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jungwooisms · 4 years

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pairing: tailor!jungwoo x female!bookbinder!reader genre: fluff, angst, smut, period piece others: nakamoto yuta, suh johnny, moon taeil, park sooyoung, lee donghyuck (mentioned), kim doyoung (mentioned), lee ten (mentioned), lee taeyong (mentioned) warnings: cursing, sexual content (unprotected sex, oral f. & m. receiving), drinking, an overabundance of 60′s references, unrequited love word count: 20k

It's autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain Dreamers with empty hands may sigh for exotic lands It's autumn in New York It's good to live it again

1963, Autumn. The small knife in hand cuts through the thin leather with relative ease, stopping at the point you’d marked with a small piece of chalk, you switch to cut the other end of the material. You eye the coffee sitting on the opposite end of your work bench, watching the steam rise from the cup that you’d barely taken a drink from. It was only nine in the morning and you hadn’t slept well the night before, had there not been any orders to fill you would have slept in a while longer.

With the leather finally cut into its allotted pieces you go to move to the bound paper you were trying to cover before you hear someone walk in. The chimes above the door at the front of your shop sound off with a soft resonance, the same sound that had echoed the room for years. Footsteps treading carefully into the center of your shop, you can’t eye the stranger from your closed off workshop unless you open the heavy wooden door.

A quiet “Hello?” rings out, they sound apprehensive and unfamiliar to you. There’s a tinged worry that treads on the lone word, leaving you all the more perplexed as you set down the leather and the semicircular knife onto your workshop table and head out into the main gallery of your shop.

“Can I help you?” Question falling from your lips as soon as you begin to push open the oak door, finding a taller man looking down at one of the fabric laden books on one of the display tables.

“Oh,” his attention turns to you from the book, to the doorway you’d entered from and then back to you. The horn-rimmed glasses adorning his face slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I’m here to pick up an order for Moon Taeil.” His slender hand moves from its once stagnant position to push the glasses back up before moving to his right-side front pocket, “I can show you the receipt if you need it—”

“There’s no need,” you shake your head and raise your hand. Taeil had been a longtime customer of your family’s shop, you assume it’s mostly because of a mutual acquaintance with the Suh clan, but you would never be the one to edge into that conversation unprovoked. “I’ll go and grab your order,” a short smile and you’re turning on your heels and striding into your storeroom/workshop once more.

When you walk back out a few moments later, the books wrapped in brown paper to protect their covers, the stranger is once again looking down at the assortment of books atop your display tables.

“So,” you begin as you hold out the bound books to him, “are you new? I don’t think Taeil’s sent you before.”

He takes the books gingerly, his gaze returning to the soft leather-bound journal after he gives you a short nod in thanks. As if it took him a moment to process the question he blinks and turns back to you, “Sorry— My name’s Jungwoo Kim. I started working for Taeil last week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you nod, trying to register the face with the name as comprehensively as you could. “Tell him to give me a ring when he needs his next order, I know he goes through those fairly quickly.”

“I will,” Jungwoo smiles, “Before I go do you think I could buy this?” His head nods down to the leather-bound journal he’d been eyeing earlier, “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

A small smile gracing your lips, “Of course, it’s unlined though. Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he says as you pick up the book as his hands were already burdened with his boss’ order. “How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” you shake your head, fingers tightening along the spine. It’s smooth but the ridges of the leather run coarse under your touch, “Think of it as a congratulatory gift for getting a job under Moon. I know he has a reputation for being a bit of a—”

“Hard-ass?” Jungwoo muses, eyes widening as he realizes how he’s just insulted his boss. “And really, I can pay for that, I’m sure it must’ve taken you a while to make it.”

“I’m not sure if that’s the exact term I was looking for, but it does fit,” you laugh, raising the book up. “Don’t worry about it, do you want me to wrap it?”

“If you could,” he offers a smile as you move to the roll of brown paper atop the register table.

It only takes a minute for you to cover it, you’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of wrappings for novels and books. Once you finish tying the twine bow atop the journal, you gently stack it on the books Jungwoo holds.

“I hope to see you here again, Mr. Kim. That is, if Taeil doesn’t scare you off.”

“He’s like a weird mix of my dad and what I’d expect Hardy Amies to be,” you weren’t sure exactly who Amies is or what Jungwoo’s father was like, but you did know Taeil. Oddities and all. “And don’t worry, I have a stronger resolve than most,” he shoots you a wink before spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. He calls out a, “Thanks again for the book,” before shoving the door open with his hip and losing himself in the crowd of the street outside.

1963, Winter There was nothing quite like the holiday season in New York. Shops elevated the grandeur of their storefronts to catch the eye of window shoppers. Your own shop had seen an influx of patrons, as was typically the case around this time of year. But the demands were great, your hands had the slew of papercuts and hastily put on bandages to show it. Not that you minded it all too much, it was great revenue and it had paid for the camel hair coat you donned this evening.

The city was abuzz with life and festivities along almost every street, and while the excitement from Hanukkah and Christmas had died down over the last few weeks, most now looked towards the reining in of a New Year as December thirty first arrived.

“We’re going to be late,” Yuta’s arm slides under yours, the crux of his arm locking into yours as his pace quickens along the dimly lit street. The sound of his derbies clicking against the pavement reverberating around the nearly empty row of houses.

“It’s ten and we’re going to a New Year’s Eve party, I doubt we’ll be late, Yuta.” You let out a scoff, fumbling with your bag for a moment, not sure what you were searching for in the first place. The streetlamp’s orangey glow not aiding you in deciphering the numbers etched into the doorways of the homes.

“Says the person who took five years to pick out a jacket, I’m surprised we got out of your apartment before my hair turned gray— Wait a minute,” his fingers of his free hand trailing up to the dyed platinum locks on his head as he turns back to shoot you a glare, “It did.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” eyes rolling, you nudge him with your shoulder “It’s not my fault your stylist bleached you instead of dyeing you.”

“I feel like an idiot, they can’t even see me to fix it for another week.” He groans as the pair of you make your way to a brownstone tucked away neatly into one of the city’s streets. It would be innocuous from the others aligning the strip had you not been able to hear the gentle buzz of chatter and the occasional laugh drift out from the screened door.

“Did Suh invite the whole block?” Yuta murmurs as he lets go of your arm so that he can jump up the short handful of stairs to the front door two by two.

“It would explain how dead the rest of the street seems,” Musing, you follow him, more carefully as you’d always seemed prone to falling up stairs. The voices grow in volume and now you can even hear the scratchy sound of some music floating from the door. There’s no one at the door to greet you when you walk in, just an array of faces that you seem to recognize while others are brand new acquaintances, Yuta and you drop off your coats in a nearby closet and shuffle your way inside in search for the nearest drink station.

“I’d say his house is beautiful, but I can barely see anything. How does he know this many people,” Yuta questions as he slides out of the way of someone’s elbow almost hitting him in the stomach, “All I want is to get slightly drunk tonight but I bet the alcohol’s already gone.”

“It’s the Suh household you know that’s not going to happen,” a snicker leaves you before you feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder. Stopping in your tracks you’re fully ready to meet Johnathan Suh’s smirk and subsequent banter, but it takes you a minute to realize that it wasn’t your childhood friend that had garnered your attention at all; instead, it was a somewhat less familiar face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Jungwoo’s cheeks are slightly flushed with a smile, the contents of his champagne glass half-empty as he poses the question, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, sure.” You return his smile, nodding your head as he begins to walk off, only stopped by someone calling out to him.

“I didn’t know Pincushion would be here,” Yuta’s voice draws nearer behind you, it seems like he realized you weren’t trailing after him anymore. You feel his hand land on your shoulder as he continues to talk to Jungwoo, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He taps his shoe on the floor, only stepping forward a little bit to let someone pass by behind him.

“Pincushion?” You question, looking from Yuta to Jungwoo with a quizzical look on your brow.

“That thing he wears around his wrist every time he comes in?” Yuta shrugs, “I couldn’t remember his name the first time I saw him, but I could remember that. Hence: Pincushion.”

“Is that what it’s called?” You recall the ball of velvety looking green fabric you’d seen on Jungwoo’s wrist the last handful of times he’d come to pick up the tailor shop’s orders.

“Yeah my grandma used to have one and I stole the needles from it to use as swords for my toys when I was a kid,” his shoulders shrug as he looks past Jungwoo and spots something beyond him. “I see one of those guys with a tray of drinks, I’ll get back to you in a bit.” And with that he’s off, sliding around you and Jungwoo to brush his way through the crowd in a frantic sprint to grab himself a glass.

“Does he know that there’s an open bar in the other room?” Jungwoo asks aloud as he watches your friend disappear into the crowd.

“Not yet but give him twenty minutes and I’m sure he’ll be all over it.” Yuta wasn’t one to drink heavily often, it was more of a holiday thing where he only did it if he knew he wasn’t going into work for the next few days. Needless to say, that Christmas and New Years are binge drinking galore for him.

“So, book binding? How’d you get into that line of work?” You’d been so concentrated on looking for your friend’s brightly colored hair that you almost didn’t hear Jungwoo when he asked.

“Family business, dad’s too sick to come in.” Your eyes flickering over to him, a small shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his brow contorts into worry for a moment, as if he’d offended you somehow.

“Don’t be, if anything I think he’s playing it up a bit just so mom has to be around more often,” You smile, it was really only minor back issues but the doctor had prescribed bed rest and your father had been milking it for months now.

“Smart man,” a short laugh into his drink before he takes a sip from his glass. “So, how do you know John?”

“Old family friend, plus he’s as rich as all get out so it’s nice to see what it’s like.” You note, looking up to the chandelier overhead. If it were anything but Tiffany you’d be surprised. “What about you?”

“You didn’t hear this from me but Taeil might be secretly dating one of his sisters and she invited the whole shop just as an excuse to see him.” The two of you lock eyes, a playful smirk on his lips dancing in the warm glow of the room. “I’m not complaining.”

“I don’t doubt it,” chuckling for a moment, you then look up as if you’ve realized something. “I should probably go and greet the host; can you imagine how rude of a guest I’d be if I didn’t?”

A ceding nod as he steps away from you, gesturing with his glass towards a side room off the main hall, “I think I saw him in there a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Jungwoo,” you move to pass him, heading towards the doorway before you stop for a moment, your head tilting in question, “Want to meet back up later?”

“I’d love that,” a gentle thud in your chest as you nod at him, beginning to move again and question the feeling that had plagued you enough to ask him that.

You don’t find Johnny in that room, or the next, or even upstairs in his own bedroom. You do, however, find him on the second-floor fire escape, the butts of several cigarettes at his feet and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It’s cold, had you known this would be where you’d speak you would’ve brought your coat with you.

“Johnathan Suh,” You begin, crouching down to duck through the open window, catching him as he’s begun to lean against the brick exterior of his home, “Hiding away from your party again?”

“The guest of the hour,” A grin as you walk towards him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you at all in the past few months.”

“I’m good, good… It’s been so hectic with the seasonal shopping and all, who knew journals were a hot commodity for gift-giving?” You sigh, elbows resting against the cold fence of the escape. The time between now and the last you’d seen him had been great, but it had always been far and few in between when it came to his jet setting tendencies.

“Sounds hellish for sure,” Musing, he takes a sip from his glass, the scent of whisky hitting your nose as it nears. His other hand rests atop the rusted metal of the fire escape, impatiently tapping as he looks out into the backyard of his home.

“And what about you, Mr. Start-Up? Tear down any more conglomerates recently?” You query, noticing that he was on one of his inward treks again. Something must’ve come up with his family.

A snicker, as he offers out his glass to you, noticing that your hands were painfully empty, “No, but we’re working on a pretty big acquisition right now. It’s all mind games and if I didn’t make a shitload of money I’d be out of this business.”

“Lucky you though, you’re able to retire at thirty-five if you really wanted to,” musing as you swirl around the contents of the glass, the ice inside clinking around.

He laughs, the cold air mixing with his breath in plumes of white that spiral into the nighttime. You push yourself from the wall, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the rest of the contents as quickly as you can, “This isn’t the time to be hard on yourself, John. I think the countdown’s about to start,” a look at the small wristwatch on your wrist, the time indicating that you had about five minutes until the new year began.

“Shit,” the word elongated exasperatedly as he leans over to catch a glance at the clock face, “Let’s get back out there.”

The two of you amble inside, your cheeks cold with the winter air and hands a little stiff from holding the glass for too long. You set it down on one of the various demilunes scattered around the hall as you make your way back into Johnny’s living room. He’s lost along the way, pulled into a group of businessmen to talk or fawning girls to cajole with, you’re not sure which at this point. All you’re trying to do is find someone you know.

You can try to push through the crowds to find John, but at this point it’d be like trying to part the Red Sea with your own two hands and it was infeasible to say the least. Or you could head to one of the drink stations around the house in hopes to find Yuta, but he was as elusive as a snake and it’d be a miracle if you could find him before the clock struck midnight.

“Sixty!” A choir of voices ring out from a nearby room, you think you can hear John’s voice rising above them all, but it might also be your ears playing tricks on you.

“Are they really counting down the entire minute?” The voice next to you startling you so much that you jump, turning, you see Kim Jungwoo looking off in the direction of the countdown. His brow furrowing in confusion, “I at least thought it’d be the last ten seconds or something.”

“Jesus Jungwoo,” hand over your heart as you try and catch your breath, “You almost scared me to death.”

A laugh, “Sorry about that, I’m a little light on my feet.”

It also didn’t help that you could barely hear with the throng of people surrounding you. The gaiety electrifies the room, as it does the entire world when on the eve of a brand-new start.

“Did you want me to help you find one of your friends? I’m sure they couldn’t have gone too far,” his height somewhat advantageous to him as he scans the crowd, not seeing you shake your head as the countdown reaches thirty.

“I think I’m fine just staying with you,” you don’t notice the way he tenses ever so slightly at your words, a more rouge tint to his cheeks as he looks back to you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure?” Eyes widening as your gazes’ lock and you feel the familiar warmth creeping up the back of your neck.

“If that’s okay with you?” You question, the countdown hitting fifteen.

“That’s great— fine, it’s— yeah,” he trips and stumbles over his words, trying to find solid ground somewhere on the confab plain. It’s at that moment the countdown comes to ten, and the pair of you join in for the last seconds of 1963.

Five, four, three, two —

“Happy New Year!”

The clock had struck midnight and he was the closest one to you, you can’t remember if it was you or him that pulled the other closer to share a kiss. The kiss was chaste, but it resounded around your ribcage like the booming of the fireworks being shot off a distant skyscraper. A smile on your lips as you mouth back your own, “Happy New Year!” Despite it being innocent in nature, you know with the way the feeling buzzes on your lips you yearn for something more.

1964, Early Spring. The two of you’d spent time together since that evening, outside of that transactional relationship formed in the commerce of you selling your journals and him picking them up for Taeil whenever he could. It was outside of that realm, more personal as the days, weeks and months had transgressed.

By some miraculous circumstance, and no less of your incessant mentioning, you and Jungwoo had been seeing each other on a regular basis

“Taeil?” The door of the tailor shop opens with nothing short of a struggle. The heavy oak pressing back against your foot as you pry it open, your hands too full to push it.

“Need some help?” A voice behind you, startling you so much that you almost drop the large stack of books in your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Jungwoo standing behind you, his head tilted as if to question how you’d made it this far on your own.

“Thanks,” allowing him to brush past you, he steps into the shop and holds the door open wider as you enter. “Where is everyone?” Noticing that the usual handful of other tailors didn’t seem to be aimlessly roaming the store waiting for a customer to arrive.

“Busy,” He notes, motioning for you to hand him the plethora of journals. Obliging willingly, you hand them off and stretch your arms, surely the strain from the hardbacks would pull your finger muscles. “There’s been an emergency tailoring session, some big shot’s in town and needs alterations done for some party they’re throwing tomorrow night.”

“Explains why no one came to pick up the order today,” you muse, “Shouldn’t you be helping with that?”

“I will be in about an hour,” he sighs as if he’s already imagining the work that he’ll need to put in this evening. “But someone had to watch over the shop today.”

“Do you want company while you wait?”

You’re not sure how you’d gotten roped into staying with Jungwoo until well after the sun had set and the last customer had come in for the day. The lights of the shop are off, save for the small lamp that sits above Jungwoo’s workstation. He sits at his little desk in the back corner of the shop as he sews and hems away. His eyes scan the notes the patron had given when they’d dropped off the clothes, you had to squint to try and read the messy scrawl etched onto the parchment. You sit some desks away, flipping through some editorial detailing the up and coming designers of the fashion world but nothing was particularly catching your eye.

“Three alterations in one night, Taeil’s really trying to work us to the bone,” Jungwoo sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling atop his desk, a needle held between his right index and thumb while his other hand holds the garment he’d been attending to.

“Doesn’t it take a week to do something for just one piece?” You ask, not too versed on the schematics of it all, just acutely aware of when your father had needed suits adjusted as he aged.

“Normally,” he glances over to you, a hazy impatience settling behind his brow as he thinks to the two other pieces he was set to mend. “But it’s nine-thirty now and the guy wants them done by noon tomorrow,” Jungwoo almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of it all, “I didn’t even get the roughest pieces, Doyoung’ll be up all night and finish five minutes beforehand if he’s lucky.”

“What are they making him do?” Magazine set aside as you stand to stretch, your legs numb with the fuzziness of pinched nerves.

“Some simple inseam stuff like I’m doing, but also taking in a few jacket sleeves and fixing shoulder divots,” He says as if you know what he’s talking about, upon seeing the puzzled expression that paints itself on your face he explains a little more, “It’s nearly impossible to do with the amount of time we’ve been given.”

“Why’d Taeil accept this job then?” Pins and needles poking through your skin as you walk over to him to take a look at what he was working on.

“Because the client’s paying us a fortune,” setting the needle down he pulls a pin from the cushion around his wrist to situate it into an odd angle in the fabric in front of him, “I might actually be able to take you on a real date if I finish this in time.”

“I’ve kind of liked the ice cream socials,” you shrug your shoulders, as he turns to look at you, “And all of the gritty little dives, it’s more memorable that way. Plus, it makes me a cheap date.”

A small ‘tch’ leaving him as he turns back to his work, “You deserve more than that.”

“As long as you’re there I’ll be fine,” you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek, “Now I’ll stop distracting you, I’ll make dinner or lunch or something because I know you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow.”

“Try and get to bed early,” he says as you go to grab your things from where you’d left them up front, “I know you like to overwork yourself too.”

1964, Summer When you’d been invited to Jungwoo’s small apartment, you’d expected a small dinner and then maybe you’d go and watch television or explore the city afterwards. What you hadn’t expected was to see dark plumes of smoke emitting from under the doorway. You don’t knock, instead you barge into the apartment to find Jungwoo unlatching his windows and opening them to let the smoke escape, the source of the plumes coming from his small kitchen.

“What happened?” You call out as he turns to you, your hand rising to your face as if it could vanquish the putrid smell.

“I cooked,” the last window opens with a struggle, Jungwoo’s arms ache with how much force he had to exert when opening it. He shuffles over to you, seeing that you’d walked into the kitchen to find the source of it all.

“You… cooked....” A charred, black entity sits in a pan that Jungwoo had presumably pulled from the oven minutes prior. “Jungwoo what is that?”

“A loaf!” An almost excited tone cutting through your confusion as you turn and tilt your head at him.

“A… loaf of?”

“Meat!” At least he’s trying to sound cheerful, but that was his disposition most of the time. His hand guides your gaze over to a handwritten recipe atop the counter, he must’ve gotten it from some program. “I followed Julia Child’s recipe.”

“I’m not trying to be mean but that looks like a brick.” Gaze flickering back to the meat-brick.

“Yeah,” a sigh as he picks up a nearby spatula, grazing it atop the burnt meat, it scrapes atop it rather than giving way at all, “It’s about as hard as one too.”

The utter exasperation breaking through in his voice cause enough for you to laugh, the absurdity of it all pricking tears into the corners of your eyes. “We can try and salvage it,” you offer once you calm yourself down enough, the occasional chuckle flitting like a bird around your ribcage.

“Let’s just go to Le Pavilion or something, there’s also a new movie out too, we can try and catch it if we eat fast enough.”

And you do. For some reason Jungwoo orders the most expensive dish on the menu and doesn’t even like it, offering it to you instead with an abysmal pout that almost has you reeling in the small interior of the restaurant. The atmosphere is warm and jovial, met by the sinking sun as the two of you exit the venue, hands interlocked with a faint tightness as if you never wanted to be without him in your grasp again. Jungwoo and you then walk to a theater some blocks away, hands still held and a bubbling silence between you.

The film that Jungwoo had mentioned earlier had been Mary Poppins, some Disney flick starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke; you’re sure you’d heard Andrews somewhere before, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“I didn’t realize they could combine live action and cartoons like that,” Jungwoo’s voice full of childlike wonder as the pair of you exit the cinema. The smell of popcorn wafts out of the theater’s doors and the bright bulbs of the marquee overhead creates a strange glow contrasted to the nighttime sky.

“I didn’t either,” you note as a few kids brush past you and begin to race down the street, their voices carrying off into the night. It brings a small smile to your lips as you watch them gallivant around, not a care in the world as they continue to chase one another.

“Do you want me to walk with you back to your place?” Jungwoo offers, extending his hand out to you. You don’t answer aloud, instead just take his hand into yours and begin to walk the steadily emptying streets.

“Have you always lived in the city, Jungwoo?” It takes a moment for you to speak again, instead of just admiring the way that the lights glint off of passing windows and the rumblings of the cars that pass to your left drown out in the other amblings of the city.

“No, my family actually lives up north a little way away.” He hums to himself as he thinks, “I thought I’d always be stuck up there too, but I got the offer from Taeil and moved here as fast as I could. Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it at times.”

“I see,” you mutter, not knowing the feeling of leaving your home. It was a foreign concept to say the least, for almost the entirety of your life you’d know you were going to take over your father’s shop one day, and you’d been complacent in the matter. You’d had your hobbies that you dabbled in, but this was a nostalgic comfort that would and had transitioned into your livelihood that would take you no where else other than the little shop you call your own. “Would you want to move back?”

“Maybe when I’m older, sure. But I want to see the world first,” he nods his head, a twitch in his hand as he holds yours, “there’s so much I haven’t done or seen.”

It was a reckless ambition, but Jungwoo lived in that fantasy of the unknown, he had for all of his life. That was what he knew and all he abided by. You’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t worry for him at times, but he’d made it so far and you were curious to see where he was going. There was a creative longing, a desire to make, within him that no one else you’d come across had.

“I love you.” The words aren’t romantic when they fall from your mouth, when they’re swept up in the humidity of the summer air and ring around both his and your ears. This was more of a reckoning, a realization of the culmination of your growing feelings towards him since you’d met him almost a year ago now. A weight you hadn’t realized was there lifting from your chest, a songbird free from a gilded cage.

Jungwoo pauses, his feet stopping on the concrete as you continue to walk, only pulled back when you meet resistance. So, you stop yourself, turning back to look at him, a little ‘o’ on his lips and a confused look gracing his features. Had you said it too early? Or did he not reciprocate your feelings?

“You beat me to it,” a small pout emerging onto his lower lip, “I love you too.”

1964, Autumn “I can’t imagine those are comfortable.” You’re sure the clacking of your shoes could be hear miles away, with the obnoxious way they hit the sidewalk. They were pinching your toes too, and you might as well have put a band-aid on the backs of your heels because they were definitely going to be blistered tomorrow morning.

“They most certainly aren’t, but they are cute.” You note, standing on your toes so you can click the red slippers together three times at the heel. “

Jungwoo stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your apartment, offering out his hand for you to grasp when you carefully make your way down the steps. As opposed to the cool air that had begun to settle into the city, his hand offers warmth against your bare skin as his fingers intertwine with yours.

“Which way to Yuta’s?” He questions, looking over your costume for the evening.

“He lives over in Flatiron, kind of near the shop so it won’t be too far of a walk.” You notice him looking at the checkered dress and bright shoes. “Was Dorthey not a good idea, Mr. Holmes?” Noting his outfit of choice, the pipe held in his free hand, the detective cap as well as the cape to match.

“I think you look cute,” Looking away from you and towards the street you’d begun to walk down.

Yuta’s apartment was small, it being so led to more intimate parties than one would find at John Suh’s home, in a way you appreciated it a little more. Bigger parties with unfamiliar faces made you feel as if you had to act less like yourself and more robotic in your interactions.

“I’ll let you in if you promise not to chuck my house to Oz,” Yuta asks as he joking cracks open his front door as the two of you stand in front of it, “And Pincushion here doesn’t try and solve a murder or two.”

“Hmm I guess that’s doable, right?” You play along, turning to Jungwoo to confirm.

“It might take some restraint but I’m sure I can manage.” Hand under his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Yuta sighs and swings the door open, “Drinks in the kitchen, I think Hyuck’s trying to do a comedy-musical routine in the living room. I’d steer clear because he’s trying out ‘audience participation’ tonight.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” You laugh as you walk inside, the warmth of the room exacerbated by the sheer number of people crammed into the tiny space.

“I do kind of want to check out Hyuck’s thing,” You mention to Jungwoo after you find a space where the two of you can stand unimpeded.

“I don’t know if I can stomach that quite yet, want me to grab you a drink in the meantime?” Jungwoo asks, looking towards the kitchen and the few people filtering in and out of it.

“That’d be great,” a smile and then Jungwoo’s off to struggle his way through the packed room.

Lip bitten you try and look through the crowd, but the drawls of laughter tell you almost exactly where Donghyuck’s giving his tri-annual standup show. It’s shoulder to shoulder and you can barely hear him over the other going-ons of the party but from what you can ascertain it’s pretty funny.

“Happy Halloween!” A hand on your side as they call out, you turn, and it takes you a moment to recognize the face under the Gomez Addam’s mustache and wig.

“John!” A smile as you move to hug him for a moment, pulling away with your hands resting on his forearms, “I thought you were overseas?”

“I was supposed to be, a nasty storm delayed us by a few days over in Spain so I’m not leaving until Wednesday.” He says, looking over your outfit. “Didn’t you wear this like two Halloweens ago?”

“What no one knows won’t hurt them,” a playful nudge on his shoulder, “And if I were to remember, this wig looks very Elvis of you.”

“You might be able to remember correctly,” The black strands of hair that were pulled back still reminiscent of the shape they once held. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone?” John smiles, a nervous tinge to his voice as he continues, “It’s a little loud in here and I can’t really hear.”

“Oh, yeah,” brow furrowing at the attitude shift, “But first I should tell— Jungwoo!” The confused expression on John’s face somewhat laughable as you wave your boyfriend over, spotting him exiting the kitchen with two drinks in hand.

“There you are,” Jungwoo says as he walks over, placing a kiss on your cheek as he hands you a glass. You’re not too sure what the contents are, but it’s warm and smells spiced and oddly autumnal. “Hey John,” he greets with a small nod of his head as you take a small sip from your glass.

“Hey Jungwoo,” a return of the nod, “I should probably let the two of you go, I just remembered I have some calls I need to make.”

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as John begins to turn on his heels. It freezes him, he looks back to you before offering you a warm smile once again.

“It’s nothing important, I’ll catch up with you some other time, yeah?”

The party goes one without much note after, the most affable thing being that routine that Donghyuck had been preparing. At one point you and Jungwoo had slipped out citing an acute tiredness as an excuse to just walk the city some more. By this time of night, the kids that had gone out in search for candy were slowly waning, now only the belligerently drunk wandered the streets in search of the home they probably lived in.

“You have to admit that the joke about Red Skelton was pretty funny though,” insisting that Donghyuck wasn’t the worst comedian you had ever seen. Sure, his act could be cleaned up a little but there was definitely potential.

“What was it— I know a guy who bought a $99 color TV set. Now every Tuesday night he watches Green Skelton?” Chuckling as he recalls the joke, Jungwoo shakes his head “That was pretty good.”

“That’s the one, he’s no Jerry Lewis but he’s trying his best,” you laugh as you arrive to the entrance of your apartment, “Did you want to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says, and your heart skips several beats, “but I’ve got a client coming in early tomorrow.” And then your heart drops, “I’ll come by tomorrow after I’m done?”

“Alright,” you nod and you say your good nights, he places a kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and walking into the darkness of night.

You fumble with your hands, trying to unlatch the small picnic basket that had acted as your purse for the evening, in search of your keys.

“Actually, do you have room for one more?” You’d been too distracted trying to get your keys that you hadn’t heard or seen Jungwoo come back to your stoop.

“I thought you said you had work tomorrow,” a wayward glance to him.

“I do, but it’s dark and I’m kind of afraid to walk home alone, I mean what if a ghost or vampire gets me? I’m too pretty to die right now,” he states, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to invite him in.

“A big baby, more like it,” you scoff, once again turning to look at your door and stating, “If you are coming inside, can you lend me my own spare? I think I dropped my keys at Yuta’s.”

“Yeah I think I’ve got it on my ring,” he rummages around his pocks for a moment until you hear the familiar jingle of his keys. There are only four that adorn the metal hoop; his apartment’s, his mailbox’s, Taeil’s shop’s, and the most recent addition: yours.

“Roommate not home?” He questions as the two of you make your way inside, kicking off your shoes as you beeline to your kitchen.

“At some B. Altman holiday extravaganza with her beau,” pulling two glasses from a cabinet and grabbing a nearby bottle from the small section of your kitchen dedicated to alcohol, “Nightcap?”

“A small one,” Jungwoo nods as you come into the room, he’s standing over your record player, turning it on and beginning to play whatever was on the platter. You set the glasses down onto the coffee table and pry the cork out of the bottle, pouring two small glasses as he falls into the sofa beside you.

“I hope Delamain’ll do?” You set down the bottle and pass a glass to Jungwoo, only settling down on the couch once your own glass is in hand.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he sips at his glass, setting it down on the settee as he muses some more, “What record is this?”

“Ella Fitzgerald, mom gave it to me for my birthday last year, it’s one of her favorites.” Sipping from your own glass steadily turns into you just downing the liquid in one go. The glass hits the end table with a clink when you set it down, Jungwoo’s free hand resting on your thigh as he listens to the music wafting through the air.

“It’s lovely,” he sighs out as you rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his Pour Monsieur cologne invading your senses as you settle. The meticulous grazing of his fingers over your thigh cause for you to sigh, wanting to sink further into him.

“Can you kiss me?” The words fall breathlessly from your lips, as his fingers trace the hem of your dress. And he does, turning his head to crash against you with such voraciousness that your teeth click against each other before he steadies and falls into motion with you. The pair of you stay like that for a moment, before you felt his hand slip under your leg, urging you to sit atop him.

You straddle his waist, feeling a hardness beginning to strain against his trousers as you grind down onto his lap. He lets out a moan, probably the sweetest thing you’d ever heard, his eyelids fluttering as you do it again. A smirk graces your lips, your hands trailing from his chest to the button on the front of his pants, the fabric coarse under your touch as you move to unfasten it. Before you could, you feel a pair of warm hands atop yours, you looked up to see a wide-eyed Jungwoo.

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this today, so my underwear isn’t exactly mood appropriate—” He says all too quickly for you to comprehend fully, “Just don’t judge me too hard.”

“They can’t be— Is that Mickey Mouse?” You catch the name on the waistband of his underwear, hesitating on releasing any more of the animated character for your eyes to see.

“And I think you’ve just killed the mood,” he groans, his head falling onto the back pillow as his hands fall atop the couch cushions.

“No, I didn’t,” you lean down for a kiss, rolling your hips over him, feeling that he was almost fully erect. His hands fly back to your sides, guiding you along as he lifts his pelvis to meet yours. “I think they’re cute but maybe leave them home next time.”

“Next time?” He mused, looking up at you through clouded eyes, a joking tinge added to his voice “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Call it foresight,” shoulders shrugging as you look down at him, your head tilted ever so slightly “and you don’t seem like the hit it and quit it type, baby.” He’d slept over at your apartment before, maybe you’d had a few drunken makeout sessions but nothing ever this sobering, this far. In hindsight maybe you should’ve been nervous, let the butterflies in your stomach take over and calm you down. You’re not sure why you’d taken such a confident route with him, it just seems like he needed it.

“Baby,” the word fell out as a whisper as you saw the faint pinkness of his cheeks in the glow that emanates from the lamp to his right, “Can you spare me any further embarrassment and just take them off already?”

“It doesn’t feel like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about,” your hand brushing his away from the front of his pants, you sit up on your knees, “Mind kicking them off for me?”

He readily complies as you tried to maneuver without inhibiting him, you noticed him watching you, a hunger in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine.

“Fuck— is someone else here?” You listen to the familiar sound of your front door unlocking; it doesn’t open but you can hear loud footfalls and an even louder voice talking outside of the door.

“Sooyoung?” You call out after you were sure the voices had stopped, walking to the kitchen when you hear roommate’s keys hitting the kitchen counter “I thought you were staying at your boyfriend’s?”

“The asshole broke up with me because he wanted to be Holly Golightly. Him! He might have the astoundingly good looks for it but I think I’m a little prettier, don’t you think?,” The door of the fridge slamming shut, a rustle around the utensil drawer as she looks for a spoon. She did look stunning as the Hepburn character; you have to admit. “They’re re-airing that episode of Perry Mason if you wanted to watch it.”

“Jungwoo’s actually over so I think I’m just going to call it a night,” You say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her begin to dig into a tub of ice cream. “I’ll be sure to rant about your ex with you tomorrow.”

“You’d really do that?” A sigh as she shoves the spook into her mouth, “I’ll try not to wake you guys up when I get up for work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sooyoung,” a smile before you slip away and head back into the living room. “Alright Woo, it’s time for bed.”

“Alright,” Jungwoo pushes himself off of the couch, shouting out a ‘Goodnight Sooyoung!’ before ducking into your room. With his long strides he walks to your bed and subsequently falls into it as you turn to close the door behind the two of you.

“Don’t you want to change, Dr. Holmes?” You note his still costumed self as you look at his sprawling figure on the bed, “I think I’ve got your bed clothes from the last time you were here… Not sure if I cleaned them though.”

He huffs, “Forget it, I’m going to sleep.” He crawls to his side, blanketing himself with your duvet as you go into your bathroom to remove your makeup and change.

You can hear him softly snoring as you exit the restroom, your face still a little damp and the scent of your cleanser tingling your nose. Sooyoung’s turned off the music in the living room, the garbled sounds of the small black and white tv quietly floating in under your door. It takes a moment, but you climb into bed next to Jungwoo, pulling the duvet up to your chin before you shut your eyes and fall into a dreamless slumber.

It isn’t sunny out when you wake up, you don’t want to look at your clock for fear that your alarm was about to go off and you’d miss the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes more. An arm draped over you, even in sleep Jungwoo was a cuddler. Normally you weren’t opposed unless it was the summertime and it was unbearably hot outside.

“You know,” you hear him mumble tiredly, as if he senses that you’ve woken up too, “I always thought your apartment would be much more… bookier.” With the way his voice rasps with fatigue you’re not sure if he’s fully awake or half asleep.

“What were you expecting? Books wall to wall?” eyes still closed as you pull your duvet closer to you, feeling his arm tense around your waist.

“Kind of, something akin to a fairytale library,” his breath hot on your back, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sensation. “Like uhm— some Grimm story… Oh,” voice perking, “Can we go for that Halloween next year? You didn’t even tell me what you were going as until I saw you tonight.”

“You want to have a couple’s costume?”

“Yeah,” breathing slowing as if he’s falling back asleep agin,”Maybe Lucy and Ricardo, that’d be fun.”

The next time you wake up, the sun’s blaring into your eyes with an intensity you had never asked for.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Jungwoo’s mumbling and shuffling around your room, sunlight was pouring in from your windows and he looked heavenly even in his manic state.

“What’s wrong?” Stifling a yawn behind your hand as you watch him frantically feel his pockets.

“It’s nine-thirty, We— I overslept,” another string of curses escaping him as he looks around your room, “Do you have a phone I can use?”

“It’s on the dresser.” You point lazily to the red rotary.

You hear the dial tone ring a few times before someone on the other end picks up, “Doyoung can you put my client on the line?” A pause, “Yes I know I’m late.” Another pause before Jungwoo speaks again, “Hello Mr. Smith? Yes, this is Jungwoo Kim I’m running a little late for our appointment, I’m stuck in traffic and if you could give me another— Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Only minorly,” he frowns, “You wouldn’t happen to have a suit perfectly tailored for me to wear, would you?”

“Can’t say that I do, why don’t you just go in what you’re wearing?”

“I am not going dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for this client, I have some pride you know.”

“You’re literally wearing Mickey Mouse underwear,” you snort, “it doesn’t look that bad anyway, just don’t wear the hat and lose the pipe. Maybe the cloak too but it’s kind of sexy.”

“Don’t try to tempt me,” he groans, buttoning and zipping his pants, “I’m late enough as is.”

“I’d offer you an iron if Sooyoung hadn’t broken mine, that shirt looks super wrinkly now that I see it in the sunlight,” you note, he still looked nice though. He would probably look nice in anything he wore.

“Ugh, really?” Hands running over the wrinkled fabric he sighs to himself, “I’d say I’ve looked worse, but I normally have myself together.”

“Good luck. I, for one, am going back to sleep.” You sigh and fall back into your blankets, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of warmth quite yet.

“Now who’s the baby?” He scoffs and you hear him tread to the side of the bed, a kiss planted on your forehead as you crinkle your nose up at him. “I’ll call you later today?”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

1964, Late Autumn. The rain began only a few minutes into your trek to the cafe, your umbrella weeping with the droplets as they roll off its surface as you trudge down the street. There’s a rumble in the distance but you’re not sure if it’s the local train station or thunder somewhere off beyond the city. Your other hand in your pocket, running your finger along the ridges of your shop’s key. While you know you’d locked it, you can’t help but have the underlying fear that you’d left the door wide open so that anyone could just walk in. Although you’re not quite sure what they’d take, a few blank notebooks don’t seem like it’d do too well in any sort of underground market.

By the time you pull yourself from your thoughts you’re standing in front of a small cafe that felt more like a second home to you than your own apartment did at this point. The door swings open, you stand in the entranceway so that you can close your umbrella and leave it in the small stand upfront before you head fully inside. It smells like autumn, or at least the coffee’d variant of it. Pumpkin, nutmeg, and a few other scents you can’t quite pinpoint wafting through the air as you walk up to the counter to place your order. You pick out a few pastries as well and ask that they’re brought out when your coffee is ready. A hand to remove the paper-wrapped book under your arm so you can reach for your wallet, realizing then that the water had soaked into the leather. The wrapping paper now a little damp from where it’d brushed against your coat, you pick it back up as well as grab the receipt from the barista before scouring the cafe for what you’d come here to do in the first place.

Jungwoo’s dozing off when you find him in the back corner of the coffee shop. His jacket slung on the chair beside him, a scarf thrown haphazardly atop it as he leans with his head tilting backwards, pretty much dead to the world. Had the two of you not been frequent customers you’re sure that he would’ve been kicked out by now. But there he was, black turtleneck, tailored pants, and the cartoon bandages he loves so much wrapped tightly around his fingertips.

He doesn’t wake up when you accidentally scrape your chair on the ground when you pull it back to sit across from him nor does he wake when you drop the paper-bound book atop the table with a loud thud. Jungwoo does, however, wake when you brush your hand gently atop his, nearly falling out of his chair as his eyes open wider than you’d ever seen someone’s do.

“That wasn’t funny,” he frowns as you snicker, glancing over to the counter trying to act as if he’s regained his composure, “did you already order?”

“For me? Yes,” you place your bag in the chair adjacent to you, shrug off your raincoat and hang it on the back of your chair. “For you, what is it that you get? Flat white, two sugars, low fat milk?”

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning his head back once more. It must’ve been another sleepless night for him.

“You should be thankful I’ve got an exceptional memory,” you frown as he can’t see you, he overworks himself too much and if you ever try to bring it up he brushes it off with a wave and an excuse of ‘I’m just doing what I love’.

“You know,” he begins, leaning his head back up, opening his eyes to look at you. There was something shining behind them that you’d only seen on a handful of occasions; he has an idea and he’s not sure that you’ll like it, “I was wondering if you’d model a dress for me? Not for a fashion show or anything. I just think it’d look good on you.”

His gaze breaks from yours to look at the aisle behind you, you turn and see the barista coming with your drinks and assortment of baked goods. After a few repetitious ‘thank you’s she leaves and the pair of you are left alone once more.

“Are you flirting with me?” An eyebrow piqued as you look at him. He’d asked you to do some of the strangest things before, going from the mundane ‘I think we need to get annual tickets to the opera just in case I forget your birthday and it’ll be a birthday present’ to ‘I swear to god if we don’t rescue this cat right now I’m never calling you again’. But it was two am and a shitfaced Jungwoo had thought that a raccoon was a cat as it rummaged through the garbage. That had also been the night where he’d serenaded you with his own rendition of Blossom Dearies ‘Dance Only With Me’ and Sinatra’s ‘I’m a Fool to Want You’; he’d broken down crying at the latter and you’d forced him to go to bed early. He only went on the condition that you’d hug him as he slept. It was certainly an interesting way to spend your first date together.

“Do you want me to be? I’d say it’s fairly doable,” He winks as he drinks from his mug, blowing on its contents beforehand to cool the brew.

A laugh, the brown paper under your fingertips wrinkling as you strain your fingers and push it towards him. It slides across the wood with relative ease, you finger partially tearing the paper where it had been dampened by the rain.

“I brought you your book.”

“Unlined and all?” He asks as he sets down his cup, shifting himself forward to get a better look.

“Unlined, flexible binding, the works.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighs, taking the still wrapped book into his grasp.

“I know,” you smile, watching as his fingers toy with the twine that kept it together.

“Hello? Paging Ms. Bookbinder, you there?” Jungwoo’s hand waves in front of your face, suddenly you’re back in reality and trying to remember the conversation. You didn’t realize you’d zoned out that hard.

“Yes Mr. Reichelt?” You question, looking down as his finger’s unlace the twine you’d wrapped around the paper packaging.

“Don’t call me that I am much cooler than Franz Reichelt, and less dead, for that matter.”

“Can you say that after you drink your coffee?” You poke jokingly while he eyes his mug with a wary glance.

“Anyway, were you even listening to me?” He leans towards you, elbows resting on the tabletop and a slight curvature to his smile that looked far too playful for the current moment. It stilled your heart for a second before you shake your head at him.

“Not really, no.” You confess, sipping from your cup, “What is it?”

“I was asking if you would let me make a dress for you. I’ve had this idea in my mind for weeks and I finally got this mulberry silk imported from Lyon and it’s too good not to use immediately.”

“I don’t even need a dress like that, Jungwoo.” You frown, picking at one of the pastries in front of you, pinching off a piece before stuffing it into your mouth. “I’m not exactly the type that goes to parties where I’d need a silk dress.” You think that the last party you’d attended you’d worn a sweater and a dress from your roommate’s closet, nothing remotely close to what he was proposing.

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” he pouts, “All I need are your measurements, you won’t even have to see the thing if you don’t want to.”

A sigh, “Fine. When do you want me to drop by?”

“Does Tuesday around ten work for you?”

“I should be able to get Yuta to look over the shop while I’m gone.”

1964, Winter. The ringing of your shop’s bells draws you to the front room, your hands wrought with binding glue, you try to rub them on the apron you wear to rid yourself of the sensation. Before you can ask what the customer needs you stop in your tracks, head tilting to the side, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is,” Jungwoo’s voice is cheery as he walks in further, looking at the array of newly bound books sitting out on display.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t want to see you?” You fluster at the words, hard to hide the small smile that forms on your lips.

“I mean, you can, it's just that I’m working.” You motion to the store, to the few customers browsing the items.

“You’ve spent however many nights watching me hem skirts and taper jackets; I think it’s time I return the favor.” A nod of his head as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “What can I do to help?”

“What the hell’s pincushion doing here?” Before you’re able to open your mouthm Yuta’s come out of the back room with a stack of books in his grasp, “I thought you’d be holed up in your shop by now.”

“It’s my day off.”

“And you’re spending it… here…” The thud of books landing on a nearby table as the skepticism in Yuta’s voice rises.

“Yep.”

“He must really like you,” Yuta scoffs, going to grab a different selection of books off of another shelf. He turns to you and asks, “Can you grab me the leather samples from the back? I think Maisel’s coming in today and you know how he gets.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You shake your head and head to the back room to search for the swatches.

While he waits, Jungwoo notices a small web lingering in the intersection of two walls, the sunlight glinting off its strands having been what alerted him to his presence in the first place. At first, he thinks to sweep it away with a broom he knows is hidden away somewhere in your storeroom. You weren’t the biggest fan of bugs or arachnids; he was surprised you hadn’t rid your shop of it by now. But he can't find it within himself to brush the web asunder. It had worked hard to build and craft its home; he knew firsthand how difficult creating something from nothing was.

“Her name is Jorōgumo.” Yuta had walked up behind Jungwoo with little announcement. The younger jumps, turning his head to look at the other. “I offered to kill her… him...? For her but she said it was eating the bugs and to let it be.”

Jungwoo eyes the fat-bodied spider, “Why is it named that?”

“It’s a fairytale from Japan, there’s a spider that looks like a woman. It entices men to follow her and then eats them while they’re distracted,” Yuta explains, the sound of the storeroom opening behind him.

“Are you bullying Arachne again?” You frown, handing the swatches to Yuta and looking up to the small web in the corner.

“I am not bullying Jorōgumo.”

“If I’m keeping a spider in my shop, I am not naming it after a monster.”

“And a heretic is better?” Yuta scoffs, tapping Jungwoo on the shoulder, “What do you think, Pincushion?”

“I’m just wondering why both the myths have to be women,” he shrugs his shoulders and looks to you, “Do you think you’d be free this evening so I can take your measurements? I finally have some free time to start working on that dress.”

“I think so,” a nod as you look to Yuta, “Mind looking after the shop for a bit?”

1965, Early Spring “Didn’t you already measure me?” Jungwoo’s hands hold a rolling measuring tape as he holds it up to your forearm as you ask.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure this is perfect.” Tape lowered; he writes down the number into one of the journals he’d brought with him to your apartment. Trailing away from that your eyes look to the bouquet he brought when he’d come over.

“What’s the deal?” Brow furrowing at the pink, red and white blooms, “You never give me flowers.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Beaming, he’s as bright as the sun. A jilted visage against the cool tones of your apartment’s interior. He looks up to you with a vividness in his eyes, “Your boyfriend’s going to Paris.”

“What do you mean Paris?” A hitch in your voice as you ask, a strange and warped confusion overcoming you.

“Taeil got me an apprenticeship with one of his friends, he’s going to be in town in a few weeks to talk about it with me and I want to show off the dress there.” He’s speaking at a mile a minute, a clear excitement as he beams.

“Don’t fall for some mysterious Parisian woman while you’re there,” You poke, still unsure about how you even feel about this.

“I doubt I’ll have time to even wander the city. With all of the workshops and sessions we’ll have. It’s going to be the opportunity of a life— ow—” he says as you gently hit his shoulder. “I won’t fall for some other girl, I promise,” He laughs and continues to take your measurements.

1965, Late Spring “Did you have a good time tonight?” The lock clicking into place as he asks, your footsteps falling on the floor as you make your way to his workbench in the center of what would’ve been his living room had he not made it into a makeshift workshop.

You note the tools, the fabrics and array of swatches that litter his home, the pincushion he wears on his wrist as he works settled onto the tabletop. It’s as if the apartment is a representation of him, messy in ambition but persevering through the struggles as he tries to find the limelight of his own. A smile forming as he walks over to you.

“I had a wonderful time, thank you for inviting me.”

It had been a small gathering at the tailor shop, a small dinner with Taeil, Jungwoo, Taeil’s friend and Jungwoo’s future mentor Ten, and yourself. The entirety of the night you’d felt a knot forming in your stomach, the anxiety of Jungwoo’s future endeavors weighing heavily on your shoulders. You want to be happy for him but the closer it gets to Jungwoo’s departure for Paris leaves you feeling more and more despair at the event of it all.

“Thank you for coming,” Jungwoo’s hands find your sides as you lean your backside against the rough wooden edge of the table. “You made it all the more bearable,” smiling softly in the dim lighting of the apartment, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. The wine from earlier lingers on his breath, you're sure it does the same to yours, the darkness of the red already making you warm and your body feeling weightless, almost as if you were floating in a pool of water.

You part, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation before he’s leaning in again to find your lips. His kiss seems as if it seeks to steal the breath from your lungs. To devour you entirely until all you can think of is his closeness, the softness of his lips atop yours, of just him. The woolen fabric of his overcoat is rough under your fingertips as you move your hands from the workshop table to his shoulders, gently pulling at the cloth to urge him to discard the garment. His hands leave your sides momentarily as he shrugs the jacket off, the fabric falling and pooling on the floor at his feet. A metallic clang echoing around the space as he leans forward to lock his lips with yours.

“Jungwoo,” you breathe, soft pants escaping the both of you as you turn your head from him, your eyes trailing to the sewing scissors that had clattered onto the floor. Another rustling of fabric and you realize he’s discarded his suit jacket as well.

“Let it be,” a hand under your chin, guiding you back to the comfort of his lips. He presses himself into your touch, the way your fingers dance along the smooth cotton of his starched shirt, fiddle with the buttons and run your fingertips atop the small engravings adorning them.

“Are we really going to do this in your workspace?” You look up to his darkened gaze, your voice caught in your throat as his own fingers move to toy with the neckline of your dress. Gentle, electric touches that have you reeling.

“Does that bother you?” His lips leave yours once more as he places soft, yearning kisses to your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. He raises a hand to pull away the neckline of the dress to allow him better access to the apogee of nerves nestled at the point where your shoulder and neck meet. Teeth biting ever so gently that you would have mistaken it as a light graze had you not felt the sharp pinch. It pulls an almost whining sound from your vocal cords, causing your head to tilt to allow him more space to roam.

Lips curling into a smile as he pulls away, his hand sliding from the table to your arm, then raising and gently pulling at your hair, “You didn’t answer me.”

“God, fuck, no it doesn’t bother me,” you trap his lips in yours, tilting your head up so the orange glow of the street lamps outside shine into your eyes before you shut them, finding yourself lost in the entity of your lover. The slowest ministrations of your hips trying to roll against his, to seek out friction and closeness and the yearning of him to once again be a part of you, “Jungwoo.” Your tone is darker, needier, wanting as he presses his clothed self flush against you.

A huff of air escaping you as he once again pulls his lips away from you, and then the gentle rolling of his hips against yours ceases as well. Eyes opening to find him looking over you, not scrutinizing, it seems as if he was rather admiring the picture that sat before him.

Head tilting, the presence of desire absent for a moment as he muses, “I think it looks amazing.” He hums as he lowers himself to his knees, somehow the softness of his voice makes you want to comply with every word uttered, “Can you sit on the table for me?”

Hands brushing against tulle and satin and a plethora of other fabrics you could care less about at this moment in time as you find your hold on the table as you move to sit atop its surface, your heeled shoes clattering to the floor as you do so. Jungwoo’s fingers caress your calves as he leans himself closer to your core, his warm breath making your mind conjure some of the most unspeakable thoughts.

“I’ll have to let the designer know he did an amazing job,” you smile, involuntarily shivering as he slides his hands upwards, the hem of your dress inching towards your stomach the further he ascends.

His face merely inches from your heat now, your hips squirming at the proximity. “I think he’d be appreciative of the feedback,” Jungwoo smiles, his face now obscured from vision due to the collection of fabric, you have half a mind to tear it off of you, not that you ever realistically would. It was far too precious.

The rip of fabric, the coolness of the air hitting your now exposed sex, you whine in protest as he begins to slide the now torn fabric of your underwear away from you.

“I’ll get you some more,” his right hand hovers over you, he uses his middle finger to swipe up the length of your slit, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.

“Are you a lingerie atelier now— Fuck,” you begin to joke before he begins to tease your entrance with the tip of his finger. Your own hand moving to your breast, trying to fondle the mound through several layers of fabric. He slips the rest of his finger inside of you and with a moan you roll your hips to try and meet him halfway.

It’s not until he eases in another finger and begins to languidly move them in and out of you as well as latch his lips to your clit that your vocalizations rise in volume. The digits curl inside of you, his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your head finds itself lost in the euphoria of the moment, your hand falling away from your breast to find itself running through Jungwoo’s locks. He hums against you as your fingers tighten their hold, nearly sending you over the edge.

“Are you close?” You look to him, lips coated with the sheen of you, a tinge to his voice that straddles between curiosity and a carnal question.

Hand moving from his hair to his cheek you can only nod, trying to roll your hips to the increasing speed of his fingers inside of you. His eyes watching you as you do finally reach your climax, chortled breaths escaping you as well as a slew of incoherent words and his name. Jungwoo can feel the way your walls spasm around his fingers and sighs to himself as he pulls them from you, wishing that it had been more than just his digits that had made you cum.

You sit up, a little dazed and a lot more aroused than you were when you’d first stepped into the apartment. Jungwoo rises to greet you, your lips clash together and you can taste yourself on his tongue as you vie for dominance.

“Switch with me?” You ask, parting for air, voice whispering as your hands move to once again toy with the hem of his collared shirt.

And he does, backing away from you enough so you can land your feet on the floor and trade places with him. Your turn to take control for a moment, you feel the hardness of his cock through his pants as you tentatively palm it, trying to elicit some sort of sound from him.

“Come on, Woo, I know you’ve got it in you,” you tease, running your hand up and down the etching of his member, slowly and meticulously trying to draw him out of his shell.

“Have what—” he cuts himself off as you run your fingers over his cockhead, a low groan as if he hadn’t wanted you to hear it.

“Have that,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The taste of salt greeting you, the sheen of sweat on his face glittering in the lights dimly illuminating his apartment. You fall to your knees, sending shivers down your spine as the cool air that balloons the skirt of your dress as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Hands sliding up his thighs, you move to his belt to hastily unfasten it.

It falls away, as do his pants and underwear, you were going to mention the lack of cartoon characters adorning it, but you were too preoccupied taking him into your mouth to comment.

Tongue running over the slit on his head, it draws the sweetest sounds from him, saccharine-like honey that drips from his moans and rings around your ears. His hand running through his hair, his other gripping the table as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your mouth as you take him further.

Your knees ache from the rough floor, the pain not deterrent enough for you to forget about the wetness between your legs. Fidgeting as your head bobs up and down on his length, you don’t think he takes notice. Yet Jungwoo was more perceptive than he let on at times, considering his hand now rests upon your hollowing cheek.

“Get up,” Jungwoo urges, his voice hoarse as he tries to gently nudge you away from his cock. “I want to cum inside of you.” When you do let him leave your mouth, a thin line of spittle trailing from his head to your lips you hear him sigh out again. It was so easy to get a reaction out of him, he almost feels like putty in the palm of your hand.

The indents from the wood settle into the flesh of your thighs as he helps you stand and lightly pushes you back onto the table. His belt clattering onto the floor as he fully kicks off his pants, his shoes, and briefs.

You wonder at this point if you should take off the dress, but as your hand begins to reach for the zipper, he stops you, “No, keep it on.”

He kisses you again, taking his hands to gently pry your legs open so he can align himself with your core. Lips parting, you feel his cockhead brush up against your entrance before he pushes himself into you, his hands moving to trail up the sides of your legs. Slowly, feeling every inch enveloping him as his fingers tighten their hold on the skin of your hips.

“Fuck,” he moans, fully sheathing himself inside of you. His brown eyes meeting yours, tongue darting out to wetten his lips, “Do you need a minute?”

When you shake your head no you fully expect him to start fucking into you with reckless abandon as he did most nights you stayed together. But he doesn’t, instead he starts to roll his hips into you, not trying to fuck the life out of you, rather trying to gauge how and what made you feel good.

“Woo,” you mutter with half-lidded eyes, hands trailing up his arms and to his shoulders, your nails digging into the now exposed skin. It was sure to leave marks, but only small crescent moons that would fade away come morning.

It’s whispered ‘I love you’s’ that fall from his lips as your forearms wrap around his neck to pull you up

and draw him in closer, a thrumming in your chest each time he says it. And you repeat it back to the best of your ability, to find a constancy in him that hadn’t ever made itself presentable to you in a lover or significant other before.

For a moment you’re able to lose yourself in him, to forget that he’d be leaving you soon and your heart along with it. You’re enveloped in the presence of him and you wouldn’t have it any other way, you wouldn't let it be any other way.

Jungwoo’s thrusts become more sporadic as he reaches his end, one of his hands leaving your side and moving to your clit to try and bring you over with him one more time. You’re sensitive and strung out on him, legs tensing as they try to close, stopping around his waist as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

He cums with little warning, other than his hand moving from your clit and back to your side as he stills himself within you. The sweat collected on both of your bows intermingling when he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing slows as he regains his composer, kissing you as he slides himself out of you. When he pulls away to slide on his briefs you land your feet on the ground with shaky legs, holding the edge to balance yourself.

Jungwoo turns back to you and almost has to stifle a short laugh, your face contorting to the feel of his essence leaving you, it was strange but not overtly bad. Just not something you were fully accustomed to.

“Let’s wash up, hm?” Hand taking yours, he leads you to his small bedroom, only stopping midway inso he can help you out of your clothes. He unzips the dress, the cool air of his apartment fully encasing you as he pulls the fabric off your shoulders. You feel his lips press a soft kiss onto the nape of your neck and he catches the scent of the perfume you’d applied earlier in the evening. The dress falls, pooling at your feet and you step from its depths and onto the hardwood floor. Before you’re able to reach for the dress, Jungwoo’s swept it up, already moving to hang it in his closet.

The two of you shower together, reminiscing on a handful of occasions with him that you’d fully devoted to memory but also of the future as well. Jungwoo was excited to leave, every mention of it fractalizing your heart just a little bit more, not that you’d let him know, you just put on a smile and tell him how happy you are for him.

You borrow a shirt from him to wear to bed, exiting the bathroom while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. While he does, you wander his room, looking at the shelves that adorn the space. Most books atop them are about tailoring or sewing, things that wouldn’t typically draw your attention. You then spot a few that are familiar, the bindings nostalgic under your fingertips as you trace them, no names or words that addressed their titles.

“I never realized I made you so many,” You muse, looking at Jungwoo who’s just exited the bathroom.

“I have been your loyal customer for a while now, you know.” He notes, falling into his bed and collecting the blankets, he pats the mattress beside him to beckon you closer.

You fall back into the bed beside him after you saunter over, encased in the blankets for a moment by the duvet he tosses atop you before you look to him, “I don’t want you to go.” It’s a simple statement that carries all too much weight for those six words alone, they lie heavily in your chest, saying them aloud does nothing to stop that.

“I know, I know,” There’s a hurt in his voice as he knows just how difficult it’ll be to part from you. “We’ve still got almost two months left before I go though, let’s try to make the most of it, okay?”

1965, Summer It had only been a month since Jungwoo landed in Paris. His French is awful, and he only knows how to call things pretty, cute or something lewder thanks to the teachings of his fellow apprentices. There are bags under his eyes from another sleepless night, a cigarette hanging from his lips (a terrible habit he’s picked up as of late), and the mute sounds of some song playing out of the bar he’d just crawled out of. It’s probably Bridget Bardot but he can’t tell from his position, not that he can understand anyway, he’s barely been able to comprehend his own thoughts.

His fingers ache, only nude bandages that are a little too pink wrapped around them because he can’t find the cartoon ones that you’d given him tucked away in his things. His eyes feel strained, tired, and pulsing from overanalyzing stitching and searching cloth for tears, pulls or other impurities. Montmartre was beautiful, not that he was able to see if often as he was constantly working. And if he wasn’t working, he was probably trying to catch up on lost rest.

This was his dream, a part of it though, the other half had you somewhere tucked away in the echelons of his fantasy life. Although he was doing what he wanted, what he loved, there was something about you being in absentia that had him feeling empty. He’d written countless letters but only signed and sent a handful, worried of saying too much and worried of saying too little. To you and his father, his father that had sent him on this path at a young age. ‘Make something of yourself,’ he’d said when Jungwoo was seven, ‘you’re too ambitious not to.’

If he could laugh at him now, he would. But his father was an ocean away, retreated somewhere in the depths of Jungwoo’s childhood that he’d rather leave behind.

Yet you on the other hand, he’d written you what felt like every day and struggled with each composition. Jungwoo had never missed someone’s voice as much as yours, the gentle feel of your hand intertwined with his or even the sounds of your footsteps trailing through your shop. He’s supposed to be happy, why isn’t he happy?

The cigarette burns, the acrid smoke filtering into his lungs as he inhales, a plume of what’s left leaving him when he huffs out, the cigarette dropped onto the ground, smoldering away. Hand flitting through his knotted locks, the dampness of sweat clinging to the pads of his fingertips as he brushes over his brow.

Most people had dropped everything to work under Ten, a certified maestro of their craft. And Jungwoo had dropped everything, not begrudgingly at first, but as the dog days of the beginning of summer and the end of spring drew near there was a rising anxiety within his chest. If you had asked him not to leave as he was standing at the terminal’s gates, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all.

He’s been giving up more and more lately; sleep, adequate meals, a solitary living space. Jungwoo’s worried when this serpent of work will seek out to devour you away too. It’s not that he wants to let you go, but if he’s to make something of himself he might have to, as cruel and malicious it may seem. In that you waiting for him was burdensome, not to him but to yourself. While he’s off gallivanting in an ancient city you’re in your shop, was he just supposed to expect you to idly sit by and wait for him? He’s not sadistic enough to tether you down to the unknown.

1965, Late Autumn. You’d come home that morning with a new record tucked under your arm, the words ‘Rubber Soul’ peeking overtop the paper sheath that the store had given you as you set it down on your countertop after discarding your shoes and jacket by the door. You hum to yourself, shedding your bag, reaching for the new record, and bringing it over to your player, Sooyoung’s worn copy of one of Billie Holiday’s albums resting on the platter. With gentle hands you remove it from the spindle, tucking it away in its cover before releasing Rubber Soul from its own and setting it onto the player. System turned on, you place the needle on the record and adjust the volume so the first few riffs of ‘Drive My Car’ begin playing through the speakers.

Nodding your head to the rhythm, you set down the cover and make your way to the kitchen, noticing the small pile of postcards and letters you’d received from Jungwoo over the last few months. He’d been so busy he hadn’t really had the time to call or write a lot for that matter. But it wasn’t like calling was free, especially an international connection. With each new card that he sent to you, there seemed to be less that he wrote of and more empty space adorning it.

“Hey,” You hear Sooyoung say as she exits her room, her purse in hand as she heads to the hall tree to grab a coat, “I’ve gotta head in, someone completely ruined the display for the winter collection.”

“I thought you were in charge of that?” A tilt of your head as she passes by. Sooyoung’s one of the floor managers of the flagship B. Altman some blocks away, and that left her unnecessarily stressed by the minute details of the store.

“I am, but I let one of the new girls try and set it up,” a frown as she opens the door, “That’s what I get for trying to take on a protegee. I’ll be back around dinnertime, okay?”

“I’ll see you then,” waving her off with a hand as the door slams shut, the sound of your friend’s key locking the door before the apartment falls into silence once more, the only sound coming from the next song on the vinyl.

Stifling a yawn with your hand you head to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa as you reach for a magazine atop the table. It was one of your roommate’s detailing a plethora of fashion information, this seemed something like Jungwoo could take to more so than yourself. Before you’re able to get lost in the pit of missing him again the phone on the table next to the sofa begins to ring.

“Hello?” Magazine tossed aside, you reach for the phone, pulling it to your ear as you lay reclined on the couch. Fully expecting a family member or one of Sooyoung’s friends over the line you sound a little more crass than normal.

“Whoa,” a familiar, achingly distant voice calls out, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Jungwoo?” Eyes widening, your grip on the phone tightening before your brow furrows and you sit up, “Where are you?”

“I’m actually in a phone booth outside of Ten’s shop right now,” A short laugh, there’s something quiet about it, “I feel like I’m in some sort of film.”

“It sure sounds like you are,” distancing yourself from the line for a moment as the connection pops and crackles. Ear returning to the phone you feel your heart swell as you lean against your wall, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” He sounds apprehensive, as if there’s something ruminating behind his lips, but he was too afraid to say it. “I’m sorry for not calling sooner, it’s just been extremely busy here.”

Twirling the phone cord absentmindedly with your finger you shake your head, not that he could see you, “It’s alright.” The disquiet in his voice putting you on edge, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking,” He’s holding his breath, and you don’t realize that you are too.

“Of?”

“Ending this.” There’s a pause, a bated breath, and a clearing of his throat before he begins to speak again. It sounds robotic, rehearsed, even. “I don’t want to leave you waiting for me when I don’t even know when I’ll be back.”

“If you don’t think I’d wait for you you’re ridiculous,” A confused tone to your voice, you blink several times as if that were the cure-all to comprehend what he was suggesting. “Is there someone else?”

“God, no, of course not. It’s just—” A break in the facade for a moment before it turns static again, “You deserve constancy. I don’t want you waiting around for me when you could be happier somewhere else with someone else who’s actually there for you.”

“Are you serious?” With the thought of him being an ocean away you could barely go as kicking and screaming as you wanted to, but you can’t. It’s hard to collect your thoughts with so many jumbling around your head.

“I’ll get Taeil or someone to stop by and get my things,” voice muffled, there a small banging coming from the other end, as if someone’s hitting the outside of the phonebooth that Jungwoo was situated in.

“No,” you frown, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach. “I’ll drop the dress and your things off at the shop.”

“Keep the dress, it was a gift,” his voice insists, sounding defeated and tired.

“I don’t want it, I want you, Jungwoo.”

He would rather watch the stars flicker and die from their sepulchered facades in the expanse above, watch the oceans shrivel and continents shrink, than be the source of your privation. It’s as if he can hear your heart break over the line. It isn’t loud, it isn’t ear shattering— it’s a hairline fracture that webs out and settles into every fiber of your being. He knows it because it’s the same thing he’s afflicted upon himself.

“I’m sorry, I love you but there’s no feasible way that I can—” he pauses, and you hear a voice tinned by the crackling line. It’s French, sounds angry and causes Jungwoo to speak into the phone once more, “I— I have to go. I’ll call you back later so we can talk about this, okay?”

“Okay,” the word is lifeless as it leaves your mouth, you hang up and pull the phone away from your ear as if you could still hear his voice after you’d killed the call.

You are a bag of bones, skin, and whatever else deigned itself rotted enough to crawl its way inside of you and flourish. Amber leaves looking more titian as you leave your apartment, a muted tone as you walk the streets and to your shop. The lights inside aren’t as bright as they once were, sounds far too muffled by the blood rushing to your ears as Yuta asks you what’s wrong.

1966, Winter “Try this one,” The bartender standing in front of you sets down another glass. He’d been talking to you on and off the whole night trying to get your opinions on different drinks he’d been concocting to try and get put on the menu.

“What is it?” Amber liquid swirled around what looked like a dried slice of orange. The whiff of something floral and reminiscent of anise hits your nose, causing your face to scrunch. “That’s not straight absinthe and cognac, is it?”

“Cognac Tesseron, Peychaud’s Bitters, simple syrup, and just the smallest taste of absinthe,” Carefully crafted and delicately handled you pick up the glass and observe it some more. “I’m thinking about calling it the Forget Me Not, but we’ll see what management thinks of that name.” Voice tinged with that oddly specific Brooklyn accent he turns to his other clientele, leaving you with the newest cocktail. Lips carefully pressed to the glass you drink, mulling over the flavors as you do so. After thinking about it you set the glass down, lips pursed together, it wasn’t a bad taste you just wished there were sweeter notes to it.

Alone. You sat alone in the dimly lit bar that denoted itself as La Fête. Why, you weren’t sure, but the cacophony of spirits mixed into the glass between your fingers was the only thing that had made you feel well the entire evening. Some comedian stands on the stage a few meters away, giving off a routine that wasn’t hitting as well as it should be. There’s muffled laughs and chortles from the audience in front of him, yet you’d barely heard a word he said.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice rings out to your right; you’re unable to see who it is until they take a seat next to you.

“Mr. Suh,” Eyebrows raised as Johnny turns to face you, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen him in a month or so, not after that had happened.

“Yuta told me I could probably find you here, and Sooyoung also told me about trying to cheer you up since the gifts she got you weren’t working,” A smirk playfully bouncing on his lips. “You look awful.” Hands folding atop each other as he adjusts himself in the seat.

“What makes you say that?” Scoffing as you bring your glass to your lips, taking a sip of your drink before setting it back down.

“Yuta did say you were going through something heavy.” His tone lowers, becoming more sympathetic and less lighthearted than it’d been a moment before.

The gentle ambiance of the bar around you, as well as the slew of alcohol in your drink, mellows your inhibitions and voice. It was the calmest you’d felt the entire night. “I just needed a break from all of this,” hand motioning towards your head.

“I can understand that” Pausing for a moment he opens a nearby menu, perusing the selections. “I just came from a conference in D.C., aren’t you going to ask why?”

“Hmm, why?” You pose, head tilting as you turn to look at him.

“We’re acquiring some major stock in Marriott,” “Forcing a bunch of bigwigs to give up their assets is an adrenaline rush I won’t get anywhere else but there.”

“Sounds… fun?”

“In reality it’s just a bunch of stuffy old men with their own hands up their asses, “Although I guess I have to get used to it; I’ll be one of those men someday.”

“Johnathan Suh you will never be like any of those men,” sigh losing itself in your glass as you bring it back to your lips.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” as he closes his menu, he calls the bartender over, ordering some drink that sounded all too extravagant for your taste.

The pair of you sit in silence for a few moments, your glass now set atop the marble bar as your eyes wander around the warm, eclectic interior. “Are you merging them with that Canadian group? I can’t remember their name.” Snapping your fingers together as you try and recall. You look back to Johnny, who was beginning to take a drink of another one of the bartender’s creations.

The glass now moved away, and he frowns into the back of his hand; you wonder if it’s due to the alcohol. Head shaking in the negative he answers, “I actually left that partnership a year or so ago, decided I didn’t want any of ‘Daddy’s Help’ and tried my own hand at it.” Leaning back, he adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, “And I’ve been doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself.” His confidence was a manic beast at times, but it never failed to make you roll your eyes. “What about you? Gonna commercialize your shop anytime soon?”

“As if,” You snort and look towards the darkened windows of the venue, “I’m perfectly fine in my shop,” Elbow resting on the counter, you lay your cheek atop your hand as your hair falls around your face, looking up at Johnny as your cheeks warm with embarrassment, “It’s all I can manage.”

Johnny laughs, it’s hearty and you feel your pulse rise along with the heat in your cheeks, “Don’t sell yourself short.” Shoulder shrugging, he returns to his drink, finishing it quickly while you sit up, rubbing your cheek.

“We’ll see when I get there,” smirk showing itself again as his fingers trace circles on the light marble of the bar. “Oh, weird, crazy question really,” His hand moves to his jacket, fumbling around one of the inside pockets for a moment as he searches for something.

“Want to go to a wedding with me?” A piece of elegantly cut cardstock tossed down onto the bar, you don’t recognize the names scrawled onto the front of it in some pretentious calligraphy.

“Aren’t you dating that girl?” Fingers pulling the card closer, trying to recall the name, “Yoona or something? Why don’t you take her?”

Johnny almost chokes on his water as you speak, hitting his hand against his chest to get some air. “God no,” He coughed, setting his water glass down. “Yoona’s just a family friend, more like my big sister than anything else. If anything, my sister will get married before me.”

You nod your head in understanding, “Ah, is she still dating Taeil?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust them to tell me if it was raining outside or not,” he muses. Suddenly his demeanor turns mischievous, you’re not sure how to properly describe it as he leans in towards you, the smirk back with a vengeance. “But why were you interested in who I’m dating? Are you curious?”

It takes most of your willpower to lean back away from him and roll your eyes as you scoff out, “As if.” He only increasingly gets closer before you put a hand on his shoulder and playfully push him back.

“And what about you?” Does he seem nervous? You hear a genuine interest in his voice, but you aren’t sure if you’re exaggerating it due to the miasma of spirits clouding your senses. “Has any prince charming come up and swept you off your feet yet?”

“Does it look like it?” Eyebrow raised, you motion to yourself, “Yuta told you why I’m here, didn’t he?” Frown settling onto your lips you finish your drink, setting it down back onto the bar with an audible clink.

“He may have mentioned it in passing,” John mutters, finger rubbing along the rim of his glass.

“I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, months even and he has the audacity to send in an order?” You try your best to sound indignant, but the truth was that it’d felt like a stab to your heart to see the hastily signed ‘Jungwoo Kim’ adorning the invoice. Your heart had almost stopped then, you’d thought that you and he were, at that point, separate entities once more. “He made it blatantly clear he wants nothing to do with me anymore, he can go woo as many Parisians as he’d like, I’m over it.” Not yet, you weren’t. But maybe repeating it enough would make it a reality.

“You know what I think?” John asks, finishing the rest of his drink as you look to your empty glass.

“I’m not drunk enough?”

“I think you’re plenty gone. But I don’t think you’ve ever let anything destroy you this much, or if you have, I'm a terrible friend for not realizing it. And with that being said, I will personally take up the reins to try and get you out of this slump,”

“Any other thoughts, O wise and wonderful mood maker?”

“Yeah, this comedian’s garbage. I’ll take you to a Lenny Bruce set one day and you’ll laugh your ass off.”

“I appreciate it,” a snicker leaves you. “Anyway,” your eyes move to your watch, checking the time, “I should probably head back to my place, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” You rummage around your bag for a crumpled mess of bills that you toss onto the counter in front of you.

You stand and begin moving towards the exit when John speaks up, “Want me to walk with you?”

“If you want to,” pausing, you turn back to him and offer a smirk of your own, “it’s not too far away.” The two of you walk in silence through the winding interior of the bar as you make your way to the front entrance, you see through the large wooden doors that it is pitch black outside, thankfully the streetlights adorning the sidewalks keep things fairly visible. When the doors open and the two of you step outside you can’t help but let out a “Shit, it got cold.”

“Here,” John shrugs off his already unbuttoned suit jacket and hands it to you, you can see the thin dress shirt he’s wearing, and you wonder how he’s not shivering himself. “Did you leave your jacket inside?” He asks as you drape the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“At the shop,” Standing outside, your toes on the edge of the sidewalk, your head cranes, trying to remember which way you’d walked here. “It’s…” you look to the signs at the end of the street, “that way,” hand motioning towards your abode once you recognize the names. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, I can always call a cab or something, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s alright,” His shoulders shrug as the two of you begin walking, “It’ll help the alcohol get out of your system.” Had he seen you stumbling on your feet on your way out? If he did, he doesn’t say as the two of you walk the uneven streets, pushing through masses of tourists and civilians parading around the city. It’s not long until the crowds wear thin, leaving you, John, and the occasional pedestrian roaming the streets. “I’ve always loved this city,” John muses as the two of you stroll through one of the many parks dotting the town.

Nodding, “It’s lively for sure.” Your hands move to close his jacket tighter around your bare shoulders, “I don’t think I could imagine leaving it.”

“Maybe for a summer home though?” John laughs, moving his hands to his pockets. “I remember how you’d stay inside whenever it snowed or went below thirty when we were kids.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, “I wouldn’t say it’s that much of a problem anymore, I’m just a big fan of the sun in all its glory, not when it’s obscured behind a wall of cl—” Perhaps you would’ve finished that sentence had the heel of your, admittedly too high-heeled shoe not gotten caught between one of the junctures of the sidewalk, causing you to fall forward. You feel a pair of hands on you, one wrapped around your waist and one on your shoulder, as the ground rapidly rises to meet you.

Eyes closed you hear, “Are you alright?” as you’re hoisted back up onto your feet, never feeling the impact of the ground.

“I’m fine.” Once his hands had left you, you raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling the rushing blood warm your palms, “I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought.”

John looks at you for a moment, and then down to your feet, “I think you broke a heel.” Finger raised; you follow it downwards to look at the heel almost completely detached from the sole. “Here,” voice quickening as if to distract you from it, he takes your arm and puts it over his shoulder so you can lean some of your weight onto him, “wouldn’t want you to fall over again.” After offering him a quick smile and a small ‘thanks’ of gratitude you begin to walk again.

After a minute or so of walking, the pair of you take a turn onto one of the main drags of the city, the cool air soaking into you. “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” You ask, thinking you may have twisted your ankle when you tripped.

“Of course,” the two of you make your way to a bench along the sidewalk, you sit while John stands next to you. It’s a moment of quiet before he speaks up again, “Are you feeling alright?”

You can only shake your head in the negative, for fear that you may explode should you open your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, sitting down next to you, his hand falling atop yours in an act of subtle comfort.

Everything. Your throat becomes dry as you lean forward and embrace him, unable to vocalize the horrid deluge of hopelessness and heartbreak washing over you.

You had seen the shop where Jungwoo was apprenticing when you’d gone into Taeil’s one morning, it had been featured in some editorial that he subscribed to. Seeing that it was a beautiful boutique and was quite revered among local and international audiences hadn’t dampened the blow at all. Jungwoo hadn’t been lying when he said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

It still hurt. You’d been selfish in trying to make things work, too absorbed in it you hadn’t felt him slipping away until it was too late. Yuta had sat you down one day and told you to shape up. Jungwoo wasn’t coming back and the sooner you realized it the sooner you’d get over him. You don’t remember how long you cried into his shoulder for. For the eidolon of him was beginning to fade now, the lingering remnants of it still striking you to the core whenever you catch a glimpse of it.

“I just want to go home,” you try your best to sound strong, hating that the veneer you usually kept was able to slip so easily. Pulling away from the other you move to stand, kicking off your shoes and moving to hold them before you begin to walk.

“Aren’t your feet going to get cold? It’s nearly the middle of winter,” John calls out after you as he catches up, unsure of how to go about comforting you.

“I’ll be fine,” your toes cold on the concrete, “It’s only a few blocks away.”

It’s silence once more as the pair of you two amble to your apartment, the windows dark when you approach, Sooyoung must be out again. A sigh leaving you, alone again.

“Thanks for walking with me, Johnny.” You stop, turning to your accompaniment and smiling softly at him.

“Johnny?” His brow raises at that, “Are you sure you’re not still drunk? I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. But I mean it, thank you.” Your other friends had tried to console you but Johnny’s attempt had been the most successful so far that had gotten you to even budge ever so slightly from the slump you’d found yourself in.

1967, Summer. The sparkler hisses as Johnny hands it to you, the bright end flickering with every centimeter the flame engulfs. A smile on your lips as you look to him, an equally bemused smile gracing his face as he steps away and begins handing out sparklers to a few other guests. After the host finishes handing out the sticks a large chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ begins to ring out, directed at Taeyong Lee.

You didn’t really know the guy, but Johnny said he was hosting a birthday bash at a lake house up in the Catskills this weekend and it was a good excuse to get away from the city for a bit. It was a work friend of his, not sure from which endeavor but you aren’t complaining. Work at the shop had been far too busy to manage with just Yuta and you, you’d been looking at several applicants, but you had a difficult time sifting through the resumes. This was a much needed, and much deserved, break away from it all.

Before the sparkler has a chance to burn down to your fingertips you blow it out and set it onto one of the porcelain plates atop the table in front of you. A small crowd had gathered to sing and with the rapidly setting sun it was difficult to see familiar faces among the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” A pair of hands placed on your hips as the question sounds out, the familiarity of it making you smile a little brighter.

“Just you,” You turn, looking at Johnny.

“Oh?” He questions, leaning in for a brief kiss before pulling away, “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re thinking of something,” A sparkle in his eye, the light from the nearby dock casting a green glow onto the lawn.

“Just work things,” you admit, “Even if I’m miles away from the shop it’s still on my mind.”

“Work’s a sickness, isn’t it?” He mutters, “Well, they’ve already started to start cut the cake, want to head in and grab a slice?”

“Sure,” you say his hands leave your sides, taking one of your hands in his and heading through the lawn and into the brightly lit interior of the home.

“Taeil said he’d be arriving a little later, my sister’s ready to blow a gasket but, when isn’t she?” Johnny laughs as you make your way to a nearby table, grabbing a plate with a precut slice of cake on it before turning back to him.

“Is this from the same bakery who did my cake last year?” You ask with nearly a mouthful of cake.

“I told you I made that cake,” he says jokingly, grabbing his own slice, “And if it were, would you say yea or nay for them making the wedding cake?”

“Yea. Definitely, this is by far the best buttercream I’ve ever had,” you nod, ��Although I do need a drink.”

“Amaretto sour?” Questioning as he sets down his plate, ready to go off and mix your drink himself.

“You know I can’t,” a frown settling on your lips as you take another bite, “Just water.”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Johnny says and heads to the bar in the next room over.

You move out of the way of the other partygoers looking for food and make your way to a window that looks out at the road in front of the house. As you watch, you see the bright headlights of a car pulling into the drive, trying to careen past the other vehicles lined up there. It must be Taeil.

It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, having to mail his orders to him now that you’d moved shop locations. So, you head to the front door, anxious to see an old friend. The door opens with a swing of grandeur, Taeil Moon stepping inside with a clear look of panic on his face.

Taeil spots you as he enters, rushing over to you, “She’s not angry, is she?”

“Your wife?” You question, putting a finger under your chin in thought, “She’s only told half of the people here how upset she is, so I think you still have time to save yourself.”

“I’d better get in there then,” he sighs, almost brushing past you before he stops, “I should also tell you that—”

You don’t hear what he says, though. Because you hadn’t realized that there was someone standing behind him until they step through the dark entranceway and into the bright lights of the foyer. For a moment it feels like time’s stopped, the plate in your hand straining from the pressure your fingers now exert on it as you lock eyes with someone you hadn’t ever expected to see again.

It’s you who breaks away first, mumbling about needing to find Johnny while it feels as if your heart seizes in upon itself in your chest. Before you’re able to rejoin the party, you feel a hand gently grasp your arm, “Can we talk?” The question is quiet, almost lost in the atmosphere of the celebration as Jungwoo asks.

A strangled gulp as you nod, setting the plate down on a small mail-table before you brush past him exit out of the front door. He follows you wordlessly, from the gravel path that wraps around the house and to the backyard that overlooks the lake. You keep walking, wading through grass that comes up to your knees until you’re standing on the wooden dock, the gentle sloshing of water hitting the posts giving you something else to focus on.

Face green in the light of the dock light overhead, it beams around the soft fog rising from the water as you hope it would swallow you up instead of you having this conversation with Jungwoo.

“You never returned my calls,” he says, standing several feet away. His tone isn’t accusatory, it sounds hurt.

“I kept forgetting.” Liar. Nails digging into your palms as your hands clench with an anxiety that hadn’t riddled you for two years. “And you only called four times.”

“Five.”

“Four.” Resolution in your voice as you try and stand as firmly as you can. The shoes you were wearing were pinching your heels and you want nothing more than to kick them off into the water. You turn to look at him, trying to stay as calm. “Would you have picked up even if I did call back?” A tangling in your stomach as you recall having Sooyoung answer the phone for the next handful of weeks after the two of you had parted, each time he’d called Sooyoung would say you weren’t home.

He hesitates, at least his body does, the words, “Of course I would have,” escaping him before he could prep himself with a more eloquent response.

“You seem to be doing well,” It’s silent until you break it, noting the suit he was wearing was from a higher end retailer.

“So, do you,” a break in his voice as he notices the crack in your demeanor, “I didn’t see you at Taeil’s wedding, I thought he would have invited you.”

“My mother got sick, so I missed it,” you recall having to forgo the event last year. Did that mean Jungwoo had been back that soon?

“You still have the dress.” There had been a melancholy deep set into your bones that had lasted for what seemed like lifetimes, now resurfacing more and more the longer you look at him. You’d forgotten about what you were wearing, the same dress that the tailor had labored unknown hours over and that had been the figurative wedge between you and him. Maybe this was some deity’s cruel sense of irony. “I still think it’s one of the best I’ve ever made,”

“It’s a little tighter now but it’s still one of my favorites,” you can’t lie. Be it from the laborious love that was sewn into every stich or the bygone memories associated with it, it was and still is one of the best pieces you own.

“I really was an idiot for letting you go, wasn’t I?” Hands shoved into pockets, he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“You did what you had to.” Brow hardening, a remembrance of the last time you’d spoken.

“Don’t say it like that,” a soft plea, he’d never meant to hurt you.

“Then how should I say it?” A bitterness you thought forgotten riddled within every word you pose.

“You know I tried to visit your shop when I first came back,” Deterrent of the conversation, he looks across the water to the distant shore. “But it was empty, some guy passing by had said you packed up months earlier and just left.”

“There was a water main break, ruined most of our inventory and we had to rebuild from scratch in a new place.” You still remember the dread you’d felt that morning, walking in to find everything in shambles.

“With John’s help?”

“Johnny helped.”

“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way,” eyes flickering to the ring on your finger, the light of the dock glinting of the main stone. “He’s a lucky man.”

Jungwoo sounds bitter, you can understand why but you can’t understand one thing. “Why did you come? I’m sure that Taeil said that I was going to be here.”

“I don’t know.” The answer is simple, but there’s a heaviness to it that you can feel. “I’m supposed to be flying out to Milan tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to see you again.”

“Did you expect me to fall into your arms, Jungwoo? To take you back?” Lip bitten, you’re sure you were going to draw blood if you kept at it any longer.

“Maybe I did when I came back last year, when I’d tried to see you.” He frowns, “I think now I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Happy. It feels as if that word dances off of the water behind you, across the sound and into the forest. Were you? The encroaching despair that had taken aim and marked you when Jungwoo had left was gone, a memory overwritten by the years that had followed, by the people who had followed. The shedding of yourself that came when he left took a while but without a doubt you can truly say this is the most complacent you’ve ever been.

The door to the lake house opens some ways behind Jungwoo, the lights from inside spreading across the lawn in an obscene spotlight on the two of you. A silhouette stands in the doorway, it’s easy to tell who the figure is as he leans against the door frame. You smile as you look at the outline of Johnny, heart swelling as it once had for the other man in front of you.

“Yeah, Jungwoo, I’m happy.”

#neowritingsnet #nct jungwoo #jungwoo smut #nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #jungwoo fluff #jungwoo angst #cznnet

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lynnsaundersfanfic · 3 years

Text

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order: Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded | Chapter Ten: Dreams | by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

#grounded #anna and bates #anna x bates #Banna #downton abbey fanfiction #anna smith #john bates #coffeeshopau #alternate universe #sticky

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managingmymuse · 3 years

Text

secret societies

for writer's month 2021

day five: secret

(original work | Avalon witches universe)

I found the rose on my bed one afternoon in mid December.

It was the end of term, about a week before the solstice. A few flakes of snow, incongruous with the Nevada climate, drifted down from the sky. It would never stick to the ground, not with our weather, but watching it drift outside the windows was always quite nice.

Not that I had time to watch the snowflakes drift down. Term was due to end in a week, and I had five finals to study for. Worse, I had three papers to finish, and an application for mentorship in the Conjuring Arts.

It was enough to break a witch down. I'd been basically living in the library for the past three weeks. My cousin, Winter, had all but given up on ever finding me in my room, and had resorted to tracking me down at my favorite carrel on the third floor.

But the carrel didn't have a bed, and things weren't quite so desperate that I needed to catch a few winks sitting up. So I'd trekked the half mile back to my dorm in the whispering snows, and hauled myself through the door and up the stairs.

It was a little after three in the morning now. Well past the witching hour. Despite what humans like to think, we witches aren't nocturnal; sure, we might occasionally stay up to review the moon or the stars or cast a spell at a precise lunar time, but most of the time, witch schedules were just like human schedules. Dawn to dusk, give or take a little around the edges.

As a university student, my edges tended towards late nights and late mornings. But even though I'd once walked in on a heated debate on the Avengers at five am, at the moment my floor was quiet. No light spilled out from behind closed doors. No voices echoed down the halls.

It was strangely peaceful, in a way, and I pulled the silence close to me, hugging it to my chest like a blanket as I made my way to my room and opened the door.

Inside, the room was cast in grayscale; the open blinds allowed light from the street lamps to spill across the floor, and rather than turning on my light, I padded across the floor in the dark. My books hit the desk next to my bed, and in a few seconds I'd shimmied out of my clothes and into my pajamas.

I should have brushed my teeth and washed my face and whatever sort of niceties there were to do. But the truth was, I was too tired. It could wait until tomorrow. Hell, it could wait until next week as far as I was concerned.

I was turning down my covers when I noticed the funny little lump set at the foot of my bed.

For a moment, I stared at it. In other circumstances, I might have ignored it, but something about it grabbed at the back of my mind. At some sliver of consciousness I didn't realize was awake yet. It wasn't magic-- not exactly, anyway-- but it was definitely something.

Something good or something bad? I thought, kneeling next to my bed to examine it. In the darkness, it was really just a blob. A hunk of dark on dark. But the longer I stared at it, the more it resolved into shapes. The darkest blobs-- they were fragile. Like petals. And the slightly lighter blobs surrounding them-- could those be leaves?

My heart lurched in my chest, and I lunged for the light switch. The electric clicked on with a hissing hum, and I threw a hand over my face, cursing at the light. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

But my heart was still hammering, and I had to know. I forced my eyes open, squinting at the pain and the light. Looking for the object. Looking to see if it was what I thought it was.

I felt myself stop breathing when I saw it in the full light. Sitting at the end of my bed, unassuming among the rumpled covers, was a black-petaled rose.

I reached out for it instinctively, until, at the last second, I pulled my hand back. My god, I'd heard about these before, but I'd never thought I'd actually get to see one. Not in person.

I knelt next to my bed so that I could examine it at eye level. The blackness of the petals was as rich as the night sky in the desert. Faint ridgelines showed where they had creased as they had grown. Against the darkness, the green leaves looked brighter and more vibrant than any rosebush I'd ever seen.

Slowly, I reached for the flower. My fingertips brushed against the petals. They were soft. As soft as the clouds floating through the sky. Sweet goddess, if you could create a fabric that felt like that.

But no, of course you couldn't. Because this flower didn't grow anywhere in the world. It wasn't one of the "black" roses which are really, upon close inspection, deep purple or red or maroon. It wasn't a white rose that had been dyed to look black. And it wasn't an experiment that had come out of a herb witch's greenhouse somewhere in the city.

The flower was from The Between.

Gently, I picked it up. The stemless rose blossom fit neatly against my palm, the richness of the petals a striking contrast against the pallor of my skin. I held it to my nose and breathed in its scent. It wasn't sweet like most roses; instead it was pungent and dark and a little bit musky. I suspected it would linger on my skin for hours, if not days.

But I couldn't be unhappy with it. Not when I discovered the neat envelope under the rose. Not when I cracked it open and revealed a gold-edged card with a black rose emblem. Three lines of neat calligraphy were printed on it.

The first quarter. Midnight. 333 Forest Street

A shiver rolled through me, followed by pure, inexpressible joy. The Black Rose had called me. They had seen my work, and they'd called me to join their order. The most legendary secret society in all of Avalon had invited me into their membership.

I leapt to my feet and jumped up and down. I did a funny little dance before spinning on the spot. All of the fatigue I'd been feeling earlier evaporated as if it had never been. I'd been called to the Black Rose. I was going to get to study the Between!

I glanced towards my cellphone and then I bit my lip. I wanted to call Winter. I wanted to tell her about my good fortune. About all the new things I was going to learn. But even though it hadn't been printed on my card, I knew I couldn't. If the Black Rose found out that I'd told anyone about their invitation, they'd kick me out as surely as if they'd never invited me. And I'd never get to learn about the Between, let alone walk there. Let alone see the Wild Roses growing as tall as my head.

Chastened, I slumped into my bed. The rose was still in my hand, a little bit misshapen from my dance-break, but basically whole. Carefully, I set it on my nightstand. It glowed darkly in the lamp light, and a feeling of deep peace swelled in my breast as I sat there, and looked at it.

I was going to be in the Black Rose. They had wanted me.

And sighing, I turned the light off and tried, in vain, to go to sleep.

#writersmonth2021 #writersmonth #writing #my writing #writeblr #wip: avalon

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thepinkcar · 4 years

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The TC Gift Exchange

words: 2K

note: I started this a year ago as a joke but then after some thought the idea grew on me. Enjoy my weird brain.

Timothée found himself in an abandoned storage lot, sitting inside his aunt’s Toyota Camry while he tried to push down the impulse to scream. The location had been the address on a note he had received prior. The handwriting was unsettlingly familiar and read:

Honorable Timothée,

It wold be an honor to have your company at the location inscribed on December 31st close to midnight. Please bring a gift to exchange during the celebration. We hope to see you there.

In retrospect, showing up at all had been a grave mistake. He probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t desperately craved space from the New Years rager. The holiday season had been a well-desired break from the prying eyes of the public. Unfortunately it also meant an unwavering devotion to every friend and family gathering that could be stuffed into his schedule.

So here he was, risking a shoot out (or more likely, stabbing) on New Years Eve. Just as he had resolved to turn around and leave, there was a knock on his car window. A young man with long curly dark hair waved at him to get out and Timothée sighed, quickly complying. The man’s hair obscured his face, but Timothée felt a chill run down his spine once he spoke.

“You’re Timothée, right?” Timmy nodded slowly. “Is that French, ‘cause that’d be hella tight.”

Timothée froze, finally taking in the thick American accent. “Did you just say ‘hella tight’?” he whispered. The man ignored the question, instead turning towards him and offering a hand. Timothée shook it hesitantly as he tried to find the the gall to look up.

“‘Name’s Kyle. Nice to meet you, Tim-o-tay.” Timmy looked up so fast he was almost surprised not to feel any whiplash. When he saw his own face he screamed.

“What the fuck! What the fuck is happening? Is this some sick joke?” Timothée screeched. Kyle sighed apathetically, pulling a hand-rolled cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. Timothée continued to stare at him bug-eyed, half expecting him to glitch or evaporate from his vision when he woke up from this nightmare.

“Dude, chill. It’s not that weird,” Kyle mumbled, taking another hit. Timothée remained frozen and Kyle sighed again. “It’s too fucking cold for this shit. C’mon, we’re going inside and you better have your gift on you.”

Kyle took a step towards Timmy and Timmy flinched. Aggravated, Kyle grabbed Timmy’s forearm and pulled him inside one of the storage buildings.

The inside of the building was surprisingly cozy with the halls decorated vibrantly for Christmas. Soon they arrived in a room occupied by a Christmas tree, cookies, and an ominous circle of chairs.

“I have him, so we can get this over with and leave!”

“Apathy has and never will be a good look on you, Kyle,” a new voice said. Timothée turned to meet Elio (or him playing Elio) dressed in his winter time outfit. He tried to set aside the creepiness of Elio’s distressed half-smile that he remembered doing during his takes for the end credits. Elio pulled him into an embrace and Timothée suppressed the urge to wriggle.

“It’s a joy to meet you,” he said warmly before pulling back. “You’re more handsome than I anticipated.”

“How do you manage to be so narcissistic and so self-deprecating in the same sentence?” Kyle growled. Elio rolled his eyes before taking off his headphones and handing Kyle his walkman. Kyle bitterly put it on before continuing to listen to whatever was playing.

“What’s going on?” Timmy finally mustered, his throat burning from the screaming.

“We’re calling it the TC Gift Exchange,” Elio stated simply. “Every year, all of the characters you play come together at an undisclosed location and give each other gifts before departing back into our separate universes.”

Timothée stared at Elio in bewilderment before bursting into laughter. Elio watched him in confusion.

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course! It’s just that my dopplegangers have teamed up to make me feel insane. Excellent work, but I think this can stop now.”

“It’s true,” two voices say. Tim and Elio turn to face a Billy from Miss Stevens and Zac from One and Two. They both have a cookie in hand with same amount of bites taken. Tim gulps.

“Each year, the universe of the most successful part that year is where we host,” Billy explains. “Last year we partied in Crema…”

“The year before that we had to do it in the ass crack of no where,” Zac mutters.

“Hey! That spot was next to the road that I sang with Miss Stevens in the car on the way to that theatre conference. And you’re being out of character!”

“Well I’m sorry if I’ve been cranky considering my house was burned to bits!” Zac sneers.

“Boys! You’re literally the same persona set in two different storylines. Find your zen,” Elio says, immediately cringing. “I’m starting to sound like Kyle.”

Timothée shakes his head and moves to take a seat in the circle. The others soon follow suit taking their respective seats that are conveniently in chronological order. Timothée takes the opportunity to take in the others (he’s still deciding whether or not to refer to them as individuals) profiles. Elio sat two spaces to the right of him next Kyle and another doppelgänger that Timothée could only assume to be Daniel from Hot Summer Nights based solely off the fact that he wouldn’t stop rocking back and forth.

Billy and Zac buddy up next to one another beside Daniel, followed by an awkward looking Charlie Cooper and roughed up Jace. Timothée cringed at the familiar backwards cap sitting on Jace’s head next to him. He turned to Elio who had busked himself switching the tape out of his Walkman for Kyle. “This isn’t everyone is it?”

Elio raised a brow but didn’t break his focus. “What do you mean? Timothée bit his lip. He didn’t want to come off arrogant, ironically.

“There’s do roles missing from the circle.”

“Not everyone comes every year. Some are on probation,” Kyle said matter-of-factly. Timothée rolled his eyes. He forgot how much of a douche Kyle was meant to be.

“Some aren’t old enough to come, so we mail them their gifts,” Elio finished.

“But how do you send mail to a completely different universe?”

“You’re asking too many questions. Why is he asking so many questions?” Daniel grumbled, crazed eyes now trained on Timothée. Timothée felt his hands clam up more than they already had.

“Danny, be civil,” Elio warned, giving him a cautious pat on the back. Kyle rolled his eyes.

“We mail them the same way we’re all able to gather with you tonight. Dumbass.” Timmy nodded slowly, surveying the room of doppelgängers. The more he looked at them the less anxious he became about seeing them, which only made him more anxious about how quickly he was acclimating to his Stockholm of a situation.

“What about the ones on—“

“Probation? We try to keep the celebration to main characters only, since we’re not exactly rolling in it, y’know?” Billy quipped, jumping in before Elio had a chance. “Then some people…”

“Nic can’t come because technically he’s a fictionalized real person,” Elio cut in once again, shooting Billy a cool look.

“And he’s a drug addict,” Kyle muttered.

“Recovering addict.”

“What’s the difference? There’s only one guy missing but I don’t really care if he’s here or not. I’m not a big fan of monarchy or oligarchy or government institutions—“

“—or the government?” Timothée cut in knowingly. Kyle smiled.

“See he gets it.”

A crash of metal silences the room’s chatter. After a moment of silence another doppelgänger, this time with a stylish bowl cut appears. Timothée shivers at the memory of his lost locs. Kyle scowls while Elio beams. The others arrange their reactions neatly between the two margins.

“Hello everyone. I hope you can pardon my lateness. I struggled to drag this sorry lot to the TC Exchange,” Hal declared, ceremoniously dragging in Gatsby Welles from the he-who-shall-not-be-named movie about rain. It was Elio’s turn to grimace while Kyle smirked.

“No foul, your highness. Be seated here. As for him…”

“We can’t keep blacklisting him, Elio.”

“His film didn’t even hit theaters! Mine has an Oscar, Kyle. An Oscar!”

“You mean the award you campaign for?”

“I don’t mind.” The room turned to Timothée who had chosen to slump comfortably in his seat. He decided to sit up for the sake of his point. “I chose to play him. He still means a lot to me.”

“He’s just Kyle wearing a blazer!”

“He’s more complex than that, Elio.”

“No one if knows what he’s supposed to be like because it’s impossible to watch the movie!” Elio whined. Timothée moved to respond when a familiar click is heard from across the room. They froze to face Jace holding his signature hand gun.

“You better shut your ass, Elliot! Just because you like dick doesn’t mean you get to make all the rules. The man of the hour said he wants Gatsby to stay, so Gatsby’s staying!”

“While I try not to condone violence, unless my advisors misadvise me, I have to agree with as the kids might say Soulja Boy over there,” Hal added causing Elio to crumple further into his seat. Timothée frowned.

“I understand why you’re upset, Elio. He somehow managed to write a poetry collection during this whole exchange. But I still wanna keep him if we’re gonna be here.”

“I’m gonna name this last one after you, Elio,” Gatsby said softly. Elio gives a small smile.

“Okay.”

“Thank god,” Kyle sighed, “Can we get our gifts now? I don’t want to ring in the new decade with you lot.”

❄️❄️❄️

After an hour of mingling with his counterparts, the goodbyes tugged a bit on Timothée’s heart strings. He learned so much about everyone as far as the group dynamic went. He learned Kyle and Elio were actually quite close considering how much they seemed to rag on each other.

“You should have seen him the first year. An antisocial mess,” Elio reminisced fondly.

“That’s before a realized you have taste. I wouldn’t have shown up again if you hadn’t,” Kyle admitted begrudgingly.

Timothée also learned that while most of his characters felt similar, after two minutes of conversation the differences became glaring. Except for Billy and Zac. They were essentially the same person.

“I hope one day I’ll get a box of serotonin for Christmas,” Billy joked. Zac gasped.

“I asked for a bottle of Serotonin for my birthday!”

As Timothée walked back to his Aunt’s Camry with Hal, he couldn’t fight off the smile that kept creeping onto his face. Hal side-eyed him in solent satisfaction.

“Will we be seeing you again next year? I’m sure Elio wouldn’t mind providing free transit to space.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Timothée chuckled. “This was…nice. Like really nice. It makes me kinda glad to be an actor. In an unnerving way.”

“I couldn’t have asked for better casting. Next year should be nice since Laurie will be able to come. I think him and Elio will get on nicely, then maybe…”

“Then maybe he’ll stop flirting with you? Still not sure how I feel about that,” Timothée mumbled with a shudder. The man really needs his Oliver.

“Don’t worry yourself about it. I only have one thing to request of you good sir.” Timothée raised a brow, trying not to fidget under Hal’s intense gaze. “Please, consider doing a comedic role in the future. We could use someone to shake things up around here.” The two of them smiled before bursting into fits of laughter.

“You’ve got it King!”

“No, you’re the king today. Drive safe and we’ll see you next time.” Hal walked back into the abandoned hall while Timothée sat down in his car and prepared to drive back. Maybe in the morning he’d wake up from a highly elaborate dream, but for now he could hang on to the feeling of gratitude and appreciation.

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precuredaily · 4 years

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Precure Day 192

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 43 - “Komachi’s Resolve and Nuts’s Future” Date watched: 9 June 2020 Original air date: 9 December 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/iT40izm Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Poor Komachi. She was once so eager to write her love story, inspired by her feelings for Nuts and his unconditional support for her. Now she’s struggling with it, because she’s started to realize what her real-life conclusion is going to look like...

The Plot

Komachi is in the library, trying to write, but the words won’t come, and she looks very forlorn. Karen sympathetically suggests she talk to Nuts for advice, but she hastily rejects that idea, insisting she needs to finish the story herself. When they get to Natts House, Urara asks her about her book, and Komachi gets flustered and embarrassed talking about it. Urara asks if it’s based on anything, which Komachi ardently denies as she steals a glance at Nuts, and then she hastily turns around and goes home. Karen noticed Komachi’s wandering eyes and turns to look at Nuts as well, starting to put the pieces together.

Over in Nightmare, Kawarino bemoans to Hadenya about how he has to present the black paper to someone, and she says whoever it is should be glad because it enhances their abilities and they’ll surely be able to bring down Precure. Kawarino is so relieved to hear this, and he reveals it’s for her. Her mood changes instantly, as she swats away the black paper and storms out of Nightmare, insisting that she doesn’t need it. However, when we next see her, sitting on a park bench, she admits she didn’t really have a plan when she left and she needs a way to follow up that dramatic exit. Just then she sees a pigeon pecking at a Pinky, right in front of her, and she gets an idea...

At school, Komachi opens up to Karen about her specific problem. She explains how she used to be overflowing with ideas but now they’re gone. She wants to make “his” dream come true, but she knows that when she does, he’ll have to go far away. She tries to explain she’s talking about the characters in her story, but it’s clear she really means Nuts. She admits that if their farewell never arrived, she’d be fine with that, and Karen insightfully says that she may not know about the last scene, but it does sound like how it plays out will be up to Komachi. In the story, of course.

Later, at Natts House, Nozomi and Urara are berating Nuts for not going out of his way to help Komachi. He insists that giving unasked for advice is being nosy, while they say he needs to understand her feelings. Karen arrives and gently assures everyone that Komachi can find her own solution to her problem.

Nonetheless, Nuts shows up to find Komachi sitting on a park bench (what is it with park benches lately?) and he talks to her, promising to do anything he can to help. They have a really heartfelt conversation where he explains he’s nice to her because he’s powerless in other ways, so he does what he can to help her because she’s fighting so hard to help him. Komachi breaks down in tears, upset that he’s so nice while she was only able to think about herself, and she admits that she was afraid to talk to him about her concerns, because talking about it would make it real to her, and her potential future would crumble away with the knowledge that he has to leave.

Nuts placates her, saying she’ll find an ending that works for her, and she should stop worrying. (it sounds insensitive but in context it’s very sweet)

At that moment, Hadenya shows up and scoffs that she’d be happy to crush whatever future they have together and shows off the Pinky she’s captured. Nozomi, Rin, Urara, Karen, Coco, and Milk all show up and transform while Hadenya is in the middle of gloating. Annoyed, she turns the Pinky into a Kowaina, which takes the form of a giant concrete block that immediately falls on top of everyone. They avoid it, and Dream, Rouge, and Lemonade fight the monster while Mint protects all the fairies from Hadenya, who is trying to snatch the Dream Collet from Nuts. Hadenya continues to degrade Komachi’s dreams of happiness, and Aqua joins Mint in fighting the villain. Hadenya and the Kowaina manage to overpower Mint and break her barrier, leaving her exhausted. Hadenya scoffs some more at the idea that they’re protecting Coco and Nuts’s “worthless” dream, but Dream, Rouge, and Aqua show up to defend their friend and explain how reviving Palmier Kingdom is their shared dream. Komachi looks at her teammates fighting so hard for her sake and finds new strength within her, and manages to restrain Hadenya long enough for Dream, Rouge, and Lemonade to destroy the Kowaina mask and save the Pinky. Lemonade and Aqua notice Mint’s shield has appeared over her head as she blocks and fights Hadenya, suggesting she’s channeling her barrier powers into her body to overpower the villain. Hadenya tires to use strong air currents to outclass the Precures, but Mint holds her ground. Aqua uses Aqua Tornado to halt Hadenya’s charge, and Mint summons the Mint Leaf directly in front of her, unleashing a point-blank Mint Shield on Hadenya that blows her away as it expands.

Hadenya flees and when the smoke clears, a huge crater is left in the ground. Dream collects the Pinky.

A later date, at school, Karen visits Komachi again and realizes she isn’t writing anything. Komachi admits she’s decided to put her story aside for now, but she’ll be sure to find a conclusion that suits her, and the two share a half-hearted smile.

The Analysis

This is a good episode, but it’s a bittersweet one. Komachi seems to be the frequent subject of bittersweet plots, because they really want to emphasize to the audience that hey, writing is difficult, and so is navigating your emotions. When these struggles meet, well, the results aren’t pretty. Obviously, Komachi’s novel has always overlapped with her relationship with Nuts, and as she’s gotten to the departure and farewell scenes, she’s starting to realize what Coco realized a few episodes ago: that the closer they are to finding all the pinkies, the closer they are to saying goodbye, and Komachi is afraid and unsure how to put that into writing. She is afraid to write a conclusion, because that means acknowledging that her own relationship will come to an end, which she isn’t ready for. It’s a moving exploration of writer’s block, which is a particularly resonant phenomenon to me as I’ve been struggling to write this particular review. Anyway, her choice to simply set the book aside for now is somewhat astonishing. It’s a mature and somewhat sad direction for a generally optimistic kids’ show to take, but I respect it that much more for not taking the easy road and saying “Komachi magically found a solution to her ongoing troubles with little difficulty.” Sometimes there aren’t easy answers to complex problems, and since the matter of her book was causing her far too much emotional stress, Komachi decided it was best for her mental health to shelve it. Telling suggestible audiences that this is sometimes an acceptable solution is important.

I do love the positive message, though. The uplifting and encouragement she receives from Nuts especially is really inspiring. His explanation for why he helps Komachi so much is emotionally resonant, as he says he’s weak in other areas so he helps where he can. He is still plagued by guilt for his role in the destruction of Palmier Kingdom, which informs his actions now, and he wants to do everything he can to help Komachi since she’s helping to restore his home. His support for her, and his reinforcement that all of her friends support her allows her to overcome her self-doubt in the battle against Hadenya. It’s also a clever reversal of her role in the team. Normally she wants to protect everyone, but in this episode, she’s the one who needs to be protected while she’s emotionally vulnerable, and the others are happy to help lift her spirits. Karen, her oldest friend, sees Komachi hurting and makes it a point to help her during the fight, double teaming Hadenya when Komachi can’t take her alone, and offering her the last push of encouragement she needs to power through.

Speaking of the fight, it’s a good battle. The Kowaina that just bodyslams indiscriminately is hilarious and what I expected out of the Kowaina from ep 40. Dream, Rouge, and Lemonade have to get creative when fighting it and it results in cool moments like Dream being trapped as it falls and the others having to save her before they hit the ground.

Obviously the main event is Mint’s fight against Hadenya, and it’s intense, with the general mostly having the upper hand despite being assaulted by both Mint and Aqua. When Hadenya kicks the barrier hard enough to break it (with some help from the falling Kowaina), it’s a visual metaphor for Komachi’s spirit breaking, but the follow up where Aqua encourages her turns her mood around results in a fantastic scene where Mint effortlessly blocks Hadenya’s attacks and then uses Mint Shield on her at point blank range, launching her into the atmosphere and creating a huge crater in the ground. THAT is badass.

I love this kind of creative use of their abilities and I wish we’d see it a bit more often. Between the emotional resonance and the incredible physical fighting, this might be one of my favorite battles from this season.

I want to briefly mention that Karen clearly understands the root of Komachi’s concerns, and knows she’s not just talking about her book. I think Komachi knows that she knows, but continues to describe it in terms of her novel for plausible deniability. This might be Karen’s first time realizing Komachi has feelings for Nuts but she definitely knows, and all her advice to Komachi is predicated on helping her friend with her real relationship woes. She’s a good friend to have around. I also love the use of lighting during most of their conversations, the twilight scenes are always beautiful and of course it lets them play with light and shadow in creative ways. When they’re talking in the library, Komachi is mostly seen in shadow, representing her sadness and uncertainty, while Karen is in the light, as the beacon of hope that can help her. After Karen offers her advice to Komachi, she is half-lit, as she’s beginning to come out of her sadness.

And lastly some bookkeeping. Hadenya was given a black mask today, but rejected it, and then failed when she went out to try to collect the Dream Collet. This is typical of her bravado and pride, but suffice to say this isn’t going to end well for her in the next episode.

Next time on Precure Daily, Milk tries to figure out just what a good caretaker is supposed to be like, and the answer may surprise you. Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 Kettei!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 #YPC543 #PCD192

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sijjak · 4 years

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HYUK DAZED FEBRUARY 2020 INTERVIEW

How was the shoot today?

It’s my first official schedule of 2020, so it was exciting. It sort of felt like waking up from hibernation.

What season do you like the best?

Winter. Since winter will be over soon, each day is precious. (laughs)

Which season do you think suits your voice the best?

I’m not sure, I don’t think it would be summer or winter. So then I guess it has to be either winter or spring?

Last December with the release of “Winter Butterfly,” you finished your <Four Seasons Project>. Was there a reason you released solo songs based on the seasons?

I wanted to communicate with my fans. There are many various ways to meet fans. I thought the way that I can express myself the most sincerely is through music. When I released a song every season, I was able to continuously communicate with the fans for a year.

All the songs are self-composed. When did you start writing songs?

My first self-composed song was “I’ll Hold You.” It was a song I only released online through SoundCloud and Youtube, but luckily a lot of fans liked it. When I listen to my songs, I get excited about composing.

When you’re composing, where do you get your inspiration?

Dramas and movies. After my acting debut, it can also come from the messages and the lingering motives from productions. After I watched the tvN drama <Mister Sunshine,> I wrote my song for summer last year, ‘Way to You.’ In the show, Yoojin, Dongmae, and Heesung all love Aeshin. It’s a love that can’t come true, but all three people want to go towards her. From this, there is the motive ‘the road to you will be my road, my end is you’ and this unfolded into the words to the song. Blindly longing for someone will eventually be a difficult thing.

It’s already been 9 years since your debut. If you look back at the 2010s, what do you think?

In 10 years, of course things change. (laughs) This year, only half of my 20s are left. If I look back, I think that it passed while working really hard.

What do the words “working hard” mean to you?

After I went through a short training period and debuted, I felt a compulsion and pressure that I had to practice more than the other members, so it was hard. I thought that I couldn’t be a nuisance to the members, so after our schedules were over, I headed to the practice room. Even after debut, for 5 years I went to the practice room everyday. Even when I was resting, it was comfortable to rest in the practice room. (laughs) But at some point, it surpassed “effort” and ate away at me. It seemed like it was making even the people around me exhausted and tired. But I would never think that time was bad. It’s just, I lived in that way, so for my remaining 20s, I resolved to live in a different way, more freely.

Looking at previous media and interviews you’ve done, you said you didn’t have certainty or confidence as an artist until 2017. You seem pretty much the same.

Yes, but now I’ve become more relaxed. The biggest difference is that whatever I do, I’ve gained confidence in the things I do myself. Even if I make mistakes, I acknowledge them, and because I can accept them, it puts me at ease. While I’m trying to make music or acting, I’m not really indecisive and I don’t hesitate a lot.

Is it thanks to that? A little while ago, you held your first solo concert. How did it feel to be on stage for over 2 hours by yourself?

Really, I’m comfortable when I’m on stage. Actually, it was hard when I was preparing and practicing for the concert. It can be too much and overwhelming (with emotion). A lot of feelings come and go, but when the show starts and I sing, those sorts of thoughts disappear. The time spent together with the audience, that is happy.

When you do full-scale solo promotions, is there something that’s musically different from previous promotions?

With the group VIXX, because we show a conceptual and active performance, I wanted to show an image opposite to that. Comfortable, calm, healing music. Now, I’m trying to catch both of the rabbits!* (laughs)

T/N: This is a kind of Korean phrase that refers to when someone is trying to do many things. So on top of doing the high concept and energy of VIXX, he is also doing calm and quiet music.

You mentioned it a little bit ago. You can’t leave out the stories in acting. When you are both an actor and a singer, there must be some positives and negatives.

When you’re acting, you need a wide range of experiences. While I was an idol, I was accustomed to restraining myself. It was difficult, but now I’m trying to shed that off. At the same time, I think I can express my emotions more freely than before. Before, singing on stage, even if I was so overwhelmed I could die, I hid it, but now I express that. Looking at it like that, I think the stages (I do) have become more rich and have more sincerity.

Acting and singing, using both of these talents, you have taken up the challenge this time of becoming a musical actor. Your first show <The Eyes of Dawn>, doesn’t have much time left before it opens.

From the Japanese occupation to the division of North Korea, this is a production with a distinct narration with the historical pain of a nation. It’s our history, and if we go a little forward, it’s my story. So I was able to immerse myself better. Actually, before I picked this show, I considered the influence of it and how it could make the fans who came to see me aware of some historical facts. Young fans, foreign fans, people of various ages and races, people that could learn the facts of our history. I thought if only I do well, it could be a good opportunity for everyone.

By the time this musical is finished, it’ll be spring. This coming spring, is there a place you would like to travel to?

Incheon, Ganghwa or a quiet domestic place like Gangnam, Namhae. Make a plan that’s enough for about a week, and I want to just stay in a quiet and cozy place. Just like a resident! (laughs).

It’s the start of 2020, so I’ll ask. As an artist, until where do you think Han Sanghyuk will go?

Of the emotions and messages that I want to express, one point where I can make some sort of outcome is now I really want to become an ‘artist.’ I’m not sure what sort of modifiers I should attach to the word ‘artist,’ but I guess that will depend on what I do, right? (laughs)

#vixx #hyuk #dazed feb 2020 #interview

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itsbrindleybinch · 5 years

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Is It Too Late?

Summary: The mystery of the wheeled box has been solved and opening night is approaching fast, but for some reason Francesca still won’t even look in Ajay’s direction. Skye and Erin hand out a few home truths.

Word Count: 2,003

Book: High School Story: Class Act

Pairing: Ajay & MC (Francesca)

Author Note: What’s got two thumbs and is pissed at Ajay? This girl. MC is owed a good apology, so I tried to write it. Also written for @kinda-iconic‘s @choices-december-challenge Day 29 (New Beginnings). Just so all’s clear, my MC is Francesca, her twin is Leo and my OG MC is Felicity.

Ajay was feeling quite optimistic when he headed to lunch. The nasty business around Felicity’s fall had been resolved the evening before and even though the repercussions would been hours upon hours of extra work for the cast and crew, everyone was committed to making sure that the play went well. Some people’s determination may have come out of righteous indignation, others out of spite, but Ajay didn’t really care either way provided they managed to pull the production together in time.

To make things even better, now that everything had been solved, Francesca would be allowed back at the lunch table. The break had taken on a very sombre air recently and it would be good to have someone back who could at least be relied upon for entertaining conversation.

Taking his seat, Ajay lent half an ear to the chatter around him, but was mostly focused on the cafeteria door, glancing up every time he saw it swing open out of the corner of his eye.

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty.

Frowning, Ajay turned to the group, interrupting their conversation.

“Where’s… Erin?”

Clint looked away. Natalie looked sheepish.

“Outside,” she mumbled.

“What? Why?” It wasn’t as though it was a particularly warm day.

“Francesca doesn’t want to sit here,” Clint piped up. He hesitated. “Is it true she’s dropping out of the play?”

Ajay went cold. “What?” he spluttered. “Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous! Why would you think that?”

“Just something Skye said,” Clint mumbled.

“Which was?”

Natalie glanced between them. “That… Francesca didn’t owe anyone anything and would be a lot happier if she didn’t have to do something that she spent every day dreading.”

Ajay blinked, opening and closing his mouth for a couple of seconds. “Well,” he said eventually, “Obviously now everything’s I the open, that won’t be a problem.”

That seemed to satisfy Clint and Natalie, but Ajay couldn’t help but glance out of the window to where, sure enough, the three girls were huddled around a table at the far end of the quad. He watched them for a moment, a knot forming in his stomach. They shouldn’t have been there. Everything was resolved. Francesca was allowed back. Perhaps she didn’t realise. He’d have a word with her after the rehearsal, make sure she knew that everything was okay again.

Satisfied, Ajay went back to his lunch. They’d have a good talk and things would be back to the way they were before.

***

The rehearsal had gone well. The unpleasantness seemed to have put a fire under everyone and scenes were moving seamlessly.

Ajay smiled as they finished up and nodded, making a small note on his script. “Good job today, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He glanced up as most of the cast filed out of the auditorium, smiling when his eyes landed on Francesca helping to clear away. “Francesca, could you stay behind for a few minutes?”

She started, dropping the prop dagger she had been holding. He watched her look to Erin, who gave her an encouraging smile before Francesca took a deep breath and finally turned to him.

“Did you want to talk about lines?” There was a slight tremor in her voice and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I… No.”

“Blocking? Delivery?”

“No, you’re doing great, it’s –”

“I can’t stay behind.” Francesca turned away, hurrying to pack the last few things away while Ajay stared at her in astonishment.

“It’ll only take –”

“I can’t stay behind!” Francesca practically ran from the stage, snatching up her bag as she rushed past Ajay and out of the room.

Ajay gaped at the door as though any second now Francesca was going to come back though it with that disarming smile of hers, teasing him.

“Good for her.”

Ajay’s head snapped around to see Skye looking at the door with something close to admiration on her face.

“Excuse me?” Ajay spluttered, indignant.

“Oh come on.” Erin stuck her head out from the wings. “You didn’t really expect anything else, did you?”

Ajay stared. “Wh- What do you mean?”

Skye let out a snort and turned away to fiddle with a light fixture. Erin stepped out onto the stage and fixed Ajay with a hard stare. He felt his cheeks flush.

“Ajay.” When Erin finally spoke, her tone was icy. “Have you actually apologised to Francesca?”

“For what?”

Skye rounded on him. “Are you kidding?!” she yelled, eyes ablaze.

Ajay flinched and shrank back in his seat. “Erm…” He fidgeted with his pen, avoiding their eyes. His mind was racing. “I…”

“Do you have any idea how upset she’s been?!” Skye clenched her fists, still glaring at him. “She was in tears!”

“W- What?” Ajay glanced at Erin, panicked.

“Every day.” Erin’s voice was quieter than Skye’s, but no less furious. “She was devastated that people she’d though were her friends could think she’d hurt someone deliberately like that.”

“But…” Ajay protested feebly, “Everyone knows now that –”

“Only after you all spent ages bullying her and accused her of doing it!” Skye cut in. “When anyone who’s spent five minutes in the same room as her knows she’d be as likely to do that as swim on Neptune!”

It felt as though someone had tipped a bath of ice water over Ajay’s head.

“Sh- She…”

“She had most of her friends turn on her for something she didn’t do.” Erin narrowed her eyes. ��But she was most hurt that you did.”

“I…” Ajay swallowed. Oh god. Oh god, what had he done? “I had to be… neutral…”

“You weren’t neutral,” Erin snapped. “You said you thought she could have done it and then stepped back and watched the rest of them treat her like that.”

He stared at the two of them in horror.

No… He felt his throat go dry. Francesca… Francesca had been pushed out and… he had let it happen. He had helped it happen. Ajay hung his head, his breathing going shaky. Of course Francesca couldn’t have done it. He had known that and still the whole group had accused her. And he had… made it worse.

“Oh god,” he whispered, slumping over with his head in his hands. The thought of Francesca upset because of that… crying because of that… Ajay bit his lip, his stomach rolling. Oh, Francesca…

“She deserves you being a better friend to her than you have been,” Skye muttered.

Ajay swallowed thickly and nodded, not having the courage to look up. “Yes… Yes, I…” His voice was a little hoarse. “I need to…”

“Apologise,” Erin finished.

***

“Ajay.”

“Leo.”

Francesca’s twin blew a lock of hair out of his eyes and made no move to step back from the doorway.

“Erm…” Ajay looked away. “Is Francesca in?”

“Yes.”

“May I… see her?”

“No.”

“… I see.”

Leo raised an eyebrow.

Ajay swallowed and held out the bag he’d been carrying. “Right. Well. Could you give her these then, please?” Should have put in a note too. Idiot.

Leo peered in the bag and pulled out the bunch of wildflowers. Ajay felt himself blush furiously, but was saved from Leo’s inevitable comment by a movement behind him. Francesca appeared in the hallway, her blonde hair loose around her face and her large, forest green sweater falling off one shoulder. When she spotted Ajay, her eyes widened and she let out a terrified squeak before running upstairs.

“Brilliant,” Leo muttered under his breath. “You,” he said to Ajay, “Stay there. I haven’t finished yet.” Before Ajay could respond, the door closed in his face.

Sighing, Ajay leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose. The expression on Francesca’s face when she had seen him… What kind of horrible person was he to make her feel like that?

***

It was a long while before the door opened again. This time, Leo stepped to one side and jerked his head towards the stairs.

Ajay wasn’t foolish enough to question it. He scrambled up to head inside and followed Leo upstairs to a door marked Cesca’s Room and with a handwritten sign underneath saying Learning Lines – Keep Out!

Leo pushed the door open and Ajay caught a glimpse of Francesca showing something yellow and fluffy under her pillow before turning to them, her cheeks pink.

“Oh… hi…” She bit her lip, fidgeting with her fingers and looking down at the rug.

“Hi…” Ajay hesitated, then stepped forward into the room. The flowers lay across the bed and as he watched, Francesca picked them up and lightly ran her thumb along one petal before sitting down, her gaze still fixed on the floor.

Ajay swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. Up close he could see the dark circles under Francesca’s eyes all too easily, could see the faint trembling of her hands. He took a few deep breaths.

“Francesca, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked. “I’m so… so sorry.” He took in a shaky breath. “Of course you wouldn’t… It was ridiculous to… I should have…”

“I thought you knew me better than that,” she whispered. “I thought you of all people knew me better than that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. The sick feeling in his stomach was back. “You’re right, I… You would never.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to stop them from stinging. “You’re king and sweet and gentle and naïve and only an idiot could ever even consider that you would do that.” He sighed. “And I’m an idiot because I considered it. I just… wanted to…” No. No, this was not the time for that .”I should have been a better director. And a much better friend.”

When he glanced up, Francesca was blinking rapidly and she lifted a hand to wipe at her eyes.

“Thank you for coming over,” she mumbled. “And for the flowers. They’re…” She hiccupped quietly. “They’re lovely.”

“Like you.” The words slipped out before Ajay could stop them. He flushed. “Sorry, I… I just meant… You’re good, Francesca. You’re so much better than so many people and I… I really messed up. I really, really messed up. But I won’t again. I’ll always support you and I’ll come after anyone terrible enough to make you cry. Myself included.”

There was a pause, then a flurry of movement.

“Oof!” Francesca collided with him and Ajay steadied himself quickly, clutching her to him as she wrapped her arms around his waist. She was trembling and clung to him as she let out a strangled sob. “I’m sorry…” Ajay buried his face in her hair, cupping the back of her head as he wrapped his other arm tightly around her. “Francesca…”

“I know,” she mumbled into his chest. “But I’m going to need a bit of time before… y’know… it’s how it was.”

“Understandable,” he whispered. “We were terrible to you.”

“You weren’t the worst.” She squeezed him around the middle. “Just the one that hurt most.”

“Oh…”

“I meant… Only because I liked you most.”

Ajay stroked her hair and sighed. “I can’t think why,” he mumbled. He hesitated. “I like you the most too.”

Francesca nuzzled into his chest and Ajay took a deep breath, trying to stop his heart from racing by sheer willpower. He swayed her gently where they stood and slowly, gradually, he felt her stop shivering.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

Ajay glanced down at her. “That sounds… dangerous.”

“It is. Leo’s furious with you.”

“More so than Erin and Skye?”

She looked up at him and gave him a tentative smile. “Less terrifying. I’m glad I had them in my corner.”

“I’m glad you did, too. They… didn’t give me an easy time.”

“Pity I wasn’t there to see it.” She rested her head against his chest, face turned up towards his. “Fresh slate?”

“That is… more than I deserve.”

“Aren’t you lucky that I like you then.”

Ajay flushed and smiled fondly down at her. “Very lucky,” he murmured. “The luckiest in the world.”

#playchoices #hssca #hssca ajay #ajay x mc #high school story #high school story class act #hss:ca #tally's fics

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jerardeusebio · 5 years

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Retrospect: Saigon

The first thing I do in Vietnam is pee. It isn’t very glamorous, isn’t something that would end up on my Facebook timeline, but here it is. The mundane, inane realities of traveling is oftentimes obscured by the prescribed highlights, but in order to get to them, there are necessary steps to be taken. Most of the time, these are the things we don’t bring out our camera phones for. Technically, the first thing I did after Dylan and I looked through the airplane window, to marvel at the city lights of what presumably was Ho Chi Minh, was to wince in pain. My ears were throbbing and in a matter of seconds became temporarily deaf. Change in altitude. It figures. I think I even cried. Minutes later, no longer deaf and wincing, backpack strapped securely on, two feet back on land, I am peeing.

17 December 2018

The first morning in Ho Chi Minh is dedicated to phở. Dylan and I learned from our many local travels prior that it is vital to watch where the locals eat. We are in Vietnam, hungry. We want the best of their food. And what is about to be proven, yet again, is this: the best referrals aren’t always found online. From our hostel, we randomly choose to turn left and walk the length of the street. We log only a few meters and find a crowded corner restaurant. It isn’t fancy. In fact, it looks like a lot of the eateries in the grittier parts of Manila. Stainless steel tables. No air conditioning. Staff in different clothes. Men and women crowd its tables as soon as they get off their motorcycles, which they park close by. It is almost as if the place is part of their routine for the day, an automatic stop. There’s no way of knowing of course except to ask them. Dylan and I are too hungry to attempt that so we order instead. We continue to wonder, briefly as we begin munching on the generous greens that come with the large soup bowls. I forget what I was just thinking. I forget what day it is. I forget that we’ve committed to veganism for more than a quarter of a year. For a fleeting moment, I forget all the other delicious meals I’ve ever had up until that point.

We walk to the City Hall and gaze at its European architecture. Dozens of other tourists are taking a picture of it, with it. Dylan and I do the same under the shade of a small tree. We walk afterwards to a group of pigeons pecking at whatever we couldn’t see on the pavement. I run to them and Dylan takes a snap as they scatter away, flying for their lives. This is the better-looking part of the city. Our feet, moments later, brings us then to the Notre Dame church, where the crowd is thicker, even though the church is closed. We take more photos of ourselves and the structure, and I couldn’t help but dismiss it. Sure, I’ve seen in it before, blown-up on a wall in a Vietnamese café, a block from where I worked in Makati. It isn’t at all impressive next to the churches, basilicas, and cathedrals I’ve been to back home—but this is Vietnam, it’s part of their history, so we take a couple more photos, even a video. We catch on camera pigeons flying right behind us and get a charge out of our luck.

After checking out the large and interesting post office, we find our way into a charming street left of the church. Bookstores, cafés, and kiosks are lined up the length of the road. I browse through the books on sale and see everything is in Vietnamese, including the fifth installation of the Harry Potter series. Dylan lines up at the prettiest café and orders us cream puffs, which we instantly decide we love. The coffee is too bitter for him, though, and we leave for the Imperial Palace with his cup still half full.

The line for entry at the Imperial Palace is long. Patiently holding our spot in the line, we gaze at the structure through the wrought iron fences. It takes us quite a while, but we get in in the end. At the vehicle ramp, we’re greeted by these bonsais in gorgeous pots. I recognise the plant as kamuning. I push Dylan to smell the flowers, to notice it, to believe I identified it correctly, and to take a photo of me, naturally. The palace interiors is as could be expected. Grand, intricate, Asian, and dated. The palace reminds me of the Marcoses’ Malacañan of the North. The thing I like most are the bunkers, and the maze-like layout of the basement. The garden at the back of the palace is home to a beautiful giant tree, its roots visible on the surface of the ground, the pattern revealing an intricate and altogether interesting display. Dylan and I marvel at the sight before deciding it is time for the War Remnants Museum.

We walk a long way and, in the middle of our search for the museum, even get lost. We tap, tap, tap on our phone screens and wonder what offline Google Maps has that could help. When we finally find it, we’re hungry again and a bit impatient, but the war is such a part of Vietnam’s history and identity that our resolve is renewed. We are certain we want to be here, of all the places we could be going at this hour. Honestly, there has been considerable anticipation for this part of our visit here, at least on my part. To say that I was inconsolable at the end of Miss Saigon would be an understatement. This museum visit is about to give me the cold, hard facts of how the war was for Vietnam and its people. But of course we had formed manageable expectations, and in the first few galleries, our low expectations are met. But gallery after gallery, room after room, we begin to understand the story from the Vietnamese side of that story. We arrive at the top floor, where they show the effects of the chemical warfare not only on the forests and crops, but also on the people who have been disfigured and debilitated by these chemicals. We examine the photographs and read the writings on the wall. My lips part partially. I turn to Dylan and find tears rolling down his cheeks. I look at what he’s eyeing—a disfigured man, a second generation victim and survivor, trying to carve wood using his feet. I scan the room and take in these testaments. Outside, when we exit, a soft wind arrives, rustling the leaves of a towering ficus, and we leave the museum compound knowing well what evil looks like.

On the way to Ben Thanh Market, we pass by a Jollibee. We’d be absurd not to try, so of course we do. And of course the food tastes similar but different, even the drink options are exotic-looking. We spend the rest of our time there watching a skilled staff arrange balloons for a kiddie party.

At Ben Than, Mika lures us with her prowess in Tagalog. The small Vietnamese woman has been selling here a long time and so has worked and is actually friends with a Filipina, who presumably has been teaching her. We compliment her repeatedly for her mastery of our language, her sheer interest and charm while using it. “Mura lang, bigyan kitang tawad.” She could easily pass as one of us, albeit very business-minded one. We buy embroidered wallets and trinkets of all sorts. We leave unsure if we really got the promised discounts.

The first night in Ho Chih Minh is also dedicated to phở. This time we try to be a just a tad bit fancy and walk in Phở 2000 for dinner, above a swanky looking Seattle’s Best. We feast on vegetarian options until our tummies hurt, enough to call it a day, enough to know that it’s a perfect first day.

18 December 2018

Of course the tour guide chose a Hollywood star’s name, the original Tomb Raider. Equipped with a microphone, Jolie is a small lady with brown-orange hair and red spots on either cheeks. She spews out a joke, which half of the van’s passengers laugh at, including me. I laugh purely to show courtesy. Jolie’s English deliciously betrays Angelina’s, and I love her for it. I stare at her for a few seconds and wonder what her actual name is. Could it be Nguyen, as what’s on every other signage we pass by on our way to the Mekong River? I would ask her, except Dylan and I are way at the back. Right across the isle is an Australian-but-Asian-looking dad with his two sons. I look at the passengers and feel a sense of pride that most of us have some Asian features about us. I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I think the whites win in the end, because we all understand English.

We booked this tour shortly after our encounter with Mika at the market, for a ridiculously discounted rate. Dylan is a pro at haggling—and math—and I have therefore advised myself never to leave without him. Even this time, I can say, he out-haggled himself. Prideful people like me find it hard to ask other people for discounts. It could easily be mistaken for begging. What I learned from Dylan is that it’s not bad to try, and the savvy entrepreneur would never say yes to a breakeven setup.

When I finally get the hang of balancing myself in the boat, I get this thought: Mekong River is okay. I mean, it is historic and has given a lot to the people around it. That’s all good. That’s all well. It is an honour and a privilege to be gallivanting on its waters, a dream even. The tour, as it turns out, though, is as basic as it can get. Back to how mundane, uneventful things are and can be necessary, too? That’s what I am beginning to feel. We’ve been navigating through narrow ducts into wider ducts and back into narrow ones. The boats are plenty, enough to obscure the brown waters where they float on. Water palms encroach the space above us, on either side. It’s wonderful and certainly interesting in photos, but that’s about it. (Either this or we didn’t get the best tour.)

At lunch, while waiting for our feast, Dylan and I interact with a couple from Brazil, who like us have been on a vegetarian diet for a while, but (still like us) have decided to make exceptions on this trip every now and then, just like we were all about to do with the fried elephant ear fish that has just been served. We also interact with a Polish couple, who recommend highly that we visit northern Vietnam for its milder, more provincial feel. After finishing off what the rest of our table couldn’t, Dylan and I explore the rest of the place (there were snakes and crocodiles and monkeys) with the others and followed the rest of the itinerary.

It is almost dusk when we arrive back in the now familiar Ben Than Market. We look for Mika and buy more items we think we can’t afford to forget, like ref magnets and more of those wallets. For dinner, we decide to continue on our never-ending quest for phở served by the street. We find it, and about an hour later are licking ice cream at the Note Coffee place at Bùi Viên.

When we arrive back at our hostel, we decide to try the local beer. It is our last night in Ho Chi Minh, and we finally strike a conversation with Túan, who mans our front desk.

Tùan here, we discover after just a bottle of beer, has a different view on the United States and the war. He believes that his government has been tricking people to believe the US forces were bad, that they did them wrong and should be hated. It’s all propaganda and politics, he says. To him, Ho Chi Minh will never be Ho Chi Minh—it has and will always be Saigon. He confesses he loves Americans and dollars, and that he’d love to get to the United States someday. Tùan reminds me of The Engineer character in Miss Saigon, and I climb up the stairs minutes later playing the songs from the musical, all in my head. I feel a bit sad.

19 December 2018

We have our last Vietnamese meal at Veggie Saigon, a vegetarian restaurant we spotted yesterday. The food arrives on our table and we are blown away by how delicious and different everything is. We immediately get sad for not knowing about the place sooner, that we were about to hop on a bus three blocks from where we were, it was just a matter of hours now. We’ve never heard anything about Cambodian food—that made me anxious, a little bit, and then it didn’t.

As far as Dylan and I are concerned, Vietnam has delivered and given us an unforgettable gastronomic experience, among so many other things.   When the best meal of our Ho Chi Minh stay is done, we begin our walk to where the bus is supposed to pick us up. I feel my bag pressing against my back and weighing my shoulders down. It has gotten a tad heavier, as I know I have these past days.

It is late afternoon when reach the border. From the bus window, I look at the building we’re approaching. With the sunlight slanting the way it is, I only make out the roof’s silhouette, but Khmer architecture is unmistakeable. Our conductor instructs of the procedure. We’re about to go down and appear before the immigration officer. I open my bag to check that my documents are ready. After I confirm this, I make a quick run to the bus’s toilet, which I begin to smell two meters away.

Bracing for the ordeal, I inhale a lung-full of air. I step in. Yes, the last thing I do in Vietnam is pee.

#literature #travel log #ho chi minh #saigon #photography #retrospect

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shineyma · 3 years

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I watched an interview segment where Daniela describes the day her water broke (during her first pregnancy I think) and Eric was out with his brother, so Daniella went over to Eric's house, and Eric's wife had to call Eric and ask him to buy Daniela some pads to avoid a big mess for the ride to the hospital maybe, and Eric asked, "Tampon pads?" Daniella's recount was hilarious.

I've written a whole lot beyond this point, do maybe a second ask is in order. That way you could ignore it (you really could), post only your reply or put it under a read more. It's more work for you but I still feel bad about the space that ask about Sam's family takes up on your blog. I did not think it through. (1/2)

lol, I appreciate the consideration, nonnie! Part two of your ask is under the cut. And lol to that interview quote!!

Kensi is back before the end of S05 turns out. I thought she gave birth in the spring, so I figured we had sevedal episodes to go with her on the special assignment. Then I read she gave birth in December, when things seemed to come to a head during the episode the team rescues her and it seemed just too soon. It's amazing that both she and the show's team managed to give Kensi as much screentime as they did. This Afghanistan storyline had me hooked actually. I was a bit sad that it was over as quickly. Despite the limitations and the fact that I love the team together, seeing Kensi star in a side story running parallel to the main plot, without the others stealing into it, was great. The story was fascinating, Kensi's dynamic with Granger and Sabatino was interesting to watch, the connection to her past a nice touch. Bonus points to the writers for not attempting a love triangle and for writing Jack becoming a Muslim and saying he found peace in it. I do also appreciate the few times immigrants they've interrogated have told them off about the U.S. 'intervention' in the Middle East and Callen, Sam or whoever it was just kept their mouth shut and you could see they did so because they couldn't deny those accusations. It's quite surprising and nice. Back to Kensi, I wish they'd taken a couple more episodes to give her Afghanistan storyline a slower closure. It seemed too rushed. I would have liked to see her more in action, trying to save Jack and herself, parallel to the team's rescue attempt. It could have at least been a two-parter. Still glad we got it at all.

One complaint I have is about Deeks. I don't know if I'm being dramatic here but I feel they've been mistreating him far too much. It's not so much about Kensi because they've developed their own kind of banter and Kensi shows him how much she cares. Although, remember right before Kensi left for Afghanistan, the day after the night we're supposed to assume they slept together, she was hostage to someone they were chasing and he was using her as a human shield, and Deeks didn't take the shot. Remember how she punched him? I'm still angry and bitter she did that, let alone that she didn't apologize, let even more alone that she acted as though what she did was right. I fully understand what the reasoning behind it all is or is supposed to be, but it was so wrong. And then, to circle back, I hate the way Callen and Sam have been treating Deeks since the moment he joined the team. It took Deeks withstanding torture and not giving up Michelle, torture that left him traumatized, for Sam to let up on the 'teasing'. I'm not even touching Callen, who actually tried to get Sam to stop being soft on Deeks 'just because of what Deeks did for Michelle and because he misses his partner who's gone on a dangerous special assignment'. Maybe I'm being dramatic but I really think the line on the teasing they give Deeks has been crossed a long time ago and I don't think they're ever going to show any remorse for it.

There was this show I got into when it was already on S14. One of the main characters that was there since S02 left and it wasn't the actor's choice. It was my favorite character out of the entire show. Anyway, I was binging S11 when the news broke. I finished it and that was it for me. They were my comfort character and I tried to watch the next two seasons they were still in but two episodes in, I stopped. I don't know why? Keeping new content of them for the future? Not wanting to watch about 40 hours more of them knowing they are the last ever and it sucks? It's been a few years since then and I haven't regretted it so far. It somehow feels right that I didn't reach the end of that character. And I've done it with other shows too. Once I got past my obsessive need to see shows and franchises through, quiting things became easy and a good tactic when something you loved decides to change the things you love most about it.

I'm sorry about Nell. It sucks. And hopefully the drama in your life is not too bad. I had some of it too, so my binging turned slow as molasses (is it even binging any more?) when it started off so well. And then the drama was capped with that very final, very irreversible bad thing that happens and the world just turns a little dimmer, the colors and just all of it a bit duller. Hence, also, my rudely late replies. Hopefully, your drama is at least a few or several steps away from that.

Oh, chef's kiss for Nell and Nallen in 5x05 ('cute girls with guns') and 5x14 or 5x15 (you know, with Nell fighting that guy in the boatshed's interrogation room and then Callen lowering her gently to the ground and brushing her hair back and all that Nallen goodness). I'd actually seen gifs of the second thing before but none had the fight and I hadn't paid attention to the episode number or even season, so I was very pleasantly surprised and miiiiight have replayed it a half dozen times. (2/2)

I also enjoyed what they did with Jack, although I feel like they never really resolve Hetty's part in things. Like....dick move, Hetty. Very dick move. And minor spoiler, but Sabatino returns, and while the entire team seems to hate him 5ever, I actually really like him lol. He's funny! And cute.

You are not alone in feeling that Deeks is mistreated by the guys, nonnie! There are whole communities of Deeks fans that hate it a LOT. I definitely feel like they cross the line sometimes....but conversely, I feel like Deeks crosses the line pretty often himself. I think in general the writers aren't great at judging when too much is enough, you know? But yeah, that doesn't stop anytime soon, I'm afraid.

Awwwww, I'm sorry you had that experience before with a show, nonnie! But yeah, sometimes quitting is the best thing you can do. It's better, I think, than continuing to drag it out and watching when you're not enjoying it anymore....then it's too easy to become bitter and then you can't even enjoy the earlier parts you used to love.

I'm also sorry you had drama followed by something worse! I hope things are getting better for you <3 For myself, things got very busy at work and then I was impacted by Hurricane Ida, which chased me out of state for two weeks while I waited for power and water to be restored to my apartment. I spent those two weeks living minutes from my mom and brother, which was nice but has had the impact that now I miss them a lot more than I did before.....like somehow I got used to living away from them and being close erased that adjustment? And now I'm not as good at it as I used to be. In fact, I'm actively hoping for my employer to have an opening there so I can transfer back. So I've been very emotional lately, on top of which the ongoing recovery from Ida meant more work for me at my job.

Whew, didn't mean to rant about that! Sorry.

And yessssssss, those are some of the BEST Nallen moments!!! I loooove him tenderly brushing her hair out of her face. That's probably my second favorite--or third favorite, there are two things coming that are tied for first favorite. So you've got that to look forward to!!

Sorry this took so long, nonnie! I hope life is going well this week! <3

#amy communicates #anonymous #my nonnies are the best nonnies

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afriedbreaddragonposts · 3 years

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Quaids Vision Pakistan Cha 6 English Class 9 Notes Federal

Unit 6 Quaids Vision Pakistan fbise 9th class English notes 2021, short long question, grammar, vocabulary, writing skills, and summary.

Quaids Vision Pakistan Cha 6 English Class 9 Federal

Quaids Vision Pakistan Cha 6 English Class 9 Federal 2021 PDF Download

Comprehension How much confidence did Quaid-e-Azam have in his nation?Quaid-e-Azam had much confidence and strong faith in his nation. He knew that his people were made of sterling material and that they would reform themselves.What was Quaid's concept of our nation?Quaid-e-Azam talked about Pakistan in clear terms. He called Pakistan, “Our Nation”. He said that the Muslims of the subcontinent were a nation with distinctive culture, civilization, language, and literature with their own distinctive outlook.What was the ideology of Pakistan in view of Quaid-e-Azam?The ideology of the Quaid was based on the fundamental principle that they were an independent nation and could not be merged with any other nationWhat can be the possible solution to our present problems?We can overcome our present problems by following the Quaid's golden motto, "Faith, unity, and discipline". We must work as a united nation to resolve our present problems.How can we become a strong nation?We can become a strong nation by acting upon the golden rules and principles given to us by our Quaid, Muhammad Ali Jinnah. We need to remember his advice, “It is now up to you to work, work and work and we are bound to succeed".

Grammar Quaids Vision Pakistan

Q.A) Find the kinds of adverbs in the lesson. 1) Adverb of manner _____________ 2) Adverb of place _________________ 3) Adverb of time __________________ 4) Adverb of frequency ___________________ 5) Adverb of degree _________________ Answer: clearly, hard under after, today, early only much, more, very Q.B) Write five sentences using adverbs of manner, place end time in the correct sequence. Answer: James played brilliantly in the match on Saturday. Peter sang the song happily in the bathroom yesterday evening. He spoke earnestly at the meeting last night. The soldiers fought well in the battle field last year. They drove fast to the hospital in the midnight. Q.C) Make sentences using the following verbs followed by infinitives. 1) Saw 2) Promised 3) Wanted 4) Began 5) Asked 6) Told 7) Decided Answer: I saw him kick the stone. I promised to call you tomorrow. I wanted to stay for a few more days. I began to learn languages when I was ten. She asked him to leave. He told me to write in order. They decided to watch a movie. Q.D) Complete these phrases by adding gerunds and use them in sentences. 1) good at ______________________ 2) accused of ______________________ 3) sad at______________________ 4) tired of ______________________ Answer: a) Gerunds: working breaking seeing waiting b) Sentences: John is good at working in the garden. They were accused of breaking into a shop. The children are sad at seeing a doctor. I am tired of waiting for the gift. Q.E) Complete the following conditionals. 1) If you had studied hard____________________________ 2) If you had come to me____________________________ 3) If I had seen him____________________________ Answer: You would have succeeded. I would have helped you. I would have told him the truth. Q.F: Write ten sentences using Past Perfect Tense. Answer: They had visited a doctor. He had slept. I had finished my work last year. It had rained heavily last month. The film had started before we reached the cinema. He had taken the exam last year. I had met him before you introduced us. He hadn't studied Italian before he moved to Italy. A thief had stolen my watch. You had used that pen before it was lost.

Writing Skills Quaids Vision Pakistan

Q.A) Write a paragraph on Quaid-e-Azam as a progressive and moderate democrat. (60-70 words) Answer: Quaid-e-Azam was the embodiment of the virtues found in a capable progressive and moderate democrat. Muhammad Ali Jinnah was an intelligent man with resolute faith. His determination lead the Muslims of the subcontinent through dark times, and it was because of his abilities as a diplomat that he was able to achieve an aim as hard as the independence of a nation. His views on the rights of humans and firm actions show us that his thoughts were that of a progressive democrat. Q.B) Write an essay on Quaid – e- Azam our national hero with the help of following mind map Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the founder of Pakistan, is our national hero. His name is remembered with great honor in the history of humankind. He was a sincere and selfless leader who fought for the freedom of Muslims and won them a free homeland. Our great leader, Quaid-E-Azam, was born in Karachi on the 25th of December, 1875. He was born in a noble family of Karachi. His father was a trader. During his childhood, he used to work excessively hard and showed his qualities as a talented child. After completing his primary and secondary education in the Sind Madrasa-tul-Islam, Karachi, he was sent to England for higher studies. He came back to Karachi as a Lawyer. During those days, the British were ruling and Indians were fighting for freedom from the foreign yoke. Quaid-e-Azam did not lag in this sacred task and came to the front row of the freedom fighters. He worked as an ambassador for Hindu- Muslim unity. In the beginning, he joined the Indian National Congress and believed that Muslims and Hindus should join hands to free their motherland from the British rulers. He also believed that Hindus and Muslims should live peacefully as members of one nation. Later on, he changed his standpoint given the activities of the Hindus which were becoming increasingly damaging to the cause of the' Muslims. He propounded the two-nation theory in India and supported strongly the idea of a separate Independent Muslim State. Quaid-E-Azam joined the Muslim League, which was representing all the Muslims of India. In the year 1933, he was elected the President of all India Muslim League. He held the office until Pakistan came into being. It was under his presidentship that the All-India Muslim League passed the famous Pakistan Resolution in the Minto Park, Lahore in the year 1940. In this Resolution, the Muslims resolved to get British India divided and to have a separate Muslim state termed Pakistan. Quaid-e-Azam worked very hard to achieve this end. In this sacred task of freedom-fighting, his most trusted lieutenant, Liaqat Ali Khan, assisted him. He had to struggle very hard continuously for over a decade to translate the idea of Pakistan into reality. He succeeded in the long run and the whole world was surprised to see that Pakistan became a reality on the 14th August 1947 when our Quaid-e-Azam took over as her first Governor-General. Quaid-e-Azam did not take rest afterward. He worked harder than ever for the consolidation of Pakistan, our dear homeland. The British rulers left for good but left a large number of problems for our country. Quaid-e-Azam continued his efforts to overcome the problems and difficulties. But his health failed, it was already fast deteriorating, and he breathed his last on the 11th September 1948, just one year after independence. He was laid to rest in Karachi, the place where he was born and where he became the first Governor-General of Pakistan. Quaid-e-Azam is our national hero. He is, indeed, one of the greatest leaders of the world. His political career covered a very wide span of about half a century. This career is the most spotless one that the world has ever known. Even his enemies admit the integrity of his character. It is our duty as the true Pakistanis to follow his footsteps and work honestly for the solidarity and prosperity of Pakistan---the land of the Pak or the pious people'. Let us try to be 'pious' in the true sense. Let us uphold the biggest motto of our Quid Unity, Discipline, Faith.

Dictionary skills Quaids Vision Pakistan

Q.A) Identify the primary and secondary stress in the following words 1) Unwritten 2)Unwrap 3) Abraham 4) President 5) Teach 6) Ponder Answer: Un'written Un'wrap 'Abraham Pre'sident 'Teach Pon'der

Vocabulary Quaids Vision Pakistan

Q.B) Consult a thesaurus and find the synonyms of the following words. morale voyage ambition nomenclature Identity distinctive emergence struggle numerous strong ideology Answer: confidence journey goal classification individuality characteristics appearance fight many powerful theory Q.C) Write the antonyms of the following words. confidence honour belief separate unity political Answer: distrust dishonour disbelief joint division non political Q.D) Use the following idioms in sentences. bits and pieces man in the street raising spirit pass through fall a prey Answer: I keep finding out new bits and pieces. Politicians rarely care what the man in the street thinks. Quaid-e-Azam played an important role in raising people's spirits. I passed through the countryside and breathed in the good clean air. The deer fell prey to the tiger's hunger. Read more: Daffodils Federal Class 9 English Notes Chapter 5 2021 Read the full article

#2021fbise #FBISE #fbise2021 #fbisenotes

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petercapaldork · 6 years

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A Secret Santa

Here is my MM Secret Santa gift for Apollo888 on Fanfiction.net, which I shared via Google Docs first. I wanted to make sure it was shared here as well. Happy holidays and enjoy!

Read on ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12774346/1/A-Secret-Santa

Pens scratched and pages rustled as students revised their essays, a hum of silence filling the room along with a hint of anxiety.

Mary watched in silence from her desk, on hand to help any who needed it.

It was difficult enough to encourage concentration so close to the holidays, but especially trying to maintain while students worked on essays over Jonathan Swift, Paradise Lost, and other Restoration period topics. Students were clamoring for next term and Gothic literature, like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, or to delve into a bit of Austen.

But after a month-long holiday break. Mary was aching for it herself.

“Miss Grantham, how much longer until the period is over?”

The class looked up, all waiting with bated breath for her answer, and Mary glanced at the clock on her desk, about to respond with, “Half an hour,” when she heard a loud bang from down the hall. One of the girls nearest the ajar door screamed and dropped her pen.

Mary rose from her seat as the students began to murmur amongst themselves about the source of the sound, but she already knew where it had come from.

The chemistry lab.

“Please continue your revisions, I’ll be right back.”

Once out in the corridor she found Anna Bates, the French teacher and her neighbor.

“What on earth was that bang?” Anna asked, looking in the direction of the sound.

“I’ll give you a wild guess,” Mary said.

“Oh mon Dieu,” Anna said as Mary turned for the science wing. “Don’t be too hard on him.”

“The rest of us are working on revisions and studying for final exams and he’s going to blow up the school,” Mary replied, leaving Anna to mutter in French under her breath. Mary knew she could count on her friend to keep an eye on her own students while she told off the school’s very own mad scientist.

Her heels clicked their way down the granite corridor, taking her under holiday decorations that student groups had hung at the beginning of December. Holly and garland of evergreen boughs and Menorahs, paper snowflakes cut out and snowmen tapped to the walls made the entire school festive and ready for the season. Mary’s own classroom had been decorated by her students throughout the month to liven the place up, remind them of home, and give them a break before the final push for exams. And now it seemed they’d get another one.

“Now we just witnessed--Maggie what was the term for the chemical reaction I just showed you?”

“An exothermic reaction of ethanol vapor, Mr. Crawley.”

“It was combustion, more specifically,” another girl piped up.

“Yes, very good, Claudia.”

The students, or the female students at least, all giggled at the teacher’s praise before he returned to his lesson with animation.

“As opposed to endothermic reactions, in exothermic reactions, the enthalpy, or stored chemical energy which is a thermodynamic quantity, it is lower for the products than the reactants. So who can tell me what that means for this experiment?”

At this query, Mary knocked hard on the slightly open door. Twenty faces turned toward her, surprise on the face of Mr. Crawley while the students looked on in great interest.

“Ah, Miss Grantham, what brings you here?”

“May I speak with you privately?” she requested, plastering a smile on her face for the benefit of the students, most of whom were familiar to her.

“But of course.” He turned to his class. “I’ll be right back and someone better have my answer about the enthalpy for this chemical reaction. It might even have an answer that is quantifiable.”

He followed Mary out into the hall, leaving the students looking nervously at each other, but interested in what their teachers were discussing.

“What can I do for you, Mary?” He pushed a pair of safety goggles onto the top of his head. “What brings you down to our laboratories?”

Mary forced herself not roll her eyes at him and his antics of sometimes pretending to be a mad scientist. His getup complete with a white lab coat, it wasn’t much of a stretch, although it was adorable. Not that she’d let him know that. He had enough admirers from most of the teenaged girls in the school.

She’d known Matthew Crawley for over three years now and she still couldn’t figure him out. They weren’t the most chummy of colleagues, oil and water at times, but he loved to get her riled up.

“Well, Doctor Crawley, if you and your minions could refrain from blowing up anything else this afternoon, we’d be much obliged. The rest of the school is trying to study for exams, not put on a show and wonder if we need to call the fire department.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement, clearly not troubled by her tone or her Despicable Me reference.

“My class is studying for exams. Did you not hear me drilling them on exothermic and endothermic reactions? We’ve already studied the Periodic Table and gone over units about ionic bonding, balancing equations. This is the final unit to review before we have our exam tomorrow.”

“And your review involves possibly blowing up the school?”

“I have a fire extinguisher on hand, but the combustion is pretty well-contained, I shouldn’t need to use it.” He smirked, and Mary’s frown deepened.

“Seriously? We are trying to keep things quiet for the students and maintain a bit of calm before the holidays. You know how hard that is, Matthew. You’re deliberately trying to break their concentration!” She was growing so angry that she had to drop her voice to a whisper to keep herself from yelling at him. Her fists clenched.

“I am not, Mary,” he said, holding out his hands in surrender. “Our subjects are just very different animals. Yours is all talking, writing, thinking. Mine is very hands-on. The students can’t learn about exothermic and endothermic reactions without seeing them in action. It’s chemistry.”

There was a half-smile, one that she found herself on the receiving end of more and more lately. The other women teachers called Matthew “charming.” Well, Mary knew he could be when he wanted to be. Apparently this was one of those times.

“It made one of my students shriek in surprise. So keep it down or I’ll complain to the headmistress,” she said, but could feel her resolve to be angry wilting slightly.

He smiled again, blue eyes sparkling.

“We’ll try our best to keep the explosions to a minimum, Mary,” he agreed, and Mary hardly dared to believe him. “I’ll see you at Dr. Hughes’ holiday party, won’t I, if not sooner?”

For the first time since entering the corridor, Mary happened to glance over Matthew’s shoulder, startled to see the door was not quite shut on Matthew’s classroom. From the narrow window beside the door, she could see that the entire chemistry class was dead silent and hanging on every word of their conversation. No one was trying to work out any equation regarding the chemical reaction. Mary couldn’t tell if it was because half the girls were in love with Matthew, or if they were interested for some other reason.

“Yes, I’ll be there,” she said, brief. “I should get back.”

“Happy Shakespeare-ing,” Matthew said, bringing down his safety goggles once more.

Mary didn’t bother to correct him, wanting to get away from the enraptured gazes of the students.

“Don’t burn the place down,” she requested, and Matthew laughed, giving her a salute.

“Aye, aye.”

Mary simply nodded stiffly before walking away.

Anna was still outside when she returned, but had clearly been flitting between their two classrooms to check on both groups of students in her absence.

“What happened?” she asked, crossing her arms with great interest.

“Matthew is doing some kind of experiment, an exothermic reaction that is obviously intended to drive us all crazy but not to burn down the school, according to him. I fully chastised him for conducting such a loud test right before exams, but he told me it was part of his review process,” Mary complained. “What a bunch of-”

“Des ordures.”

“In English.”

“Garbage,” Anna said. “I know he likes to get a rise out of you, but does it have to be at the expense to the rest of us?”

“You think he’s conducting experiments this close to exams to toy with me?” Mary asked.

Anna shook her head. “Not exactly. Just you’re really the only one who would be upset about it, aren’t you? La querelle d'amoureux.”

“La que...what? Amour? That means ‘love’. Anna, what are you talking about? Matthew and I are hardly friends, we’re not in love!” Mary dropped her voice again, agitated by her friend’s insinuation that there was something going on with her and Matthew. “What else did you say? I don’t remember anything from high school French class.”

“That makes me feel like my job is worthwhile,” Anna said, wrinkling her nose. I said, ‘A lover’s quarrel’. You really need to brush up on your French.”

Mary scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? The whole school has been talking about you two for the past term, even the students. What do they call it these days, ‘shipping’, I think? Oh, yeah, everyone ships you with Mr. Crawley,” Anna said, matter-of-fact.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous or not, it’s true,” Anna replied, backing into her classroom and leaving Mary dumbfounded in the hall.

The following day Mary returned from a hasty lunch in the teacher’s lounge to prepare for an afternoon of grading while her last group of students finished up their essay revisions. She was as ready for the holiday break as the students were and all that stood in the way was another day of final grading and tomorrow evening’s holiday party at the home of Dr. Hughes and her husband, Mr. Carson.

Mary couldn’t wait.

She turned on the light, absentmindedly walking over to her desk and about to unlock the drawer where she kept finished essays to grade when she noticed something out of order on her neatly organized desk. Two packages wrapped in brown paper and tied together with red ribbon had been placed in front of her chair, an envelope tucked beneath one of the bands of ribbon.

Frowning, Mary picked up the envelope and pulled out a nondescript holiday card. Inside, only two words had been written, “From Santa.” She didn’t recognize the handwriting immediately, but thought perhaps the gift was from Anna and her husband had written the card, or even a student had dropped it off on her desk during lunch.

The contents of the packages would prove her wrong.

After sliding the ribbon off from around the packages, both of which were clearly books, Mary removed the brown paper from the top one to find a book entitled, Coping with Difficult People: The Proven-Effective Battle Plan That Has Helped Millions Deal with the Troublemakers in Their Lives at Home and at Work. Reminded of the incident with Matthew yesterday, Mary again thought of Anna and laughed at the title of the older, which was evident from the worn, multi-color cover. She set it aside, picking up the next book to unwrap it.

Pulling the brown paper off and looking at the marbled hardback cover, Mary nearly dropped the edition she held. She felt as though she should be wearing gloves rather than hold it with her bare hands, and with bated breath Mary glanced at the spine of the book to read the words Mansfield Park. She exhaled slowly, gingerly opening the cover to look at the frontispiece: Mansfield Park by Jane Austen; Persuasion by the Same.

The publication date was 1833 by Richard Bentley, which Mary knew to be the second publication of Persuasion, her favorite Austen novel, and the first single-volume edition.

But who else knew she was such a nerd about it?

After gingerly wrapping the nearly 200-year-old book and tucking it away in her desk, Mary made a beeline for Anna’s classroom. She found Anna grading French exams at her desk.

“What’s the big idea?” she asked, not bothering to preface her visit.

“What are you talking about?” Anna looked up from her tests, confusion on her face.

“The books you left on my desk. That 1833 edition of Mansfield Park and Persuasion had to cost you upwards of £1,000 or more.” Mary’s tone was scolding and also baffled that her friend would purchase such an expensive gift for her. “What were you thinking?”

“Someone bought you a book that cost £1,000?”

“You can give it up already, I know it was you, Santa,” Mary said. “How many people here even know Persuasion is my favorite Austen novel? And the other book with it, Coping with Difficult People? Who would buy me such a book?”

Anna’s eyes widened. “Not me, I swear. And honestly, after the row you had with Matthew yesterday, that one sounds like a book he’d buy you as a joke.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t explain the second edition. The book that’s practically a paycheck. Why would he get me something like that?”

“Well, il est amoureux de toi,” Anna murmured, not meeting Mary’s gaze.

“You know I hardly understood a word you said except for ‘amour,’ but he is not in love with me,” Mary said, indignant.

“That’s exactly what I said, and we’ve all just been waiting to see how long it takes for the two of you to do something about it. It’s been three years and, God, it’s good so see Matthew finally doing something,” Anna said. “Plus, we’ve been taking bets in the teacher’s lounge and mine was about to expire.”

Mary’s jaw fell open. “I can’t believe you, my friend, have been making bets about my love life!”

“Oh, come on, it was harmless, and the whole school knows about you two. If you thought the students were bad, well, the teachers are even worse.”

“Clearly,” Mary said, eyes narrow. “But I really don’t think it was Matthew.”

Anna shrugged. “Who else could it be?”

“P-perhaps, Dr. Hughes-?” she began, but Mary was floundering. “Or a student.”

“What student is going to buy you a book that costs that much? Want me to ask Matthew tomorrow?”

Mary shuddered at the thought. “No, don’t bring it up,” she said. “I’m certain it wasn’t him. It has to be someone else. We don’t even get along.”

But the more she denied that it could be Matthew, the more she felt that she was wrong, and not just based on the facts in front of her.

His behavior over the last year had been so much different than it was before. In the past, they didn’t see each other much. Sure, they ran into each other in the teacher’s lounge or the halls on occasion, but ever since term began in September she saw Matthew practically every day, even on weekends as she shopped in town, which had rarely happened before. In these instances he’d gone out of his way to interact with her, making small-talk about her family, what she was doing in her off-hours, and generally being pleasant. So, in hindsight, she was wrong; they didn’t always get along, but it was clear that he often tried to be friendly when he saw her, especially outside of work.

And now she wondered, how did he know where and when she shopped, what she liked to read? Was he stalking her?

“He makes you laugh,” Anna said, interrupting Mary’s thoughts about her whereabouts last weekend when she ran into Matthew outside a shop while looking for gifts for her two sisters and their husbands. “Although sometimes you force yourself not to.”

Out in the corridor she could hear the sounds of students filing back from lunch for their final rounds of exams before the holidays.

“It wasn’t him,” Mary repeated, more and more unconvincing by the minute.

“Mmhmm,” Anna demurred, eyes returning to her exams as students began to file into the room.

Unfocused, Mary returned to her own classroom, the Austen edition weighing heavily on her mind as it sat locked at the bottom of her desk drawer.

The holiday party at the home of Charles Carson and Dr. Elsie Hughes provided a ceremonial bookend to the school term every year for the staff. Being welcomed into the home of the headmistress and her husband, while intimidating at first, was usually a highlight of Mary’s holiday season before she went home to a family visit that included happy sisters and their husbands and lots of nieces and nephews, as well as endless commentary on her own singleness. Plus, it gave the staff a chance to imbibe on the more traditional holiday spirits and richer treats of the season after completing final marks. But for Mary, this year she was keen to avoid Matthew. Or confront him. She hadn’t decided what she wanted.

As she stood in a corner of the sitting room, nursing some mulled wine that Mr. Carson had poured for her, she kept glancing to the door in expectation of Matthew’s arrival. She hadn’t seen him since receiving the gifts, but in the day that followed, she had resolved to bring it up when she saw him. And two glasses of wine in less than an hour had almost strengthened her resolve enough for her to see it through.

“How is he not here yet?” Mary finally spoke, interrupting Anna’s conversation with her husband John about some incident regarding students that Mary had not been paying mind to.

“Matthew, you mean? Perhaps he is, but you’ve trapped yourself as far away from him as possible. Good on you,” Anna said, taking a sip of her own drink more daintily than Mary’s final gulp of her mulled wine. “How many of those have you had?”

“Not nearly enough,” Mary said. “I’m going for a refill, does anyone need more to drink?”

“No, but some food would be good,” Anna ventured. “I saw they had those little puds, didn’t you see, John, the tartlets?”

“Maybe later,” Mary said, leaving the pair in search of more to drink.

She slipped through the crowd of her colleagues, issuing perfunctory greetings to those she hadn’t seen yet, but really making haste toward the dining room where the refreshments were being kept. She switched out her mulled wine for a glass of champagne, taking a long drink as others filtered in to refill their own glasses or plates. As she drank, she watched as Matthew entered the room, deep in conversation with Mr. Carson. Both men were in search of more food, already holding plates in their hands.

She wondered when Matthew had arrived, although it was obvious he hadn’t bothered to seek her out. See, Anna? It wasn’t from him.

“Now, that’s where I think you’re wrong, Matthew. Sure Manchester United has some quality football players, but when it comes to the Premier League, it has to be-”

No one heard Mr. Carson’s response because Mary found herself interrupting the two men’s conversation.

“Matthew, might I speak with you?”

Neither had noticed Mary in the room, as there were others about as well, but both were surprised at her interruption.

Looking flummoxed, all Matthew said to Mary was, “Sure.” To Mr. Carson he begged to be excused, setting his plate aside before following Mary from the room. Mary held onto her champagne glass.

She led him out to the sunroom overlooking the back garden, knowing the chance of being interrupted in there would be slim since it was chilly and almost like being outside. The wood-burning stove that sat in one corner of the room was cold, as the occupants of the house had not expected anyone to bother going out back, although they had decorated the room for Christmas. Lights had been strung across the ceiling along with garland and other tinsel, bringing the festive feeling of the house out into the back garden.

“What’s up?” Matthew asked. His original shock at seeing Mary in the dining room had quickly been replaced by ease.

But Mary was on edge. She hesitated briefly before saying what first came to mind.

It was like word-vomit, but more rehearsed.

“Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed.”

Even reciting the first paragraph from her favorite novel did little to relax her as it usually could. During her speech, Matthew’s eyebrows had risen slowly out of confusion, but now he frowned at her monologue.

“What’s this? Are you going all English-major on me for some reason that I don’t understand?” he asked.

She sighed, aggravated, but no closer to figuring out where the blasted books had come from.

“Never mind. Someone left two books on my desk yesterday. Anna thought it might be you, but she was clearly incorrect. I told her it had to be someone else,” Mary explained.

She turned to go, champagne glass still in-hand, when Matthew spoke.

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.”

Mary halted abruptly, shoulders tense. She set her glass on a nearby shelf holding some books on bird watching and a pair of binoculars before facing Matthew again.

“What?” Her voice was a whisper, a hush of disbelief.

A half-smile played across his lips, eyes dancing.

“For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes?”

Mary’s heart throbbed madly in her chest, her pulse making it difficult to hear her own thoughts, if she even had any in her head anymore.

“What...what are you saying?” She shook her head. “You did buy those books for me?”

He nodded.

In spite of all the warnings from Anna, Mary was shocked. “Matthew, that book must have cost you over a thousand pounds.”

“It’s not important,” he said, gentle.

“But w-why would you do such a thing?”

Looking nervous for the first time, he moved a few steps toward her, reaching out to take her hand.

“Mary.”

He only spoke her name, but she felt a jolt of electricity move through her at his voice, his touch, willing her to step toward him.

She was closer to him than ever before, his blue eyes warming her like the sun on a summer day as she gazed at him. The current that she had felt when he spoke her name now hummed through her, and she wondered if he felt it too, that energy that had always lay beneath the surface now coming to life under the twinkling lights.

With her free hand she reached up and, after a moment’s hesitation, brushed her fingers through his hair. This final touch was all the encouragement Matthew needed to erase the remaining space between them.

He kissed her, the territory unfamiliar and yet she was completely at ease. Not that the kiss wasn’t exciting; no, her heart pounded wildly as Matthew backed her into a wall, she tugged on his hair and even parted his lips with her tongue. It wasn’t that.

She felt no embarrassment at snogging Matthew, even in the sunroom of Elsie Hughes and Charles Carson. If anyone were to discover them, she was sure she would shrug it off and, hell, even kiss him again. It felt right, as though they should have been doing this all along.

He pulled back from her, smiling once more and Mary found herself genuinely smiling for the first time that night.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, hands on Mary’s waist. “God, I’ve had such a schoolboy crush on you.”

“You hid it well,” Mary said, brushing her thumb against his cheek. “Especially the constant teasing and jokes about chemistry. And lately showing up at my regular shops in town? I was beginning to think I had a stalker on my hands. But never would I have guessed such a grand gesture was awaiting me. How did you even know Persuasion was my favorite Jane Austen novel? Did Anna tell you?”

“I wasn’t I going to ask her that,” he said, leaning into her touch. “No, last spring I overheard some of my students mention it so I started calling rare bookstores for early editions. It is amazingly difficult to find a first printing, so I had to settle for the second.”

“Last spring? You’ve been planning this for almost a year?” Mary was astonished he would put so much effort into a gift for her, but then she remembered Anna’s words from a few days ago, well, the English translation: he’s in love with you.

She felt warmth and panic at the same time.

“I may have gone a bit overboard,” he admitted, oblivious to Mary’s conflicting emotions. “I just wanted you to have something you’d enjoy.”

“Were you planning on revealing your secret identity to me, Santa?” Mary asked, her hand gliding down his neck until she laid it on his shoulder. She played with his shirt collar, fingers brushing against the knot of his tie to distract herself from any concerns she had regarding Matthew’s precise feelings for her. She felt like she’d already come to terms with her own, which were stronger than she realized.

“In good time,” he said, refusing to answer, but still grinning. “I didn’t expect you to drunkenly confront me before I got the chance.”

“I’m not drunk,” Mary said. “I just wanted a straight answer, which you hardly gave me.”

“Quoting from your favorite book isn’t direct enough for you? Next time do I need to ride in on a white horse?” he teased, kissing the end of her nose. “But wait, wait, wait. You know how I feel. What about you? Why’d you let me kiss you? As a courtesy?”

“No,” she said, feeling self-conscious now that he was asking Mary to share her thoughts aloud. She kept her eyes on his tie.

“As a ‘thank you’? What?” She could hear the growing frustration in his voice, as though he didn’t believe that it wasn’t some drunken kiss. That she regretted it.

She met his gaze again, for she did not regret it, only wanted to do it again. She was surprised he hadn’t pulled away from her, that his hands still remained on her waist, warm and reassuring.

“For someone who spends most of her time studying the works of great authors who write of beauty and glory and...love, well, I am not adept at sharing my own feelings at the ready.”

Matthew’s eyes softened. “Is it too much for me to ask you to try?”

She cleared her throat, resolving not to look away until she was done.

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

Mary’s fingers wrapped around Matthew’s tie, pulling his face closer to hers.

“Contrary to popular knowledge, I didn’t memorize the whole of Persuasion to impress you. Just those few lines,” he joked.

“That line is actually from Pride and Prejudice,” Mary said, smiling in response.

“Haven’t read it and I didn’t see the movie,” Matthew said.

He rested his forehead against hers for a brief moment, and Mary half-wondered why she had fought Anna’s assertions the previous day about Matthew’s feelings for her, and her own feelings for him. But instead of contemplating them further, she kissed him again, all but forgetting her hesitation as their lips met.

“So, I should warn you about something before we go back in there,” Mary said, Matthew taking her hand after their prolonged snogging session.

“And what’s that? Have you been tearing the mickey out of me behind my back?” He joked. Other than the incident a few days ago, she couldn’t remember anything that would have caused her to speak of him to someone else at all, let alone poorly.

“Nothing like that,” Mary said, halting them on the threshold of the sunroom before re-entering the kitchen. “It seems the other staff had this bet going about when the two of us would get...romantically involved. Anna told me about it the other day.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t look overly nonplussed by the realization, but actually seemed to find it rather funny. “Do you think it’s too late for me to get in on some of that action?”

“Matthew!” Mary scolded him. “Since you’re one of the reasons they thought there was anything going on at all, there would be no way they’d let you place a bet.”

“I mean, the odds were actually only fifty-fifty that I’d win anything,” he observed. “And I could really use some extra quid. My girlfriend has expensive taste in books.”

Mary felt herself blush for the first time that night, but didn’t question his use of the word ‘girlfriend’.

“Well, no one told you to buy it,” she said, teasing him easily. She retrieved her champagne glass, not wanting to leave it for their boss to find later.

“You’ve known me for over three years now, Mary. You should realize by now that I am a man of big gestures.”

“Is that why your chemistry lab is constantly on the verge of blowing up the school?” she questioned, leading him back inside.

“It’s called hands-on learning, love,” he retorted as they walked entered the kitchen to find Dr. Hughes preparing to take more trays of hors d'oeuvres into the dining room.

“Mary, Matthew, what on earth were you doing out there? It’s bloody freezing-” She began to scold them in her Scottish brogue, but halted when she saw they were holding hands. “Oh, damn, I can’t believe I lost the bet!”

“You too?” Mary asked, setting the champagne glass aside. She was astounded even the headmistress of the school was involved in the petty gambling ring like the rest of the staff.

“Oh, everyone wanted a piece of the action, it was such a sure thing,” Dr. Hughes said. “But the key was timing. I thought it would take the two of you at least until next spring to soften up. Some of us hadn’t factored in the enchantment of the holidays.”

“Or expensive gifts,” Matthew muttered.

“Gifts? Do tell.” Dr. Hughes had all but forgotten the trays of brie and decorated biscuits that were in her hands.

“Matthew gave me a Bentley edition of Mansfield Park and Persuasion. 1833,” Mary explained, proud. Matthew shifted, uncomfortable for the first time that night, but Mary cast a smile at him and he rebounded with a small grin.

“My, oh my, how romantic,” Dr. Hughes replied, stunned. “And everyone knows what an Austen fan you are, Mary. Didn’t you take your class to Winchester last spring just so you could show them her final home and resting place in Winchester Cathedral?”

“I did,” Mary said. Visiting the places where her favorite authors once lived, wrote, and even died was, at times, morbid, usually invigorated Mary.

“Well, I suppose I should get ready to empty out my pocketbook. Charles will not be pleased.”

“How much had the pool gotten up to?” Matthew asked with interest.

“A couple hundred quid,” Dr. Hughes admitted. “Rather silly, but nearly all of it will go to Anna Bates.”

Mary snorted. “That seems like quite a conflict of interest. Shouldn’t there be some sort of regulations on whether Anna should be allowed to participate?”

“Maybe we can get her to donate it to the school trip fund,” she replied. “Or your wedding, hmm?”

With this, Dr. Hughes then exited with the trays, unaware of the discomfort she had left between Matthew and Mary.

“From secret Santa to wedding planning, huh?” Matthew finally spoke, breaking the silence that threatened to last for endless minutes. “Well, I hope Anna does contribute her gambling winnings, I haven’t the funds to throw a wedding.”

“Please don’t listen to them,” Mary requested, meeting his eyes once again. “They’re all much too invested in our relationship.” She could tell the blush that had happened upon Matthew calling her his ‘girlfriend’ was creeping back into her cheeks, and wondered if she could blame it on the heat of the room if he asked.

“You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

Mary could tell he was unsure, and she again wanted him to know that she did not regret a moment that had passed since they’d entered the sunroom.

“By you? Of course not,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Sure, I wish our colleagues were less involved in our relationship, but I’m not embarrassed.”

And to give him a final reminder, aware that they could be seen through the doorway to the dining room, Mary kissed her secret Santa.

#mm secret santa 2017 #for Apollo888 #downton fanfic #mary x matthew #downton abbey #my writing

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crasherfly · 3 years

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Weekly Update

It’s never enough.

Be it progress in a hobby, pages written, reps in a workout, miles run, dollars spent at local businesses, weight lost and gained back, video games completed or personal apologies issued to people I’ve been too brisk with online- the prevailing theme of 2020 has been IT’S NOT ENOUGH.

This is, on its face, ridiculous. We are in a pandemic. Whatever reservations you might have about the virus, the fact is economically, we will be in dire straits for some time. Surviving should be enough. Thriving should be considered a rare bonus.

Even so, this December, I’ve struggled a great deal with feeling like I’m bringing “enough” to the table in anything I do. If I play a video game, I lament that I’m not good enough at it. If I write, I mourn the words that go unwritten. In my friendships, I fixate on small arguments that I drew myself into, or a harsh word I shouldn’t have said, worried over their long-term impact. There’s a dozen anime shows I haven’t finished. I have a script that needs pages, an end of year anime blog that needs writing. I keep skipping meditation sessions and forgetting to brush my teeth. The NBA season starts tomorrow- will I watch it to have something to talk to other folks about, or will I settle into something easier to fill the time?

Time.

I have nothing but time. I’m off until January 5th. I’ve had more time off this entire year than I’ve had any year since college. I tell myself this means I should be doing something remarkable, and yet, with more and more time off, I find I’m just doing the same things I would normally do- just in bigger quantity.

My therapist tells me it’s cuz I grew up in a home where praise was hard won- if ever given. Growing up with this deficit, it is only natural that I’d rarely feel like anything is “enough”- and blame myself when I feel lacking.

We’re still working on a solution for it.

I do know there are Good Things that I have accomplished this year. I made new friends. I became more knowledgeable about my hobbies. I picked up some new healthy habits- running, kettlebells, core workouts. I lost a little weight. I disconnected from the violently angry media sources that had wormed their way into my brain since my Gawker days. I got out of a little debt. I developed a more positive relationship with alcohol. I got to therapy. I’m becoming more comfortable with speaking truth to how I feel, instead of burying my feelings.

I still fail in many things. I have a laundry list of moments I failed this week to review with my therapist. I’m still not in a place where I can be a functional adult while also working a full time job. I have lost friends this year because I am a hard person to endure. I have had to issue more apologies this year than perhaps in any year prior. And the people who know me best would still point out, rightly, that I sound like a very different person in online public spaces than I do privately.

As 2020 comes to a close, I’m thinking about the theme I want to bring into 2021- and my 32nd year on this globe. And I think the theme I want to embrace is vulnerability, which is, ironically, the theme I struggle the most with in my personal life. I am, by nature, a secretive person- reclusive, even. Without getting into a whole Thing here, I would just say “meet my parents” and you’d get why. This shit’s been wired into me.

But as I look back on many of my issues the past year- my breakowns and spirals, the arguments, the friends lost and stresses placed on my loved ones- so much could have been avoided if I was willing to just explain what was going on in my life.

I don’t mean the long stylized depression posts I was doing back in August. Those are helpful to a point, but they don’t actually drive toward a conclusion. I mean talking about how I feel in plain terms, and explaining the pressures that lead to those feelings.

‘Cuz I think we can all agree that after almost a full year of relating to each other almost exclusively through cynical tweets and mirthless retweets that we as humans are desperately deficient in nuance- an ingredient essential to understanding each other in actual human contexts. And the only way for nuance to be understood is to speak plainly and directly to one another.

I’m going to try and do more of that in 2021. Here’s hoping the results are good.

So lets talk some vidya games and anime, yeah?

Vidya Games

BlazBlue: Centralfiction and BlazBlue: Cross Tag Battle (SWITCH)

Arc Systems was having a switch sale. I’d enjoyed my time with Guilty Gear and noticed the BlazBlue series was relatively cheap, so I picked them up. I’d seen some of the fighters on Spriteclub before, so I was excited to expand my fighting game knowledge a bit further.

BlazBlue is a 2d fighting game that uses drawn sprite fighters. The effect is a beautiful anime more reminiscent of Street Fighter or King of Fighters, but with modern mechanics that make them feel more approachable. The rosters are huge and the individual fighters varied. There’s a full “episodes” mode, as well as plenty of options for training and tutorials.

Of the two games, Cross Tag seems like the easier to pick up. I’m a sucker for tag systems so that one is an easier sell for me. It’s also fun to see the crew from Persona 4 on the roster, not to mention RWBY.

Centralfiction seems to be more mechanics focused, but also includes a “stylish” mode that plays like Capcom Vs. SNK 2′s EO mode, where supers and command list moves are tied to single buttons instead of complex commands, allowing you to see everything a character can do without being stuck in hours of practice. I’m still trying to learn those damn quarter circle moves, but it’s a nice fallback option for moments where I’m not looking to exhaust my brain and thumbs.

Mario Maker 2 (SWITCH)

I’ve built three levels in the last week for Super Mario Maker 2. One I built during a work meeting, the other two I did as morning exercises over coffee. They’ve all been moderately played since and feature clear rates over 25%, so I’ll consider them a success.

I’ve uploaded over 40 courses to SMM2 since its release. That’s far more than I ever uploaded with the first game. I think Nintendo missed some big opportunities to make this game a centerpiece for the Switch. I also think the diehard fans got in their own way (designing courses on your tv is honestly not that hard- in fact, I prefer it to the portable option now). But overall, I do think that SMM2 is a success- at least for casual fans like me who value standard level design and ease of access.

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

My gaming has been somewhat hampered by the sudden implosion of my Samsung television, which houses my XBONE and Switch. About a week ago it shut down and began to flicker on and off. I unplugged it overnight and powered it on the next day to find a long black horizontal line across the panel and discoloration beneath the line. A call in to Samsung confirmed my fears- it was a wire defect and would require extensive service work. Because of the pandemic, it would take at least a few weeks before the part could make it.

The TV is still usable, so that’s a relief. I’m not dwelling on it much. Samsung was easy to deal with and they’ve promised this will come at no cost to me. There are many worse things happening in the world, so this is an easy thing to let roll off my shoulders now that I know what the solution is.

I also MIGHT have a Series X. Key word is MIGHT because I technically got my order in on the 18th, but Gamestop has yet to actually send a confirmation e-mail. However my order number appears valid and does pull up a processing page on their site, so I’m going to hang tight. I ended up pulling the trigger on a massive bundle that includes a very expensive headset and a second controller...as well as a copy of Assassin’s Creed. I can’t emphasize enough how NOT the primary audience I am for AC. However, I doubt I could pay anyone to take it off my hands at this point...so...whatever. At least there’s a chance I’ll have the new system.

My final bit of news on the technical front- I returned Cyberpunk 2077. I have zero regrets. Microsoft processed my refund in about 15 minutes without issue. I was on XBONE and yes, I tried the 1.4 update. Frankly, the update did seem to improve matters, but not so much as to be a game changer. And as I wrestled with the conundrum of powering through, or shelving the game in hopes of a future update that would magically fix everything, I finally opted to take the third option- and get off this damn train at the first possible stop. I will play Cyberpunk 2077 someday. Hopefully, when that day comes, this whole mess will be somewhat resolved.

ANIME

Jujutsu Kaisen

Season 1 has officially earned a “this show is straight fire” tweet from me. It’s just so good. The fights are thrilling. The emotional investment is real. The cast is outstanding. The design is imaginative, moody and the prettiest direction to behold this side of Fire Force.

Do yourself a favor and give this show a shot. It’s my top recommendation for the winter.

No Guns Life

I’ve almost wrapped the first half of season 1. This lovely noir continues to impress as its world unfolds. It is sure to please those itching for a cyberpunk or technoir story. The overall story still feels a bit unfocused, but I’m not minding too much. No Guns Life is one of those worlds that’s just a joy to be a part of, even when we’re unsure what its driving at.

END OF YEAR LISTS

Tis the season for LISTS. Oh man, so many lists.

I’ll be focusing my 2020 end of year stuff on anime and video games this year, because of course. I’ll also talk a little about media I’ve been enjoying. It’ll be a whole THING, either here or on wordpress.

But here’s a quick preview for those who are a bit curious about what titles I’ll be visiting for my Top Experiences list. Bear in mind that these are not confined to 2020 releases- this is purely about what I as a person dabbled in this year. Here’s what you can expect me to touch on in my end of year post :)

Games

Crusader Kings III Call of Duty: Warzone Yakuza 0 The Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel Fighting Games (genre) Consoles Oculus Quest 2 NEO-GEO Arcade Stick Pro Anime

Re:Zero - Starting Life in Another World Gleipnir Jujutsu Kaisen No Guns Life Kaguya-sama: Love is War DECA-DENCE Tower of God

Manga

Berserk Fruits Basket

Tabletop

Dungeons and Dragons 5E: The Lost Mines of Phandelver/Ghosts of Saltmarsh

Streaming

Spriteclub Gawr Gura/Hololive WWE Network

Lifestyle

Kotatsus Sake

Music

Nightcore (genre) Personal Projects Alice and the Pale Horse (script) Legos (various sets) Like I said, this is gonna be a big ol’ THING. But I can’t wait to share it with you all :D

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precuredaily · 4 years

Text

Precure Day 162

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 14 - “Karen, The Troubled Student Council President” Date watched: 3 December 2019 Original air date: 6 May 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/ZVrof8Y Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Karen has a big think

It’s Karen’s turn to hold the character development conch. This time, we get to see how she handles pressure from all directions! We also find out a little secret about Otaka-san and the school’s leadership. Good stuff, so let’s dive in!

The Plot

Various clubs approach Karen, aggressively requesting budget increases. The futsal club can’t afford new balls, the drama club can’t afford costumes, the judo club can’t afford new weights, the list goes on. Karen is taken aback and tries to explain the complexities of the situation to the students, but they are insistent. After trying to come up with a solution, she approaches the Vice Principal and explains her situation, requesting a budget increase for all the clubs. He is reluctant to change the budget that’s already been agreed upon for the year, but because he respects her decision to approach him, he will take it up with the principal. The VP goes to the Principal, revealed (to the audience) to actually be Otaka-san the lunch lady, but she insists that she doesn’t believe they need a budget increase, and there are still solutions the clubs haven’t yet come up with to resolve their budget woes. Komachi talks with Karen, commending her willingness to work hard for the clubs where before she probably would have simply said that the budget was already decided and they had to make do with what they had. The influence of their determined young friends is rubbing off on them.

Coincidentally, Nightmare is also having budget issues of a sort. Although they aren’t in a pinch, Kawarino is scolding Bunbee for blowing a lot of money without producing any results, and implies that his subordinates are useless and the whole department could get restructured. Bunbee decides to go fight the girls himself to get some results.

Back at school, Karen is still being hounded by the clubs, and her attempts at de-escalation aren’t working, so Otaka almost steps in, but Komachi is actually the one to put her foot down, startling everyone. She reminds the club leaders that they agreed to their annual budgets before the proposal was sent to the school administration, and that Karen alone cannot solve everything. With help from Nozomi, she gets them all to line up and explain their problems, to see if they can work together and figure out alternative solutions within their existing budgets.

The biggest offender is the drama club, which is going way over budget because they’ve picked a play with lots of extravagant costumes. However, Komachi gets them to work with the sewing club, who were looking for a platform to display their work, and the two split costs in this mutually beneficial agreement. The Judo club couldn’t afford to buy new weights AND new uniforms, but they also got the sewing club to patch up their uniforms so they could buy heavier weights, and donated their older ones to the futsal club. Now that she doesn’t need to buy weights, Rin can afford new balls, and donates the old ones to the art club, who find their shape and texture very inspirational.

I’d like to point out that the dumbbell Nozomi is struggling to lift is only 5 KG, that’s about 11 lbs.

With everyone’s issues resolved, the girls enjoy a moment of peace as Rin takes her new dumbbells to her club space, but on the way, Bunbee shows up to cause trouble. He turns the dumbbells into a Kowaina and taunts the girls about his own superiority. They transform and fight back, but he is pretty strong. When Mint shields one of the monster’s attacks, he launches a missile that breaks the shield, and he easily dodges when Rouge and Aqua try to fight him in the air. Dream and Lemonade have no luck fighting the Kowaina and they’re all left on the ground, defeated. Bunbee boasts about how much easier it is to do everything himself, and Aqua scoffs. She says she used to feel that way, but now she knows they’d never win if they did that, and the team springs into action. Bunbee tries to missile them again, and again Mint uses her shield, but this time Aqua also blocks it with Aqua Stream and this weakens it enough to bounce off the shield. Dream and Rouge restrain the Kowaina while Lemonade attacks it with Lemonade Flash, then the two throw it and perform their finishers. The Kowaina is destroyed and Bunbee retreats, self-justifying the day by saying you have to spend money to make money.

Back at the lunch table, Nozomi observes that Komachi might actually be stronger than Karen, which gives them all pause. Otaka comes over with a basket full of yakisoba bread, claiming the principal told her how they avoided a budget crisis, and suddenly people from all the other clubs appear, all vying for some of the free bread. Nozomi cries because the crowd beat her to the stuff she really wanted, and that’s the ending card.

The Analysis

What a fun episode. Karen’s commitment to the students is really earnest and inspiring. You can see why she’s the president, and even how much progress she’s made since the start of the show. Old Karen just cared about order, new Karen has the best interests of the students in mind and wants to meet them where they’re at. She fields the ire of the various clubs like a champ, trying not to get overwhelmed, and explaining the delicate balance that is adjusting budgets: since the budget has already been agreed upon, for her to allocate more to one group than previously agreed means the money has to come out of somewhere else, and that could put the other party in a pinch. Important financial lesson for the kids in the audience, too. And when her advice isn’t sufficient for them, she goes to bat for them by requesting assistance from the VP. My only criticism is that she probably should have asked why they needed more money first to see where their funds were tied up at, but honestly I would probably do the same thing, jumping straight to “let me get them what they say they need” and not “let me look into the situation more”.

When they get to the drama club and find out the reason they’re so over budget is because they decided to produce an expensive-ass play, I about died. LOOK AT THIS OUTFIT.

gosh I wonder why

There’s a lesson in here somewhere about working within your limitations. Urara suggests they do a simpler show like Kintarou, which would have costumes and props they could reuse in other shows, but from the club president’s response I get the impression they’ve done far too many shows like that and are sick of it. Also can’t fault them for doing something different. I remember in my junior year (11th grade), my school put on a production of “High School Musical” (this was when that was still a pretty fresh and hot property) and it sold like crazy, so the next year they were able to perform “Little Shop of Horrors”, renting the Audrey II puppets from somewhere. It’s okay to dream big, but you gotta make sure you can afford it. (inb4 ok boomer) However, working with the sewing club was a very good compromise. They get a platform to showcase their work, the drama club gets good costumes for cheaper, and they split the costs. Some of the other deals are a bit more one-sided but as long as everyone’s happy, it works.

By the way, Komachi’s restraint when the club president goes “oh yeah we spent all our budget on that one outfit and we need a bunch more” is remarkable. (I looked it up and I see similarities to Les Miserables: it’s a famous story that takes place over multiple generations and features LOTS of recurring characters) Komachi is, thankfully, very good at keeping herself in check, but if you manage to set her off, she is downright scary. That’s a common attribute for shield-based Cures, and it started here.

For reasons that aren’t entirely clear, since they only have a few of the costumes done, the drama club president is only ever seen in-costume, looking like a prince with a pencil mustache drawn onto her face. If we take the bold assumption that this all occurs in one day, even one lunch period, then this makes sense enough, but it’s still kind of silly.

The first half of this episode is so good, and tells a pretty complete story, that both times I watched it I forgot what kind of show it was because I was so absorbed in the antics of the clubs, so I thought the resolution was just going to be sorting out their budgets, when that was actually only the halfway point. The fight with Bunbee in the second half, while good, feels incomplete. I’m not sure if something got lost in translation for the subtitles, because he seems to indicate he spent money on a better Kowaina mask but the subs don’t reflect him saying this, only the girls’ response that it looks the same as normal. I do like them switching up their fighting style, and it comes with one of the strangest calls to action I’ve ever seen:

previously unsaid sentences in human history

The context is that, earlier in the episode, Nozomi and Urara traded lunch items, and now Karen is reminding them all to trade opponents and work together to beat the monster. Hilariously, even though Nozomi was the one who wanted to trade in the first place, she’s the last one to get this coded message, after Rin explains it to her.

She is special.

The elephant in the room here is that Otaka-san, the humble lunch lady who always adds a million onto every order, who appears a little disheveled, is in fact the school’s principal. Books and covers, ya know. I don’t recall if the girls every learn her secret, but it’s revealed to the audience here. I assume she serves as the lunch lady in order to get close to the students and understand what’s going on without calling attention to her position of authority. That’s the thing about power, even if you act relatable, if someone knows you’re way above them on the totem pole, they’re going to act differently, so she has put herself on the level of students. It’s like Undercover Boss except she never reveals the ruse. And honestly, it’s a very good ruse. She is approachable to the students and they all love her, so she can listen to their problems and make sure that the school is running well from the ground level. Also, as the lunch lady, she wears plain clothes, an apron, and flat shoes. Her only accessory is her trademark silver brooch. As the principal, she wears a suit, her hair is more tamed, she wears lipstick and earrings. She even speaks differently between her roles, sounding more raspy in her disguise, while she adopts a more formal and stern tone while acting as the principal. It’s impressive. I know she appears in this role at least one more time in the show, so I look forward to seeing that.

As usual there were some great moments of comedy, wonderful facial expressions, and you can see those chronicled in the gallery.

Next time, in Precure Daily, Nozomi’s mom is sick, so she has to do the housework! How badly will this end?

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 kettei!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 #YPC514 #PCD162

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loisinherlane · 6 years

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Title: Types of Love (Chapter 2) (AO3)

Summary: Nico lowered his eyes to his bedspread, suddenly acutely aware that he hadn’t replaced his Mythomagic comforter when he’d moved out of his dad’s house. He’d been too lazy to buy another, especially since his was still perfectly good. His soulmates usually thought it was kind of funny. His romantic partners, if they ever made it inside of Nico’s bedroom, knew Nico was a nerd and expected no less. At this moment, Nico wished he had something a little nicer. His cheeks grew red, stomach fluttering in that pleasant way only Will could give him, and for a moment, he considered the idea that Will might return his feelings.

But he should have known better. They were soulmates. Will just got up and left.//

In a world where romance means less than friendships, Nico falls in love with his platonic soulmate Will Solace and complicates his whole life.

Notes: Forgive me for any errors in this chapter. I didn't have time to edit too extensively with the posting schedule I put myself on. (Why did my dumb ass schedule an update during finals week?) Anyway, this girl is Dying, so I'll just post and disappear for a bit. Hope you guys like it anyway.

Wednesday, December 6th, 2017

Nico didn’t take Jason’s advice.

Well, he didn’t call the Chase-Jacksons. He didn’t know them. He didn’t even know if Jason had mentioned him and his dilemma. It would have been too weird, especially when this was a problem he could solve. All he had to do was get to Will, and things would be fine.

He let Will calm down for a few days more, and then he decided to swing by his apartment after work. That would be fine, he assured himself. He knew Will’s schedule like the back of his hand. He would be home then, and they could have a quick talk, and everything would go back to normal. Will would be his soulmate (nothing else, half of his brain whispered with a sharp longing for the curve of Will’s lips, his freckles, the way his calves stretched when he walked).

The motivation to keep from losing Will entirely stayed strong through the day, and by the time he parked down the street from Will’s apartment, Nico was solid in his resolve. This was what was best. He had to see him. It had to be okay.

Will, Cecil, and Lou Ellen didn’t exactly live on the high side of town like Nico and Hazel. Nico didn’t like to stand outside their door too long, especially with that pale, beady-eyed neighbor of theirs. When he knocked once, he waited five minutes. Then he knocked again. He peeked around the side of the building to the resident parking lot. Will’s car was there. So was Lou’s. Why weren’t they answering? It was only 6:04. Will especially took a while to wind down after a shift. There was no way he would have walked in and crashed on the couch. He was up. Why wasn’t he answering?

Nico lowered his eyes to the peephole in the middle of the doorframe. Oh.

He knocked again. After another minute, the door finally cracked open, and Lou Ellen Blackstone, 5’ nothing, skinny as can be, leaned to block the entrance.

“Nico,” she said, in a tone that she probably thought was neutral enough to keep him from suspecting anything.

“I want to see Will,” he said.

“Will’s not home,” she said. A shuffle from inside the apartment echoed to the door. She glanced back in concern before snapping her gaze back to Nico. “Can I take a message?”

“Since when do you take messages, Lou?”

Lou Ellen raised her chin defiantly. “Since I decided to be nice. Do you have an issue with that, Nico?” She crossed her arms and stretched up. So she was pissed. Probably on Will’s behalf. What the hell had he told her?

Nico clenched his teeth together. “Y ou have an issue with me. Lou, I just want to talk to Will. I don’t think that’s asking for much. Is he really so upset that he can’t even answer the door?”

Lou didn’t answer. She tellingly glanced back behind her.

Nico leaned a little closer to the door. “Will, I’m sorry! But this is kind of pathetic. We’re soulmates. We’re supposed to be able to talk to each other. Are you really going to hide in there behind your soulmates?”

If Lou Ellen had felt any sympathy for Nico, not that she’d shown it, it all disappeared. “What makes you think you have the right to see him right now? Will is not pathetic. You know that you-- You can’t blame him for being upset,” she said.

Nico’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not. I just--” He needed to see him. He needed to fix it.

Lou’s magenta lips stretched into a grimace. “If you didn’t live with Hazel, I’d punch you right now. Good night, Nico.”

Thursday, December 12th, 2013

Nico would be the first to admit he’d fallen asleep in a student lounge before. He’d spent four years at this university, and he’d grown to learn that sometimes the only way to get a decent amount of sleep was to curl up on a couch in a lounge and take a nap during a break. This guy took it to a whole new level. Nico had sat down after his class on grieving had ended, and he’d intended to finish his essay when a stocky underclassman wandered in as well, with a large bag instead of a backpack. He didn’t look at Nico. He didn’t even seem to realize he was there, actually. The guy run a hand through his fluffy blond hair and sat down on the opposite sofa, placing his bag slightly off to the side. He reached in, and Nico figured he was going to pull out some textbooks. That was fine. As long as people were studying quietly, Nico didn’t mind sharing the lounge. But then the guy pulled out a pillow and a blanket, and how did that fit in there? Nico stared blankly at the guy, who suddenly looked up at him.

“I didn’t get to bed until 10 last night. Homework,” he explained. “And then I had an 8 a.m. Mm. Need my rest.” He slumped back onto the couch and was out within seconds.

What the fuck?

Nico went to bed at 10 if he was sick. How could this guy think that was late? And be tired? Why was Nico watching him snore on the couch in the lounge as if it were more interesting than grieving?

Perhaps it was curiosity, or Nico’s innate dickishness that made him start pestering the guy. He tore off the erasers of the crappy pencils they handed out around campus that he always took because he was cheap. They more smudged than erased, so it didn’t hurt to get rid of them. That did nothing to Sleepy. Nico then moved on to tossing the pencils themselves. He’d started stealing Will’s, so he didn’t really need them. That did nothing either. He checked his phone for the time. 10:34. Still twenty minutes before he needed to get up to had to class. Presumably, Sleepy would get up then too. Twenty minutes to see if anything would wake this guy up, then.

It was after Nico threw a wadded brochure on study-abroads that he finally gave up. “God, what are you--sleeping beauty? Do I have to kiss you to wake you up?” he exclaimed, glancing around and realizing the lounge was empty save for them after he spoke. God. If someone had heard that.

“Prefer if you took me on a date first,” Sleepy muttered.

Nico froze, his ears suddenly pink. “You . . . heard that?”

Sleepy nodded, peeking a warm brown eye open. “You spent this whole time throwing things at me. Couldn’t sleep.”

Oh. Oh . Nico was a fucking moron.

Sleepy, luckily, didn’t seem too annoyed by Nico’s actions. He sat up and smiled, a nice smile that made it easy to relax. “I’m Clovis. Psych major. I have an unidentified sleep disorder. It’s difficult for me to stay awake for long periods of time,” he explained.

“Well, now I feel like a dick,” Nico said.

Clovis’s half-smile grew just slightly. “You can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner.”

Shit. Shit, Nico, a guy is hitting on you. Say something. Accept! Get a date!

His mouth didn’t listen to his brain very well. “Could you even stay awake for dinner?”

Clovis paused. “Probably not,” he admitted. “Maybe just treat me to pizza then. We can do it at my apartment. Text me?” He picked up the brochure Nico had tossed and unfolded it, scribbling his number below the email address for the program. Then he wadded it back up and tossed it at Nico’s head before grabbing his pillow, blanket, and bag and heading off down the hall.

Clovis, Nico thought. He was kind of cute. It wouldn’t hurt.

Friday, December 8th, 2017

The Chase-Jackson house rested just outside of the city--close enough to everything they could need, but far enough out that Annabeth had a decent plot of land to develop their dream home. It was very beautiful, Nico had to admit as he walked up to the door. Jason had said Annabeth was incredible, but this was beyond what he’d anticipated.

The welcome mat sat in front of the steps of the porch, and Nico wiped the snow off of his boots before he climbed up the steps and rang the doorbell. It was no wonder the mat was down there. The porch was rather slick. He waited for a few moments, then heard a growing bark and a slam against the door. Muffled voices floated through the door, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal a tall blonde woman and a dark-haired man with his arms wrapped around a large dog behind her. The woman smiled congenially, though she looked a bit ragged, a few curls escaping her ponytail.

“Hi. You must be Jason’s friend. I’m Annabeth. This is my husband, Percy,” she said, pushing the sleeves of her sweater up and gesturing at the man behind her.

Percy beamed, his green eyes bright as his fingers curled a little tighter around the dog’s collar. “Hey! This is Mrs. O’Leary. Sorry, she gets a little excited about visitors,” he explained.

Nico forced a polite smile as he stepped inside and shut the door. “No problem. My dad has a dog a lot like her,” he said. Cerberus might have been worse, as he seemed like he had three personalities. He pulled off his hat and ran his hand over his face in attempt to warm up, ears and nose red from the cold. The house itself was a little warm, and he hesitantly reached to unbutton his coat.

“Oh-- Percy, show him where the coat rack is. I’m going to finish dinner,” Annabeth said. She turned and walked into another room, and Percy let Mrs. O’Leary go. She started to pounce on Nico, but a whistle from her master stopped her. Still, she bounced eagerly, all fluff and paws. If Nico knew these people at all, he’d have reached for the dog because dog . But since this was his first time meeting them, he figured he ought to hold back a little.

“Stay,” Percy ordered before pushing his way in front. “Sorry. Our coat rack is in a weird place. Well, it’s-- Annabeth says it’s more efficient, space-wise, and I just go along,” he explained as he pulled out the contraption she’d built into the house. “She knows best.”

After Nico had handed over his coat, Percy embarked on a tour of the house that illustrated just how little he understood of his wife’s design sense and how much he adored all of her choices in spite of that. The house was easy to navigate (thankfully, as Percy’s directions couldn’t have led a rat through a tube) and absolutely aesthetically stunning. They seemed like the most organized couple Nico had ever met, and they weren’t much older than he was. Nico was unwillingly jealous.

“So you’re one of Jason’s soulmates too,” Percy said as they walked along the stretch above the first floor living room. Nico really liked this place. If he didn’t like living in a townhouse so much, he might have told Percy and Annabeth to adopt him.

“Yeah,” Nico said. “Actually, I’m surprised we haven’t met. I knew he knew you, but he always acted like you lived far away.”

Percy waved his hand. “Well, we did. AB and I, we lived with our other soulmate out in California for some years. Then Grover and his new girlfriend decided to hit the road for a save-the-earth type deal, and Annabeth and I decided it might be time to move back to the east coast. She got a great job, and I found something decent for me. My mom and stepdad live up here as well, so it worked out.”

Nico tried not to react too much at the word soulmate in that context. It was weird to actually acknowledge that Percy and Annabeth were soulmates and in a romantic relationship. They certainly weren’t the first married soulmates Nico had ever met, but he’d never really imagined a romance.

Except for Will .

Percy seemed to notice where his thoughts were leading. “Why don’t we head down to the kitchen?” he suggested. “Annabeth is probably done by now. Or we can just hang out in the kitchen and bug her. Her eyes get kind of freaky when she’s mad. It’s funny.”

They headed down the staircase and turned into the kitchen, where Annabeth was balancing dishes and heading to the dining room. “Perfect timing,” she said. “Help me carry, boys.” Her voice left no room to argue, and Percy immediately reached for the dish that seemed ready to tip, as well as catching a dish that had looked to be perfectly stable. Nico raised a brow but said nothing as he passed those dishes to him.

When the table had been set up and they’d gone through the traditional compliments of the food, Annabeth immediately set her attention on Nico.

“Jason told us a little about your situation,” she said. “Will is his name?”

Nico choked on a carrot. Mrs. O’Leary bounded into the dining room and jumped on his back as if to give the doggy Heimlich maneuver.

“Missus, down,” Percy scolded. He snuck her a piece of meat. Annabeth rolled her eyes.

“Look, I’m not trying to push you or anything, but you did come to talk to us about that, right?” she asked. “Yes, Percy and I are soulmates. Yes, we love each other romantically. And I know we’re the exception to the rule. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. But you are soulmates. It will work out somehow.”

Nico lowered his fork, eyes on the tablecloth. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here. What can anyone do anyway?” he asked.

Annabeth looked something like an older sister with the way she smiled there. “We can support you. To be honest, I’m kind of glad Jason mentioned you. We haven’t had much time to settle into a social crowd yet. I mean, we know Leo and Piper, of course, but it seems like everyone’s changed so much since we last lived here.”

“That’s because you’re too busy at work,” Percy teased. His voice wasn’t bitter at all. He sounded so proud of his wife, like he wanted to brag to the world that she was the smartest, most talented architect to ever live.

“You love it,” she said as she leaned in for a kiss. Without any ceremony or even noticing that she’d ignored Nico in favor of her husband, she turned back to her guest. “Jason said you’re a mortician.”

Nico tried not to make a face. It wasn’t normally a subject he brought up upon first meeting someone new--at least, not anyone he actually wanted to know--as most people found his profession distasteful.

“I am,” he said.

“Cool,” Percy said. “Do you have any, like, stories of people coming back to life in their coffin?”

“Percy,” Annabeth said, her gray eyes sharp as she looked over at him. “Actually, do you?”

Nico snorted. “It’s . . . not really a common thing,” he said. “I mean, movies would like you to think so, but no. Most of my stories are a little more, uh--”

Annabeth leaned forward. “Tell us,” she demanded.

Nico’s eyes lifted to the ceiling, flipping through memories as if to search for just the right thing. “Right. Well. Once the hearse driver was running late, so he decided it would be a great idea to speed to the funeral home. The body half-fell out of the coffin. That was great to explain to the widower,” he said.

“Yikes,” Percy said, laughing around his spoonful of peas. Annabeth lightly swatted his cheek. He nuzzled into her hand without a second thought.

Nico had seen a lot of romantic couples over the years, but he’d never seen a couple so in sync, so completely comfortable with each other, even when they weren’t necessarily doing anything romantic. The closest any had come was Jason and Piper, who shared a soulmate and had been friends long before they’d added anything romantic to their relationship.

The part of Nico’s brain that couldn’t accept Will had no interest in him wondered how they would have worked together. The rest of Nico wanted to smash that part into bits. He must have been making a bitter expression, as Percy and Annabeth pulled apart, and Annabeth smiled sympathetically.

“I know this may not be the best advice from someone married to her soulmate,” she began, “but you should know you’ll get through it. Your soulmate as well. The important part of having soulmates is that good ones never give up the relationship, not entirely. Maybe he needs some time, but you’ll make it through.”

Percy nodded in agreement, the mirth dying from his eyes. “Yeah. That’s one of the hardest things Annabeth and I had to figure out. We agreed that if anything ever happens, and our romantic relation ends, we’ll make sure to stay together as soulmates. Because regardless of what I feel for her romantically, she is my soulmate. She understands me in a way no one else does, and I don’t want to let her go so easily.”

Disgusting. Nico would have thought those words would have made him even more bitter. Clearly Will didn’t care enough about their soulemateship to let him go so easily. And yet . . . maybe they were right. Maybe it would work out. Maybe it would just take time.

Mrs. O’Leary trotted in from another room, squishing her large body underneath the table.

“Missus,” Annabeth scolded half-heartedly as the dog’s movements bounced the tabletop. Her hands reached to glue the dishes down, though a few food items still sloshed around. She looked at her husband. “Your dog.”

“Isn’t she great?” Percy asked, reaching underneath the table to stroke her head. Annabeth couldn’t fight a smile for long.

As if she sensed who needed her presence most, Mrs. O’Leary settled at Nico’s feet. Her heavy, fluffy head on top of his feet, Nico was sure. Things would work out.

Friday, February 14, 2014

Nico needed to learn how to say no to Will. He really did.

“Let’s go on a double date for Valentine’s Day,” Nico muttered as he shuffled through his closet. “Let’s have this be the first time you meet my new girlfriend. Let’s actually go to a fancy restaurant where you have to dress up and look nice.”

“You should give her a break,” Clovis said with a yawn from Nico’s bed. He’d arrived at the townhouse dressed nicely, but his hair was already coming undone from where he’d fallen asleep on Nico’s bed, wrinkles in his finely pressed clothes. If they had more time, Nico might have had him undress and reiron his clothes, but Nico really wasn’t that concerned when they had to be at the restaurant in ten minutes, and he hadn’t even picked his own clothes yet. “She’s probably more nervous than you. You are his soulmate after all, and you’re kind of hard to impress.”

Nico furrowed his brow as he yanked a button-up off of his hanger, sliding it on over his undershirt. “I’m not hard to impress,” he said.

Clovis stared, warm brown eyes almost burning. “You kind of are.”

“I’m dating you.”

Clovis tossed a pillow in his direction, and Nico dodged, digging through his drawers to find a decent pair of pants. As he finished the base of his outfit, he grabbed a plain red tie, hands making the knot without a second thought after so many years of wearing a tie almost every day in his father’s house. Though he hadn’t struggled at all putting this ensemble together, clearly Clovis had never seen him dressed like this, as he was staring, mouth half-open.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Nico said a little softer, stepping up to his boyfriend and placing his hands on his shoulder. “You know, I would have rather stayed in with you and watched a movie. Or took a nap.”

Clovis shook his head. “We do that all the time,” he said. “It’s not a big deal to go out once, especially for Will. I know how much he means to you. Besides, I get to see you looking nice. It’s not a bad look for you.”

Nico smiled and leaned down for a kiss.

“Nico! Did you fall asleep again?” Hazel yelled from the kitchen. Damn his half-sister and her ever present need to be his alarm. Well, not damn her, Nico amended, pulling back from Clovis to check his hair in the mirror, then helping his boyfriend off of the bed and leading the way downstairs. He would have been late to far too many things for turning off his lip and going back to sleep if she wasn’t such an angel.

“We’re leaving,” Nico said as he walked through the kitchen. Hazel nodded from the kitchen table, her hair in a bun. He patted the bun, and she swatted at him. “Hey, I got you a Valentine’s gift. It’s on top of the fridge.”

“Why?” Hazel asked, looking up from her laptop.

“You like those orange chocolates. And I owe you.”

She smiled. “I know you do. But what are sister-soulmates for?”

At the risk of being too sappy, Nico wrapped his arms around her waist to give her a hug, then lifted her out of the chair and dropped her on the floor. “Bye, nerd. Get your nose back in the book.”

Hazel lifted her head, eyes bright with indignity. She launched herself at his calves, knocking him over. He fell into the chair, side hitting the seat. As soon as she’d had her revenge, she let go, straightening up and dusting herself. “Tell Will I said hi. Keep him in line, Clovis.”

“Will do,” Nico and Clovis said at the same time, entwining their hands and heading out the door.

They managed to arrive at the restaurant only five minutes late, which Nico counted as a win until they walked in and Will’s latest paramour lifted her head, snapped her gum, and said, “We’ve been waiting.” She was dressed in a blood red dress, a sheer scarf thing wrapped around her shoulders that couldn't have done anything to protect her from the cold. At her side, Will looked much more seasonably dressed, a hat covering his ears, a scarf tied tightly around his neck, and the wool coat Nico had bought him for Christmas.

“Things happened,” Nico said. “We’re here.”

“I figured they would. I made the reservation for 7:30, actually, in case you got held up at work,” Will said brightly, though he gave Nico a look that said, “Please tell her that’s what happened.”

Nico glanced to Clovis, who seemed to side with Will. Everyone always sided with Will when it came to Nico’s temper.

They were probably right to do so.

“If you made the reservation for then, why did you pick me up so early?” the woman asked, her dark eyes cold and sharp with her perfect eyeliner.

“It’s . . . Valentine’s Day,” said Will. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Great Valentine’s Day, sitting and waiting on your soulmate in a crowded restaurant, where I can’t even hear you speak,” she snapped.

Nico cleared his throat. Will smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, so Nico, Clovis, this is my girlfriend Drew Tanaka,” he said. “Drew, this is my soulmate Nico and his boyfriend Clovis.”

“Pleasure,” Drew said, clearly not pleased at all. Well. If she was going to be a bitch, Nico could be a dick right back.

“Let’s just get our table, yeah?” Clovis said, his hand grabbing Nico’s elbow. Nico settled back down, just slightly, looking over to Will. Will sent the both of them a grateful look.

Once they’d sat down, things didn’t get any better. The table had been set with a red tablecloth and glasses of water, a decently nice dinner by any college student’s standards.

“I don’t see anything good on this menu,” Drew said after skimming it lightly.

Will made an embarrassed expression. “I told you to check it out before I made the reservation,” he said softly.

“You know what I like,” she countered.

“I can’t remember everything, Drew,” he said, brows knitting together.

Shit. Nico leaned closer to Clovis. “They’re about to break up, aren’t they?”

“Looks that way,” Clovis replied, ducking his head and wiping condensation off of his glass.

“We should have stayed home.”

Clovis nudged his side. “Just relax. It’s one night.”

One night might be way too long, Nico thought. When Drew finally decided on a meal, she complained that it had taken too long to get her order. She complained that the restaurant was cold until Will offered his jacket, and then it was that Will’s jacket had cheap lining.

“Drew,” Will hissed, his brown skin rapidly growing a shade of red Nico hadn’t even known he could achieve. His jaw was tight, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” she said. “I am who I am, Will. You can’t change that.”

“All I asked was that you try to be nice for one night. Nico is my soulmate. I wanted you to make a good impression,” he said, voice growing slightly louder until Nico and Clovis couldn’t pretend they weren’t listening.

“You’re asking me to be someone I’m not.”

“That’s not what I--”

Drew shook her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It was lovely to meet the two of you, but I think it’s time I head out,” she said. She tossed Will’s jacket back at him and strolled out of the restaurant ignoring her (ex?-) boyfriend’s blank stare.

Will looked to Nico and Clovis, swallowing thickly, pressing his lips together until they formed something like a smile. “I’m . . . sorry. This was a bad idea,” he said. “Ugh, and she already ordered.”

“I’ll take it home for Hazel,” Nico said. “She’s been studying so hard. I bet she forgot to make dinner anyway.”

“Hey, no,” Will said. “You two shouldn’t let me ruin your Valentine’s Day. Don't stick around here for my sake. I'll get the bill.”

Clovis smiled. “We weren’t planning on doing much anyway. Let’s just eat and catch a movie or something.”

“And you're not paying. You know it doesn't mean much to me to pay for a meal like this, so shut up and deal with feeling indebted. Or better yet, get over it." Nico's voice softened slightly. "You’ve got to come, Will. Clovis won’t stay awake for me, but he will for someone he has to impress."

“Maybe you just bore me,” Clovis replied.

Will cracked a smile. “If you’re sure . . . .”

“Positive. We want you to come,” said Clovis. Nico smiled over at him. He was a pretty great boyfriend.

Thursday, December 14th, 2017

Annabeth and Percy had said to give Will space. Nico acknowledged that that was a good idea. Nico himself rarely followed good ideas. He last a few days before he felt the urge to try again on his walk to his car after work.

Phone to his ear, his fingers felt cold even through his gloves, and he consoled himself that even if Will didn’t pick up the phone, Nico would at least be able to put his hands back in his pockets, where they’d be nice and warm. Instead, the dial tone faltered, and suddenly, there was something on the other side of the line. Nico’s heart stuttered as well, and he swallowed. After what felt like weeks upon weeks of being ignored (just slightly over a month, if Nico were being honest), he almost let out a sigh of relief. “Will,” he said.

“Hey,” Will said, his voice not as stilted as it had been the past few times they’d spoken. The bit of warmth had slipped back in, his smooth voice as soothing as ever. “Nico--”

“Please let me talk,” said Nico.

Will fell silent.

“You are my soulmate. I want you to know that,” Nico began. “Beyond anything, you will always be soulmate. And I know I’m not . . . super affectionate or anything, but you should never doubt that you mean as much to me as the rest of them. I wouldn’t want to lose one of them any more than I’d want to lose you. And I think it’s a bit fucking stupid to just ignore each other after only seven years. Hell, Hazel’s put up with me for twenty-five. She has first dibs on dumping me.”

For a moment, the line was so quiet, just a ruffle of static from Nico’s breaths and his fingers tapping on the phone. Then, finally, a soft snort echoed into Nico’s ear. Nico knew that snort. Will was laughing.

“I missed you,” he said softly. In spite of himself, Nico’s stomach flipped. He still loved Will, romantically and more.

“I missed you too,” Nico said. “I just . . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say any more. Words had never been his strong suit, and none of them felt right to explain what he wanted to Will.

Will let out a breath, shaky through the phone. “I’m still not ready to hang out with you all the time, okay? I don’t think you get how I feel, Nico.”

Nico, closed his eyes, digging in his pocket with his other hand for his keys. “Okay,” he said as he unlocked his car and climbed inside, a little warmer for the lack of wind. “But you can try to explain it to me.”

Will was quiet. “Not yet,” he said.

“Can we keep talking?” Nico asked. “I haven’t . . . . How’s work?”

“Work. Really?” Will asked.

“Just talk, Solace,” Nico said, not quite begging. Will indulged him anyway. Sitting there in his car alone, not even starting the engine, no heat on, Nico felt warmer than he had in weeks. He wasn’t going to lose Will. Not completely.

He shifted his phone so it rested on his shoulder, absently listening to Will’s stories of his coworkers as he started the car, before hooking the call to his car’s speaker.

“Cecil and Lou are getting pretty sick of me being home all the time, actually. I think they’ll be glad to know we talked,” Will said suddenly.

Nico paused, eyes glued to the red stoplight ahead of him. “Lou said she wanted to punch me.”

Will faltered. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have told them,” he said.

Nico shook his head, though Will couldn’t see him. “They’re your soulmates. You needed the support.”

“Yeah, but--” Will paused. “You’re my soulmate too. It was your business.”

“Until I told you. Then it was yours,” Nico replied.

“Still--”

“Will,” Nico interrupted, “just let it go.”

“. . . I should probably let you go. I need to eat before going into work,” Will said.

“Night shift again?”

Will scoffed. “Yeah. It’s what happens to us newbies. I’ll probably be working New Year’s Eve again.”

“Sorry,” said Nico.

“It’s fine,” Will said. “Hey, I’ll just-- I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Your birthday at the latest, okay? Don’t get mad if we don’t speak until then.”

“Okay,” Nico agreed.

“See you,” Will said as he hung up, not giving Nico a chance to respond.

“See you,” Nico replied anyway, watching as the light turned green. He blinked as he drove through and added, “I love you.”

#megan writes #solangelo

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