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dizzyhslightlyvoided · 4 years

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So when I was an egg in high school, I created a self-insert OC named Yar Kramer. I used him for a bunch of RPs, and several works of fiction, only one of which I actually completed. There were like two sprite comics and one thing I made that was literally just "sprites + dialogue and descriptions of the action", plus an unpublished and incomplete novel.

The original original roleplay was on a Hitchhiker's Guide website called the H2G2, created by Douglas Adams as an attempt at realizing the eponymous Guide (which has been largely supplanted by Wikipedia). My username was originally "Adolescent White American [wronggender] Who Likes 47" (I liked the number 47 to its frequency in Star Trek); people shortened this to "Yankee Kid, likes 47" and subsequently "YK-47" and just "YK", which I backronym'd to "Yaradovich Kramer"[sic], after Yaridovich from Super Mario RPG and Cid Kramer from Final Fantasy 8. He was originally a coolkid Jedi in a red jacket, but at some point I retconned it to generic "psychic powers."

I also roleplayed him on a few RP MUDs, but I don't really remember any details there.

The "Original" Story

The novel was going to be called "Red Jacket", I think. "Yar Kramer" was a witness-protection alias, and his original name was Daniel Lancaster (hmmmm, someone's primary identity doesn't match their birth name!); he and his family had been forced to work for an evil organization called Project Robinson, which intended to create genetically-engineered espers for reasons I'm not sure about now. Project Robinson was led by an evil scientist called Dr. Krause and a computer named Mother Brain; I justified stealing the name "Mother Brain" because there were three unrelated video games which featured a character by that name (Metroid, Phantasy Star II on the Genesis, and Chrono Trigger).

The Grim Reaper was a woman who talked in underlined dialogue, and whacked people over the head with her scythe rather than actually reaping. She'd changed her form in the 1960s because she found the whole "skeleton" deal to be depressing. She had a black motorcycle with a flame pattern and the text "Pale Horse", and the souls she collected traveled in a pink sidecar which said "Binky" on the side in Comic Sans (where "Binky" is obviously a Discworld reference). When I created this in the 00's, there was totally nothing significant about a character who'd clearly changed her gender, nuh-uh.

Yar's love interest was Mackenzie Robinson, one of Project Robinson's creation. Despite the fact that the gummint had an active hand in extracting Yar's family from Project Robinson, there was some FBI/CIA spook called Agent Pinkerton who hounded Mackenzie like Inspector Javert. I know he had a classmate named Eckhart, who was this ratty-faced jerk with a heart of gold, who was inspired by one of my RL classmates.

I also found a half-written script for a comic, which gets as far as a prologue, followed by a scene which estalishes the witness protection business. Yar jokingly introduces himself Trigun-style as "Yaradovich Halvorsen Thompson-Stryfe-Gainsborough Donatello Leonard Raphael Michelangelo Farnsworth Anderson-Smith Jean-Luc Jones Solo Pepper Tibloxley Amelia Fayette-Mahoney Kierkegaard Williamtonshireworth Melora Kramer I." Wow. Let's see, "Halvorsen" and "Kierkegaard Williamtonshireworth Melora" are clearly made from whol cloth, and I'm not sure where "Jones" came from, but other than that, I can see in order ... Trigun (Thompson and Stryfe), Final Fantasy VII (Strife and Gainsborough), all four Ninja Turtles, Futurama, The Matrix, Star Trek, Star Wars, Cowboy Bebop (re-engrished "Pepelu Tivruski"), and Slayers. Again, wow.

First Reality

The "main" sprite comic, which was a sort of Final Fantasy parody made mostly in RPG Maker, and which ran from 2001 to 2004 on Keenspace. Yar Kramer was a "Neo-Samurai" (basically a ripoff of SeeD from Final Fantasy 8), fighting alongside a dude named Shigeru 'Gary' Oak (Gary Oak except as an adult, with a gunblade and dressed as Seifer Almasy, with no sign of any pokemon), and Tina Branford (Terra Branford without her tragic backstory).

The setting was incomprehensible if you didn't have detailed knowledge of Final Fantasy 6, 7, 8, and also Mega Man X; nearly every single place name was named after something from Final Fantasy except for Death Mountain, where they went to in order to get the Triforce (long story). A pink-haired goofy-and-hyperactive Celes Chere was the princess of Mysidia, and was a FF8-Sorceress; she frequently went in disguise as a thief named Fobby, and used a Reploid named Dancer as a body-double.

The main villain was named Darklumen, and his evil plan was to destroy the world by weakening the fabric of existence by leveraging sprite comic cliches, thus demonstrating that I have always been Like That. (The fact that I had a direct author avatar called the "Ultimate Guardian Force" with semi-omnipotent powers over the comic isn't even worth dwelling on, because omnipotent "author" characters are par for the course with sprite comics.)

The other party members: Kefka Palazzo, who was the court jester for Mysidia; Enerion Imusen, a half-Esper who was invented from whole cloth, who overcame his hangups about being half-esper with Tina's help before he got killed off by the bad guy; and "Rock Light" (because one of the reality-damaging sprite comic cliches was "Mega Man is present"), who was actually the Great Guardian Force Yu-Yevon in disguise for convoluted reasons.

In the ending, it's mentioned that Gary marries Princess Celes, and sort of vaguely implies that Yar ends up with Tina. (Tina made actual romantic overtures to Yar halfway through the comic, but they were interrupted by shallow comedy.)

I absolutely refused to let go of a running gag in which a male character would say something that broke the fourth wall, and at least one female character would immediately yell at him for doing so.

... I actually found some MIDI songs in the First Reality files which I personally composed. Well ... I say "composed", but the Darklumen final boss music was clearly based on the Super Smash Bros 1's Final Destination music with techno-twittering from All Your Base, one was based on a boss theme from Final Fantasy X combined with anime music, and Yar Kramer's personal themesong was chiefly based on Glyde's theme from The Misadventures of Tron Bonne.

YaraY

The other sprite comic, hosted on a subdirectory of First Reality's site. The name came from Yar's evil twin, Ray Remark ("Yar" and "Kramer" spelled backwards), and also from the Japanese expression "yare yare" (translated in JJBA "good grief").

It was a shallow Bob and George-esque thing with Mega Man sprites, and invovled Yar's shenanigans opposite Ray Remark; a straightlaced roommate with blue hair named Elbert Ssab (I don't know where I got "Elbert" from, but I came up with "Ssab" after noticing that "Elbert" backwards is "Treble"); a Reploid named Jive who was an orange recolor of Zero from Mega Man Zero; and a girl in a pink shirt named Kira, whose character concept began and ended with "hyperactive blonde girl." At one point, there was a comic which depicted First Reality as an actual console RPG being played by Kira; this comic was then ported directly to First Reality.

I abruptly stopped updating it in the middle of a story arc in which Jive went off with a group Maverick Hunters which inexplicably included Zio from Phantasy Star 4, who was just there to be generically evil rather than actually pursuing any of his canonical goals.

Super Adventure Yar

And finally, the "sprites plus dialogue" thing. It used whatever anime, video game, and internet characters I was interested in at any given moment, and there were inserts from several people I knew online. All of whom were basically overpowered in some respect, i.e. one of the friend-inserts was literally just a redheaded Goku in a trench coat, except his Saiyan name was "Suckarot". It was the most absurd and ridiculous of these things.

Yar was your basic inexplicably-overpowered action-shounen protagonist, and people kept going "What!? Why is he so powerful!?" (If there was going to be an explanation, I never got a chance to give it and I don't remember what it was, but I doubt there was anything reasonable.) Of course, this was also true of pretty much every protagonist.

His fighting style involved throwing energy blasts, and his signature move was named "Island King Kamehameha", because I knew the etymology of the Dragonball attack, but the kind of creative person I was at the time was that nuance, self-awareness, and "general understanding of what I was putting into my stories" were something that happened to other people.

Mayl Sakurai was impulsively violent with a squeaky-mallet.

At one point, while the protagonists were discussing a plot point which Mayl wasn't present for, she said, "What the hell are you talking about?" and then tossed an entire burger into her mouth.

Cut Man's NetNavi was FishMan.exe.

Yar bought Chii Chobits from Strong Bad, who ran an unbelievably shady second-hand electronics store; Chii's copycat tendencies extended to copying other peoples' magic and superpowers.

He also bought a generic NetNavi and expressed the intention to customize it, but all sign of NetNavis were dropped after a few episodes.

The "ageless faceless gender-neutral culturally-ambiguous adventuring person" (AFGNCAAP) from Zork/Enchanter was one of the main characters. They frequently used spells from Enchanter such as "gaspar" ("provide for your own resurrection" -- basically like a Final Fantasy "Auto-Life" spell, but AFGNCAAP was also able to use it on others), "vaxum" ("make hostile creature friendly", and every single target which it actually worked on promised to kill them after it wore off), "krebf" ("repair willful damage"), and "talcor" (healing; this seems to be something I made up myself, because I can't find any references to it in Enchanter canon).

I insisted on using "he/she" and the like instead of just the singular "they", wow I was deep in the egg in 2004. But they did say "I don't have a gender" at one point!

Magus/Janus from Chrono Trigger was trying to take over the world using robotic Sinistars. His minions were "the Terrible Trio", which consisted of Onslaught from Marvel vs. Capcom 1, Dalton from Chrono Trigger, and Dynamo from Mega Man X.

I stole the "now I'm wet and on fire!" joke from the webcomic Adventurers! during a fight between Dalton and AFGNCAAP.

Magus got a Vegeta-style "suddenly I happen to be on the same side of the heroes" redemption with the sudden arrival of, um, the Saiyans. Starting with Raditz as just a retread of Dragonball Z.

After Raditz was beaten, he sent a message to Vegeta and "Zappa", who was just Nappa but with a terrible wig and an atrocious southern accent; I have no idea what I was going for there.

The planet Arlia from Dragonball Z was populated by clones of Alia from Mega Man X5. It had the same fate as in the show, namely that Vegeta and Zappa just casually blew it up after going on a rescue-a-princess quest.

There was an "It's a gundam!" joke there.

The Goku-expy friend-insert taught Yar how to fly Hitchhiker's Guide-style ("throw yourself at the ground and miss"), and how to use bullet-time.

Mayl trained under Magus. At one point, while she was fighting a friend-insert with a sniper rifle (who'd previously stolen everyone's wallets for no apparent reason), Magus remarked that she had "hidden potential" and noted that in her hands, her squeaky mallet was just as powerful as the sniper rifle.

Vash the Stampede showed up, and the plot promptly started getting derailed as everyone around him dropped everything to try to claim his $60 billion bounty (Onslaught, to Dalton and Dynamo: "We'll split it 50-50-50!").

At one point, Vash ran off with Chii for reasons that only slightly made sense in context, and Yar chased them to a town called Las Eisley.

The three of them got into a bar fight at a "restaulant"[sic] (I thiiiink this was originally actual engrish from Trigun itself?) which completely wrecked the building.

After the bar fight, Yar called up AFGNCAAP to make repairs using the krebf spell; AFGNCAAP asked, "Was all the damage willful?" and Yar replied, "Well, I definitely proceeded in the full knowledge that massive destruction would occur." Due to the rules of sprite-comic comedy, this was enough for krebf to work.

There was a "Dear Strong Bad, how do you type with boxing gloves on?" joke.

In the middle of everything else, I started writing an episode introducing Valkyries and Loki -- which displayed a surprisingly deep knowledge of Norse mythology on 18-year-old-me's part -- but I never finished it and my files don't even have the sprites for the main Valkyrie character, who was another friend-insert.

... All of these continuities just feel amazing to me in retrospect, because this is the kind of thing that can only happen in fanfiction. Only something using existing characters, our existing associations with these characters, can possibly reach this level of ridiculousness.

Which isn't to say it's all fun and games, though. I was a particularly un-woke Rotten Egg, which meant that there was rampant sexism, and lowkey fanservice. The concept might look fun, but the execution was invariably "the worst parts of the sprite comic fandom."

#yar kramer #original character #fanfiction #trans stuff #my stuff #re: my stuff #meta #shenanigans #meta shenanigans #bob and george #violence mention #death mention #sexism mention #long post in link

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outroshooky · 5 years

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the aces up your sleeve | jjk

this is the third time i’ve posted this fic; let’s hope tumblr’s tags decide to actually show the post this time.

⇢ genre: series; part 2 of simmer down and pucker up (friendswithbenefits!au, friendstolovers!au)

⇢ pairing: jeon jeongguk x unnamed oc

⇢ word count: 12.05k

⇢ warnings: heavy angst (excessive drinking, hangovers, foul language, unhealthy coping mechanisms, jeongguk lets his heart get ahead of his head), implied and also brief smut, fluff. vomit tw. there are some darker themes here, read with caution

⇢ a/n: i started working on this fic five months ago to the day i finished it. 12,057 words and so many hours later, it’s done. i hope you enjoy aces as much as i enjoyed writing it, and a special kudos to all of the people who’ve helped along the way- @a-heart-full-of-javert and @yoonsgiggle for reading revision after revision and being my number one supporters always, and those mutuals whose feedback helped hone this piece (@pvrpletae @taeholic, and any other friends i missed). also, a nod to @genderfluid-jaredkleinmann, because anything is possible with twenty bucks and a metro card. thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your love!

“Come home with me,” she whispers. “We’ll figure out the specifics later.”

“‘m okay with that.”

He stumbles with her to her apartment building, ignoring the questioning glances and stares of strangers. He looks up at her and thinks she’s never been more beautiful, not even when she’s naked and writhing under him. He wants to immortalize this forever- her features glowing in the soft light of dawn, her arm supporting him, keeping him steady. He still believes he doesn’t deserve her, but oddly enough, he can’t find it in himself to worry too much, because he believes in her so, so much more. They’ll figure out the specifics later.

It’s cold, he thinks.

The air is chilly as it kisses his bare arms, burns his sore throat as he inhales, exhales. Breath after breath passing through his lungs, every single intake of sweet oxygen a reminder that he is still here; he hasn’t yet drunk himself to death. Everything is still a little fuzzy at the edges, something he attributes to the entire bottle of Delas Cotes Du Ventoux he’d downed on top of a vodka shot or two. He’ll apologize to his liver once he’s completely sober.

Step after step, his beat-up sneakers plod over an endless concrete plain. Exhaustion wears on him; he can’t even bring himself to avoid the gray gum stains, and every so often his foot sticks just a half-second longer to the pavement.

Jeon Jeongguk has seen sunrise after sunrise limping home after a night of indulgence, and yet something about this one is different.

Reds and pinks and oranges blot the sky like the misshapen wine stains on his t-shirt, a celestial canvas that, to his foggy brain, must’ve only been painted by God himself. God, an entity he’s never believed to be real, yet he’s never felt more spiritual hunched over and crawling home in yesterday’s clothes and tomorrow’s promises. There must be a god, some sort of master puppeteer defying the impossible and stringing together the inevitable, because there’s an arm around Jeongguk’s shoulders keeping him grounded and good fucking god, it’s her.

Her.

There’s no other word for her, no other name that can possibly summon that raw, unbridled feeling that resides deep in his chest. Rather than the term defining her, she defines it all on her own. She brings a new meaning to a normal, ordinary, everyday word that isn’t near worthy enough to refer to a personal succubus, midnight companion, best friend. His succubus, companion, friend.

Salmon and peach pour over the piercing tops of the skyscrapers, leaking color onto the endless streets, monotonous in their grid-like ways. The same convenience stores, sex shops, traffic lights direct the flow of cars that cough and sputter like the smoke wisping from grates in the asphalt. Life goes on, and yet above, seemingly unnoticed, is a display of Elysian grace, empyrean beauty. Light seeps into a world of mist and twilight, and it paints over her skin too, illuminating her from the side. Her, a divinity in her own right, with two feet on the ground and five slender fingers in his own.

I must be dreaming, Jeongguk thinks. Dreaming, because the sun is oozing over the horizon like a lazy yolk and for once, he’s thinking straight. Dreaming, because this is the drunkest he’s ever been in his entire life, yet he’s never seen it like it is now, laid out before him. His cards are on the table and his heart is on his sleeve, whipping free and loose in the wind that tousles his already-messy hair. Dreaming, because he’s having a divine revelation that men of old have only when the life is seeping from their bones, and as far as he’s concerned, he still has years ahead of him. Fuck it, he could die tomorrow but he wouldn’t care; it’s as if he found the very essence of life itself, and it lies not in the cracked-egg sky nor in the lazy plumes of smoke, not in empty alcohol bottles nor bodies slotting together in twisted sheets. It lies in the only one who matters, the smart mouth who stumbled into his life when she tripped up the stairs and her books flew into the backs of his tweenage ankles.

Her.

Maybe Jeongguk is still drunk. Maybe he’s high too, lost in the clouds of delirium and pacificity. Maybe he’ll wake up in a mess of blankets and dirty laundry, noon’s glow filtering in through the kitchen window. Maybe it's the weariness that bears down on him like a train, pulling at his tired limbs and drooping eyelids, weighing on his shoulders with a divinely brutal burden.

And yet Jeongguk stumbles on through the fog, ignoring the looks of faces unknown. He stumbles on, trusting fate and God and the bleary, bleached world that seems so full of color now. The world is gray through cracked eyelids as he stares at slab after slab of concrete, dull only until he can tear his vision to the masterpiece that paints the heavens up above. Has it always been this beautiful? Or has he just never been able to look up and see it?

He mulls the question over as his feet move with a will of their own, pondering over and over until he finds himself in an apartment he’s only ever known in darkness. His shoes slip off, his shirt comes over his head; he's handed sweatpants and boxers and her fingers dance over his bare skin like she's known it all her life. Jeongguk’s head lolls and rests against her shoulder, and it's only then that she speaks, murmurs for him to stay awake with her just a little while longer. He's pretty sure his eyes are already shut by the time his body hits the mattress, and he sinks into a five-hundred thread count haven of her conditioner and her perfume.

Every fiber of Jeongguk’s body aches, with exhaustion or emotion he’s not quite sure. He’s wrapped in sheets that smell like her, but something is missing. His eyelids crack open to see her retreat from the bedside, and he extends one arm as if reaching for a lifeline. A drowning man, the life preserver skimming away across the waves. “Please-”

“Jeongguk...” She hesitates.

“Please just stay with me, please,” he pleads. “Just hold me.”

Maybe it’s the rasp in his voice that makes her pause; it doesn’t even sound like his own. Maybe it’s his frame, broken and small in an ocean of blankets. Maybe it’s the fact that in one night, her entire world has been thrown upside down without any way of making out what’s right and what’s wrong.

She takes a step forward.

Then another.

“Please stay,” He whispers.

Maybe it’s just him.

By the time she eases herself down next to him, he’s already snoring quietly, the shipwrecked victim clutching desperately to his life raft. Yet as hard as she tries, her tired eyes refuse to rest, mind working, thinking, processing. What else can she do?

And so she lets herself go a little, and then a little more until she’s sinking into the warm feeling that envelops her heart, cradles her soul. For the boy she loves is curled into her, head on her chest, and oddly enough, it’s in the midst of the chaos where she finally finds peace.

Mortal fucking agony.

The only three words that Jeongguk can summon when his sticky eyelids slit open and the light, airy feeling of sleep fades to be replaced with what feels like just about every cell in his body painfully throbbing as one. His head is spinning, limbs trembling, bile threatening to rise in his throat, bitter on a thick tongue.

It couldn’t possibly be worse than this. This is, without a doubt, the worst hangover he has ever had.

Thank god it’s still dark outsi-

The blankets are ripped off of his head, and Jeongguk screeches as the pain in his head intensifies to a nearly unbearable degree. Bright light floods the room, casting warmth and comfort across a neatly kept apartment, the eggshell walls doing their absolute best to reflect the sunshine. He swears the sun itself is driving a railroad spike through his skull, and he wonders what he ever did to personally offend a massive ball of burning gas hundreds of thousands of miles away.

“Morning, sunshine!” A folded towel smacks him in the face next, perches on his head. “Time to get up!”

“What the actual fuck?” Jeongguk groans, rolling over and wrapping his arms around the towel. At least when it covers his eyes, he’s back in the dark.

“Oh, I think not, Gukkie. It’s four in the afternoon. You’re getting your lazy ass out of my bed and showering, because you smell like a personal minibar and puke.” The towel is wrenched out of his hands, and he whines in complaint. She chuckles. “I never knew you were such a baby.”

“Fine, fine, I’m getting up,” he pushes himself to a sitting position, scrubbing at his eyes with deadweight arms. “Where the hell is my shirt?”

“In the wash, along with the rest of your shit.” She pauses. “Shampoo and soap are in the shower caddy, towel and washcloth are right next to you.”

He pokes his tongue in his cheek, stares up at her standing over him through squinted slits. “Do I have a choice?”

She folds her arms. “Absolutely not.”

He stands, gathers the things she’s laid out for him, wanders around her bed. He’s closing over the bathroom door when he sighs, winces as a particularly agonizing wave of pain rolls through his head. “Oh, fuck me.”

“For the record, I have!”

His only response is the squeaking of the shower handle and the rush of water pitter-pattering a familiar melody.

The first thing Jeongguk is greeted with when he emerges from the sauna of a bathroom is the smell of scrambled eggs. The second is something burning, and that’s when the fire alarm goes off.

“Oh, shut up!”

He leans against the doorframe with his ears plugged, watching her bat at the detector with a damp hand towel, waving at the ceiling furiously. “Need some help there?” he asks when it finally quiets.

“Oh hey, you look a little more alive. Smell a lot better too.” She scrapes the eggs out of the pan, dresses them next to two pieces of blackened charcoal that he assumed to have once been toast. She can’t admit to either of them just how good he looks in a plain white tee, lanky frame drowning, and so she slides the plate across the table without a second glance. Jeongguk tucks one leg under him as he settles, reaches for the salt and pepper. “Find everything satisfactory?”

“Water pressure could use some work.” He gestures with his fork. “Whose clothes are these?”

She shrugs. “My ex’s.”

“Excuse me?” Jeongguk coughs. “I thought it’s been months since you’ve seen-”

“It has been,” she busies herself at the sink. “He left them here.”

“And you never got rid of them?”

She scrubs particularly hard at a bit of grizzle on a dirtied plate. “That’s a waste of a forty-five dollar shirt.”

He takes a bite, chews. “To each their own.”

Silence falls thick and heavy. Jeongguk swallows, clears his throat. Says her name, and when her eyes meet his, something in his chest hitches. “Thank you.” He pauses. “Really, I mean that. Thank you for everything.”

She freezes, water still pouring down her hands, soap bubbles swirling, leaking into the drain. Silence.

His heart thumps once. Twice.

“Jeongguk, what are we?”

It’s like a cavity has opened up inside of him, chasm splitting far and wide, and inside is roiling emotion, waves crashing and cascading with abandon. He isn’t sure if he’s about to vomit or weep- perhaps the former, because his head is still pounding, but his own heartbeat outweighs the drum thudding in his skull. “What do you mean?”

The knife she’s holding slips from her fingers, clatters against the basin of the sink. “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? You nearly drink yourself to death and I’m the one who goes out and saves your sorry ass, coincidentally the same person you’re fucking on the weekends, by the way. Are you just going to casually play off what happened last night? God Jeongguk, you’ve got to be shitting me!”

It’s easier to push people away when you’re about to crack, because they don’t have to watch you fragment into pieces that you can’t even hope to put back together without slicing your own palms into ribbons. It’s easier to watch your own blood run than see the ink of the ones you love stain a blank page crimson. She can’t breathe; her page isn’t blank, there’s scribbles all over in black and blue and now they’re running maroon. Messages embedded in gestures and actions, and she grips the edge of the sink white-knuckled. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

It’s foggy, misty in his head, the memories of last night. Concrete smooth under his fingertips, sacred confessions in a city of sin, but what did he confess? It’s blurred at the edges; her face is reflected in the surface of a still pool, but when he summons answers, he’s only left with more questions.

Her voice is a mere whisper, broken and raw. “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

He rises from the table. “Tell me what I’ve forgotten.”

It’s a few steps to cross the kitchen, to see her trembling, still clutching onto the worn sponge. Silence is an old friend by now, sickening quiet, and the tumbling waves inside him threaten to break forth, gushing like a flood. He reaches out to touch her and she jerks away.

“What did I do?” he begs.

Silence.

“Did we fuck?”

Nothing.

“Please tell me, I don’t even know what I di-”

“There are no fucked-up people in this world,” her voice is shaking. “Just good people who do very, very fucked up things.”

Jeongguk freezes, arm outstretched to touch her, fingers stilling.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” her voice cracks, and she bends over the sink, head between her arms. “If you can remember what it is you even said in the first place.”

“What did I say?” he nearly whispers.

Her shoulders shake and she’s crying now. It’s killing him to see this, killing him that he’s destroying her and he doesn’t even know how he possibly drove a knife through her back. When she speaks, her voice is so soft, he can barely catch each word. “‘You told me you fucked up, and you broke the rule,’” She quotes, pauses. “‘And now it’s my turn. I fucked up,’” she sniffles. “‘I broke the rule.’” Oh god, please don’t finish the sentence. Please- “‘I love you.’”

Ringing.

Pounding.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Air filtering through his lungs, but it’s as if there’s a vice crushing him, squeezing every ounce of oxygen from his fragile body.

Confessions are told behind closed curtains, doors locked with the intentions of secrecy and intimacy, spilling the worst of your intentions to the holiest of the holy. They penetrate the curtain, the wall between you and your savior, separating human and divine with shame, guilt, the need to atone, repent for the one who’s given their everything for you. In the ultimate act of love, you’ve been saved from what you fear the most, blood spilled on fine sand, pierced by nails and a spear. Nails and a spear, except this time it’s vices and virtues, and tears prick at his eyes like thorns brushing skin.

“That’s what you did, Jeongguk.”

You knew?

For so long.

“You told me you love me and I told you I love you, too.”

She cries quietly, hiccups jerking her small frame.

Jeongguk wishes he could say something, do something to stop the agony. But it’s all his fault and his head is spinning still; he wants to comfort her, protect her from the torment she’s locked in, except he’s the one that’s spurred on the waves, and now she’s desperately trying to stay afloat.

Slowly, he reaches out to her. A life preserver, something, anything to help. His fingertips brush the top of her head, and he’s forever shocked by how soft her hair is, like flaxen strands of silk.

It’s coming back to him now, in bits and pieces. Her sweatshirt, bundled in his arms, his only protection against the biting cold. The world spinning in black and neon and twilight gray until a face comes into view. Her face.

His hand strokes the top of her head, slowly, stiffly. She leans back the slightest into his touch.

His savior. His sins, laid out for the sheep to bear. He had to go and fall in love with the one thing he couldn’t touch, couldn’t have, couldn’t attach himself to.

“I’m so sorry.” The words pale in contrast to the situation no matter how much magnitude they carry, and his voice cracks. It’s too heavy for her to bear alone.

She reaches out to him, for him, and in an instant he’s pulled her against his chest, and she’s sobbing. The lamb’s back has broken, and there’s nothing left.

Her fingers twist in his shirt, face buried in his shoulder as he strokes her hair, lowering onto one knee and then the other. When he eases himself into a sitting position, she collapses with him and he cradles her close, like she’ll fragment any second if he lets go. Perhaps she will.

He rests his head on top of hers as she finally lets herself feel the stress of trying to keep it all together for him. He traces patterns on her arms, her thighs, her knees and her calves, lets her shake and tremble and break against him. He doesn’t care how much she’ll cut his palms, if he’ll even have any left by the time he’s done piecing her together. She’s worth it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into her hair. “You deserve better than this.”

“Don’t,” she croaks, screws her eyes tighter. “Don’t push me away with an excuse like that when I’m crying in your arms on my kitchen floor.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk says. “I won’t.”

And so he doesn’t.

He holds her until she has no tears left, until her face is blotchy and her cheeks are damp. She doesn’t see the way he weeps too, his forehead against her own, eyelids fluttered shut. I love you. The statement doesn’t burst forth from his chest, but leaks like the sunrise filtering over the tops of jagged skyscrapers, oozing like the warmth of a yolk, spilling the reality he can’t hide from anymore.

The dying sunlight casts the room in dusky reds and yellows, patchy opals and milky blues. The day is coming to a close, but he feels like it’s just begun.

He noses at her cheek, watching as she blinks up at him through tired, sticky eyes. “You asked what we are.”

“And what are we?”

Jeongguk hopes he’s being reassuring. “We are whatever you want us to be.”

She snorts. “So specific, coming from the guy known for running from his problems.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Somehow you ended up making more sense when you were drunk, Jeongguk.”

“No, I-” He sighs. “So we’re in love with each other. We’re best friends that fuck on the weekends when they’re stressed, and we’re in love with each other. And I- I think I’d like this- us- to happen more often.”

“So you’re saying you want to hold me as I cry on my kitchen floor every day? Jesus Christ, I know you’re secretly a sappy bastard, but even t-”

“I’m saying I want to hold you like this more often, minus the tears,” Jeongguk interrupts. “I’m saying I want us to happen more often.” He stops for a moment when he sees her brows furrow, her face soften. “I’m saying that I want to eat shitty takeout with you on Tuesday nights and watch Finding Nemo as many times as you want to, because I know you love animated movies and Nemo is your favorite. I’m saying I want to kiss you before I fall asleep at night, and this time I’m not kissing your neck, I’m kissing your lips because I’m tired of being ashamed of kissing you, any part of you, when I know you’re not mine. I’m saying I want to argue and drink dollar store wine and forget about it all in the morning. I’m saying that I want to say I love you and not be afraid of it. Or be afraid to show it.” His fingers tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Did you not believe me when I told you while I was drunk?”

“To be fair, you told me and then threw up on the sidewalk,” she remarks dryly, cheeks shimmering with wetness. “Your vomit had more conviction than your over-emotional drunk self did.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Just let me love you, Jesus Christ.”

“That’s more trouble than it’s worth.” She sniffles.

His heart twists. “We’ve come this far.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. What are we?”

He lets his heartbeat echo in his ears once, twice before he responds. “Let me prove it to you.”

“Prove it to me?” She lifts her head from his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, do I need to bring up my previous rant about how I’m the one who goes out and saves you when you attempt to murder your liver? You have a lot of proving to do, Guk-”

“Let me take you out on a date.”

And then it all goes quiet.

It’s like someone’s pressed pause on an old VHS tape, playing quietly on an old television. The room is dim with afternoon light slipping lower, furniture and faces illuminated with a soft golden glow. Everything is frozen; it’s as if he’s watching from outside the screen as her face freezes in an expression of pure shock. A Renaissance painting, perhaps- Boy Nearly Shits Himself Hoping Fuckbuddy Doesn’t Leave Him, Jeon, 1591.

She can’t do anything but gape at him, mouth moving and jaw working, except no sound comes out. When she does find her voice a few seconds later, all she can splutter out is every other syllable, spewing consonants at him until he holds up a hand. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, I just- I dunno, I figured that’s what guys do when they wanna impress a girl-” She’s talking with her hands now, gesticulating wildly, still unable to formulate an actual word. “-I’m sorry, if you say no, I’m not gonna push-”

“Jeongguk, would you shut up and listen to me?”

“Oh look, you’re actually intelligible now.”

“I’m not saying no.”

It’s his turn to freeze in shock, eyes wide, his arms still around her going rigid. “So what are you saying?”

She hesitates. “Well, I’m not saying yes either.”

His mouth goes dry. “W-what?”

“Look, Jeongguk, I-” she pauses, buries her face back in his chest because there she doesn’t have to worry. It’s a familiar patch of skin; she knows every birthmark and freckle, and she traces the constellations over his shirt with one finger. “I don’t know yet. I need to think about it.”

Anxiety, growing in his mind like so many vines, overgrown and flourishing, creeping into his thoughts and constricting his throat. He swallows hard, resists the desperate urge to pull her closer. A drowning man and his life preserver. “I can’t blame you for that.”

“Thank you for understanding,” she murmurs. Her lips brush his chest over his shirt and for a moment he’s in a dark bedroom, hands gripping her curves, whispering sin in her ear as she grinds on his lap, a whimpering mess. Not now.

He cracks a small smile somehow, squeezes her hip gently. “I try.”

“Guk?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you just hold me for a while?”

Forget for a while that she’s not yours.

His hands slide under her legs as he lifts her up seemingly effortlessly, carries her through the kitchen into her bedroom, settling down on the bed next to her. He opens his arms and she crawls to him like she has so many times before, except this time there’s no post-sex haze, no panting of breath nor eyes that shine with a certain satisfied, mischievous look. It’s just her and him, as she settles between his legs with her head on his chest and he traces gentle, slow circles on her back. Neither of them will admit just how comfortable it is, just how right it feels- nor will they admit that it’s happened before, and indeed Jeongguk does his best to push the thought out of his mind. Live in the now. You may never get to do this again.

And so he calms her until her breathing slows to an even rhythm, and she drifts off peacefully into a deep, calm sleep.

jeon jeongguk: so

jeon jeongguk: did u think about it

Read, 2:23pm. Yeah I did.

jeon jeongguk: aaaaand?

Read, 2:24pm.

jeon jeongguk: cricket cricket

Read, 2:36pm.

jeon jeongguk: i feel like i should be playing the jeopardy theme song rn

jeon jeongguk: do do do do do do do

jeon jeongguk: do do do do DO do do do do do

Read, 2:37pm. You’re so irritating.

jeon jeongguk: ty

jeon jeongguk: it’s a talent ive perfected

jeon jeongguk: especially with u

jeon jeongguk: anyways

jeon jeongguk: im picking u up on friday at 3 outside ur apartment building

jeon jeongguk: be there or u have to eat my ass for a week

Read, 2:38pm. I never knew you were into that.

jeon jeongguk: there r a lot of things u don’t know about me

jeon jeongguk: but

jeon jeongguk: if u see me friday at 3

jeon jeongguk: u’ll get to find out

jeon jeongguk: it’ll be lit

Read, 2:41pm. Please never use that word again in my presence.

jeon jeongguk: ur no fun

Read, 2:43pm. img.jpg

jeon jeongguk: sending an uno reverse card does not change that fact

Read, 2:43. I’m at work; my break just ended. See you Friday.

jeon jeongguk: peace

A date.

It’s Thursday night and she’s still trying to wrap her head around it.

A date.

With Jeon Jeongguk.

The person whom she refused to kiss on the cheek in middle school, scrunching her nose because he was a boy and he was gross. The person who caught her when she tripped and fell in high school at the ice skating rink, likely saving her from a broken ankle, but certainly not a busted ego. Also the person who she fucked a handful of times. Okay, more than a handful.

An actual fucking date, with all of the romantic aspects thrown into the dish, rather than garnished on top with a mockery of true aesthetic design. No more dancing around the truth, no way to fuck it out in the comforts of a messy bed and hazy midnight vision. Real consequences to be felt… as if none of their behavior had had consequences already.

Oh my god, I can’t do this, she thinks.

What is she even supposed to wear?

Jeongguk, what should I wear tomorrow?

jeon jeongguk: um

jeon jeongguk: probably clothes

jeon jeongguk: for once

Read, 10:14pm. You’re an actual dick.

jeon jeongguk: is now an appropriate time for me to send my own uno card

jeon jeongguk: anyways wear something nice but like

jeon jeongguk: not ridiculously nice y’know

Read, 10:14pm. That’s… incredibly unhelpful.

jeon jeongguk: don’t wear a wedding gown but don’t wear a t shirt n booty shorts

jeon jeongguk: even tho u look good in a t shirt n booty shorts

Read, 10:15pm. When have you ever seen me in a t-shirt and booty shorts?

You know what, don’t answer that question. I’ll figure it out. Ty

jeon jeongguk: bye

She tosses her phone to the bed and frowns, flips through the clothes hangers in her closet, pauses to finger a shirt sleeve. What could he even have to offer on a date? Where would he take her? Would they stay in? Go out? What could you offer to impress someone who’s seen every facet of you growing up and knows you inside and out whether or not either of you like to admit it?

Is she enough?

She shakes her head. She can’t be thinking like this before the date’s even happened.

She’d just have to wait and see.

Oh, how she hated waiting.

At 2:47pm on Friday afternoon, her phone buzzed.

jeon jeongguk: leaving now bc traffic, be there in 15

Read, 2:47pm. See you in a few.

At 2:59pm, a black four-door pulled up in front of her apartment building, and at 3:01pm, she pulled open the passenger’s door and slid inside.

“Hey,” Jeongguk said, taking the car out of park. “What’s good?”

“Only you could begin a date by saying ‘what’s good’,” she teased, shifting the buckle so it fell comfortably across her shoulder. “And for the record, I’m good, thanks.”

A smile tinged his lips as he spared a glance across the car, looking her up and down. “A leather jacket and combat boots. You look more than good.”

It was her turn to appreciate him- lean thighs clad in tight-fitting black jeans; off-white dress shirt tucked neatly at the waist, rolled at the elbows, unbuttoned at the collar. “As do you.” She snickered, elbowing him. “I didn’t even know you owned anything other than monochome tee shirts.”

Jeongguk raised an eyebrow, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder before merging into traffic. “Again, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

She glanced over at him, tongue in cheek. “Care to tell me about them?”

He smirked, foot tapping the brake. “Oh, you’ll find out in time. Oh, and speaking of time-” he checked his watch. “-we have a long drive ahead of us. Aux cord is yours.”

“Did you really just give me the aux cord? So I can play my, oh, how did you put it- ‘shitty ass spawn of country music and dollar-store trap’?”

“Old Town Road is not real music, don’t you dare tell me otherwise-”

“Mm, but you gave me the cord-” she teased, swinging it around her index finger. “It’s my radio now, country boy.”

“Can we compromise with Post Malone?” Jeongguk begged, a hint of a whine in his voice. “Beerbongs and bentleys is where it’s at, plus I’d rather claw out my ears than hear ‘I got the horses in the back’ one more time-”

“Done,” she tapped at her phone, and as the opening chords of Sugar Wraith sang through the car speakers, they both visibly relaxed.

Perhaps she’d been anxious for absolutely nothing. It all felt the same here in his Jeep, like every day by his side had been before he’d turned a cold shoulder and disappeared for months. Nothing new, everything familiar, too familiar.

Had it been this easy to be with him all along?

By the end of the first half hour, Jeongguk had rapped more than half of the album, and she was impressed by the fact that his singing voice wasn’t, as she’d assumed in the past, absolute shit. “When were you going to tell me you can sing better than an autotuned Post can?”

He raised and lowered one shoulder, hand comfortable on the rim of the wheel. He looked so damn fine, effortless with a sharp jawline and a gentle smile. “I’m not that good. I can carry a tune and that’s about it.”

“Lies, Gukkie. You have a lovely voice.”

She noticed a hint of pink in his cheeks.

By the end of the first hour, the impenetrable rows of buildings had faded to flat land and open road. She gazed out the window, elbow propped up on the sill, and Jeongguk allowed himself a look at her. Not a hair out of place, finely polished, not too much makeup. Perfect. So utterly, wonderfully perfect.

He wondered when she would ask how much longer, and five minutes after the first hour, she answered his question. “Are you planning to take me on a romantic roadside picnic, Guk?”

“And if I was?” he hummed quietly to the melody filtering through the speakers.

“You wouldn’t drive an hour out of the city to do so; this is the person who walks everywhere, god forbid his bicycle leave his apartment.”

“You’re right,” he affirmed. “Just a half hour more. I think.”

“You think? What happens if we get stuck out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I have twenty bucks and a working Metrocard, we’ll be fine.”

“We’re not even in the city!”

“Shhhh.”

At an hour and twenty-eight minutes exactly, the car slowed, bumping along as Jeongguk pulled into a parking lot that was more dirt than asphalt. She’d dozed off about twenty minutes ago, cheek smushed against the seatbelt, and his heart glows warm when he parks and finally looks over at her. His hand finds its way to hers, and he rubs the back of it gently. “We’re here.”

She wakes slowly, eyelids fluttering in a moment of confusion, and his thumb rubs over her knuckles. “Where-” She sees him smiling, and she’s instantly alert. “Oh no.”

He lets her hand fall with a final squeeze. “Oh yes.”

“I don’t trust you,” she chuckles breathlessly. “Where the actual fuck are we, Je-”

The rest of her statement is cut off by Jeongguk hopping the few inches from the lip of his Wrangler to the ground, and when he circles the car to collect her, her face is scrunched in confusion. “You drove thirty miles outside of the city for this run-down shack of a restaurant? It’s barely anything Gukkie, are you sure we’re in the right place?”

He turns to regard the one-story restaurant, pop-up roof signs peeling in their age, before nodding firmly, decisively. “I’m sure.”

She follows him inside, mumbling something about being assaulted by the dinner crowd, and Jeongguk strolls up to the maître d′ like he’s done this every day of his life. Maybe it’s the over-starched dress shirt. He swears it’s hugging his frame just a little too tight.

She misses the reservation name, spoken too softly and too quickly for her to hear, but she has no reason to suspect anything, not even when they settle at a corner table set with two places and a vase of four roses. She’s handed a menu, which she accepts with a polite word of thanks, and it’s when she sees the name of the restaurant in bright block font at the top of the page that she pauses. In one moment, the oxygen drains from her lungs, and the past comes alive before her eyes like a film reel, rewound for his and her pleasure.

She’s frozen across the table, lights dancing in her eyes in neon hues, flickering in her irises, countless bursts of color in pink and green and yellow. When he glances up to ask if she’d like to order appetizers, he swears he can hear her heart explode in her chest, crashing and roaring and perhaps aching just a little, too. His own beats just a little bit faster when he sees tears glimmer in her eyes, pinprick stars in her cosmos. “Jeongguk, how did you-”

“Find the only Moonlight Diner in three hundred fifty miles?” He relaxes, nudges the table leg with the toe of his shoe. “Turns out there’s only two in a thousand mile radius. One of which is at home, the other of which is, well- here.”

“Y-you-” she can barely get the words out, so overwhelmed is she with nostalgia and heartache and just a little bit of relief. “You found our childhood diner chain and you brought me here on a fucking date, Jeongguk, I-”

Her hands tremble on the corners of the menu as Jeongguk makes incredibly awkward eye contact with the impending waitress, who turns on her heel when she sees the scene in front of her. Something in his throat seizes with anxiety. “Is this okay? Did I do something wrong? Fuck, I-”

“Jeongguk, shut the actual fuck up and let me bask in the fact that you did this for me,” she chokes out. “We spent how many years going to this diner back home, having french fry sword fights, spraying each other with ketchup, truth or dare rounds involving coleslaw in your-”

“I try to forget the colesaw incident,” Jeongguk winces. “But- But is it okay? I-” He squeezes the edge of the sickly green leather seat, white-knuckled. “I’m not crossing any boundaries?”

“I swear to god,” she’s crying now, out of her control, but for the first time in so long it’s a good kind of cry, and she curses her tendency to cry for him at the drop of a hat. “How the fuck- you know what, I don’t even want to know how you came up with this or what else you have planned. You son of a bitch, I love you.”

Jeongguk bites his lip. “That’s the most contradictory sentence I’ve ever heard, but I’ll take your word for it.”

She sniffles, wipes her eyes on the back of her hand. He passes her a napkin, and she dabs at her face. “Are you getting the bacon cheeseburger? With extra bacon and ketchup on the side, because you know I’m going to steal some?”

“Yes,” he admits gently. “That was the general plan.”

She smiles through her tears, chokes out a laugh. “Nothing’s changed, has it Jeongguk?”

He’s starting to well up now, eyes shining with pride and adoration and remembering, because he remembers now. He remembers what it’s like to joke, to laugh, to love without the vices of the everyday world surrounding him. It’s been so long since the feeling bubbled up in his throat; a memory flashes before his eyes of dancing in the rain, and just like the flow of water down a storm drain, it’s gone before he can grab it, explore it. It’s okay, let it go, he thinks. There’s a more important memory he needs to make here with her, and as she reaches for her fork to playfully poke his arm, he finds himself falling in love with her all over again.

It is with full bellies and warming hearts that the two leave the run-down diner, clutching strawberry milkshakes and reveling in memories long-forgotten. There’s a bounce in her step and he’s beaming like the moonlight that lies silver across the breadth of the parking lot, shines off of the hood of his worn-out car. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt alive like this, without the help of his vices. He had thought he never would again.

He slides into the driver’s seat, pulling the door closed behind him, and she hops into the passenger’s side. “Home, now?”

“I mean, if you really want to.” He buckles himself in. “But there’s one more place I wanna take you.”

Her teeth shine bright as she smiles. “Where to, Gukkie?”

His heart flutters at the use of the nickname. “You’ll see.”

As the moonlight stretches long across the cracked road and his hand finds hers on the center console, Jeongguk turns the car back towards the city, heart beating just a bit faster than before.

Flat land rolls, tumbling end over end into buildings that grow longer and taller until the city envelopes the single black Jeep. The ride is spent in a comfortable silence, her thumb running over his knuckles, lazily playing with his fingers. She doesn’t miss the smile that graces his face, the way his eyes gleam with the nebulae of a thousand swirling galaxies. She wouldn’t mind getting lost in them more often.

He marvels at how small her fingers are, how easy it is for two of them to wrap around merely one of his. He wonders what it would be like to kiss each knuckle, treating each with care before they fall asleep with interlocked hands and limbs, and for the first time, he doesn’t feel guilty about imagining the possibilities.

A few blocks before her apartment, Jeongguk pulls over and parks. The sidewalks throng at this hour, individual faces blurring in the crowds, and when they meet around the front of the car, she takes his arm. “Are you absolutely positive you didn't just bring me home?” She teases.

“Nope,” he gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “There’s one more place we’re going, promise.”

He knows the way by heart, the place he discovered three months ago by accident that had ignited a little-known nostalgic streak in him. It’s a right on 65th West and a left on 15th North, go straight four blocks (five?) and a right on 53rd and then it’s there in front of him in all of its childhood glory. He pats his pocket, makes sure its contents are still intact.

“We’re here,” Jeongguk announces.

“A playground,” she murmurs.

“Do you know why?” He asks.

“Where would we go after the diner?” She laughs quietly, disbelievingly. “The playground.”

“It’s got the three swings and everything,” he offers. “And the little ship’s bow with the climbing nets.”

“I can’t believe you.” She stands on her toes and kisses his cheek. His skin tingles where her lips press. “You’re incredible.”

“I’m really not,” he answers shyly. “I just think about these things is all.”

“Hey.” She pokes his ribs, a hint of teasing in her voice, and she’s off in a flash. “You’re it!”

“You- Get back here!” Jeongguk staggers back and then lunges forward, sprinting after her, past the monkey bars and the climbing wall. The playground is deserted save them, two fully-grown adults playing a chaotic game of tag, and he can’t even stop to think how ridiculous it may look to onlookers. He realizes then that he doesn’t care, because she’s within arms reach, nearly his, just a little bit farther, and he reaches just an inch more and snags her by the waist.

She trips over her own feet and tumbles, bringing him down with her, but he rolls to take the brunt of the fall. Loose stones on the colored rubber dig into his back and she’s heavy on his chest, but he’s breathless with laughter and her teeth flash as she too dissolves into giggles. His ribs ache as he wraps an arm around her, but it’s a good sort of ache, and as she hoists herself to her elbows resting over him, a loose lock of her hair brushes against his cheek.

“You’re such a brat,” He teases, his tongue poking his cheek.

“You’re such an dunce,” She responds, head tilting cockily.

“Dunce? When’s the last time anyone said dunce? Come on, you can come up with something better than that!” He pokes her ribs and she squeaks. “Asshole, thrice-cursed bastard, son of a fu-”

“Enough out of you,” she kids. “I’m not feeling creative today.”

“What if I was?” He lets his head fall back, tresses flopping messily on his forehead. “How about douchebag? Dickwad? Bi-”

“Shut up!”

“Make me.”

“And how would I go about that, hm?” Her fingers walk up his chest.

“Like this.” And in a rush of movement and fear and elation, Jeongguk closes the distance between her lips and his own, the oxygen draining from his lungs as he presses a kiss to her mouth.

It’s as if the entire world has stopped to take a breath with him, the rustling of the trees and the creaking of the swings frozen in a moment of infinitesimal, earth-shattering stillness. Her lips are soft against his; she tastes like strawberry Chapstick and vanilla milkshake, a drug on his tongue like any other. His hand is at the base of her spine and hers is at the back of his head, threaded through his hair. He is drunk and sober all at once, dizzy yet alert of a thousand sensations at once; he can feel her exhale and the way her weight shifts on his hips and the way her nose grazes his when he pulls away.

Her breath is faint on Jeongguk’s lips, a rush of dizzying intimacy, and then she’s pressing her lips to his, mouthing at their soft plush; he snags her bottom lip between his teeth as his fingers tuck under her jacket, settle against the curve of her side, crave the warmth of her skin against his.

Her fingers twist, the long, shaggy locks knotting around the slender digits as her nails meet his scalp and he groans from the feeling.

He sighs her name against her mouth, held sacred in the coveted pause of the universe, and when her eyes flutter open, he is locked into the emotion that sings so freely from her dark pupils. It entrances him, ensnares him in her web, a siren singing from her rock. He is utterly transfixed by her, and when she blinks once, twice, the haze is lifted. He is suddenly aware of the leaves scraping the ground, the slightly colder air that settles over them as wispy clouds roll in front of the moon. He leans in just a little bit, hoping to get that much closer, desperately chasing the high, but a finger to his lips stills him.

“Hi,” he says, breathy and unbelieving.

“Hey you.” There’s a smile on her face, but it’s matched by an expression he can’t quite read. His hand trails down her arm and she hesitates. “Guk, I-” she begins, stops.

“What is it, baby?” His fingers dance down her spine, settle at the base.

“Jeongguk, I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship yet.”

And that’s when his world comes crashing down.

“I just- I don’t know if I can do this yet. I don’t know if I can be who you need me to be right now. I can’t come find you every time you get yourself shitfaced and need someone to bring you home.” She rolls onto one elbow, pushes herself into a sitting position next to him; his arm slips to the side. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that what this is about?” He too sits upright, matches her position. “My habits are the make-or-break for you?”

“That’s not what I said,” she gently corrects. “Because I know you told me that you want to get clean, you don’t want me to be embarrassed of you, and I’m not, Jeongguk. I’m really not. But I don’t think I am who you need in a girlfriend. You deserve someone who’s going to be able to give you time, and right now that’s one thing I don’t have.”

“Who do you think I need in a girlfriend, then? I don’t ‘need’ anybody except for you. You don’t see what I see,” he insists, gesturing widely. “You’re brilliant and warm and you’ve got everything ahead of you. I don’t even deserve you but I want you. Can’t you see? I’d do anything for you.” His cheeks heat; his arms fall. “Is casual fucking easier for you than a relationship because you don’t have to dedicate time to it?”

Her own face flushes in the dim moonlight, rosy hues darkening the apples of her cheeks. “That’s not true and you know it, Jeongguk. What about all the times you stayed over till morning? Or I stayed over your apartment for two days straight? I’m trying to be honest with you, I really am.” There’s hurt in her voice but the blood rushing in his ears drowns out the world around him, the pit in his stomach swallowing every good feeling. “I’m telling you the truth not because I want to hurt you, but because I don’t want you chasing a ghost of something for the rest of your life.”

“But you love me back,” he sounds small even to his own ears. “You love me back.”

“I do.” She takes his larger hand in two of hers. “I love you Jeongguk, so fucking much, but right now I don’t know if I’m ready for us.”

“But what about tonight? What about this? The diner, the playground? You can’t tell me you didn’t feel something,” he begs. “I felt something.”

“I did feel something, yes,” she admits. “Tonight with you was incredible, Guk. You didn’t have to do any of it, but you did anyways.”

“I did it all for you. Can’t you see that?” Jeongguk stands, shoulders tensing, heart breaking. “Can’t you see what I would do for you and more? Can’t you see what I want to do for you? I’ll buy you a dozen roses every day, I’ll raze a mountain, I’ll be whoever you want me to be if you’d just let me fucking love you!” He doesn’t even realize he’s shouting until the sound of his voice rings down the deserted block, and then it sinks in that he shouted at her. She’s shaking just enough for him to notice, and when guilt sinks its needle teeth into his gut, he deflates.

“I’m trying to protect you, Guk.” She stands too, head bowed, refusing to make eye contact. He hates himself for doing this to her. “My only hope is that you’ll realize that soon.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay.” She smiles, but it’s painfully empty. She takes a step towards him, pats his arm. “I know the way to my apartment from here. Get home safe, Jeongguk.”

He can’t even bring himself to offer to walk her home, for it’s as if he blinks once and he’s alone, standing firmly planted in the middle of an urban playground, the swings creaking a faint melody as the street light winks a dull amber above him. He reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a single red rose, examining the crushed petals, mangled from the impact of her having fallen on top of him.

She loves me. She loves me not.

Jeongguk runs his thumb across the stem, wincing as he snags the digit on a thorn.

She loves me not.

For the first time in what feels like forever, her phone is silent.

It doesn’t sigh with a seductive feminine air, the sound of his ringtone slicing through her apartment with a piercingly high-pitched moan. It probably made the neighbors raise an eyebrow on quiet mornings, but they kept her up with the sounds of their late-night trysts anyway. She guessed it was only fair.

Hey Guk, hope you’ve been doing alright. Call me tonight if you get a chance, I finally got around to watching Santa Clarita Diet and wow, you weren’t kidding when you said it’s oddly wholesome as fuck.

One day turns into two, and then three. The first post she sees on Jeongguk’s social media is of a blurry red cup in a filmy haze that is all too familiar, and a fire burns low in her gut.

Hey uh, so my shower head came off and I don’t know how to reattach it. Any advice?

P.S., I should note. In regards to the last text, it came off randomly, not because I sat on it or something. Seriously.

The second is of scraped palms and grinding bodies, heavy trap music blasting from a car stereo, bass thumping wildly. Four days turns into a week, then a week and a half.

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Look at this dog I just saw on the subway. It’s dressed as Marilyn Monroe. I’m not shitting you. I found the costume on Amazon for $25.

The third involves a crowd of strangers and a beer keg, and she doesn’t care to describe it in any further detail.

Hi Jeongguk, I haven’t heard from you in a little while and wanted to ask if you’re doing alright. If you don’t want to hear from me, please just tell me and I’ll stop texting you.

Nothing.

He knows she’s seen his posts. He most certainly knows how they make her feel, too. He knows the game they play, for provocation is an old friend of theirs, made known in the pictures and videos he displays for the world to see. Bad habits, it seems, are easier to slip back into than to break after all.

Then, at the two-and-a-half week mark, late in the evening when she’s perched on the couch in pajamas and a face mask, she sees it.

A blurry photo, taken in a dark bedroom, flash illuminating a bare back, navy sheets twisted around the lower torso. Hair cascading down a pillow, pulled to the side just enough for a violet bruise to be visible, blossoming on the side of the mystery woman’s neck.

The candle flame dancing in her belly ignites into a fucking wildfire.

Before she can even think, she’s sent the text.

You asshole. I fucking hate you.

She doesn’t know if she’d prefer a response or utter silence.

Turns out, she gets the latter.

A month without him hurts.

As quickly as he’d tripped and fallen back into her life, Jeongguk was gone. Ten words out of her mouth and he’s fled back into the world he promised her he’d claw his way out of. The danger of betting your stakes on one person is that when they inevitably fall through, you’ll come crashing down even harder than anticipated. And he bet just about everything on her.

She throws herself into work, doing her best to forget. It’s hard, however, when everything reminds her of him. When a hooded stranger brushes past her on the subway, sandalwood and sage graze her nostrils; suddenly she’s wrapped in bedsheets, surrounded by cologne and the musk of sex. Instant ramen is a reminder of shitty rom-coms on snowy Tuesday nights and the warmth of a blanket covering tangled legs. Even an Overwatch figurine brings back endless numbers, countless statistics that were rattled off at the mere mention of the O-word. She misses him even more acutely than before.

Jeongguk seems to have made quick work of the past, the chronicles of his new present documented in late-night Snapchat trysts. She sees one, two, three girls decorating his page, and yet they last one post and never appear again. She wonders if they’re merely even just for show.

She gave up hope that week, the fourth week without him. The boy she loved, the man who slotted so easily into her life despite their differences. He was gone, having fled the scene of the crime with the evidence bag, leaving the splintered fragments of her heart behind. And he did so without a second thought.

It was so easy for her to hate him. It was so easy for her to burn the Polaroid photographs they’d taken together, to delete text messages and the playful reminders he set on her phone, to cut out every single scrap of evidence she had that he ever existed. It was so easy to scrub the physical reminders from her surroundings like blood from dirtied fingernails.

And yet, she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Jeongguk wasn’t the easily hated type. At least, not to her.

He had so much of her that he took for granted. The sides that she revealed of herself to him, the only one who even knew they existed, could never be taken back. Whether he liked it or not, he had held her in the palm of his hands, cradling her like a bird with a broken wing. And when it came down to things, he dropped her without a second thought.

After all they’d been through, she couldn’t bring herself to do the same.

That just wasn’t her way.

Bent over the sink, she brushes a strand of hair out of her face with a soapy glove, doubling her attention on a greasy pan.

Some said she forgave too easily. Some said she was too quick to leap to the defenses of others, too trusting in those who had access to her heart. She had always struggled to go against the grain, push back against the very thing that resonated deep in the marrow of her bones. Whether she could help it or not, it was simply who she was, for better or for worse, deep down at her core. It was, at least, who she thought she was.

She scrubs harder at a troublesome crumb of grizzle.

She wasn’t so sure anymore.

3:14am.

She stretches, blinks wearily, squints at the clock on the nightstand table.

She must’ve been imagining things.

Her eyes flutter shut, chasing the alluring clutches of sweet, blessed slumber.

SLAM!

“What the fuck- goddamnit.”

It must be the neighbors’ headboard again.

SLAM!

Her eyes shoot open, because there’s another, more primal sound that accompanies the earth-shattering noise that seems to be emanating from the opposite side of her apartment.

She throws the sheets back, inching across her apartment. Every impact against her front door sounds, to her groggy self, like a bass drum amplified to fill every nook and cranny of her skull. Surely, every neighboring suite would be awoken by the noise, wondering what could 31 could possibly be doing awake at this hour, and why it sounded like a rhinoceros was throwing a temper tantrum in the hallway.

She edges her way to the door, peers through the hole to inspect the contents of the hallway, but nothing seems out of place.

That is, save the choked, heart-wrenching sob that vibrates through the thin wall.

Her fingers close around the doorknob and she pulls, revealing an empty corridor, darkened and silent.

She looks right, and all is quiet.

She looks left, squints a little, and there’s a standing figure slumped against the wall, fingers gripping the chipped doorframe, head braced against the plaster.

“‘M sorry,” are the first words that tumble in a rush out of Jeongguk’s mouth, slurred and heavy.

She moves to close the door over, slowly so that she doesn’t accidentally slam his fingers in the gap, but he shifts to extend one leg, effectively trapping the door open. “Please-”

“Jeongguk-”

“Please,” he looks up at her for the first time, the utter brokenness in his eyes trapping her heart in her throat. His cheeks are stained with tracks of moisture, tears rolling from his waterline as he slumps. “Please.”

The microcosmoi in his pupils swirl, miniature galaxies that are flecked with dappled brown and raven black, eddy with agony and the deepest ache. They speak to her own, the conflict of her heart haunting her inner landscape, and she sighs, hating herself, hating this all-too familiar scene. “No matter where you start, you always end up back here.”

“No matter where I start, you always end up fucking with me somehow,” he exhales, alcohol-tinged breath fanning her face. She barely recoils.

“I thought you said last time was the last time.”

“‘M not as drunk as last time.”

“That doesn’t change a thing and you know it, Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Take me in again, maybe I’ll r’member it this time.” He shudders, hand relaxing on the frame, knees buckling.

She catches him as he lurches forward, arms linking around his waist to support him, stepping backwards into her apartment and stumbling to the couch, where she deposits him into the cushions with a huff. “You know, you’re lucky I didn’t leave you outside. I didn’t want the neighbors calling the cops on you.”

“And if they did?” An audible thump emanates as his head hits the back of the couch, lolling aimlessly. “You’d bail me out an’ways.”

“You don’t know that,” she hisses, dragging the garbage pail to the couch from its ready position by the refrigerator.

“May be drunk but ’m not stupid,” he breathes, running a hand through the tangled strands of hair that frame his damp face, spill over his brow. “Love makes people do things they wouldn’ admit to in front of God himself.”

“And when did you get so religious?”

“There’s something spiritual about this,” he gestures to the empty room, legs splayed. “The high an’ then the fall. It’s too good to be true an’ then you’ve got a taste and it’s all you want, over and over, ‘til it all comes crashin’ down and then cold reality fuckin’ hits an’ it stings like a motherfuckin’ bitch.”

She stares down at him. “You do it to yourself when you try to drown out the pain. We either learn how to cope or bury it deep down until it rears its head again and then you’re back where you started. Maybe it’s time you tried coping instead of pretending that your hurt doesn’t exist.”

“An’ why do I d’serve that after all the hurt ‘ve dealt you?” His jawline catches the faint light of the corner lamp, casting his profile in shadow.

“Because you’re a human being, Guk? You’re human like the rest of us, the same flesh and blood.” She kneels at his feet, hand cautiously brushing his knee, then settling. He intakes harshly, shuddering.

“‘M so fucked up an’ you know that an’ you stay. An’ that’s why you won’ date me, ‘cause of this. Disgustin’, fuckin’ asshole me-”

“Jeongguk, you know that’s-”

“‘M so fucked up an’ you know that an’ you stay ‘cause you love me, but you won’ confess to God,” his chest heaves and she stands over him, grabs the pail. “You won’ ‘fess to the one who really matters.”

“Who really matters then? God or you?” She shakes her head. “If you think other people need to see us together for the way I feel about you to be validated, you’re completely wrong.”

“Then why do you hide me?” He stifles a sob with the back of his hand, fresh tears threatening to spill.

Her careful ministrations on his knee pause. “Because I like having you to myself,” she confesses quietly.

“We’ve n’ver been a thing,” his gaze fixes steadily on her face. “N’ver been a real thing.”

“We’ve always been exclusive, though.” She gently squeezes his thigh. “I know you, Jeongguk. And I know that deep down, you commit even if you won’t open your mouth and tell me. I was your first just as you were mine.”

He goes to say something but pauses, eyes wide, face white. Without pause, she lifts the pail and he grabs at the base, burying his face in the mouth and retching. Her fingers brush his hair back from his face, the dampness of his skin clinging to hers, and his whole body shudders in dry heaves. He spits one final time and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “‘Ve been yours from the start.”

“I know, Guk.”

“An’ you never though’ to ask?”

Her eyes flicker to the tear in one cushion, the white stuffing a stark contrast to the dark couch. “I did.”

“An’?”

“You can’t just casually ask your best friend if they’ve been in love with you for your entire lives.”

“We n’ver kept much from each other an’ways.”

Her fingers pause in his hair. “If that’s the case, then answer me something.”

His grip around the bucket tightens.

She inhales once, twice. “Jeongguk, are you running from us?”

His jaw flexes, stiffens.

Her voice lowers. “If we never kept much from each other, why are you running away from this, right now?”

“Shu’ up,” he hisses.

She withdraws her hand; his bangs tumble in his eyes and he tosses his head. “You’re afraid of us, Guk,” she challenged. “You’re afraid of something that’s too good to be true, so you bury the way you feel because it’s easier than admitting you’re afraid of losing your best friend when shit goes south. You’re afraid of throwing everything we have away because one of us will inevitably fuck up, but you don’t have the security of knowing if we’ll make it through. So rather than give your heart away as one whole, you divide it up, partition it off, let me see bits and pieces while keeping the rest under lock and key. But Jeongguk, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen your heart bleed and sing and grieve and I’ve seen it love, too. I know you better than anyone else does. You don’t have to run from me.”

A moment of silence, weighted and thick, hangs low like fog.

When a horrible sob tears its way from his throat, she’s right there to hold him, let him wrap an arm around her waist and bury his face in her pajama shirt. Once again her hands find his hair, working out the knots in a manner she hopes is soothing. “You don’t have to be afraid of us, Jeongguk. You don’t need my validation to know that what we have is real.”

Words spill from the crumpled figure, alcohol seeping from the mouth of the bottle. “I love you,” he blubbers. “Love you so much.”

“I love you,” she assures. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please don’,” he gasps. His hands cup her face with a tenderness only found in late nights, when the world is quiet and they have only the moon for company.

“I won’t.” She places her own over his before continuing, “You thought I turned you down because your habits are the ‘make-or-break’ for me. But Jeongguk, you were wrong. You weren’t ready then, and neither was I.”

He looks up at her, brows furrowing in confusion. “But my sorry drunk as’ is ready now?”

“You’re not afraid anymore.” Her arms link around his neck and she coughs once. “Neither of us is afraid anymore.”

When he says her name, she looks down, gaze meeting his. The warmth of her clasped hands heats the back of his neck; the strands of his hair brush her knuckles, and she toys with the clasp of the chain he wears. “‘M sorry.”

“It’s okay, Guk.”

“‘S really not. ‘M sorry for ignorin’ you an’ yellin’ at you back at the playground an’ jus’ generally being an’ asshole. Includin’ showin’ up at yer ‘partment an’ makin’ a scene.”

“It’s okay.” A tinge of a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you for the apology.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “You deserve that an’ so much more.”

She sees in his face the want to kiss her, and when he moves to reach her, she pulls away. “Please kiss me when you don’t reek of puke and Hennessy.”

He nods once. “Okay.”

She sighs, hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the muscle flex under her fingertips as he trails his hands down her hips. “So it looks like we’re back to where we started.”

“Yeah,” he huffs, setting the pail down. “Goin’ in circles is our specialty, I guess.”

“Wanna try moving in a straight line for once?”

“Ar’ you sayin’ that ‘cause it’s like, four-thirty in the mornin’ and you wanna go back to bed?”

“Well, not completely.” She nudges the bucket away with one foot, the smell beginning to permeate the room. “I guess it’s my turn to ask again. What are we?”

A corner of his mouth tugs with a hint of familiarity. “Wha’d’you wan’ us to be?” “Together,” she says hesitantly, then more firmly. “Together, this time.”

“Together. I like that word.” His ministrations on her thighs, soft nondescript patterns traced by adoring fingers, spark heat under her skin.

“But Jeongguk-” she cuts herself off, then begins again. “Jeongguk, there’s gonna need to be some boundaries set.”

“Wha’d’you mean?” He hums.

“Well for starters, we’re going to need to communicate. Like, actually talk about the way we feel instead of just fucking it out, you know?”

“Done,” he says with way more confidence then she feels. She attributes it to the fact that he’s still utterly wasted.

“It’s not just that, Guk. You can’t run away from this boyfriend thing, and you can’t get completely shitfaced if we have a fight, because then I’ll be the one holding you as you cough your lungs up and then you’ll feel guilty and the whole thing will just repeat itself.”

Jeongguk waves his hand. “‘Ll figure it all out in the morning.”

And with a squeak, she’s hauled onto Jeongguk’s lap, his arms tightening around her as he gazes up at her and for the first time in a very, very long time, feels wholly and completely okay. “Can I kiss you if I brush my teeth firs’?”

“No, gross ass. And this isn’t really a figure it out later kind of thing-”

“Baby,” He hopes he sounds reassuring. “‘Ve gotten this far, right? An’ we’ll get farther, and we’ll figure it out, an’ whatever happens happens, you know?”

“I can’t tell if this is sober you trying to be wise or drunk you trying to be prophetic. Either way, it’s not working.”

“‘Ll figure it out.” He tries to imbue as much warmth and understanding into his voice as humanly possible. To Jeongguk’s ears, he sounds like an angel. To hers, he slurs every other syllable.

“Jeongguk…” she wavers.

“Promise.” He crosses his heart and hooks his pinky finger in the air, waiting for hers just like, she remembers, they used to do in the treehouse in his backyard whenever they made a pact that was supposed to last the rest of their lives.

She swallows her worry back and blinks, exhaustion tugging its subtle pull on her eyelids. “We will talk about this in the morning.”

“Talk, talk, talk. The firs’ thing ‘m doing in the morning is kissing you real soft an’ slow, because ‘ve got you to myself now, and ‘m gonna revel in it as much ‘s I can.” Jeongguk flexes his pinky. “C’mon. Promise.”

Her digit wraps around his as she murmurs, “Promise.”

His teeth glint as he smiles, a real, slightly loopy Jeongguk smile. “You’re precious.”

She taps the bridge of his nose. “You’re so drunk.”

“I know,” his eyes are glassy and he almost warbles. “I may be drunk righ’ now, but you’re beautiful even when ’m sober.”

She wrinkles her nose in faux disappointment. “That is no way to treat your brand-new girlfriend, Mister Jeon.”

“Girlfriend?” He relaxes into the couch, limbs limp, then sits up and moves to stand. “Jus’ fuckin’ marry me already, baby. Les’ get married-”

She pushes on his chest with ease and he falls without concern. “Ab-so-lutely not, good sir.”

His hands dance down her body to quickly grope her ass. “Why not?” Jeongguk squeaks as her nimble fingers slide down his chest, playfully pinching his nipple. “Fuckin’ love it when you call me sir.”

“I thought you preferred daddy. Besides, you gotta get past boyfriend status first, mister I’m-only-married-to-my-Twitch-Prime-subscription.”

“Tha’ was like, fifteen years ago.”

“Days,” she corrects.

“Whatever. Fuck, you’re an angel,” he groans.

“Not quite. I don’t think angel will be the name that comes to mind in the morning when you’re hungover as fuck. Again.”

“Last time this happens. Promise this time.” He kneads her thigh, causing warmth to blossom in her chest.

She leans forward to plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll see.”

Jeongguk suddenly wrinkles his nose. “Baby, wha’s that?”

“What do you m- Guk, did you knock over the garbage pail?”

“Oh fuck, uh-”

She clambors off of his lap, side-stepping the offending mess. “I’m about to clean an entire gut’s worth of cognac-infused vomit off of my living room floor. You’re really, really lucky that we’re back on unofficially-but-now-officially-dating terms, because let me tell you- wait, did you get it on the rug, too?”

“Y’know, is’ not too late to change those terms.”

“Shut up and go get me the spray bottle under the sink.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you always this obedient? You’re holding out on me in the bedroom.”

Jeongguk winks at her from across the apartment, sliding a casual arm behind his head. “Only for you, baby. Only for you.”

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