up (this is bullshit btw, even in heavy traffic it takes about 5 minutes to get from the hospital to this Subway, and this entitled witch definitely was the sort that got a full hour paid lunch), and not check the fucking order??? 

I got out of there as fast as I could, but I’d heard that whole ordeal from start to finish because the gift card my aunt gave me turned out only to have $10 on it, and my order came to about $12, so I had to fish out a few dollars, then put the change away, then fill up my fountain soda (which is located a whole 18 inches from the register...)

I got home fine. The accident I’d passed driving out seemed to be totally tidied up - I didn’t see any debris, and the cluster of flashing lights was gone - but I took the back roads home anyway, just to be safe and avoid the potentially worse drivers/road hazards. 

I settled right down and ate that sandwich, and it was glorious. 

Now I’m full and happy about it, and I was going to try to nap, but instead I typed this novel, and now there’s only 45 minutes until it’s med time... 

I’m going to lay down for a bit anyway. I might get a few actual minutes of sleep in, but if not, it’ll be some rest to help me get through the remainder of the day, at least. 

#personal #food mention

[a-dreamer-named-mars]

Imagine Jamie Checking Up On You

You had been sitting on a park bench in Central Park for almost three hours. You just couldn't move. It's like you were paralyzed, except for your eyes - those kept sending tears that ran down your face.

You're boyfriend, or better saying "ex-boyfriend" , broke up with you this morning. He said something about "not being right for you." and "you deserve so much better." .... but you stopped listening and paying attention after he said he wanted to break up. And you only listened again when he mentioned he was unfaithful to you and that he had kissed someone else and that he had feelings for her.

It hurt a lot. You did know that it's not like you were getting married and having kids but, he was your first love. And to know that your relationship with him ended because he chose someone else... is not that great of a first break up.

You looked at your wrist to check the time and noticed it was almost six o'clock in the afternoon, meaning it was time to go home and have dinner... and call it a day. You wanted to end it as soon as you could. You got up and made your way to the closest subway station, walking down the stairs as fast as you could as you started hearing the buzz of the train approaching. Being the commissioner's daughter, you had the right to have a car always ready for you. But that meant that your driver, who worked for your dad, would know all your whereabouts and who you spent your time with and you didn't want any of that so, you prescinded that right and went home on the subway or on the bus, just like any other normal sixteen year old kid. Although sometimes you asked your siblings if any of them were around the area, so they could take you home. Usually Jamie did it, you were extremely close to him and he always had more free time than Danny and Erin, who were always "caught up in a case" . You didn't blame them though, their job was totally different.

As you got to the platform you saw the train doors opening and ran to try and get inside, which you successfully managed to do. You heard the beep, destined to warn everyone, but specially blind people, that the doors were now about to close. You found a seat and sat down for the whole thirty minute ride, until it was over and you got off, hopping on a bus that took you to Bay Ridge, only having to walk a couple of blocks to get to your house, that you and your dad shared with your grandfather, Henry.

"Hey Y/N, bus got stuck in traffic?"

As much as you loved Pop, you were not in the mood right now, and so you just decided to mumble a "No" and run up the stairs to your bedroom. You could hear him say something behind you but you just ignored it and after you showered and changed into more comfortable clothes, you went back down to have dinner.

* * *

It was Sunday and, two days after what felt like the worst day of your life. That also meant your brothers and your sister were coming over. But every since Friday you had been heartbroken and the last thing you wanted was to sit at the table and have dinner with everyone else while having to talk to them when the one thing you wanted to do is cry, cry and cry. Until the hurt goes away. You also didn't feel very catholic either, so... mass was out of the question for today aswell.

Before your father and granpa left for church, your dad knocked on your door and asked you what was going on and why you weren't getting ready, but you simply told him you felt sick and that you should stay inn for the day.

To your surprise, he didn't come in or ask you for more details, and just left and you sighed of relief when you heard the door shut.

You walked out of the bedroom, in your pijamas and walked down the stairs slowly, tears falling down your cheeks. It seems like crying was all you could do these days. You made some pancakes for youself and took them to the couch with you, eating them while you watched a novel you had in your DVR, and obviously, while crying more and more.

A couple hours later you finished the movie and you checked the time on your phone, you noticed it was only a matter of minutes before everyone started coming in, so, you put the dishes in the dishwasher and walked back up the stairs, shutting yourself inside your bedroom for the rest of the day.

Your predictions were right and only a few minutes after you were in your room, you could see your family parking their cars and walking inside your house.

* meanwhile at family dinner *

"Yeah, right! I knew you would never give me permission to search the guy's apartment!" Danny said, as he fought his sister about the facts of a case they were both working on.

"I am only doing my job." She simply said, as she continued to eat her food.

"Hey guys... have you noticed Y/N isn't here?" Jamie said, as he looked around the table.

"Yeah, she hasn't been feeling well lately." Henry said.

"Really? She hasn't mentioned feeling bad to me." The youngest Reagan boy said, frowning.

"So what? You think just because you're her favorite brother she's gonna tell you everything?" Danny said, mocking Jamie as he noticed how strange he was finding that whole situation.

"That's not it, I just think it's weird she wouldn't tell me, or you, or Erin for that matter." He said, pointing at his siblings as he spoke their name.

You and Jamie had always had a different type of connection. It was almost like you were twins, it was that type of connection. When you were a baby and he was a kid, whenever you woke up in the middle of the night, he did too. That time he faced a death situation for the first time on the job, you hadn't known about it, you couldn't have known, but still when he came home that day you were there. You felt like something was wrong and you were at his place, waiting for him to arrive so you could comfort him. It was that special, the connection you two had.

The rest of the family shrugged it off and justified your absence with the fact that you're just a teenager, acting like one. But that kept bothering Jamie and he excused himself off the table, saying he was full and was going upstairs to get some stuff from his old bedroom to take to his new place.

He did go upstairs, just not to his old bedroom.

You were laying on your bed, scrolling through an album of pictures of you and your ex that you had on your tablet, when you heard a knock on the door. You groaned when you immediately thought it was your dad or your grandfather and coughed to try to fake your supposed sickness, saying that you were resting.

"Those fake coughs can't fool me."

You sighed. It was Jamie. To him, you couldn't lie. But you could avoid the conversation.

He knocked again and you got up, knowing there was no point in lying to him, and opened the door.

"I heard you're sick." He said as he gestured the quoting marks when he said the word "sick".

"I haven't been feeling too well, that's all." You weren't lying, that was for sure.

"Mind telling me why?"

You opened the door a little wider so he could walk inside your bedroom and sat down on your bed, only a couple of seconds before he took a seat next to you.

"No offense but, you look like crap. What's going on?"

"Oh, it's nothing really. Just not feeling good lately."

"Yeah I got that...but why? You must have a reason."

He was pushing you and you knew there wasn't really anything you could do or say to make him quit, so you just gave in and told him what had happened and when you did, you couldn't hold the tears back anymore, and you started crying right there.

"Mike broke up with me." You said in between sobs, before Jamie put his arm around you and pulled you close to him.

"Shh, shh... it's gonna be okay."

"I loved him...I loved him so much."

He held you tighter and used his free arm to gently rub circles on your forearm.

"But... what happened between you two? Why did he broke up?" He asked you, still a bit confused about what you had told him.

You cried harder and harder and held onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder, getting his shirt all wet with your tears. As you did so, he caressed your back, trying to comfort you. It broke his heart to see his little sister feeling so hurt. Eventually you loosened your grip and he did so too, allowing you to look at him while you tried to speak and tell him what had actually happened. Although all you could see was a blur, because as soon as it all came back to your memory, your tears came back too.

"He cheated on me." You said quickly, falling into his arms again while sobbing.

When Jamie heard what you said, his heart sunk. That douchebag cheated on his sister?! That jerk?! How could he had done that? How could he hurt her that badly?!

"What?" He whispered. That was literally all he could say. He shocked too.

"He kissed someone else." She whispered back.

When he didn't say anything, because he was still processing that whole thing, she gave him more information.

"He told me. In my face!" She said, now loudly, while backing away

from him to look into your brother's face. "He told me he had kissed someone else and that he was sorry but he had to break up because he had feelings for her." She said now covering her face with her hands while crying more and more.

"Hey, hey... don't be like that." He said as he touched your shoulder. "If he chose someone else over you, that's his loss, not yours. He's the one who's missing out on an amazing girl."

"No it's not, J." You said when you wiped away your tears. "It's my loss. Because I loved him with all my heart and now he's gone. He's with someone else, he's over me but... I can't get over him. Not now, not ever. He is the love of my life." You explained. You weren't crying this time. It felt like you were all dried out and even if you wanted to cry, you couldn't. It felt like you didn't have any water left in your body. Or maybe it was due to the fact that your brother and best friend was now with you and you were finally talking to someone about what broke you so much.

"Y/N, you can't keep crying over him. I am telling you he's stupid if he broke up with you. He does not deserve your tears. Come on, don't let him win, here."

"Then tell me how not to... I thought we were meant to be together forever." You said with your eyes pleading your brother for help, as if he could actually help you.

"I know this is probably gonna hurt now more than it would if you weren't so hurt but... no couple that dates in high school for only what? A year? Is gonna last forever. You're both two young and I get that it hurts now, I know how it hurts. But guess what? The pain isn't gonna last forever."

This time you were the one who wasn't speaking at all, so he decided to continue his speech.

"This was your first love, your first relationship... and your first heartbreak. You should have known those two came with that last one. Damn, I should have known! You're my little sister and this was your first boyfriend, I should have thought this through and think that your first heartbreak was in line and I should have prepared you for it. But I didn't and now you're a mess..."

"It's not your fault, Jamie. You know that, right?"

"Yeah but still. Look, as much as I want to beat the crap out of him right now, I won't-"

"You?" You asked in shock. "That sounds like a very Danny thing to say. Not something you'd do."

"Trust me, I do. But, the point is... I won't because I know you need me right now. More than you need him bleeding so, I won't go anywhere and I'll stay here with you. For as long as it takes, until you start feeling better." He said as he crawled back in bed and got more comfortable, indicating you you had no choice but to get over that Mike person.

"You're the best, you know that?" You said, laughing at his antics.

"And you're the worst." He joked. "Come here." He asked, patting the space of the bed next to where he was laying.

You did what he said, and sat down next to him, waiting for another speech from your big brother.

"Look, it's not gonna be easy. I won't even try and lie to you by saying you're gonna get over him overnight. But time heals everything, and you have so many other important things to worry about in these next years - being a senior, prom, college... He's gonna be a drop in an ocean of things you'll go through. Good and bad. So don't worry."

"Thank you." You said sincerely, looking at him. "You can go home now. I'd love to have you share a room with me like when we shared a tent last time we went camping but... that would cause too many questions from those cops downstairs. And I don't really wanna tell them."

"You got." He got up, kissed your forehead and headed out of your bedroom, turning around as he forgot to tell you something.

"Oh and don't tell Erin either."

"Why?"

"Because she's a woman, and you know what they say."

"What do they say?" You asked, now completely  clueless about what he was talking about.

"You know, that whole "the best way to get over a guy is to get another" talk?"

"Oh my God!" You said as you started laughing at him.

"That's not how it works. Don't do that." He said as he smiled at you before leaving.

Everything was gonna be okay after all. It hurt a lot now, but it's like Jamie said - these were the most important years of your life now, and you'd be a fool if you wasted them crying over a guy who does not deserve you. So you were just gonna do your best to enjoy life.

#jamie reagan #jamie reagan imagine #cbs #blue bloods #excerpt from a book i'll never write #excerpt from a story i'll never write #love story #romance

[buyaheartfiction]

01|A Bad Situation

Even though I was almost two months into my third year of medical school my body still found it difficult to adjust to the hours I was putting in like now. My eyes felt heavy and the steady beating of the rain against the hospital window wasn't proving helpful to my current situation. Attempting to keep up my grades, I was doing some reading on the conditions I had come across with patients during rounds this morning, but all I really wanted to do was sleep. A yawn escaped my Ruby Woo painted lips before my phone nearly startled me as it vibrated against my leg.

I was thankful I was in the M3-M4 lounge and not on the floor with my attending physician. Fishing the iPhone out my pocket my face scrunched up in confusion as I registered the caller. It was Shayla: my cousin. Our relationship hadn't been the same over the last few years. We went from speaking just about every day to not really speaking at all so I couldn't fathom why she'd be calling me, but nonetheless, I exited the lounge not wanting to disturb anyone else as I answered my phone.

“Hello?”

“You need to get down to Methodist hospital right now. I'm here with your mother.”

“Wait what! Is she okay? What happened?”

“She’s in surgery. Trinity please just get down here.”

The familiar beep let me know the call ended and I couldn't gather my things fast enough as I went to find my resident and let them know of my sudden family emergency. I ran as fast my feet would carry me and caught the first cab I could get into. Any other day I would have gotten on the subway to get me to Brooklyn, but the hour long ride wasn't going to cut it today: not while my mother was sitting in the hospital and I had no idea what was going on.

As the cab drove through the busy streets of New York City my mind kept running over different scenarios. I hadn't gotten a chance to see her this morning because when I left she was still in bed, but up to last night she'd been just fine so what could have gone wrong while I was at school. What could be wrong that she’d be in surgery? My mind was spinning and it didn't help that I didn't have any information besides the fact I needed to haul ass. The salty liquid left my eyes causing me to wipe at my face as I pulled my phone from my pocket.

I wanted to call Shayla back, but if she wasn’t willing to give me answers before I knew she wouldn’t give them to me now and honestly I wasn’t sure if I could handle the information I was seeking in my fragile state. So instead of dialing her number, I hit my second favorite contact and placed the phone to my ear. Upon hearing my best friends voice I didn’t even give him our usual stupid greeting.

“Caleb, mama is in the hospital,” My voice shaky.

“What? Is she okay?”

“I don’t know.” As the words fled my lips I felt a sense of hopelessness leave with them causing a sob to push its way through.

“Calm down baby girl. Don’t get yourself worked up until you know any thing for sure. Where are you now?”

“I’m in a cab on my way to Methodist.”

“I’ll meet you there and I know you’re stressing yourself out. Stop it! Mama is going to be fine.”

The line disconnected and though I knew his words were sincere I still couldn’t stop my brain from getting ahead of itself. I could feel the driver looking at me from the rear view mirror, but I had no shame as I continued to let everything out not caring that I was embarrassing myself in the back of this cab. Pulling up to a red light he handed me some tissues and I mumbled a barely audible thank you before dabbing at my face.

“You’re welcome beautiful. Keep it positive.”

The trip from the Lower East Side to Brooklyn didn't take too long considering it was rush hour and upon overhearing my situation the driver put a little peep in his step. Pulling up to Methodist I was pretty much out the cab before it could come to a complete halt.  Upon entering I wasted no time asking for directions to get where I needed to be. The elevator doors let me out on the third floor and I immediately spotted Shayla, but she wasn’t alone. By her side was her fiancé Brandon. It wasn’t that I disliked him I just didn’t know him very well and that was partially to blame on the lack of communication between Shayla and myself. Had we been close like we once were I’m sure things would be different. Rushing over to them I skipped over the formalities.

“Tell me what’s going on.” My tone demanding.

With tears in her eyes and trembling lips, Shayla looked up at me and immediately I could spot how uncomfortable she was and maybe that’s why she didn’t oblige with my request. Instead, it was Brandon who gave me the 411.

“She’s still in surgery, and the doctors haven’t given us much word yet, except they believe she had a stroke.”

“A stroke?” I asked in disbelief. “How?” My question was rhetorical because I didn’t expect Shayla or Brandon to have those answers, but why didn’t I notice something. Maybe because stroke symptoms weren’t exactly obvious and I’d never heard her complain about said symptoms. That could’ve been it or perhaps it had something to do with me spending most of my day at a hospital worrying about everyone else’s issues but my own. Was I not the girl with six figures worth of debt all in pursuit of a career in medicine, yet I couldn’t see problems in my own household or with my own mother? I was already failing.

Plopping down in the seat next to Shayla I buried my face into my hands as I found myself crying again. My emotions were getting the best of me again and I absolutely hated it. I felt a hand on my back offering comfort, but the touch felt forced and it made my sense of anxiety even higher. With my tear filled eyes, I looked over to Shayla as I shrugged away from her touch, feeling myself growing angry and frustrated.

“Don't touch me.” I spat.

“Excuse you?”

“You heard me.”

“Let's get something straight I don't need to be here. That isn't my aunt or mother in that operating room. And FYI had I not found her she'd probably be on her way to the coroner’s office you ungrateful brat.”

“Ungrateful? When my father was around she was your aunt, right? When your mother did -” I got ready to tell her something she might not be too fond of hearing, but someone calling my name stopped me from reading her for filth.

“Trinity.”

Looking to the caller of my name I got out my seat and engulfed Caleb in a hug. His touch on my back was one of security. It felt soothing as I cried into his shirt while he attempted to hush my cries. Pulling away from me he held my face as the pads of thumb removed stray tears from my face.

“She had a stroke. What am I going to do if she doesn’t pull through? I can’t lose her, Caleb. I can’t go through that pain of losing a parent again.”

Almost eight years ago I’d lost my father to coronary artery disease. I knew he was watching over mama and me, but it wasn’t the same thing as him being here. I missed our car rides where we’d drive around aimlessly talking about any and everything. The only cap and gown he’d seen me in were my high school one. He wasn’t there to see my biggest accomplishment thus far: graduating from NYU with my bachelors of science in biochemistry.  Even though it’d been so long I still thought about him and tried to honor his memory.

“I know. Mama’s a fighter. She’s gonna make it and the first thing she’s going to do is whoop your ass for doubting her.”

A chuckle escaped our lips. I appreciated his efforts to cheer me up with everything going on.

Taking a seat, we began playing the waiting game hoping to hear some good news.

-

The three hour surgery felt like it had lasted forever, but the doctors finally emerged to update us on my mother's condition

“So Mrs. St. James suffered a hemorrhagic stroke caused by a brain aneurysm. We were able to stop the bleeding from the aneurysm, but there might some side effects from the stroke. With the stress of her stroke we had no choice, but to put her into a medically induced coma. We’ll be monitoring her.  For now, her condition is critical but stable. “

My mouth felt dry as words failed to form. How was I supposed to respond to that? She was alive and I was grateful, but she was in a coma. What was I going to do without my mama?

“Can we allow her daughter to visit her for a few minutes?” Caleb spoke up.

“Certainly. We encourage you to talk to her.”

My feet felt like they were stuck to the floor, but I somehow found it in me to move forward and follow the doctor my mother's room in the ICU.

She looked to be in a deep sleep, but I knew it was more than that. I didn't even bother taking a seat bed side; I instantly took a hold of her hand.

“Mama, I need you so you have to snap out of this. You can not leave me.”

Casting my gaze to the ceiling I was attempting to keep my tears at bay.

“You have to watch me graduate from med school and start my residency. We have to argue about where I'm going to pursue my residency. We aren't done yet. Our story isn’t done. We still have so much to discuss. I just... I love you, mama.”

There was so much more I wanted to say, but she’d hear it when she woke up from this coma. Placing a kiss on her forehead I exited the room and walked right into Caleb’s arms.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Taking one last look at Shayla I shook my head as Caleb and I headed to the parking lot.

Music poured from the speakers of Caleb’s Maxima, but other than that the car ride was silent. I was all in my head over analyzing trying to put my medical knowledge to the test, but it wasn’t doing anything for me. Taking a deep breath, I repeated the words said to me earlier.

‘Keep it positive.’

The familiar white and blue brownstone house came into view before the car came to a stop.

“Do you want me to stay the night?”

“No, it’s okay Caleb. Thank you though. I appreciate the offer.” I gave him a small smile before placing a kiss on his cheek.

Exiting the vehicle Caleb didn’t pull off until I made it inside. I immediately went to shower hoping for it give me a more relaxed state of mind and it did exactly that as I had come out half an hour later. Getting comfortable in the living room I attempted to get some studying done, but that was useless especially with my stomach grumbling letting me know I should feed myself.

Searching the fridge, I pulled out yesterday's leftovers which consisted of breaded pork chops, baked potatoes, and a side of veggies. Heating it up I sat at the dining room table, but even with me being as hungry as I was my appetite wasn’t there.

Memories of Mama and I preparing the food flooded my head. We were happy and laughing as we cracked jokes. Now, what if this was the last time I had one of her meals?

I couldn’t do this to myself and I wouldn’t. I would not drive myself crazy and throw a pity party. Mama wouldn’t want me to so I decided to take Caleb’s offer, but it wasn’t him I was inviting over. Picking up my phone I dialed an old friend up knowing he’d find the perfect way to keep me occupied.

“Finally figuring out how the phone works?”

“Tristian, I need you to come over.”

#Trey Songz FF #Sevyn Streeter FF #Trey Songz Fanfic #Sevyn Streeter Fanfic #Trey Songz Fic #Sevyn Streeter Fic #Trevyn Fanfic #Trevyn FF #Trevyn Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fanfiction

[meltingalphabet]

thanks to hypnotherapy, I no longer dream about my father

I started seeing Dr. Helen Williams 6 months ago. My childhood was… rough. I was diagnosed with PTSD and OCD a little over 4 years ago now, and my psychologist, Dr. Rebecca Santos, thought hypnotic regression therapy could help in ways that drugs and traditional therapy could not.

I had tried talk therapy, group therapy, support groups, experimental drugs, and nothing seemed to help. Prozac dulled the pain and allowed me to get up in the morning, but, as Rebecca explained, I had difficulty facing my childhood trauma and healing the wounds created by my father.

So, a few months ago, Rebecca referred me to Helen, a prominent and highly respected hypnotherapist in New York City. Rebecca spoke with Helen about my case, and she agreed to lower her exorbitant fee substantially so that I could afford to see her once a month. Even then, one appointment with her still cost more than four appointments with Rebecca. I was a pro bono case without being worth actual pro bono work. But Rebecca seemed to think it was one of the only options left with some hope to heal me. So I went.

I was desperate to get rid of the nightmares. Prazosin, my med that was supposed to magically quiet my PTSD night terrors, helped, but I was still haunted by my father’s dark stoic face at least two times a week in my traitorous dreams. I’d wake up, sobbing, drenched with sweat, tears, and more often than I’d like to admit, my own urine.

I couldn’t date or have a boyfriend, I couldn’t even have one night stands. Other than Rebecca, I was completely alone. I was unable to trust people enough to have friends, the only ones remotely close to me were a few co-workers who talked at me while I remained silent as I made my morning coffee, or while I was doing my lunch dishes in the communal sink.

I tried to live with a roommate once, since I don’t make a lot of money and it seemed like a fiscally responsible idea, but that only lasted a few months before neither of us could take the tension anymore. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but even before the first week was done, I was mentally kicking myself for such a dumb plan. Of course no one could live with me.

I thought about adopting a cat once. Even Rebecca thought it could be a good idea: me taking care of another living creature. I went down to the pet store after my appointment, and held an adorable tiny black kitten in my hands for a few seconds before thoughts of it’s ultimate demise crept into my head. I began to tremble, tears welling in my eyes, my breathing shortening into painful gasps. I thrust the kitten into the arms of the employee, who asked me if I was alright. I shook my head and ran out, his gaze reminding me of the inescapable fact that I am broken.

Helen’s office was in a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn, right next to Prospect Park. The area is really fancy. As I walked briskly from the subway stop, the cool January sun shone down on large brick buildings, expensive wine shops, and shiny playgrounds. I passed small cleancut families walking home from work and school. The children ran past their parents, their snow boots free from dirt and mud, their winter jackets much nicer than my own.

I rung the buzzer and a woman’s voice crackled through the small metal box.

“Hello?” She sounded surprised. Did I get the wrong day? Was I early? I’m often too early.

I hesitantly responded, “It’s Lisa.”

A loud mechanical buzzer sounded from inside the door, and I entered. Her office was immaculate. It reminded me of other doctor’s offices, but with less forced ambiance. Instead of an awkward print of a still life or horses hung crookedly on a stark wall stained with fingerprints, Helen had rich beautiful paintings of Greek figures and statues of animals made of wood or stone. Instead of a small dirty fish tank, Helen had a low mahogany table with large coffee table books from museums, filled with images of art and architecture, all in pristine condition.

Helen greeted me with a warm smile and a firm handshake, “you must be Lisa. Hi, I’m Dr. Williams, but you can call me Helen.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” I responded, returning her smile. Our hands fell apart, and I stepped back to take a seat on the smooth leather couch. She sat opposite me in a tall backed chair, and placed her cell phone face down on an end table beside her. She crossed her legs, sat back, and smiled at me.

“Why don’t we start with you telling me a little bit about yourself?”

I explained my symptoms, and then began to describe the abuse I experienced at the hands of my father. She nodded as she listened, her smile turning into a look of concern and sympathy. I could hear my throat tighten over my words as I mentioned the twisted mental games my father would play. Helen grabbed a box of tissue strategically positioned at her side, and handed them to me. By the end, even though I never went into great detail about what the games entailed, I was sobbing, a small pile of used tissues in my lap.

Helen stared at me for a moment, studying my face while I silently looked from my hands to the bookcase behind her. Finally, she spoke. “I think Dr. Santos was correct in referring you to me. It sounds like you have difficulties facing the pain your father put you through. A very understandable response to that type of abuse, especially at such a young age. This type of trauma is almost impossible for most to face alone.” She paused. “If you’re still comfortable with the idea, I think hypnotic regression therapy could help. I’ll be with you the entire time, so you won’t have to face him alone. I’ll put you under, and then direct you through the memory that surfaces. Together, we’ll attempt to resolve the trauma, walk away from the memory, and put it, as literally as possible, behind you. From there, hopefully we can move forward into a lighter, healthier future away from the memories of your father.” She smiled kindly at me.

I tried to muster a response, but all I could manage was a feeble smile and nod.

“Great, let’s begin then. Go ahead and lay down. Make sure you’re comfortable. At least as much as possible. I understand that it’ll be difficult since this will be your first experience with the procedure.”

I followed her instructions and laid back on the leather couch. The seat was wide, so it wasn’t too difficult to get into a somewhat comfortable position. I grabbed a pillow and placed it under my head.

“Good,” Helen’s maternal voice cooed, “now close your eyes.”

I did, shutting out the office around me.

“Focus on your breath. Concentrate on breathing in, and out. Slowly pull the air deep into your lungs, but without forcing it. Draw it in, let it fill your chest. Now hold it, just for a moment, before releasing it and letting it spill from your mouth. Good. Realize how comforting it feels, to breath.”

I focused on the sensation of breathing, of air entering and exiting my body, allowing the rhythm to lull me into a secure comfort.

“Follow the air as it travels through you. Watch it’s path with your mind’s eye, in and out. Good. Very Good, Lisa. Now focus on the room around you. No, don’t open your eyes, look without sight. Reach out without touch. Extend yourself physically without moving. Take up space while keeping your body as it is. What does the room sound like? How does the air feel like against your skin? Can you sense my presence across from you? How about the couch underneath you? What is it like, not visually, but what does its existence beneath you mean to your body?”

She grew silent, and I listened. I listened to the hiss of an old radiator, felt the silence hovering between me and Helen. My skin and muscles sank into the couch, and my body seemed large, much larger than it should. I could hear that Helen was speaking to me again, but the words were indistinguishable.

I became engulfed by the couch, the leather suffocating me, and I felt trapped. I tried to move my arms and legs, to escape from the unbreathable fabric, but they were unresponsive. My heart began to pound in my chest, and my mouth opened and closed like a fish's, searching desperately for air, when suddenly, I could hear Helen again, much louder than before, as if she were speaking right into my ear.

“Remember your father.” She said.

I gasped as air came back to me. I looked around, dazed. I was in my childhood home. In the kitchen. A bowl of soggy marshmallow cereal in front of me, and my small green backpack next to it on the counter. I looked in amazement at the detail of the bag, the pink beaded charm I had made hanging from one of the zippers in the front. Footsteps from behind startled me, and I whipped my head around to see him enter the room: my father.

I hadn’t seen the man for seventeen years, not since I ran away in high school. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he seemed to be a giant standing behind my young frame. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt. His beady brown eyes boring into me as he examined my face with a look of feigned interest. His dark hair was trimmed short, and he was freshly shaved.

“Morning, starfish.” He said, looking at me without any affection. I said nothing in response. I just stared at him. He stood, unmoving for a few seconds, then slowly his gaze shifted towards my backpack. He reached out for it, but I grabbed the bag before he could get it and hugged it to my body. He chuckled softly, “Oh, you don’t need that today, starfish.” His large hand engulfed half of the small bag within my grasp, and he tugged lightly, “you’re not going to school today.”

I looked up at him, my voice strained with the effort of keeping my tears at bay and my bag to my stomach, “what do you mean? I want to go to school.” I softly added, “I like going to school.”

He chuckled. A chuckle that was much too deep, so it sounded fake. Like a laugh a bad actor in a soap opera would make. “But today’s your birthday! You don’t need to go to school on your birthday! Daddy’s going to take you to the zoo!” His voice rang out like a clown’s, overly happy, sickly sweet with disingenuous excitement.

I was no longer able to keep the tears from freely flowing down my cheek, “but Daddy, today’s not my birthday.”

His face grew stern. He looked mean. It was a look I knew very well. He leaned close to my face, so close that I could no longer focus on him, but had to shift my vision from one of his eyes to the other to hold his stare.

“Shut up.” He said without inflection. “Today’s you’re goddamn birthday and we’re going to the fucking zoo, got it?”

I nodded as a small whimper escaped my mouth. He pulled, hard, and my backpack came out of my hands so forcefully I could hear the fabric rip. I cried as my father walked to the kitchen trashcan, and dropped my bag into it.

“Get in the car.” He growled.

The mustang was hot. The leather seat was sticking to the bottom of my thighs. I started to roll down the passenger window, but a low growl from the driver seat stopped me. I put my hand back in my lap and sat there, as still as physically possible, not wanting to make today any worse than it was already going to be. We sat in the car in stifling silence.

I thought about the cake he bought, sitting in the back seat behind me. I imagined the fluffy white frosting melting in the sun. Large droplets of sweat rolled down my back and I grimaced. My bottom jaw shook with the effort of not crying, but at this point, I knew for certain that we were not going to the zoo. I hadn’t ever believed we were, but as our home and the safety of school became further and further away, the bigger the pit in my stomach became. I could feel the little cereal I had eaten earlier in the day rise in my throat, but I swallowed the sensation away.

My father drove and drove, for what felt like hours. The landscape gradually shifted from inner city to woods as I stared, dead eyed, out the window. We turned onto an empty dirt road surrounded by thick trees, which blocked the high noon sun. It was slightly cooler here than it was before, but my t-shirt was soaked with sweat. I tried to wipe my brow, but my arm was so wet that it accomplished nothing. We stopped in front of an old abandoned shack, the weight of age and neglect making the building look stooped, as if it was trying to join the ground beneath it. My father turned off the car.

I swallowed. I hadn’t been here before, which meant I didn’t know what to expect. That was more terrifying than anything else. My father got out of the car, but I stayed seated. I learned a long time ago that it was best to wait and follow instructions.

I watched him walk around the back of the car to the door behind me, and open it. He reached in and grabbed the cake, closing the door behind him. He opened my door, and waited, like a driver. I reluctantly got out. He lead me to the shack, and I followed.

I examined the small structure. The wood was rotted and filled with insects. Inside was worse. Funguses of different colors and shapes spattered the walls. It shook and groaned in the slight summer breeze. My father pointed to a corner, “sit.”

I obeyed. He put the cake in front of me, and knelt down, so that we were eye to eye. He lifted a hand to my cheek and wiped away a tear gently.

“Now, starfish. You know how important your birthday is to me, don’t you?”

I nodded slowly as he removed the plastic cover from the store bought cake. I looked at the purple font, “Happy Birthday, Lisa” written neatly by a baker. She had adorned the words with tiny white flowers and three balloons, red, yellow, and blue, were painted to the side. I imagined her smiling as she wrote it, looking up at my father watching her from behind the glass counter. Her heart melting as she saw a loving father, excitedly waiting for his little girl’s birthday cake to be finished, so he could surprise her with it.

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to die.

“Good. I’m so sorry to do this to you on your special day, but daddy has to run a few errands, so you’re going to have to stay here for a little bit.” My eyes widened with disbelief. He was going to leave me here, in this old decrepit shack in the middle of nowhere. I began to shake my head, as my sobs morphed into pained screams. I could hear the desperation and fear, the pleading in my small voice. My father hushed me, and kissed me on the lips, holding his mouth against mine for much too long. My cries escaped from the sides of his mouth, and he grabbed my hair, pulling my head back, hard. I screamed out in pain.

“Daddy is sorry, Lisa, but there is nothing Daddy can do about this, ok? Stop being such a fucking brat.” My eyes were closed tight with fear, but I felt something fill my mouth with the last syllable. I looked to see my father stuffing handfuls of birthday cake into my mouth. I could feel the sticky sweet substance force its way into my throat and I tried to gag, but he kept shoving more and more cake inside my small mouth.

Finally, I vomited. Cake hit the dirt floor in front of my father’s feet with a dull thud, mixed with yellow bile and half digested marshmallows. He lept back in disgust, wiped his frosting covered hand on his jeans, and walked out without another word. I threw up again. Wiping my mouth on my t-shirt, I looked up just in time to see my father get into the car, and slam the door closed. I stood, instinct yelling at my body to run to the car, to get in before he could get away, but the combination of my child body and my recent vomiting made me slow and clumsy. I pushed myself forward, but my feet tripped over rocks and sticks. I reached the door and used the doorway to thrust myself into the road, just in time to see the car roll out of view.

I stood there, my sobs choking my still burning throat.

“Lisa, it’s ok, I’m here.” Helen’s soothing voice reached out to me. I looked around the woods, desperately searching for her. “Lisa, come back to me. It’s ok, I’m still with you. I’ve been here the whole time” The world shifted, and I felt sick again. I closed my eyes, allowing my stomach to settle. The sensation of someone stroking my hair back was comforting, and I opened my eyes to see Helen kneeling above me. She looked concerned. “Are you ok, Lisa?”

I took a deep breath in, and exhaled. I was sweating profusely, and my face and shirt were wet with sweat and tears. But I was surprised to find the awful feelings of the memory were quickly subsiding. Maybe it was that I was no longer alone, that Helen was here with me. Maybe it was the distance age and years allowed. But I felt… calm. I nodded.

Helen made me a cup of tea, and I stayed for another hour, talking about the memory. I left that day feeling lighter than I had in my entire life. I went back to Helen five more times. Each time, I left a little lighter. Helen explained that, unlike talking about the memories, reliving them with her direction can help bury it. Like a funeral, a final goodbye to the past, one horrible memory at a time. The nightmares still came, but I felt like I could control them, at least a little. I could yell back at my father, I could leave, I could try to fight. It wasn’t as if I was suddenly cured, but I had control over myself and my life that I didn’t before. And even that little bit of control was world changing for me.

I went in this month, same as normal. I clicked the buzzer, waiting for Helen’s usual “Hello?” but instead was greeted by the mechanical buzz of the door unlocking. I figured she assumed it was me, and walked in.

I entered her office, and saw her sitting in her usual high backed chair. I was surprised at first, since she normally greeted me at the door, but then I noticed her hands were bound behind her back, and her mouth was gagged. I started towards her when a sharp pain pinched my upper arm, and the world went suddenly dark.

I blinked my eyes open. The room was a blinding white at first, but it grew into focus with each blink. I was still in Helen’s office. I was on the couch, and she was in front of me, her eyes wide. I tried to rub my arm, sore from earlier, but my hands were bound behind me. My attempt to cry out was blocked by a piece of cloth in my mouth.

It was then that I noticed Helen and I were not alone. There was a tall slender man standing between us, but off to the side. I looked at him in shock and bewilderment, and he smiled at me. He was wearing a fitted black suit and a muted green tie. His blonde hair was combed back, and his face was rectangular with high cheekbones. In any other situation, I’m sure I would have found him handsome. He bowed towards me, stiffly.

“Why, hello, my dear.” He said, straightening. His voice was sticky sweet like honey and made my stomach recoil. “My name is Alexander.” He walked towards Helen, who watched him with almost unnaturally wide eyes. She looked so frightened, and I felt my body cringe, my muscles trying to twist in every direction simultaneously beneath my skin. My breathing became short and I felt my throat close. The gag was suffocating me. Alexander raised his eyebrow at me as he leaned his elbow on the back of Helen’s chair.

“Now now, dear. No need for a panic attack. I’m not here for you.” He elongated the last word. He looked down at Helen, and smiled lovingly before looking back at me, “trust me, you are perfectly safe. You will leave here tonight, completely unharmed.”

I breathed deeply through my nose, and forced air out through the cloth in my mouth. My body calmed slightly, but not because of Alexander’s promise. I did it because I needed to keep my head. I couldn’t lose myself, like I used to as a child to my father. I needed to treat this as a nightmare, and not lose control.

Alexander continued, “see, I didn’t know anyone else would be here tonight. Helen used to never take patients on Fridays. But I guess you’re… special.” He said, his eyes shining menacingly. I focused on my breath. “See, I used to be Dr. Williams’ apprentice last year, but the bitch got rid of me.” He snarled at her, and she shook in her seat. I watched her reaction with utter disgust. He looked at me, “Helen here, thought I wasn’t cut out for psychiatric work. She explained that I wasn’t… what was the word you used? Oh right, sympathetic.” His face twisted with rage. “But, I assure you, dear,” he said to me, “that I can be quite sympathetic. That’s exactly why you have no reason to be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you.” Again, the word “you” came out of his mouth too long, taking too much time to leave his lips. I shuddered.

Alexander turned his back to me, and faced Helen. He produced another strip of black cloth from his pocket, and tied it around her face, covering those wide fear struck eyes of hers. She began to squirm within her bounds, whimpering. He rubbed her arms and shushed her.

“Shhhh, Helen. Shhhh. Focus on your breath. Let yourself get lost in the gentle rhythm of breathing in, and out.” Helen shook her head, and squirmed harder. Alexander groaned and reached into his chest pocket, “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” I could see a syringe in his hand, filled with a thick clear liquid. He punched it into her upper arm, and she cried out, the sound muffled. He pushed the plunger down, the clear liquid disappearing inside her. Her body almost immediately relaxed. Alexander removed the syringe, and gently rubbed where he had punctured her, “Shhhh, Helen. There there. That’s much better, isn’t it.” The last sentence was not a question.

“Now focus on your breath, Helen. Concentrate your entire mind on it. Slowly breath in,” he breathed in loudly, “and out.” He exaggerated expelling the air out of his mouth.

Alexander began to pace between us as he continued putting Helen into a trance, “feel the weight of your body as it sinks into the chair beneath you. Feel your muscles melt and become one with your environment. You and the room you exist in are no longer separate, but exist simultaneously together, as one.” I watched Helen’s chest rise and fall with each heavy breath.

He removed the blindfold and gag. Helen stared blankly in front of her, completely entranced. Alexander bent down behind her back, and undid her bonds, but she kept her hands behind her, even after he stepped away. “Very, very good. You can put your hands on your lap now, Helen.” She obeyed him, emotionless. “Good, very good.”

He turned and smiled at me. “What would you like to see her do?” I shook my head, but he ignored the gesture and continued. “Would you like to see her cluck like a chicken?” I kept shaking my head. “Would you like to watch her touch herself?” I shook my head harder, tears falling. “No, oh, that’s such a shame.” He put his chin in his hand in a false gesture of consideration, “I’m sure we could find something we’d both enjoy watching.” I could feel the snot begin to flow down my upper lip, and land on my gag as I sobbed.

“Aha, I know! Something short and sweet. That way, I can have what I want and you can get out of here in time for supper.” He winked, and my skin crawled. I tried to scream at him. He turned back to Helen.

“Would you like to see her play the violin?” He asked over his shoulder, not turning away from her. He straightened and cleared his voice dramatically, “Helen,” he said, “you remember how to play, don’t you? I know you haven’t touched a violin in years, but… Let’s give it a try. First position!” He ordered. Helen lifted her arms out elegantly in front of her, her left arm straight, her hand cupped as if holding a physical instrument. Her right arm was above where the body of the violin would be, poised and ready.

Alexander looked back at me and smiled a broad wicked smile. He walked to a small black briefcase in the corner, and pulled something out. He turned back towards Helen, and I screamed. In his hand was a long, sharp kitchen knife. He placed the handle of the knife in Helen’s right hand, the hand that would be holding a bow in Helen’s mind’s eye.

He walked to the couch where I sat, paralyzed with terrifying realization, and sat down next to me, so close I could feel his thigh against mine. I tried to move away, but he put his arm around my shoulders as if we were a couple about to watch a movie. Helen sat there in front of us, frozen, the knife hovering above her pale inner arm. I screamed, but all that emanated from my mouth was a dull noise.

“Ok Helen,” Alexander said, grinning, “play Bartok’s Violin Concerto No. 2.” He lowered his mouth to me, “that’s my favorite,” he whispered, his hot breath against my ear.

I wanted to close my eyes, to block out the sight I knew was coming, but I couldn’t. I watched, bile tickling my throat as Helen brought the knife down to the fleshy part of her left arm, and began to play.

I looked on with horror as she drew her bow swiftly across her skin, red droplets forming where the silver blade touched her. She pushed the knife back across, briskly, completing the note, and started again. Her bow arm moved with smooth grace, quick but steady, back and forth. Blood began to fall more freely from her wounds as she moved her left fingers against invisible strings, playing notes only she could hear. Her body rocked forward and back with each movement of her arm, feeling music instead of pain. The tempo quickened, the knife skitting across flesh lightly with the more delicate notes, building and building, scratching shallow marks into her. She paused, the knife hovering back in first position as mute instruments joined her concerto, blossoming soundlessly as the room grew heavy with silence and the stench of fresh blood. Her eyes were focused in front of her in intense concentration as she listened, but all I could hear was the dripping of blood onto the wooden floor and my heart pounding in my ears.

She slowly brought the knife back down, and dragged it, shaking her left hand to create a dark and haunting vibrato. Her whole body moved with the slower, drawn out notes, the knife sinking deep into flesh, blood gushing from her arm, and falling in small waterfalls onto her lap. She closed her eyes, allowing the music to flow through her body, feeling the chords, the wood of the instrument in her arms, the flow of the bow across waxy strings. Her arm was raw with deep red cuts, but still she played. Her dress wet with crimson, the blood pooling and dripping off her lap, flowing down her bare legs, and joining as one growing puddle on the floor beneath her.

The stench of iron filled my nostrils, the room muggy with the heavy air, filled with bits and pieces of Helen. She cut the knife deep, her bow arm moving with blinding speed as she built, heavy handedly, to the concerto’s crescendo. At this point, she had cut the tendons hidden within her muscles and bone, for her left fingers no longer played along, but hung useless outward, dead to the music. The knife weaved and danced, cutting deep into the muscle beneath. A chunk of flesh was cut loose from her arm, and fell in front of her with a dull thud. I could see the white of bones from within the tangle of red mess. Helen straightened, drawing her bow back one last time before finally falling forward so that her torso was bent onto her thighs in a perverse bow to her audience. Her bow hand reached out towards us from between her chest and her wet, bloodsoaked lap, completely undamaged. The knife fell from her dead fingers, landing in front of my feet. Her violin arm dangled down by her side, her hand resting on the floor in a pool of blood. The reminder of her concerto permanently etched deep into her arm, and my memory.

Alexander clapped loudly beside me. “Bravo, bravo!” He yelled, standing to continue his macabre applause. Finally, he stopped, turning to me. He patted me on the shoulder, “good show, no?” He paused, but all I could do was cry and shake. “Well, I guess Bartoks not for everyone. Sorry I can’t stay any longer, but I should probably head out. Don’t want to stay out too late!” He grabbed his briefcase from the corner, and walked to the door. He took a long black umbrella from the hook beside the door frame, turned to me one last time, and bowed low before leaving into the night.

I sat there, numb, looking at my dead therapist. The police arrived forty minutes later. They said they had received an anonymous call about screams coming from this apartment. Since no one would have been able to hear us over our gags, I assume Alexander called so they’d come rescue me. Though, I am far from being rescuable at this point.

The police are still looking for him, and in the meantime I have police protection around the clock. The problem is, I’ve been thinking a lot about that night, and I can’t rule out the possibility that he may have hypnotized me too. I remember the pinch in my upper arm when I arrived, the blackness before I awoke. He could have programmed me to do anything. There’s no way to know if he did, and if I’m right, I have no idea what will trigger it. Or what he told me to do once triggered. I’m even more frightened to leave my apartment now than I was before. I’ve gotten rid of anything here that I could possibly use to kill myself or others, as well as anything that could trigger me, like my television. All I have left is this computer, which I will probably never use again after posting this.

My PTSD nightmares have come back in full force, but thanks to hypnotherapy, I no longer dream about my father.

#nosleep #creepypasta #horror #shortstory #triggerwarning

[mhagnolia]

reminisced my middle school years a little today. spent time with my cousins, on a blanket, outside, in the warm afternoon. we left around nine o’clock. it was really fun and whenever i’m having fun or not having fun though i’m supposed to be having fun, i always remember my middle school years. it was amplified today.

spending time with people can make me anxious. i’ve had about four total anxiety attacks in my life i can clearly classify and remember.

1. the night before my flight back to new jersey. we had finished dinner at a hotpot restaurant in san jose and started the long journey back to hercules. at a point, i think from allergies, from the long car ride home, and the messy fear of returning to new jersey, i started to silently cry and lose breath while my cousins slept around me. maybe i convinced myself to believe i was losing breath, i don’t know. but it was just weird; i remember placing a hand in front of my mouth to make sure i was breathing. responses from my cousins were simple and i was mostly unaffected once we got home, but an uncomfortableness will always cloud this memory. i cried, why? because i didn’t want to go back home? because i was afraid to returning to a me i didn’t like? i only know that i cried silently.

2. on the night of my fifteenth birthday we walked what seemed like fifty blocks, from 10th to 60th. the subways were closing for the night and people were going home. towards the end of our trek, we got onto an uptown train full of people. i sat in the back left corner and froze up, numb and unmoving. my mom was concerned but i assured her nothing was wrong, i was just anxious. we walked for a long time. i had gotten an anxiety attack on my birthday. many things made it another day that mushed into my heart as ‘hopeless days.’ this is when i fully understood what a anxiety attack was.

2.1 that night, i slept and i had the strangest dream. in my dreams i felt suffocated. 

3. after coming back home from a long day in the city with my friends for a project, i felt drained. really drained. the most emotionally disturbed i had been in a long time. sophomore year started with an optimistic onset but things progressively became worse. i felt pressured to complete a school project, angry because i was feeling pressured (i felt like an academic failure), slightly unseen because my favorite place was demeaned to tourist locations and fast food stops, a terrible friend because i couldn’t enjoy the trip, and most of all like a victim because of my anxiety. then i felt like a fraud when my mom didn’t hug me fully. it was hard that night. i was tired and felt humiliated. i felt like i was no longer a victim, like always. my parents did not say this that night, or maybe they did, but in my memory, these moments sound together. “it will continue to get harder.” “you have to keep going.” this is one of the instances where i realized i completely lacked emotional support in my life. i think my dad even scoffed at me.

4. i lost my pencil case, was left alone, and i cracked my phone. i suspected i would cry about the pencil case but the day i did, i didn’t. the next day, when i had to confront the uneasy conversation of it and the rest of the day, i didn’t cry. my dad parked on the single hill lot and let me off. he went to go somewhere i don’t know. i’ve always told myself this was one of the things i didn’t like that he did—letting me go to the door by myself—because i internally wanted to go with him? is this true? could i really want the person who has hurt me most in my life so far to walk with me to the door? i didn’t make it to the front steps before my phone slipped off my orchestra binder and cracked. i, however, did make it to the living room before i started crying. my dad had probably dropped me off at 3:30. i violently sobbed and laid numb on the living room floor, desperate for something, for maybe an hour. i wished all the pain that had happened to me would just disappear for once. i noticed the clock approaching 4:30 and i expected my mom to see me done, on the floor. i’ve had spells like this; where i’ve screamed and thrown up. i’m sure they were amplified by my period, but this time i didn’t get my period. this time i couldn’t move my legs. this time i was laughing, like a psycho. like a real f*cking psycho. i was scaring myself. when my mom came in i wasn’t surprised nor relieved. i didn’t believe things would be fixed. they hadn’t ever been before. and i was right. i told my mom, i shared the name [avoidant] but nothing has happened since. that afternoon was lost. it came up one night recently, when my sister accused me for being careless with my cracked phone. it’s true, i was irresponsible with it, but i defended myself, by saying i didn’t take it lightly. i laughed lightly, saying that i was really sad about it. my mom laughed, too, and said that day, she remembered. she said i was mad about the world. when i think about this, i see glimpses of how misunderstood i will be for the rest of my life. i don’t think i have ever been mad at the world in the way my mom claimed. but i did ask, why me? why do i have to go through what i have? to me, that’s progress; being that much self-important, to ask the world “why?”, that’s incredible progress. i realize i don’t have the emotional support of my mom. and i forgive her for it.

i can’t forget these moments. when i’ve been hopeless and felt undeniably empty. all of these sprout from my messy history with mental illness and they’re embarrassing and uncomfortable but they’re mine.

my mom loves me. maybe not in the way i need to fix this but that’s okay. she can’t possibly do everything. i will fix this for her and never let her know what she wasn’t able to give me. i forgive her because she has given me everything until now. i know she can be and is mad at me for feeling these ways and that’s okay. someone can be devoid of emotional support, like me, while still appreciating the support that is given in the infinitely many other ways. i’m okay with my mom never knowing this side of me. i never want her to feel like she could’ve done better or that she made a mistake. because she has done almost perfectly up until this point, and that’s all i could hope for. i wish she could stop pushing herself too hard, though. it hurts me, too, not just her and her health.

emotional negligence, emotional abuse, there’s a lot to unpack concerning my mental health. my pediatrician said that seeing a therapist when your at your high is much better than at your low. i said i was okay, i think i am. maybe i do need help. but i’m not ready for that. it would help, a lot, but i don’t know if i can see the path towards that destination. 

i don’t think i’ve ever wanted to kill myself. but songs, words, they’re so familiar. i’m longing for the day when i can go out, go to a beautiful bridge for a night and contemplate. i don’t think i’ll ever jump because i think life is still very beautiful and hopeful, but i’m still not comfortable with my identity. i think being alone and anonymous for night is something very comforting.

[fostertoforever]

One foot in front of the other..

Hello there!

I apologize I haven't posted anything since Christmas time. Tomorrow is the first day of March and I’m honestly wondering where the last 3 months have gone! Time for an update...

Christmas was awesome. P and Baby C had a great holiday and got lots of good presents and love from our family. A few days before Christmas, our case worker called and said that Baby C would have to for a Christmas Day visit with her bio family. I know this makes sense, in theory, but I was so bent out of shape about it ruining my first Christmas with her. I'm sorry if that's selfish. In the end, nothing was ever set up, and she didn't go anywhere on Christmas day and only spent it with us, but still.  

After that came Baby C's first birthday and the one year anniversary of her being with us. We had a big celebration and it was wonderful. Then, we went through the whole family having the stomach virus and then I got the flu. So it's been a quick couple of months I guess you could say.  

Our case worker came over to our home today for her monthly face to face visit. I always look forward to these visits because it's a time to show that Baby C is in good hands with us and is very well taken care of. Plus, it's an opportunity to ask questions and get updated information about the case. But today was rough. The worker basically said in a matter of words that C would be going "home" soon. They will begin "transitioning" her back to her bio family next month. It's so hard when you hear stuff like this because 1- This is what you signed up for and even though you know it's coming, you hope and pray it doesn't and 2-I have an incredibly hard time controlling my facial expressions, so I'm sure I had the look of "I'm going to be sick!" toward the case worker. I actually felt vomit rising up from my stomach and felt my face flush. In my head, I was screaming "Home? We're the only home she's ever known! This is her home!" She then looked at Baby C and said, "This is going to be so hard for her" and smiled an understanding, sincere smile. I wanted to yell, "Yeah! Ya think?!" but I just kept my mouth shut and nodded, trying to control the tears welling up in my eyes and just power through. I could (and would) fall apart once she left.  

So, after she left, I put Baby C down for a much-needed nap, had myself a nice sob fest, and now my mind is racing. I'm thinking about how I will cope with this and I know I'm being incredibly irrational and selfish, but I'm going to just let it all out anyway...

Things could change, right? Remember we were in this same boat with P and look at us now! His bio mother got unsupervised weekend overnight visitations and she eventually screwed up. There's still a chance, right? Maybe bio family will realize how much we love their daughter and be open to letting us see her. Maybe we can remain in her life. But won't that be hard? Could I handle that? How would P deal with that? Oh, P, how hard is this going to be on you? You didn't sign up for heart break, your parents did. What will I do with all her clothes and toys? What will I do once she's gone and I find one of her little pink baby socks in the couch...or one of her hair bows in my coat pocket? God, I'll miss her so much. I'll miss her sweet, toothy grin, and her little giggle, and her sassy personality. What will I say when someone asks me how many kids I have? 2, right? No? Just one. Maybe 2? I can't be bitter and I can't blame bio family for fighting to get their daughter back. Can I? Can I just scream from the rooftops that this isn't fair?!?! Why does the system give chance after chance and pay their bills and provide them a place to live and make everything so easy for them when I'm over here doing all the hard, emotional work, for what? To have Baby C ripped from the only family she's ever known? And WHY, God, why can bio mom have all the kids she wants, but I can't? I can't. And I'm so grateful I have P. He's so, so, so precious to me. But so is Baby C. She was the missing piece of my heart that I didn't even realize was missing. She completed this family and is perfect in every way. Am I selfish for wanting her to be mine? Probably. Did I have a ridiculous idea that this would all work out? Yes. Does my heart swoon and fill with love when strangers tell me how much she looks like me and what a beautiful daughter I have? Absolutely. Am I irrationally jealous of other people? Yep. Oh God, I'll miss her so much.  

I think my self-conscious has known this was coming and truth be told, I am still not over our failed adoption from October and the extremely difficult decision we made about P's biological sister a few months ago. Hell, I'm still not over being told I'm infertile. Two baby girls. C will make three in less than one year. Back to back losses and I'm not sure my heart can handle another one. I've been having recurring nightmares for a few weeks now. They are very strange because they always have the same theme and the same little girl. In them, I have a daughter named Everly. No idea where I got that name. Everly is about 2 years old and has dark brown curly hair and bright blue eyes. In each dream, I lose her. I lose her at the mall. I lose her at the park. I lose her on the subway. And each time I lose her, I feel unbelievable panic and despair. I can hear her calling for me. I scream her name and cry out for her...and then I wake up. Losing these baby girls is most definitely having a crazy effect on me, even in my dreams. How can I prepare for another loss?  

People always say, "I don't know how you do it. I couldn't be a foster parent! You're so strong!" But I tell ya, guys, I'm not strong at all. I'm totally weak. I'm tired and frustrated. I wish I knew and understood the plans for my life. For Baby C's life. I know this was an emotional, irrational rant of a blogpost, but I needed to get some of this out. Because in just a little bit, Baby C is going to wake up from her nap and I want her to see a big ole smile on my face and no evidence of the ugly crying that's been happening for the last two hours. I’m going to put one foot in front of the other and be strong. At the end of each day, I just pray that she always know how much we love her...know how much we wanted her...know how much she will always have a home here...and that she remain safe, healthy, and happy for the rest of her life.  

Sniffle. Sniffle,

Mama Jess