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#like it really hasn’t been that long time just works differently in a panini
jalboyhenthusiast · 3 years
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gukyi · 3 years
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the love project | jjk
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summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.
{college!au, friends to lovers!au}
pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!
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These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 
At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.
Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 
Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 
Your best friend would have to disagree.
“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”
“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”
“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”
He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.
Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 
Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 
But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.
“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”
Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 
He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 
“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 
“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”
“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”
“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”
“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”
“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”
“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 
“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”
Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.
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There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 
The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 
So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 
“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 
It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 
“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 
“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.
“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”
“What do you have to do?”
Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”
You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 
“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”
“Oh,” You say dumbly. 
“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”
“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 
Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”
“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”
“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”
“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 
“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”
He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 
Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 
“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”
“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”
He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.
“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”
“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 
“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”
“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.
You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 
Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 
Click.
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“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?
From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 
“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”
“Well, how many do you have now?”
It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.
You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 
“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 
“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 
Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 
It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 
He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 
“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?
“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”
“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.
Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”
You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”
“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”
“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”
 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 
“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”
Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 
The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 
When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.
“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.
“I never want to miss anything.”
“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”
“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”
“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?
“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”
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At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 
You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 
Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 
Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 
This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 
It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 
“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 
“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”
“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 
You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”
“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.
“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”
“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 
“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”
“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.
“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”
Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”
“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”
“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”
“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 
You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 
The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.
“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 
“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 
You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”
You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 
“Y/N!”
You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 
Another voice breaks you from your trance. 
“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 
The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 
“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”
“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 
Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 
“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”
The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”
Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 
“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”
“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”
“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 
What do you not know?
By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.
This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?
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Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.
You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 
Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 
Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.
Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.
So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.
An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 
And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.
The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?
You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.
You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.
“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.
You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.
The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 
“Whoa.”
“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 
“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”
“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”
“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”
“Yeah.”
It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 
“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”
“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”
“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 
“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”
Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”
“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”
“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”
“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”
You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 
“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”
“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 
Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”
He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 
Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 
And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 
Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 
You wonder what he sees. 
(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)
“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.
You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 
“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”
Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 
“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”
There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.
“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”
Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 
For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 
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The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 
You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 
[November 7th, 8:48PM]
You: you still game for that movie?
[November 7th, 8:50PM]
Jungkook: you finished your date already?
You: is that a yes or a no
Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that
You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over
The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.
Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 
But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 
Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 
“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 
“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 
“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 
You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”
“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 
“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”
Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 
Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 
“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”
“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”
To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 
He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 
“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.
Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 
Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”
The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 
“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 
“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 
Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 
“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 
The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 
“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 
“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”
“I want to see it.”
“What? My project?”
“What else?”
“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”
You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”
“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”
“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”
“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?
“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 
“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 
You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 
“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.
Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”
And that’s good enough for you. 
You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.
You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.
“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”
“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”
“How do you know what feels right?”
Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 
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The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 
So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?
Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 
The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 
Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 
Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 
Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?
Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 
“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”
“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 
Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 
You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 
Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 
As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 
The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 
There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 
What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?
Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 
What?
Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?
Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 
This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 
This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?
Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 
“Y/N?”
You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 
“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 
“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 
“Uh—”
“Were you reading my computer screen?”
It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 
“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 
(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 
If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 
I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)
“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 
“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 
“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”
“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 
“So you are hiding something?”
“That’s not the point, the point is that—”
“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”
“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 
He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 
“Jungkook—?”
“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”
“Know what? What would I know?” 
Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”
The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 
“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 
“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”
You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”
Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”
“And you are mine,” you remind him. 
“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”
“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”
And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 
You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 
But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 
He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 
He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 
By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 
“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”
“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.
“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”
Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 
You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 
“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”
“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”
“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”
“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”
“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”
“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 
It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 
“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”
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What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?
Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.
Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?
Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 
This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?
Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”
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↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!
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peachyteez · 3 years
Text
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death’s grip ≫ EPILOGUE
the tiger hybrid managed to escape from south korea’s top illegal hybird ring fights. of course, they didn’t let him go so easily. losing his chasers in a forest, covered in blood—his and others’—he decided to accept his fate of death from his wounds until a female and two other hybrids managed to take him from death’s grip.
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PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.
✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminbluee, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4. @t-tbinnie. @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @deep-ocean-dweller, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle
feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to the list! :)
back。
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beomgyu’s eyes widened when a tiger-hybrid opened the front door of jiyu’s home. the last time he remembered, it was only her, seonghwa, and yunho. 
“ahh! who are you?!” he yelped, hiding behind soobin’s towering figure. “what have you done with jiyu?!”
hongjoong blinked, confused at the situation. jiyu just asked him to get the door since she was busy clipping seonghwa’s nails. never did he expect to see a man and two other hybrids looking at him as if they just saw a ghost. 
“um...i’m hongjoong. who are you?”
jiyu poked her head out from behind hongjoong, curious to see what the commotion was all about. “oh, hi guys!” she waved with a grin. “you didn’t tell me you were coming over.”
“s-soobin and beomgyu wanted to hang out,” yeonjun stuttered out, eyes still trained on the tiger hybrid. “you didn’t mention adopting another hybrid...hongjoong, nonetheless.”
yeonjun didn't know much about hongjoong despite being part of the rescue team to bring him back to the recovery center. jiyu mentioned that he was wary and guarded around new people, so he just stepped back and let her do her work. she never mentioned anything about taking him home, so seeing him open the door was a big surprise for him. 
jiyu sheepishly chuckled before reaching up and petting hongjoong’s head. “yeah, he was a sudden addition, but nevertheless, a wonderful one.”
hongjoong let out a small chuff at her touch and comment. he closed his eyes and smiled in content. ever since coming home with her the week before, his life had completely turned upside down. it was so different compared to his previous life. no more cold cells, ring fights, and constant worry for his life—now he had his own room and bed, food to snack on whenever he wanted, and a human who gave him unconditional love and warmth. although, he was also now in charge of the child-like wolf and puppy hybrid (even if seonghwa was the same age). turns out, he had a knack for taking care and looking after them; which often resulted in jiyu asking him to be in charge whenever she had to go out. 
now instead of fearing for his life, he was now fearing for his patience and sanity. but he wouldn’t change a single thing. seonghwa and yunho had refreshing personalities; they were the sunshines in his life. 
“hongjoong, that's soobin,” she gestured to the giant bunny hybrid who had hid behind yeonjun somewhere along the line, “and beomgyu,” she pointed to the golden-retriever hybrid hiding behind both soobin and yeonjun. jiyu pouted at their behavior. “guys, i know he's a predator hybrid, but like seonghwa, he’s harmless, too.”
seonghwa and yunho came out. “he’s really friendly! see?” yunho demonstrated by engulfing the tiger hybrid into a huge bear hug. 
hongjoong yelped from the sudden attack of affection. “yah! too tight, yunho!” his muffled voice called out. it was quite a picture to see since yunho was a giant compared to hongjoong. hongjoong practically disappeared in yunho’s arms. 
seonghwa smiled before joining in on the hug. “he looks mean sometimes, but he's a small baby.”
“guys, you do realize that i’m right here,” hongjoong retorted, playfully rolling his eyes at the wolf. 
beomgyu, literally trusting anything yunho did, revealed himself and ran towards the group. pouncing on the three, they all lost their balance and fell down. jiyu gasped at the pile in front of her. “ohmygod, are you guys okay?” she frantically asked, bending down to their level. 
yeonjun sighed before pinching his nose bridge. “gyu, this is why i told you to not pounce on people.”
beomgyu sheepishly chuckled and scratched the back of his head. he had landed on yunho, who was laying on seonghwa’s leg. it was like a dog pile. 
peeking at hongjoong’s expression, she was surprised to see a smile spread across his lips. he seemed so...relaxed and accepting of everything. warmth bloomed in her chest at the realization that he was content with everything. even if they took a physical toll on him. 
after helping them up, jiyu ushered them in. “come on, luckily i stocked up on snacks yesterday when i went grocery shopping yesterday.”
the hybrids’ eyes lit up at the mention of snacks. tumbling into the home, the five hybrids made a run for it to the pantry where various snacks were waiting for them. even hongjoong joined in on the fun. 
“you’re magical, you know that?” yeonjun commented when jiyu closed the door behind them. “you never would’ve known these hybrids were in a rough patch unless you told them.” he fondly stared at the five hybrids who were currently raiding the kitchen—although it was basically seonghwa, hongjoong, and soobin trying to calm the two hyperactive puppies down before they accidentally broke something.
jiyu chuckled at his compliment. “it’s nothing big. giving hybrids love can go a long way. i just with their former owners knew...”
yeonjun sighed at a thought that crossed his mind. “did your dad...” he trailed off, seeing her eyes dim at the mention of her dad. truthfully, she hasn’t contacted him since that day in the recovery center’s field with seonghwa, beomgyu, and soobin. and vice versa, he never contacted her to ask for her choice of a potential suitor. 
“surprisingly, no...he never asked again after that day. but it doesn’t sit well with me, i feel like he’s planning something.”
“what are you gonna do if he shows up?”
jiyu bit her lip at the thought. her father didn’t know of her three new friends—he didn’t know about anything in general. she kept her whereabouts under the wraps within the years she’s been gone. 
“then i’ll just face him head on, i guess. if he threatens them in any way, then i’ll bite back twice as hard even if it means getting disowned.”
and she meant every word. seeing seonghwa’s, yunho’s, and hongjoong’s change in character whilst living with her gave her an indescribable feeling—warmth, happiness, and motivation were only a few she could name. it made her want to keep going and fight for herself and her loved ones.
“i’m sure they’ll help you when the time comes,” yeonjun mused, ruffling her hair. “i know soobin, beomgyu, and i would.”
she warmly smiled, eyes wandering over towards the hybrid group. “maybe.”
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✧ notes: ahhh sorry my uploading schedule’s been out of wack recently! but midterms are over so hopefully things should be back to normal hehe
next up, mingi! 🥺
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hippohead · 3 years
Text
postcode envy (3/24)
read it on ao3
There is one long string of tinsel sitting atop the food cabinet inside the bakery. It’s so tattered that it looks like it’s been used to decorate the place for the last ten years. There is also a tiny dancing Santa sitting on the counter by the cash register with a sign next to it asking people not to press the button.
Kurt looks at Blaine.  
“Is this... is this what Christmas is over here?” He can’t even leave the horror out of his tone.  
And then Blaine reacts the way he has been reacting to Kurt ever since they started driving – he looks amused. “I bet this pales in comparison to the decorations in New York, huh?”
“Pales in...” Kurt trials off, in disbelief, unable to even echo that sentence back. “Blaine. This looks like the Grinch has been by for a visit. What? Why are you smiling like that?”
“No, it’s just – it's cute. That you care so much about Christmas decorations.”
It’s cute. Kurt wants to read into that, but just like when he’d reached out and touched Kurt’s arm earlier, he says it in a way that sounds light and natural and completely normal for him. As if Blaine goes around attaching the word cute to all things and everyone.  
They get to the front of the line and Kurt realises that he needs to order. He’s been so caught up in the decorations – or the lack of decorations – that he hasn’t made a decision yet, so he impulse orders a roast vegetable panini and a black coffee. Blaine orders after him and they make their way over to a table in the corner, where Kurt picks their conversation back up.  
“I guess it just... doesn’t really feel like Christmastime to me here. I love December in New York – the whole month is just scarves and hot chocolates and ice skating in Bryant Park. All of the shop fronts are decked out in decorations, and the cold just sort of matches everything.”
“It sounds incredible,” Blaine nods. “But, you know, there are some really awesome aspects to having a summer Christmas. Everything just feels... more relaxed, and we get to spend the day with our families at the beach or having a barbeque in the backyard. There’s a lightness to it here.”
Kurt smiles, “You know what? That does sound really great, actually.”
“I’ll have you converted to liking our Christmas in no time,” Blaine smiles back, and Kurt can’t help but hope there’s a promise in there somewhere.  
Their coffees arrive and they shift back to shop talk – Blaine starts to talk about how Curtis is as a director, and how good everyone in the cast is, and Kurt focuses because it’s helpful information.
“Did you already know everyone before you got cast?”
Blaine finishes his mouthful before he answers, “Yeah, the industry is so small that everyone has worked with everyone, really. I did a murder mystery show with Ben a couple of years ago, and Zoe and I were in a romantic-comedy last year. And Kura and I have met each other at a bunch of different charity events. Oh, and Curtis directed me in a short film when I was first starting out.”
“It must be nice being so close with everyone.”
Blaine hums and there’s something complex about the sound. “Yeah, it is. I mean, not everyone is... well, anyway. Most people are really lovely.”
Kurt wants to pry. He wants to know what Blaine is hinting at and skirting around, but he is still aware that they’ve just met and Blaine doesn’t owe him anything. He decides to steer them to what they came here to talk about: “So, Donny and Marvin.”
“Yes - Donny and Marvin,” and Blaine looks glad of the topic change. “They hate each other.”
“They do,” Kurt agrees. And then he grins and tilts his next words into a tease, “So, I’m going to need you to stop being so pleasant.”
Blaine clutches his heart, dramatic and sparkling eyes, “What, me? Being pleasant? I’d never dream of it.”
Kurt laughs at the performance and wants to point out all of the pleasantness so far – the including Kurt, and the giving him a ride, and the opening the bakery door for him, and the sitting here with him now – but before he can, he catches a young girl tugging at her mother’s sleeve and pointing at Blaine. “Do you get recognised a lot?”
“Huh?” Blaine says, and then he notices the young girl too. He smiles and waves at her, and she waves back, and then... nothing. That’s that. The whole interaction. Blaine turns back to Kurt, “Yeah, sometimes.”
“And that’s... all that happens?” Kurt thinks about all of the times he’s been ambushed or accosted on the street, or at a restaurant with his friends, or at the supermarket. He’s not even that famous, really – but it's enough to have a pretty solid fanbase and to be recognised when he's out and about. And so while he doesn’t experience what A-Listers in Hollywood do on a daily basis, he’s also never had someone just politely wave at him and then leave him be.
“Yeah, people are mostly pretty chill about it. We don’t have the same celebrity culture that you guys do in the States. Although – I can guarantee that everyone here knows who you are.”
“What? Why?” Kurt glances around and sure enough, people do seem to be a little bit aware of him. But he wouldn’t have noticed if Blaine hadn’t said anything.  
“Kurt,” Blaine pulls his eyebrows together in confusion, “You’re quite famous.”
He wants to laugh but Blaine seems completely and utterly serious. And then he continues.  
“That film you did with Saoirse Ronan – Dead Lemons – was a huge hit here. It ran at the cinema for months. Kate Rodger gave it five stars.”  
He says the last sentence with so much emphasis that Kurt assumes that must be a really good thing, though he has no idea who Kate Rodger is. “Oh,” is all he can think of to say.  
Blaine gets them back on track talking about their characters and the backstory of them hating each other and how seriously they want to play it, and Kurt listens and nods along. Blaine is passionate and intelligent and there is a depth in his words and the way he says things, and Kurt knows if he is careless, Blaine being pleasant will be the least of his worries.
Blaine being everything, will be the most.
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cynicalrainbows · 4 years
Text
The Next Best Thing Pt 3
So this is a very long rambley chapter of this Catalina-adopts-babey-Cathy au. I’m not sure if I’m entirely happy with how it turned out- I was trying to do a few things, really: get better at writing from the POV of actual small children (which is incredibly difficult and also quite fun) and also have a go at describing what an absolute headfuck grief is.
Like, I cannot get over how when people die, you’re expected to get around the angry and sadness and confusion...and ALSO just sort of....live your normal life. And it’s especially difficult that those two things then get mixed up: I remember sitting by my dad’s deathbed and watching him die and just feeling sort of....fine? A bit numb but also very concerned with extremely mundane things like did I remember to say thank you to all the nurses and did I remember to wash up the cups we’d made tea in? And then the next morning, I was on the edge of going into the road to throw things at the inconsiderate bastards who were just driving around and going to work like it was a normal day. And then three months later, I was sobbing hysterically while I made paninis at work because of some minor comment my absolute cunt of a boss made. And even now, years later, I had a sudden moment the other week when it suddenly hit me that I was never ever going to be able to say thank you to dad for the lovely things he wrote in my birthday cards. AND a moment of anger that I was never going to be able to have it out with him for lots of stuff I’m still angry with him for.
And then to have to deal with that as a child? Sweet Jesus. I honestly don’t know how children manage.
I was also trying really hard to get across the absolute mindfuck that is just being a 6-9 yr old girl. Like...I only vaguely remember being seven but still. And watching the children at my work? Good god.
SO i hope you all like it. I probably went overboard with making Aragon soft but I refuse to apologise because soft Aragon is the best Aragon.
Enjoy!
****
She used to like school, back before, but that was back when everything was different, when she had a Mum to collect her like everyone else and when she could write about going to the park and the library and the swimming pool in her newsbook just like everyone else.
Catalina has taken her to the park, to the library- but she can’t let herself enjoy it now. She keeps hoping that her parents will bob up from behind a bush or a bookshelf and tell her that everything was just a big misunderstanding- but they don’t. They never do, but she can’t stop herself hoping it, even if doing so feels like prodding a wobbly tooth- just as painful, just as impossible to resist.
Even the idea of school feels wrong now- school belongs back then, toher old normal.
Now, normal is staying at home with Catalina, trips to bookshops (new ones with cafes and shiney displays, old ones where the books are tired and tattered, with yellowing pages that smell of old paper and dust) which she likes, trips to church (which she wishes she liked) and trips to see a therapist (her therapist) which she has decided that she definitely doesn’t like.
 She doesn’t like the stuffy waiting room, she doesn’t like the waiting room toys- the books with pages torn out and scribbles all over the cover, the sad barbies left lying with their legs splayed and half their clothes missing, the jigsaw puzzles where all the pieces are mixed together. 
There are better things in the actual therapy room- paints and a real easel, better craft supplies even than at school- but after the first session, when she’s meant to be fetching her coat, she hears the therapist lady (Doctor Jenny, she is meant to call her) talking to Catalina about her, asking how she’s settling, asking if they’re coping….and she hates the thought of being discussed so much that she decides not to talk there again. Not even for the sake of the easel, and she rips the painting she made in her session into pieces in the backseat of the car on the way home. She wants to throw them out of the window but that would be littering and she has sat through enough school assemblies about littering to know that it is one of the worst, worst things you can do (aside from drawing in library books and pushing people into traffic) so she doesn’t, just holds the balled up painty scraps of paper in her fists until she can drop them into the bin where they belong.
School isn’t her new normal- but now apparently Catalina has to go back to work and she has to go back to school whether they want to or not.
‘Can’t you keep teaching me here? I did all my workbook-’ She quite likes filling out the booklets that the school had sent ‘in the interests of not falling behind’, although it feels funny to fill them out sitting on the sofa and wearing her weekend clothes.
‘I’d like to, querida.’ Catalina looks tired- she’s been frowning and looking at papers, then typing, then frowning again and pressing the back space key very, very hard- but now she swivels her chair around to look at Cathy properly. ‘I really would. But we wouldn’t be allowed.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s the law, you have to be in school...and I have to go back to work…before everything just completely falls apart without me….’ She looks at the papers, drops them back into the pile. ‘You’ll be able to see all your friends again- you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
She shrugs. She would like to see Anne- but she hasn’t seen her properly since before then, only talked to her on the phone and Anne had kept talking about Anna, the new girl, about how she’s sitting with Anne til Cathy is back, about how she brought in a big cornet of sweets to share on her first day, about how there was something called Katjes that was really liquorice…. and even thinking about it makes her chest feel tight and scared because what if Anne doesn’t want to be best friends any more? (What if Anna is more fun?)
Catalina takes both of her hands in her own and kisses them. ‘It will be ok, querida. I promise.’
(Catalina always tells the truth but it’s harder to believe her this time.)
She watches from the doorway that evening as Catalina lays out clothes- stiff suits and high, high heels, skirt and blouse and school jumper- and feels sick.
She sleeps badly, picks at her toast and doesn’t hug Catalina back when she says goodbye. She’s not even allowed to go into the playground before the bell rings- instead, she has to go into the headmistresses office because there are ‘special circumstances’ (although what these are she isn’t quite sure.)
Mrs Jardin says things about grief and loss and settling in. No comment seems to be required from her so she stays quiet until the bell releases her.
Anne walks into the classroom with a girl she hasn’t seen before who she thinks must be Anna. This girl- this new girl- gives Cathy a friendly smile, as if she isn’t stealing her best friend while her back is turned…. and she pretends not to see. 
(She doesn’t know why she should smile at a friend stealer.)
It doesn’t feel right to sit in her old class, as if everything is the same….but then, a new teacher comes in to take the register and she doesn’t like that it’s different either. 
Anne whispers that she’s nice, that she let them make get well soon cards for their usual teacher rather than having to do the usual Friday spelling test, and  she thinks that of course that would make Anne like her.
(Unlike her, Anne does not enjoy the spelling test.)
There’s dinner money to hand in, then a boring assembly about road safety and looking both ways. There’s literacy hour, like usual; numeracy hour, like usual. No gold stars for anyone (although their old teacher always used to have them- this new teacher just does boring ticks in red pen)- and then a change: they’re going to make cards.
For Mothers day.
Which is in a week.
Suddenly, she feels very cold. Mothers day. 
She doesn’t want to think about last year- daffodils picked from the garden, carrying a tray not-to-spill-carefully into the bedroom, being allowed to boil the kettle and make the toast herself, the picture that kept coming out wrong and the poem she wrote herself in place of it. 
She wants Catalina to come- to take her home or even just to BE there… but then she remembers that Catalina has abandoned her, that she’s the one making her have to go to school at all.
(And besides, Catalina is at work now anyway, doing whatever she does at work. She pictures meetings and shouty phone calls and wavy lines in red on graph paper, like when she and Anne play office.) (She wonders what games Anne plays with Anna and decides they’re probably all boring anyway.)
The teacher finished explaining- about spelling and sharing the felt pens and taking turns with the glitter, as if they’re babies, as if they’ve never made cards before when everyone knows that even the Nursery school children make cards at Christmas and Easter….and she turns to her blank sheet of construction paper and wishes she could tear it up.
‘What are you going to do?’
Anne’s whisper catches her by surprise.
‘What do you mean?’
Anne looks uncomfortable. ‘Because- well-’
She understands what Anne means, all at once, and it’s like cold water being poured on her- of course she can’t make a card for mum because mum isn’t there to have it and she knows this, but this realisation still feels new and suddenly she’s thinking of all the other things she won’t ever be able to give mum or dad ever again, birthday presents and Christmas presents and-
Anne is almost quivering next to her, her hand waving high in the air, and Cathy just KNOWS what she’s going to ask- what about if you don’t have a Mum to make a card for? 
She knows that’s what she’s going to ask, and it makes her so angry (angry that Anne is asking, angry that it’s a question that applies to her now, angry that Anne and everyone else get to still have parents, angry that they have to do this stupid project in the first place when everyone knows that it’s meant to be history workbooks after break) that she’s burning hot all over.
The teacher suddenly stops her monologue on the necessity of Putting Lids on Felt Tips, as if she’s heard the question through the waving of Anne’s hand, and she smiles like she’s swallowed a tin of golden syrup. Her voice is syrupy to match.
‘Of course, for anyone who doesn’t have a mother-’ She pauses. ‘What I mean is, if you’d like to make a card for someone else- maybe an auntie….well, that’s fine’. 
She even looks at Cathy as she says it- but she doesn’t want to make a card for Catalina. She isn’t her auntie, she definitely isn’t her mum.
‘Because of course, you don’t have to be a mum to do mum-things!’
 (Her mum wouldn’t have abandoned her at school, she thinks first….and then she wonders if maybe her mum has abandoned her after all- except worse and more forever. It’s not a nice thought to have.)
‘People can be your mum in spirit and that’s fine!’
(Does that mean Catalina has to take the place of her mum now?)
Part of her still wants Catalina to come and make things ok again (although she’s not sure how she would)- but part of her is angry too.
She’s angry with Catalina, for doing all the ‘mum-things’, angry with herself that she’s been letting her. (Can her own mum see her letting Catalina tuck her into bed and run her bath and hear her spellings? Would she be cross if she could?)
She feels more mixed up than ever, and it’s all Anne’s fault, it’s all Anne’s fault (for asking the question, for putting the thought into the stupid teacher’s head, for liking Anna better) and when the teacher turns her back (because someone has somehow broken their gluestick like an idiot), the anger bubbles up and she kicks Anne as hard as she can under the desk. 
She’s not sure what she’s expecting- Anne to kick her back maybe, or to jump up and tell on her and get her into trouble, but instead Anne just bursts into tears.
Part of her wants to say sorry….but part of her thinks it serves Anne right for sitting next to stupid new Anna with her stupid shoes that light up and her stupid purse shaped like a dog. (They’re definitely not cool and she definitely isn’t going to ask for either for her birthday.) 
Within seconds, the teacher is bearing down on them both.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, young lady?’ (She thinks spitefully that the teacher has probably forgotten her name already, something that their usual teacher would NEVER do.)
She just scowls back.
‘You’re going to say sorry to- your friend’ (Clearly she’s forgotten Anne’s name too) ‘-and then you’re going to sit and get on with your card nicely where I can see you-’
‘I don’t want to.’
She folds her arms and the teacher huffs.
‘This is NOT the sort of behaviour I expect from children in this year group! Imagine what your mother would-’
She says it and then freezes, her face going bright red- and it’s this freezing that makes it worse, like a big loud reminder that mum CAN’T see her, that she’ll never see her again, that the teacher has made a big mistake by mentioning it…. And there’s a roaring in her head as she picks up her paper, rips it into pieces and throws them into the woman’s face.
When the teacher tries to take her hand and pull her to the front of the room, she pulls away and pushes all her things- her pencils and pens, her rubber that smells like strawberries onto the floor and stamps on them and feels the crack of plastic under her school shoes- until a hand closes around her wrist and she’s dragged away and deposited into the corridor.
(She’s never been put out into the corridor before because that’s something that only the really bad children have happen to them, and she’s never been one of them….except she also never used to be the child without parents, she never used to want to make Anne hurt, so maybe now everything is different, it doesn’t matter what she does because nothing will make it better, and there’s nothing to do but scream and scream and scream.)
**
She’s acting crazy, not like herself at all- and the scary thing is, she can’t seem to stop, though her throat is raw and sore and her head is aching. 
It hurts worse than when she had flu, and had to drink cups of lemon and honey and suck on horrible tasting lozenges (that didn’t taste anything like cherry no matter what the label said)...except when she had flu, she knes she’d get better but can you get better from something like this that isn’t an illness?
 It frightens her that she can’t stop but then perhaps it doesn’t matter because everything is ruined anyhow, her parents are never coming back (she knows this, she knows this), all her pens are broken, everyone in her class saw her tear things up like a really bad kid and Anne will sit next to Anna forever and Catalina will be so angry with her…...she’ll be in so much trouble and what if Catalina doesn’t want her any more, what if she decides that she’s too much trouble because of this-
The thought has her curled up into herself, her face pressed against her drawn-up knees because it’s so scary, scarier than roller coasters and dogs that bark and the dark space under her bed, scarier than the little bit of a horror film that Anne’s sister showed them once when she slept over with the man that had knives for hands, scarier than anything-
The click click click of high heels sound down the hall- and it’s a new sound to hear at school because those aren’t the sort of shoes that the teachers or the dinner ladies wear, they’re not even the sort of shoes the big grown-up girls in Year 6 wear, she only knows one person who wears those sort of shoes-
‘Querida-’
When Catalina crouches down in front of her and puts a hand on her arm, part of her wants to cling onto her and make her promise to not ever leave ever ever- but another part of her tells her that she’s being stupi,d that of course her godmother won;t want her any more, that she’s probably just come into school to tell her that- and so she pushes the hand away roughly and won’t look up.
‘What’s the matter?’
She says nothing.
‘I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, carino.’
She doesn’t want to talk.
‘I need to make sure you are ok, querida. Can you tell me what made you so upset?’
She doesnt sound angry, she sounds like she always does- and it’s all wrong, she shouldn’t even be here, school shouldn’t be calling Catalina . No one else has their godparents called into school….cxcept of course they have to because there’s no one else, there’s no one else at all-
‘I hate you.’
She even means it. Perhaps if Catalina wasn’t around to fill in and do all the mum things, then mum would still be alive (because how could she have died if there was truly no one else?)
‘Why querida?’
‘It’s your fault. You should have died instead of mum.’
She means that too, but as she says it, she hides her face in her arms so she doesn’t have to see if Catalina looks cross or sad or (and this would somehow be worst of all) like she doesn’t even care.
(Not that she cares how Catalina feels. If she hadn’t ruined everything by making her come into school- if she hadn’t ruined everything by existing at all-)
She wonders, in the darkness of her arms, what will happen next- shouting (except Catalina doesn’t shout, apart from at traffic lights that change too quickly or spiders that come out of nowhere) or just the click-click-click of her heels leaving...but there’s nothing.
Nothing at all.
Just quiet.
It’s so quiet for so long that she wonders if perhaps Catalina has actually left after all- it would make sense for her to leave- and the thought gives her a little frisson of fear. 
Despite everything….she doesn’t want to be all by herself. Not really. 
She waits for a long, long time.
Eventually, she risks a glance up- steeling herself for the empty corridor. 
But Catalina is still there, sitting on the wooden floor with her high shoes sitting next to her and the nail polish on her toes showing through her tights. 
She doesn’t look cross, only very sad and tired…. but she makes her face into a smile when she sees she’s being watched and the relief- that she isn’t being shouted at or sent away or hated is enough to make her start to cry all over again.
She knows she’s probably ruined everything already by saying those things- and she can’t escape the feeling that she’s doing something wrong by wanting by wanting her godmother in the same way she used to want her mum (like she’s betraying her, like she’s making her sad in heaven)......but she’s so very tired and lonely, and Catalina looks so warm and safe and comforting that she reaches out to her without meaning to, half wondering if she’ll be pushed away.
She isn’t pushed away.
Warm hands gently draw her close until she’s being held safe in her godmothers arms, one hand stroking her damp tangled hair away from her hot face while she tries to burrow far into Catalina’s smart silk work shirt and stiff black blazer. 
She knows she’s making them both wet and disgusting but she doesn’t care and Catalina doesn’t seem to mind either, just gently rocks her back and forth and murmurs things that must be in spanish but it doesn’t matter that she can’t understand, she just wants Catalina to keep holding her and keep talking because if she’s doing that, she can;t be planning on getting rid of her, at least not now, at least not yet-
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry-’
‘Oh querida. It’s alright. It’s all going to alright.’
She should explain herself- that’s what adults always say ‘explain yourself’, but she doesn’t know if she can and when she tries, it comes out wrong and she starts hiccuping in between sobs.
‘Shhhh, carino. You don’t have to talk yet.’
She whimpers and presses her face back into Catalina’s chest and feels a kiss be pressed into her hairline.
‘It’s alright. We’ll sort this all out, I promise.’
She’d like to say that some things can’t be fixed- but she’s too tired. She actually doesn’t feel very well at all, and now she’s noticing it- not just the way her throat is sore, not just the being tired, she feels sick too, and her head aches and she’s shaking a bit all over like she has the flu except she doesn’t- but Catalina’s arms are warm and safe and so she makes herself just think about that, about that instead.
A long, long time passes before she feels like she can talk again- there’s a heaviness all up her arm and legs and in her head.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’
‘It’s alright, querida. Do you want to tell me what happened? What made you so upset, hm?’
She doesn’t want to tell her at all but Catalina won’t be able to fix it if she doesn’t so she does her best- the Mother’s day card and Anne trying to ask her stupid question, Anne sitting with Anna instead of her, the daffodils last year, never being able to make another Mother’s day card again, the way the teacher looked at her, the anger and Anne crying at being kicked and all her own pens being broken.
Catalina listens and nods seriously and doesn’t interrupt, even though Cathy knows it’s a bit jumbled and she has to keep stopping every so often to sniffle into the tissues Catalina hands to her from the little packet in her purse.
When she finishes, Catalina nods slowly, like she’s working it all out in her head.
‘That is….quite a lot, querida.’
It actually makes her feel a (tiny) bit better, that Catalina doesn’t laugh or tell her she’s making a fuss about nothing…..but she knows what it also means- it isn’t all going to be fixed right away. Perhaps Catalina can see she’s disappointed because she squeezes her hand.
‘Would you like to hear my thoughts so far?’
She would.
‘I think your parents loved you very, very much. And that if they can see you, they will be thinking how very proud they are that you have been so brave and done so well, even without them there. I think they’d be proud to see how well you’re coping with having to live in a new place and do things differently.’
‘You don’t think they’d….mind? Do you think they’d be upset that I- about today?’
It hurts to ask but she wants to be sure.
Catalina shakes her head.
‘I think that you are having to work through a lot of things that are difficult. Very, very difficult. There is no easy way to lose people. And sometimes it will make you sad, and sometimes it will make you angry….like today-’
There’s a tiny lightening in her stomach at Catalina says that. She doesn’t feel better exactly...but it helps to know that perhaps she isn’t a really bad person after all. That it’s not badness, just grief. That maybe it’s even a bit normal.
‘Does everyone…..feel like this?’
Catalina looks down at her. ‘In one way or another….yes.’
‘Do you?’
‘Sometimes...yes.’
The thought makes her eyes go wide. She tries to imagine Catalina throwing pens on the floor of her smart office and it’s almost enough to make her smile again. Almost.
‘It doesn’t make you bad, it just part of grieving, carino- the hurting’ She pauses. ‘Not that you don’t need to try and make sure you don’t hurt other people too of course. I think perhaps you owe Anne an apology, hm?’
She shrugs and burrows back against the blazer and it feels cold and damp. ‘I don’t think she even wants to be my friend anymore-’
‘I can’t believe that, querida.’
‘It’s true. She has Anna now.’
‘Well’ Catalina changes position, stretching a cramped leg. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’
She isn’t sure what she means- and then Catalina gives her a tiny nudge and she looks up to see Anne’s face peering anxiously through the pane of glass in the classroom door. When she sees Cathy looking back at her, she looks enormously relieved- before she stops herself and makes a silly exaggerated cross face instead and mimes hopping up and down in pain.
Cathy finds she’s laughing in spite of herself- and Anne laughs too and sticks out her tongue, before a summons from inside drags her reluctantly away from the door.
‘Seems like she still wants to be friends to me.’
And she thinks perhaps Catalina is right.
Perhaps things aren’t as broken as she thought.
(Perhaps she can live with Catalina and let her do the mum-things that her own mum isn’t around for, but also keep thinking of mum-as-mum in her head. Perhaps she doesn’t have to feel guilty for doing normal things- perhaps she can feel proud. Perhaps things will work out mostly alright- not as alright as they’d have been if mum and dad were still alive but….close. Close enough.)
(Perhaps she’ll even ask Anna if she wants to play one day.)
(Perhaps.)
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sternentinte · 5 years
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Emogust 2019 - 15.08.|Twisted Fairy Tale
Aoko doesn’t know what she thought was the worst that could happen if she stepped away from the party for a minute. Maybe that Sonoko would come yell at her for not being in the room constantly, thus neglecting her own advice by leaving Ran and Kazuha alone at the ‘Fight-like-a-girl’ martial arts night they were holding.
Aoko, seeing as she has no skills in that field whatsoever (somehow she doubted her questionable talents at swinging around a mob counted as skills), volunteered to go to the women’s mental health charity gala on her own instead—it is a topic they have discussed openly before and as Sonoko likes to say, they should be consistent in their image.
But Aoko still isn’t quite comfortable with the glamour of those events, the heels are too high, the champagne is too ancient and expensive, and the salmon paninis are too tiny. There is nothing wrong with stepping out for a moment to escape the inescapable small talk. Especially if they are in this kind of location.
The gala is on top of one of those super-fancy towers that give an incredible view of the city. Earlier, everyone was up here on the platform, viewing the fireworks, but it’s abandoned now, and Aoko can breathe in the moonlight and bathe in the cool evening air as much as she wants. It’s a little bit cold, especially in the kind of dress she’s wearing, but Aoko doesn’t mind. She just stands there for a moment and lets the night sink in. Somehow the view is even nicer than it was earlier.
She leans onto the railing, relieving some of the pressure on her toes. Those heels really are killing me, Aoko thinks, You would think I’d be fine with it by now, it’s not like I never get to practice.
But regardless, she isn’t, and even though she definitely she shouldn’t, Aoko slips her feet out of them, for just a moment. It feels like heaven and she sighs in relief. She looks down her body, her formal blue dress clashing with the red laser dot on her chest-
Aoko’s thoughts come to a shrieking halt and it takes her a second to realise what is happening. A second too long. The floor beneath her opens up and she falls, there is a noise behind where she was just standing, an impact.
A bullet?, Aoko thinks, her mind still slightly detached from what is actually happening to her and, Wait a moment, where even did she land?
There are hands wrapping around her in the speed of light and suddenly she’s not wearing her dress anymore, but a black hoodie and jeans that are slightly too big.
“You should be more careful on a heist night, Nakamori-chan.”, something, no someone, whispers in her ear and only now Aoko realises that she’s being carried, bridal style, and she looks back.
The white suit, the hat, the monocle, so close in front of her. Aoko almost screams.
“Quiet, Nakamori-chan, you wouldn’t want us to be caught together after all.”, a different voice says, teasing, but Aoko knows it is coming from the same mouth. She is intimately acquainted with her father’s rants about KID’s voice mimicking abilities, after all.
“Let me go!”, she demands, but she whispers as well, instinctively following his command.
“I’m afraid that would be terribly irresponsible of me.”
Aoko almost laughs. “Since when are you worried about being responsible?”
“Since someone almost shot you in my place.”, he answers, no joke in his voice and the blood in Aoko’s veins freezes.
“The red dot- the sound- so it was a bullet…”
“I always knew you were a smart woman”, he says and puts her down abruptly.
Aoko just gets the chance to orientate herself before she is shoved against him again, a rope tying them together at the waist.
They are right in front of the second elevator, but it is out of service. Aoko remembers seeing the sign when she first arrived.
KID ignores it and pulls apart the doors instead. Then, before Aoko can even say anything, he jumps into the dark shaft like he has lost his mind. Then on the other hand, Aoko isn’t sure if he was ever quite sane.
“Whaaaahhh!”
Aoko’s scream is deafened by his hand on her mouth. For a moment, they just dangle around, then he removes his hand again.
“Sshhh. They can’t know where we are.”
“Who?”, Aoko asks, “the police?”
She is honestly still confused that KID is here at all. She had heard rumours that he had sent a notice, but since her father wasn’t there, she had thought they really were just rumours.
“No.”, KID says, “the police aren’t here today.”, but he doesn’t offer a proper explanation.
Instead he starts swinging them around, and just when Aoko thinks she’s going to die hitting the walls of an elevator shaft, his hands come up on either of her sides and he catches footing on what seems to be a ladder.
A cut and they are from their rope.
“Let’s go.”, he says and Aoko doesn’t really have another chance but too climb with him.
He stops, just as suddenly as he put her down in front of the elevator, and after a few fast motions with his hand, there is a tile missing from the wall. The evening air is blowing back at them, just as it did only a few moments ago when Aoko was taking of her shoes.
KID climbs out of the opening. There is a small platform, if it even deserves to be called that. It’s a tiny piece of steel, just enough to stand on, probably for construction work. And hidden above it, the hang glider. It’s obvious from here, but as they seem to be right under the curve in the tower that marks the restaurant, it must be invisible from the outside.
“Are you coming?”, KID asks, tensely, probably more human than Aoko ever imagined him to be. “Sadly, we don’t have time to appreciate the view.”
Aoko stares at him. There is no way she could fit on the tiny ledge as well. “How-?”, she asks, not bothering to finish her sentence. The incredulity in her voice should be enough. She isn’t even sure what she means, everything that just happened, or what is still to come.
He lifts his arms as if to catch her again. “Don’t you trust me, Nakamori-chan?”, he sings.
“I absolutely don’t.”, Aoko says, truthfully. But she’s also not exactly rich in options, so she does exactly what he expects her to—climb out of the hole in the tower’s façade and into his arms.
As soon as she settles there, the world turns around again. It takes Aoko a second to realise that she is, in fact, flying.
Something rushes through her and at first, she struggles to identify the emotion.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?”, KID says next to her ear.
“Yes!”, she breathes. She doesn’t have it in her to lie. That’s what she’s feeling—pure joy.
“Just like a fairy tale.”
Aoko furrows her brows. “What do you mean?” It certainly feels magical, but fairy tales are quite a specific connotation.
“Well, you lose your shoes and I sweep you off your feet. Isn’t that how it works?”
Aoko laughs, despite herself. “I don’t think that’s quite how it works.”
“You’re right.”, he says, quietly and seriously again, “I think we lost them, but we need to be careful.”
Aoko still isn’t quite sure what he means, but the pieces are starting to come together.
“The police would never shoot at you, you’re not typically a big danger to anyone”, she mumbles.
“Indeed.”
He doesn’t say anything else and Aoko’s joy turns into cold fear again. The implications of that…
Before she can think through it properly their position changes again. We’re landing, Aoko realises, then she sees were they actually are.
A second later, they are standing on the balcony of Aoko’s bedroom. More accurately, KID is standing on Aoko’s balcony, while Aoko is still being held by him. There is something about his touch that feels deeply comfortable, familiar even, like something she’s been craving… Aoko shuts down the line of thought.
“Someone is threatening you.”, she states, focusing on the other revelation she just had.
“You are, of course, correct.”, he says, more softly than the situation requires and it does something to Aoko’s brain and guts, something she really should get under control.
“That needs to be reported.”, Aoko says, because it does, but as she says them, she knows the words don’t make any sense.
“I’m a thief, Nakamori-chan.”, he says, as if to remind her, “the police isn’t there to keep me safe.”
“The police is there to keep everyone safe.”, Aoko argues, but her mind is swirling.
“Even criminals?”, KID asks, still so close to her ear, so close to her mouth.
“Of course.”, Aoko whispers and he is even closer and then, without a break or hesitation, they are kissing.
His lips feels soft underneath hers and she can feel the beat of his heart heavy in his chest and his hands are in her hair and his smell is in his ears, and, stupidly and irrationally, Aoko thinks of Kaito and suddenly it is him that’s holding her, kissing her, wanting her.
They break apart and he sets her down, finally, but Aoko’s legs feel like jelly, so she leans against him, using him for support.
Aoko needs a few breaths to get back to reality. This is KID, not Kaito, even though there is something about the thief that feels like Kaito, so much, which doesn’t even make any sense, because Aoko wouldn’t know that. She hasn’t ever kissed Kaito, after all, no matter how much she wants to.
“I didn’t think”, KID says quietly, and Aoko can hear something in his voice as if the kiss has rattled him the same way as it has her, “you would extend that right of protection to someone you hate so much.”
Aoko’s voice catches for a moment.
“I don’t hate you.”, she says finally, because she doesn’t, not anymore. The days she was campaigning her disapproval at any heist she could attend are long over—she isn’t even sure when exactly she stopped. It must have been in her last year of high school, a bit after they formed the band. It started with not having the time, then being too tired, until she honestly didn’t care that much anymore.
“Oh?” His fingers are weaving through her hair. “I had a different impression by all the posters you used to put up.”
“I thought that if it weren’t for you, my father would be home more and I would be less alone.”, Aoko explains and surprises herself with her honesty.
“I see. Isn’t that true?” He tilts his head to one side, his voice inscrutable and distant, as if he isn’t talking about anything that concerns himself.
Aoko sighs softly. “Maybe, but looking back, it was even worse at times you disappeared. I think my father is a little lost if he doesn’t have you to catch.”
It is a bit of a sad truth of her life, but there isn’t really anything she can do about that. And neither can KID. Not that that means she likes him by any means, but she also doesn’t despise him like she used to.
He hums and the tone does something to Aoko.
Before she can stop herself, she pulls him down and kisses him again and he kisses her back, happily, hungrily, as if she has some unknown miracle to offer. Aoko leans further into him. Kaito, Kaito, Kaito, her mind cries and Aoko can’t push the image away. Really, she doesn’t want to.
Why are you kissing me, Nakamori-chan?”, he whispers when they pull apart for a second.
“Just to pretend”, she says, “just to pretend.”
And he doesn’t argue.
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@mintchocolateleaves, @sup-poki
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Lithuania brings yellow fever to Rotterdam 2021
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...okay...
...I feel the rhythm...
*swoosh*
...something’s going on here...
*another swoosh*
The music flows through my ve-e-e-ve-veins𝒔𝒔𝒔𝒔𝒔𝒔𝒔
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IT’S TAKING OVER MEEEEEE
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oh NO IVETA WTF ARE YOU DOING HERE IN LITHUANIA REVIEW GO HOME
ARTIST & ENTRY INFO
‘Bout the fucking time I am gonna talk about our bois, eh?
The Roop formed somewhere in around 2009, back when the lead singer Vaidotas Valiukevičius probably felt like he needed to be in a band, after many years of twists and turns of being a solo pop sensation and then it all ceasing a year prior. In 2009 he did get to cross paths with the drummer Robertas and the guitarist Mantas, one of them not being very fond of working with a former pop sensation but eventually giving into it. They had a small start, kinda went nowhere, but in the end they did start get some gigs at some point, and the gigs were small. For a band existing for so long and needing recognition, something eventually happened and they ended up on the Eurovizijos 2018 with “Yes, I Do”, which is more closer to the band’s older repertoire, because of course, they hadn’t hit big with their new sound just yet.
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And when I first heard it, I was mindblown how good and stylish did it sound??? Yeah, somehow, I would never have had this sort of expectation in my life that I would’ve been mesmerized by a band I’ve never heard of (but I’ve heard of its lead singer and his past career but haven’t thought of him in years), but it’s just nowadays the thing that happens to me, when artists I don’t have many expectations for by name just slay my existence. (Major paragraphs about one such act coming up on my last review before the 2021 final)
What clicked with me is that song has the undertones about overcoming depression, because Vaidotas was diagnosed with one a year earlier, and it’s coming from Lithuania of all countries... Lithuania, the fucking country that’s number 1 or at the very least top 5 in suicides in handful of categories. And I would’ve loved to see us send such anthem of hope and light for those in need of it, but alas... we preferred love story and husband on stage (who broke up with her anyway sometime later because mutual reasons idek). Not that I’m mad, but it left me miffed and clamouring for The Roop to one day make their big Eurovision break.
And they did! 2 years later we saw the group re-emerge in the new Lithuanian NF’s format, Pabandom iš naujo 2020, with a song that’s different to their usual back-then style, the sleek and quirky dance hit “On Fire”. All was swell and we were actually doing well in the odds and were many people’s faves, but once again, for The Roop it was not meant to reach their dream of reaching out to more audiences, for that Eurovision that they were going to was cancelled, but the panini didn’t stop them, and they still ended up becoming one of the biggest current Lithuanian acts, still getting gigs during the panorama and all that, and awarded for all they had to be awarded for in the Lithuanian Grammy’s equivalent M.A.M.A. This indeed was just the beginning for them. Oh right and they also won the German Eurovision event thingy in place of the real one. And got a silver plastic miniature of the Eurovision trophy. Life is fine.
Then they got a record deal with Warner Music Baltics, went to Finland to do some music work with another Warner branch, and that’s just a part of how “Discoteque”, their entry, was born. It’s a dancy upbeat song, and its lyrics are all about the freedom to dance alone. Nothing to do about quarantine eventhough the “alone”ness suggest otherwise, lol.
REVIEW
I was craving this moment ever since. Though, I kinda thought that the “Discoteque” title was weird on the first glance at the participants/entries list, and not because of it being written without an h. It’s because... The Roop? Going funky? Throwback-esque? After the modernity that “On Fire” was?? hmmm k show what you got mwah mwah xx
And then when it released, it hit me very unexpectedly. Like. Okay. This sounds weird. Very bass-driven, in a way. It has an opening monologue, and a clicking chorus with a KILLER INSTRUMENTAL SECTION???? The one where it makes their hands go crazy when it goes on???
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There’s just so much that was put into “Discoteque” that makes it stand out. They even explained certain parts of their song in the music video’s description, like, the extremely syllabic staccato chorus harkens back to the Lithuanian folklore days the way the melody is sung, the bridge made up of odd beatbox noises is meant to symbolize the first human music to ever exist (possibly from mouth sounds), and there’s also this out of key tinkly tune on the bridge that I can’t help but note everytime I listen. As well as I like noting that moment when his voice glitches out in the intro before the verse, and the hi-hats clapping 4 times before the second verse stars. I just love me some little details.
The lyrics are somewhat simplistic, with still some grammar gripes (never heard a soul say “wounded soul” without indicating if it’s “a” or “my” wounded soul???), but at least somewhat better and less cliche than rhyming “fire” with “desire” WHO DOES THAT. But props to The Roop for simply just making people not mind that lyric (at least at large) and now we ended up with an OGAE voting winning song / contender with the “fire / desire” rhyme thrown in there. Mad respect lol. (Yeah and also not a huge fan of the “body’s shaking” line, I guess that’s just me that hates certain words/word combos or think they’re just too weird in context. Apologies)
No but for real, they have crafted and put down a LOT of details in this song, and not just it, but also the choreography (according to them, all inspired by their childhood) and the video (same inspirations as for the choreography), and the whole vibe, and the outfits, and the color scheme (predominantly yellow with purple backdrop and also checkered visuals)... every single thing was crafted out to perfection and I fucking adore it, and I couldn’t have wanted any other way. The MOVES are in THAT specific order they want, although hard to memorize in sequence though, no matter how many times the Roop taught us to dance like them. Also this finger fucker dance move which I still cannot practice without realizing mine are jerky:
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No wonder you got them pointing at you, mister, shit’s hard to practice!
And the music video trajectory, oh the music video trajectory (that is still not uploaded on Eurovision’s Youtube channel for some reason. Has it got anything to do with Warner?). Okay, it starts with an “On Fire” callback, with the band leaving to their dressing room, and Vaidotas is by the mirror with his white turtleneck, while a riff begins and he just starts feeling the peculiarity and reveals his yellow suit, and everyone goes for a dance, firstly just with all of the crew that is back from last year (the three Roop members + dancers Marijanas and Miglė), then with a bunch of people in stylish bowl wigs, and then they go back to the dressing room for one final mirror selfie.
my absolute favourite moment is this though. ahh yeah go ahead and feel yaselves
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Though I gotta ask, was this move really inspired by Arvydas Sabonis or did Arvydas Sabonis influence The Bangles to walk like an Egyptian first?
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It’s yet another quirky song from them, in a somewhat less conventional but at the same time more conventional way. Might have taken me a little time to get invested in it a a bit more, but if it’s an instant success with audiences, I can’t fault them for it, absolutely.
Approval factor: Absolutely. I wanted them for a long time, I am not disappointed. Follow-up factor: Both songs from The Roop are amazing, and also, LRT trusted in them to participate in the next selection once it will be held, and so they did give in, and LRT appointed them an automatic spot in the NF final (which they haven’t done since 2008), and they won fairly and squarely with an unimaginably big amount of televotes lol. We love our Roops. So the follow-up is just as good as the previous entry, which I still sometimes do prefer and think it would’ve stood a bigger chance to win unlike “Discoteque”, but we’ll see, we’ll see. Qualification factor: lol this is like the surest we’ve been about our qualification in years. Now I don’t wanna last-minute jinx it or anything, but we do have a slick performance and a song that’s somewhat of a clicker at first listen, so yeah, there’s your reasons why we pretty much shouldn’t fail, even if as semi openers. (And mind you, the openers to Eurovision in the 2020s, at least the actually happening Eurovision! Sorry Sweden 2020, The Mamas at least started the 2020s for Melodifestivalen xx)
NF CORNER
Now, just because The Roop were the clear standouts of an otherwise so-so NF, doesn’t mean there hasn’t been any decent songs. Like for instance:
• Gebrasy - Where’d You Wanna Go? I’ve actually been slightly rooting for this guy ever since he didn’t go by his stage name yet and sang a song co-penned by Michael Schulte (yes, THAT Michael Schulte, apparently) in 2018, and now it’s just astonishing about the amount of recognition he received with his fairly competent pop ballad piece (if it wouldn’t have done a Jurijus this year) about what sounds like a road accident. Many people said that if The Roop weren’t in this year, he would’ve won easily, but if not for The Roop, who knows how else would’ve the lineup sounded?
• Gabrielius Vagelis - My Guy Sounds like a love song to a guy, is actually about your own personal cheerleader that you can call “my guy”, I guess... simple synthpop piece performed by a competent and yet also very underrated by the televotes every single year he’s competed in singer, with his constant fashion choices additionally bringing him down a slight notch. Also would be a nice future ESC candidate, who knows when though, because Gebrasy is the main focus first, I guess.
And a few other songs I kinda liked, but I don’t wanna go too much in detail about each.
NF CORNER (NON-COMPETITIVE)
Organization-wise, we gotta say that we’re getting towards a pretty neat and tidy organized NF ever since Pabandom iš naujo format had even started. Sure, there were some withdrawal dramas from before the lineup (one of them being Evelina Sašenko who represented Lithuania 10 years ago already), and also the pressure of The Roop ending up as automatic finalists, and making some competitors feel like their tries are not worth it when there’s an obvious elephant in the room? But otherwise, not much notable has happened.
Except interval acts. Some good fucking food. Each and every time. Lithuania’s refined talentry jumped out constantly. My faves were Sisters On Wire though.
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Maybe they could bring the chilled out pop rock sound that The Roop tried to carry out in 2018? Who knows.
Also this guy called Voldemars Petersons sang his entry in multiple different styles, trying to give versatile genre roulette artists a run for their money. Good for him I guess
Also, manly tears on live TV
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ANY LAST WORDS?
The Roop knows just how proud the nation Lithuania is of them tonight. If I know them right, they’ll stay cool, calm and collected before the show and manage to give out their best to bring Lithuania a certified final placing, and possibly a good final finish. I am grateful for them ever having had an opportunity to showcase themselves, and I will forever look back on “Discoteque” as one of the best we’ve ever sent.
SĖKMĖS LIETUVA!!! SĖKMĖS THE ROOP!!! LET’S DISCOTEQUE WOOOOOOOOOO 💛🖖💜
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Di piano e forte 05
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pt. 1 ↠  pt. 2 ↠ pt. 3 ↠ pt. 4 ↠ pt. 5 ↠ pt. 6
↠Summary: Piano; A keyboard of cypress, played with soft and loud. Was it the ivory and onyx keys that let you escape from your reality…Or was it the man with sable hair and ivory skin.
↠Genre: Angst, fluff.
↠Warnings: This fic contains slight domestic and verbal abuse as well as mature subjects. Sexual assault. Mentions of depression. This may be triggering, read with caution.
author’s note: I decided to turn this into something a little more angsty, in couldn't resist lol I hope you enjoy.  Updates for this series on Thursday or Friday, enjoy!
You panted heavily, stretching your arms and holding your hands behind your head to give your lungs a break. The sun hadn't risen yet. You liked to jog early in the morning, to avoid the pounding heat of the sun. Mom always says exercise is a good way to take time for yourself, but you're using it as an outlet to escape from what's been going on. Your brother hasn't been home for a week now and you couldn't help but get worried—well, you were relieved and worried. The house was peaceful; but sad and even depressing. 
You were ashamed to admit how bad you've been emotionally eating. When you got home from work you went straight for the sweets, or you wouldn't eat at all. When you were at school you were getting by on boba teas. But this week you made the decision to get yourself together, eat better, exercise and even sleep more. It was making a difference, somewhat. After this you had a doctors appointment, your body pains have gotten better so you were hoping you could get off of the pills soon.
The bridge crossing the lake was just as beautiful as it was at night, it looked so poetic in a way. It was the kind of place friends should go to walk and talk about their innermost feelings and joys. When your dad was still living he'd take you and your along with him to walk around the city. The packed train station was a place to look for adventure, pick a place to stop and your adventure begins. The pictures in my distant memories were perfect—the current me was an image, a moment where loneliness had stopped time. No one would know how lonely you were. You didn't even know.
I drove back home, eager to get to the shower.
You walked up to the counter, handing the nurse your papers. “Hi, I'm here for the 8:45 appointment with Dr. Lu.”
“Ok, I'll check you in. You can have a seat.” She went to her computer and you went to wait in the tiny waiting room.
A few minutes went by and they called you to the back. 
“Hello Miss. Y/LN. How are you?” He came in, smiling with his usual clipboard and coat.
“Hi,” You sat down, holding your purse in your lap, “I'm good, and you?”
“I'm great.” He looked over his papers and sighed. “So, how are your body pains? Has the medicine helped?”
“Yeah, my shoulders still get to me when I'm really stressed but other than that they've been pretty good. I was wondering if I should keep taking them, you know? I just don't want my body to become dependent on it...it kind of makes me depressed, I shouldn't have these problems, I'm so young...”
He nodded his head for a few seconds before sighing. “Well, it's not fibro myalgia so that's good. And you can get body pain for a number of reasons, it's not always age. But you told me that sometimes your almost in tears from the pain, I do want you to live comfortably. I will prescribe the same pain killers and you can pick them up at the drug store.”
“Thank you Dr. Lu, I really appreciate.” He opened the door and you bid him farewell. When you got to the front desk the nurse gave you the prescription and you thanked her.
You left with your purse on your shoulder and the prescription in hand. You couldn't have been more lonely right now. With heavy steps you walked to the bus station and sat on the bench. 
When the bus finally pulled up you used your coins to pay before walking to your usual spot, leaning your head against the glass. 
“Ok ma'am, we'll have it out in a second.” The pharmacist went to the back to get the medicine. As you waited you saw a familiar head of hair in the isle behind you, you tried to lean back and see who it was but right when you went back the person left and they handed you the medication.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
You paid for it and went on your way. 
“Here.” Yoongi tossed the wrist brace on Namjoons lap.
“Thanks Hyung.” 
“I don't know how you sprained your wrist cleaning the bathroom.” He laughed, Namjoon just shrugged.
He sniffed. “Hyung...” Namjoon gave Yoongi a knowing look before sighing. “Are you smoking again? You only smoke when your reevaluating your life or some shit like that.” Namjoon sat next to him on the couch, fastening the wrist brace.
“It's nothing, really.” He shrugged.
“Is it your mom?” He saw Yoongi’s expression bo blank, that's what it was. “It is isn't, what happened Yoongi, is she okay?”
He sighed. “Her and my dad are still legally married, he's in a relationship right now so he's trying to divorce her.” He rested his head in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. “He's fucking sick. He knows she's under his health care, if that stops I don't know how she'll be able to stay at rehab.” 
“Can't she get help from the government? You know, like government assistance.”
“Yeah, but they'll just give her more shitty drugs and put her in a group home, to rot. Where she is now is much better for her recovery, it's expensive but she's getting better and at least I know she's safe there.” Yoongi was hiding it well but Namjoon could sense how upset he was. He was always worried about her, regardless of her troubled past. When he was at his piano late at night, thinking Namjoon wasn't awake, he wept. Those black and white keys were coated in his tears, he'd bang on the keys and shout in a drunken fit when he was really upset. He never remembered doing it though, he'd wake up with a bad hangover, not knowing the things he'd done the night before.
“I have to talk to him...I'm stalling though.” He sort of chuckled, he hated talking to that unreasonable man.
“You know I'm here, I'll do anything I can to help.” He gave his shoulder a comforting pat before he left. “I'll be at the studio if you need me.”
When Namjoon closed the door Yoongi leaned back on the couch, what was he gonna do? He only wanted what was best for her. He couldn't visit her often and when he did he had to prepare himself, mentally. She used to have a bad addiction when he was a kid, she got a hold of the wrong prescriptions and her life went downhill from there. She had never been more disappointed in her self, she blamed herself for all of Yoongi’s problems. That guilt alone ate her from the inside out. Just recently is when she started to learn how to forgive herself, except that he forgives her.
“Y/N! We're still waiting on those sandwiches!” 
“I'm sorry! They're coming out.” You were using the panini press to make what seemed the hundredth sandwich today. You were struggling to get the food finished so instead of looking for the things you tried to grab it with your hand. 
“Agh!” You hissed, there were now red grill marks on your hand. You threw the sandwiches on the plate and sat the food in the window. I'm done. You've been here since 9:30 and it's going on 7 o'clock. You ran to the sink to rinse off your burn. When you went to the front one of your coworkers asked if you could help with the ice teas.
“There's a peach black tea and- Oh my God, what happened to your hand?” 
Instinctively, you tried to hide it. “I-it's nothing, just a little burn.” You tried to play it off like it was nothing, even though it felt like your skin was boiling.
After the last cup of tea, you could finally leave, you got your bag, took off your apron and you went on your way.
It was drizzling outside so you ran to the bus stop, trying to shield your face from the relentless drops. There was a slight breeze in the air and you caught a whiff of smoke, you coughed a little looking for the source. You looked back and saw a pretty pale hand resting outside of a car window, skin of that color could only belong to one person you knew of.
Min Yoongi. He must've seen you too because he was letting down the passenger's side window. “Hey.” He took a long drag of his cigarette before putting it out. You never would've guessed he smoked, then again you never really know how people are or what they do when you're not around.
“Hi.” You held your hand above your head, trying to keep the rain from getting on your face
“Are you taking the bus?”
You nodded, pushing the strands of hair behind your ear with squinted eyes.
“You'll be waiting for a while, come on. I'll take you home.” He leaned over to open the door as you scurried over.
“Thanks.” You sighed, putting on your seat belt. 
When you looked over at him, you could tell there was something different about him. You weren't sure what it was, you just knew there was something off. You two sat there for a while, he was on his phone and you just waited patiently for him to pull off.
“What happened to your hand?” He suddenly pointed to the grill like marks on the back of your hand. 
“It's from the panini press.” You answered simply, licking your lips as you noticed how dark it had become.
"It looks painful.” He commented without actually looking at it. You just nodded. The drive was sort of awkward because of the obvious elephant in the room. The two of you hadn't talked in almost two weeks, you haven't had any piano lessons from him and he hasn't offered. But now he's driving you home—he actually remembered where you lived. He took all the right turns but of course ran into the usual traffic.
“So, are we gonna talk about it?” Yoongi asked suddenly, saying what you had been thinking about this whole time. You relaxed when he stopped at the red light, his attention, for the first time, undivided and on you. To his disdain you just shook your head, maybe he wanted a more in-depth answer but you didn't feel the need to give one. You're both adults and it was a little kiss. It shouldn't have consumed your thoughts like it did. He took a deep breath before sighing once again—he does that a lot you've noticed. “Do you still want lessons...” 
“Um...yeah, I still want to learn...” You cleared your throat, the smell of smoke still lingered in the car. It was hard to really look at him. His appearance had changed since the last time you saw him. His eyes were darker, his hands were paler and he looked tired. The last time you saw him you two had kissed in the rain, that wasn't something you just do with anyone. It was so impulsive and out of character of him, he didn't know what he was acting on. It could've been desperation, neediness, he could've been compelled by the desire of physical touch, he really didn't know. You kind of blame yourself for making the relationship so casual, you were the one who asked him on a date. Who does that to their piano teacher?
When he pulled up to your house you were both equally shocked to see the parking lot full of cars. He's back, you thought. The sound of laughter and music was an indicator that Jaebum was having a party.
“Sorry to bother you but, do you have any aspirin?” Yoongi looked to you with the tilt of his head. “I have the worst headache.”
“Yeah, I'm pretty sure we have some. I'll bring you one.” You got out and went up the stairs with your key in hand.
You didn't want to go in there. The horrid smell of body odor and alcohol was never something you were fond of. You pushed the key in the lock and opened the door slowly, you could already smell the marijuana and beer wafting in the air.
There were a bunch of people, you didn't even know he knew so many people. To get out of this suffocating environment you immediately went to your room, glad you decided to lock it before leaving this morning. You could hear Jaebum shouting nonsense, he was drunk, as expected. You quickly closed your room door and went to your bathroom.
“Aspirin, aspirin...” You searched through your medicine and you couldn't find any. You were gonna text him but quickly you remember you left your bag in his car. You were about to leave your room but you heard someone walk in, you froze.
One of Jaebums friends.
“Y/N, I thought Jaebum said y- you were gone?” He was either high or drunk—but probably both.
You ignored him, hoping he'd let you pass by without a problem. Judging by the look on his face he wasn't intending on letting you leave anytime soon.
“Excuse me.” You tried to walk past him but he grabbed you but the shoulders and pushed you back.
“What the hell?! Move!” Demanded, getting angrier and angrier by the second. 
“Why don't we close the door and a have some fun?” He closed the door behind him and stalked towards you. “I've always had my eyes on you, you know that? You may be annoying but your fine as hell.” He was already right in front of you—your heart was beating out of your chest in fear.
“Don't do this.” That didn't sound as confident as you intended. He pushed you on the bed, trying to pin you down as you flailed violently.
“Get off! I- I don't want this!” You cried.
“What's taking her so long?” He put out his cigarette. You've been up there's for almost five minutes, how long doesn't it take to find some aspirin. He decided he'd go up there and see if you were ok, it wasn't like you to just not sat anything. When he got upstairs he didn't bother knocking, the door was open. Some hoe saw him when he walked in and strolled over. 
“What's your name?” She walked over with a red solo cup in her hand.
He just walked away, not bothering to actually give her the time of day. He navigated through the groups of people to get to your bedroom, he knocked.
No answer.
Your light was on so you were in there, did you not hear him. He knocked again. “Y/N? Hey, I don't need the aspirin, it's okay if you don't have it.”
Yoongi? Thank God.
“Yoongi!” Your shouting was muffled by the hand over your mouth. “H-help-” You couldn't get out a coherent call for help.
“Who the hell is that?” He frowned. He didn't wait for a response, he was quickly attempting to undress you and you barely had the strength to push him. No, no, no...you were squirming and he kept squeezing your arm, eliciting bloodcurdling cries from your mouth.
You bit his hand. “YOONGI!!” You screamed bloody murder, probably scaring the life out of your neighbors.
Yoongi immediately barged in to see you in tears underneath some lowlife, crying and kicking. “Get the fuck off of her! You piece of shit!” Yoongi ripped him off of you and they were tussling on the floor. When the guy stood up Yoongi punched him, causing him to fall back almost instantly.
“What the hell?” Jaebum walked in, looking at Yoongi, then at you, then one of his best friends.
“The fuck?” Jaebum narrowed his brows. “Is this your boyfriend Y/N?”  
You were too busy trying to situate your clothes and wipe your tears to answer him. It was pissing Yoongi off the way Jaebum totally disregarded the obvious situation you were in.
“Y/N fucking talk.” He raised his voice at you but you only got up to go to the bathroom and clean yourself up.
“Hey! I'm talking to you!” He ran over and yanked you back by the arm, you winced. 
You were in a lot of pain and you could barely cry out anymore.“No! Stop-”
Yoongi pulled you behind him. “Don't you fucking touch her.” You ran into the bathroom, leaving your brother and Yoongi in a stare off. 
“Who the fuck are you? Her damn guardian angel or something? What makes you think you can go around knocking out my friends?” Jaebum pushed Yoongis chest, challengingly him.
“It's none of your damn business. That son of a bitch was literally assaulting her, your own sister! Did you not fucking see her!? That friend of yours doesn't have respect worth shit.” Some noisy people came to crowd at the door and Jaebum was livid, Yoongi was exposing him in front of everyone. Humiliating him more and more by the second.
“You're one cocky bastard to come into my house talking shit. If she was about to get screwed then she had it coming. And we’re not blood, it's step-sister.” Jaebum had absolutely no sympathy for you, his own family was like nothing to him.
“Fuck you!” Yoongi threw a punch so hard, he will have that bruise for months. He opened your bathroom door, seeing you crying at the sink. Without a word he grabbed your hand, dragging you out of this hell hole.
“Y-yoongi...wait-” You struggled to get it out. Inevitably you gave up trying to explain, you followed him to his car with your head down. You got in the passenger's side and he drove off.
“You're staying over my place tonight.” That's all he said.
He had to be going at least 15 miles over the speed limit.
His jaw was clenched tight, his grip on the steering wheel was like iron. You couldn't imagine what he might be thinking, you looked at him again. He's never looked better than he did right now, why was that? You couldn't figure it out, maybe there was something about his eyes, they were so focused.
There were dry tear stains on your face, your hair was a mess and you could feel the bruises from where that guy had hit you. Yoongi pulled into a driveway, turned off the car and got out. You watched him walk around so he could open your door. You grabbed your backpack, following him to the front door. When he opened it up to you shyly walked in.
“Hyung?” Namjoon walked out of his room. “I thought you were-” 
“Y/N is staying the night.” Yoongi waved to his roommate and you tried to shield your face as you scurried behind him. Namjoon saw you though, there were hundreds of scenarios running through his head.
Yoongi turned on his room light and went to his drawers. He had a very tidy room. “Here.” He handed you a t-shirt and some sweat pants. “They'll be a little big but they're still comfortable; this room gets cold at night anyway.”
“Oh- I can sleep on the couch, really...I don't mind...” You swallowed thickly, standing nervously. 
He ignored your suggestion and rubbed the back of his neck. “My bathroom is right there.” He pointed before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a beer and went to the couch. 
“What happened?” Namjoon walked over, it was obvious he was upset.
“Huh...” He sighed. “Her brother is an asshole.” Yoongi took a swig of his drink.
“Can you elaborate?” Namjoon plopped down in the recliner.
“I drove her home from her job. When we got to her place her brother was home and he threw a party or whatever the fuck that tacky mess was. She went inside to get me an aspirin but she was taking forever, so I went to check on her...some guy was on her, she was crying and- I knocked him out. Her brother didn't even give a fuck either, the bastard said she had it coming. I wanted to kill him Joon...I really did.” He was calming down but the mere thought was still disturbing—infuriating.
“Wow, that's a lot to take in...is she okay?” Namjoon looked at Yoongi’s closed door.
“I think so, I dragged her out of her room and told her she was staying here tonight, I guess I probably should've asked but it wouldn't have been safe to leave her there.” He shook his head, tilting up his bottle to take another gulp.
You cracked open his room door and peeked out. He kind of smiled when he saw you with his clothes on. The pants were far too big for you, his long sweats and shirt engulfed your small frame.
“Hi Namjoon," You greeted him, "Um, Yoongi, I really don't mind taking the sofa...” 
“Take the bed Y/N, we're not arguing on this.” He walked past you, cracking the door behind him “I'm gonna shower real quick.” You sat on his bed as he got some clothes and went to the shower. 
When he opened the bathroom his hair was wet, his face was flushed and supple—he looked so soft and young. 
“Are you okay? I'm sorry about what happened...” He said standing at the door, drying his hair.
“I don't know what to do anymore, Yoongi...I can't tell my mom, it'll only make her upset, she's been through too much. But he's always like that to me, it really hurts, you know? B- But none of his friends have ever-...and he didn’t try to stop him...” You held back your tears. His heart was breaking, he was angry at himself and that guy, your situation was so sad and he really couldn't do anything about it.
“I'm sorry.” He sat beside you, he didn't know what to say. 
“It's not your fault...” You looked at him, twiddling your fingers like you always did when you were anxious. He grabbed your hand gently, squeezing it lightly.
“It’s not yours either. I just want you to know, you're safe here. If you need a place to stay you can always come here. I promise you, if it means you’ll sleep safely then I’m willing to give up my bed." You pressed your lips together, nodding slowly. Others think I can give everything, I think I can give everything but I can't. I've had a day that’s hard enough to let out at least a small sigh. Two gazes were looking at each other, but both gazes were entirely alone. Without much thought, you hesitantly leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. He responded naturally, opening wider to slip in some tongue. His lips—they were so cold, so why did it seem so warm? How could this feel just as right and perfect as the first time we've kissed. You were just melting into him, like ice. Frozen and silent. He held your hand tighter, sighing into you—he didn't want this moment to end. This was beautiful and his heart was so full, it was going to burst. Slightly he pulled away, out of breath. “Y/N...” He hugged you, but he couldn't feel you breathing. You were holding your breath, your chest tight with emotion and pain. 
He spoke softly. “It’s okay to run out of breath sometimes, no one will blame you...” You wrapped your arms around his neck, his arms wrapped around your torso. You couldn’t help it, tears were falling from your eyes as you took a deep breath and sighed heavily.
Now don’t think of anything else Let out a deep sigh Just let it out like that.
Though I can’t understand your breath
It’s alright, I’ll hold you
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mimmerr · 4 years
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How jobs in retail and hospitality make us better employees (and people.)
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Unions last week called for shops to stay closed on Boxing Day after complaints of some employees being asked to start work at 3:30am. And as much as online shopping now dominates our spending habits, shoppers were still expected to spend £4bn in Boxing day sales, with a large proportion of these purchases in store. Everyone loves a bargain but surely we can give everyone, including those in retail and hospitality a well-needed break? I think that’s more important than getting 20% off something I don’t like or need. 
Anyway, the public outcry for holidays for all brought me back to my days in hospitality, where I worked both Christmas Eve and Boxing Day. It was pants not being able to relax properly on Christmas Eve or day, where I had missed half the fun by being at work and then had to cut some of said fun early to go back. The pay was similarly pants. Pants galore that Christmas. After all, employers aren’t legally required to pay their staff double on bank holidays but some kinder ones thankfully do. And as much as there was pants galore that Christmas, I do look back at my days in hospitality with some positivity. There were bleak times like the above but the experience overall taught me the life skills I use today. I would even go as far to say that my job in hospitality made me a much more rounded person than University did, resulting in my mantra, there’s nothing wrong with cleaning a toilet. With resounding bitterness, I accept that not everyone agrees with everything I say, so let’s research my ‘Pants galore but worthwhile’ thesis.
The reason I believe this is worthwhile to write about is that 2.9 million of us work within retail and over three million of us work in hospitality. From the sales assistant in Tesco to the barista in Costa, these employees contribute to a massive part of our economy, feeding and clothing our families and putting a caffeinated spring in our working day. There are a lot of people working in these industries, effectively keeping the country running but they are not treated as such. Only ⅗ retail employees believe their manager cares about their well being and 24% of hospitality staff have sought psychological support or medication from the stress of the job. I am concerned that we are not making these industries attractive and safe; there will be less people to make our coffee and stock our shelves; we’ll have less well-rounded people in other jobs too.
So I created a survey for those I know and follow. 31 very kind people answered questions about their experiences in the sector, the majority of them being between 20-30, which is not shocking because I myself am in this bracket but also a third of retail employees are under 25. So it’s representative at least and an indication I may need some older friends. 
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Why aren’t the industries attractive/‘pants galore’?
When asked about the difficulties of their respective jobs, one issue that arose was the amount of pressure and duties for a given role. Participants felt they had to go above and beyond their pay and position; working overtime as a given; fulfilling the jobs of two or more people due to understaffing; meeting unrealistic sales quotas. This. Doesn’t. Work. Setting unreasonable tasks sets teams and their managers up for failure and less productivity. And also, let’s keep in mind that selling sandwiches, a very important issue for me, is not a life/death situation, let’s not behave towards people serving and making them that it is. There is room to breathe and also some for error. The negativity revolving around pressure often linked with disrespectful, ungrateful managers who sometimes had little experience of the job themselves. Considering that most of these employees are at their first job and don’t know what to do, an open door policy and persona is key to engaging and training young people. Whereas, a harsh leadership or management style is counterproductive, leading to resentment, apathy and ineffective communication 
I even know of a few people that left their jobs solely because of their boss. One person. A whole career and paycheck. It fills me with sadness.
Another prevalent item was customers, who were ‘horrible’, ‘rude’,  ‘arsey’ and demanding but still expected high quality customer service. This is a big factor in high employee turnover and stress. Why do we treat fellow human beings this way? There is a difference with being dissatisfied and yes, I have definitely had some difficult phone calls or conversations with companies, but did I assume it was the fault of the underpaid employee I was speaking with? Even if it was, did I treat them like fox poo? Na-uh and neither should anyone else. That stuff stinks for weeks.
Thirdly, was the physical aspect of the job. This one is quite tricky to pull apart, a job is a job and it needs to be done. However, standing on your feet for many hours at a time with little or no breaks, when research shows breaks lead to better productivity isn’t ethical and in some cases, legal. Unionise, people! 
People also pointed out the unsociable or tricky nature of shift times, often starting very early or ending very late, not allowing much time for a social life outside their work. Shift work has been proven to worsen health but I understand that the job needs to take place at a time where the company can make the most money e.g. dinner service at a restaurant. I think if the pay and role matched the hours, people would see the upside of working at these times. Yes you might need to work 3 nights in a row, but on that day off you are going shoppingggggggg, honey!
The reason I wanted to question people on these negativities was to see if regardless, they still thought their job was worthwhile to them in the long run and as per usual, I was right! Almost! 41% said their work experience had a bigger impact on their career compared to their qualifications at 19%. 38% * didn’t answer this question, meaning both were equal or none were important, you people fascinate me! Also, two of those surveyed said their job in retail/hospitality was integral to their current career through networking and progression. 
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What skills did people learn/why was it worthwhile?
You will not be shocked that the top three here are qualities employers look for. 
1. Resilence 
The quality of keeping that smile on your face after relentless hours on your feet and dealing with demanding customers and managers. Fun, horrific and true story: I kept smiling after spilling a pot of cold milk over an entire family (of five) after it flipped off a tray I accidentally elbowed. 
2. Customer service & communication skills
The quality of handling conflict, responding to clients’ needs and requests without getting it wrong (as much as possible). Most people work in jobs that involve talking to people in one way or another and we all know someone who doesn’t quite get it right. You should have got your waiter/waitress hours in, babe!
3. Time management 
Not being late, getting food and products to customers quickly whilst multitasking. Unfortunately, that lie in until 10am at University is short-lived in the world of work.
4. BEING NICE TO PEOPLE IN THESE INDUSTRIES!!!
Possibly the most important one and the reason for me writing this biblical length article. See more in conclusion. Directly below for your convenience. 
People in these industries work exceptionally hard for poor pay and treatment. We have all seen, or possibly been, that person who has gone out of their way to make another human’s day a misery. I don’t care if they’ve forgotten your panini for the second time in the row or don’t have that disgusting orange kitten heel in stock. Be annoyed, be angry, we all deserve great customer service. I don’t think that means being aggressive and difficult to staff. Vent to your friends not to the person who hasn’t sat down for six hours. Yes, be constructive but aggressive - no. And that includes online feedback too. Although I’ll fully admit I lost my temper over soya yoghurt on Twitter last year. But even reading that, do you see how ridiculous that is? I publicly apologise and accept that a lack of soya yoghurt isn’t the end of the world. We move on.
Anyway, my main point is that some of the ‘pants galore’ stuff we, the public, can change. Whether that is simply being kinder to our staff or not losing our minds over soya yoghurt. Some of the issues, we need to consider as an economy. Do we really need our stores open around the holiday period? Is it right that companies can under pay and also under staff? I think if we worked on these bigger aspects more, we’d not just have people see these industries as a pathway to something else, which they for many, are. But, we’d have people seeking out senior positions leading to a career in these areas because they can see the pay, the rewards and respect.
*All three percentages were rounded down. Maths baby!
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fall2019kulife · 4 years
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Kutztown University Diet
Prologue
On Friday night around 1am students make their way to South because who would be at south at 1am, just everyone. So the students place their orders at the kiosk only to find out their order numbers are about 100 people to go. They sit down on the edge of the walkway and sit and wait. They begin to complain about how hungry and tired they are as they look over to see a bunch of kids eating cereal because it’s the quickest thing you can get to eat. An hour and a half later someone finally get their grilled chicken sandwich and fries and proceeds to push people out of their way just to get some BBQ sauce. The students make their way to find a table, which is hard because almost all the seats are filled, and to get there they have to dodge pool players and drunk people who don’t know what they are doing. All that waiting and hard work getting a seat didn’t seem worth it when that student finally sits down and tries to eat their grilled chicken sandwich and the bun completely falls apart and the fries are cold. A typical day at Kutztown University consists of stressed out students who need to just take a break from classes or work and eat some food. The question is where do they get this food? This question becomes life or death when it comes to thinking about what you want to eat and or go at 2am in the morning after a long night of “studying”. How far do you wanna walk? I mean do you have the option to drive? Do you want actual food or cafeteria food? Is delivery an option because who wants to leave their bed? What’s open? Well there are many options for those hangry KU students out there who are struggling to figure out want the want to eat.  Act one, “Eating on Campus” is going to explain the places one can go to eat especially for students living on campus. Act two, “Eating off campus” is going to talk about exploring different restaurants off campus.
Act one: Eating on Campus
As a student at Kutztown and having the experience of living on campus, I have eaten at every place Kutztown dining has to offer. When I lived on campus my favorite place to eat was upstairs in South where they had this amazing and full salad bar. This place also had a dessert bar and my friends and I would have cupcakes almost everyday. Now I live off campus I still am able to eat on campus by going to the Academic Forum in which I usually get chick fil a or a panini from the Marketplace. A lot of students tend to stay on campus and use flex, bear bucks, or meal swipes because most students don’t have too much money and its cheap on campus. The biggest place to eat at Kutztown in South Dining Hall. This is because this is at the end the DMZ where all the living quarters are for anyone who lives on campus. For those who live on campus have a meal plan and the Dining Hall takes swipes like Cub. There are two floors in South where the bottom has a fast food vibe with a cafe and pizza while upstairs sells the mediocre lunches and dinners with a salad and dessert bar. Cub’s, the only other place on campus that takes meal swipes, food is pretty much the same thing but a lot smaller and the food is not as freshly cooked. Right next to Cub is Starbucks which is where tired students tend to flock too and in-between classes it becomes real busy. Then there is the Academic Forum which is a popular place for those who commute and those who don’t have a meal plan. This place has another cafe that sells Starbucks coffee, Chick fil a, International food, and a marketplace that has a salad and sandwich bar.
To have another student’s perspective of the food on campus I have asked Sarah Kriesher about how she feels of eating on campus. She says she really does like eating on campus at the Academic forum. “Chick fil a is the best thing that has happened to Kutztown University. I eat there a couple times a week.” She is also obsessed with the Starbucks on campus because she is able to use her flex to buy her Salted Caramel Mocha lattes. She says she is not really a big fan of South however it can be really convenient . “Since I live at University Place it is so easy to just walk two steps to south to eat but honestly sometimes it can be way to busy and and it could take forever to get my food.” She also explained that she is however grateful for it since it is open 24/7. She is not really a big fan of the food itself. “The food at south and cub since it’s like the same place, it can get really repetitive and after a while the food starts to taste bad.”
Act 2: Eating off Campus
I have been a student at Kutztown University for about two weeks before I started getting tired of their food. Everyday it's the same thing, chicken nuggets, a burnt burger with a stale bun, and a handful of frenchfries. I’m lucky if that handful of fries were warm. At this point I am tired of eating school food every single day. They make it seem more appetizing by adding stuff to the menu but if it actually is something good, it won’t last. It’s just another passing glimpse of hope that is what their kitchen could actually make if they applied themselves just a little more. Don’t get me wrong, I like the occasional meal on campus, but not every day.
It gets to a point you need a larger variety to choose from and to eat something that hasn’t been sitting out for half an hour. My friend Sam and I decided it was time to go exploring for new things to eat down mainstreet. I was in the mood for some pizza so we stopped in at Tommy Boys. Tommy Boys is the favorite restaurant that everyone who attends Kutztown knows and loves. It is one of those places cramped into the downstairs of one of the townhouses on mainstreet. They have a very large kitchen but the seating inside that is available isn’t the greatest. There are four or five tables usually with the ability to probable seat eighteen people in total. There isn’t much standing room when they are really busy, and trust me, on a friday night they get busy. I have never heard anyone not liking it there.
Sam has Celiacs disease and is unable to eat anything with gluten in it without getting sick. Tommy Boys offers accommodations to food allergies, they make a pizza with a gluten free crust so he is able to eat there without getting himself sick. Besides there being gluten free crust Tommy Boys also offers a wide variety of menu items so if you have some other sort of food allergy there will always be something for you to eat.
Another local favorite while walking down mainstreet looking for something to eat is Mommas. Mommas is on the opposite side of the street but very close in distance to Tommy Boys. Their pizza is very good too. But just the same as Tommy Boys, their menu is not limited to pizza. While relative in size the atmosphere inside of Mommas isn’t the same as Tommy Boys. It is more of a place to come in, grab a slice, and go. Where as Tommy Boys feels like the type of place that you would like to sit down and hangout for a while with all of your friends.
Most places on mainstreet are open pretty late on the weekends, sometimes during the week they are open pretty late too but you’d want to get something to eat a lot earlier than midnight during the week. Having a meal cooked for you specifically is the best thing in the world. You don’t have to share, but you could if that's what you would like to do. And in the event that you weren’t to finish eating all your food from being full, you can take your leftovers home with you for a midnight snack, something that south doesn’t allow you to do.
Sophia Staskowski (Act 1)
Noah Russo (Act 2)
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t0ngue-tech · 7 years
Text
All Yours
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“You could’ve had feelings for anyone else, but nope. You heart was stuck on the sleeping boy in your lap.
Min-fucking-Yoongi.”
↠fluffy angst (if you will ;--;)↞
word count: 4.2k
↠series: 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | ↞
The cool surface of the granite countertop rested against your elbow. You watched the hands of your wristwatch tick slower and slower as each second passed. You blew a breath of air upward, moving strands of hair out of your eyes. This felt like the longest shift of your life.
There was something about Thursdays at your university coffee shop that made it seem like barren land; except for maybe a couple of students and other adults who sat quietly, tapping away at their laptop keyboards. Maybe it was because other students were out in the town buying snacks and drinks to prepare for their usual Friday nights in the dormitories.
“Ugh, Jin! I’m dying here.” You spun around calling out for your co-worker who was cleaning a few of the ceramic cups.
A squeaky laugh left his full lips. “I know, me too. It’s almost closing anyways, go wipe down the tables and I’ll sweep back here.”
You sounded off with a quick aye-aye captain and walked around the counter with a damp rag in your hands.
Some of the students noticed the both of you doing your usual cleanups before closing, so they packed up their belongings and left the shop bidding their farewells. It was always bittersweet doing the closing shift because it got quieter and a bit more peaceful during the night. But what you hated the most was how long it took for the clock to strike 10:30 pm.
Little by little, the rest of the students got their refill in their to-go cups and left the coffee shop in drained yet high spirits. You began to stack up the first couple of chairs onto the glossed wooden table tops. You noticed, in your peripherals, Jin scooping matcha green tea powder into a plastic cup of milk.
“Meeting with Hani tonight?” Jin attempted to bite back his smile as he swirled the matcha around turning the milk into a pistachio green color. “How are things going with her anyways? She hasn’t come around in a while and it’s hard for me to see her too.”
Jin clicked his tongue and tilted his head to the side. “Slow and steady, my sweet. And well, you know how it is for the microbiology majors nowadays.”
“Ah, yes. It must be heaven and hell for the bio lab floor to be open until 11 pm.”
Jin hummed and proceeded to stripping himself of the corduroy brown apron. He reached into his pocket to take a glimpse at the time. “Just ten more minutes—hey, look who arrived just in time.”
At first you groaned thinking dude, we just started to close up, but when you turned around to the entrance you found yourself staring at a familiar shade of blond hair messily tucked underneath a black beanie. He had a thick gray coat draped over him with his hands shoved in the pockets. “It’s fucking cold outside.”
“Welcome aboard, Min Yoongi. Late to the party as usual.” You sang putting up another chair.
“Ah well, it looks like the party died a while ago—you didn’t lock up the bathroom did you? Because I swear to god, I’m going to piss my pants.” The sound of his voice faded as we walked down the small hallway leading to the singular restroom.
Jin called out to you, tossing the keys to the coffee shop in your direction. “Looks like I’m leaving him to you. You could dim the lights, let the moonlight shine through and heat up some paninis.”
You scoffed at him threatening to whip him with the rag you had dangling from your apron. “You’re the worst, Jin. I hate working with you.”
He walked up to you and ruffled your hair before leaving. “Love you too, babe. Don’t forget to lock up!” You playfully swatted Jin’s away and watched him disappear into the October air.
“Geez.” You muttered with a soft chuckle. With whatever strength you had left you put up the last couple of chairs. Despite the study guide you wanted to get a head start on, you thought you deserved a piping hot bowl of spicy ramen back at your room. The vivid images of the delectable bowl of ramen that filtered your mind disappeared at the call of your name.
“Seokjin left?” Yoongi questioned taking a seat at the bar.
“Yeah. I think about a minute ago?” You made your way back behind the counter. “So what? Large iced americano, the usual?” You ask already grabbing one of the large plastic cups.
“No, it’s okay. Can I just get some water or something?” He simply declined, eyes not meeting yours.
Setting the plastic cup down, you leaned against the countertop to get a clearer view of Yoongi’s face.
“Okay. Spill it. What happened now?”
Yoongi’s eyes finally met your own. His eyebrows knitted together and he rested his cheek on his palm. He sometimes hated the fact that you knew him so well.
“Same shit, different day.”
Every other day for the past month, Yoongi had called you, showed up to your dorm room, or even stayed at the coffee shop until you were done with your shift. It took awhile to get information out of him because of how closed off he was, but you were eventually granted with his usual I’m-sorry-I-bottled-everything-up vent sessions.
You learned that he and his girlfriend of one year, Seolhyun, had been constantly arguing over everything that’s anything. At first, Yoongi tried to brush off the nights where Seolhyun would say she would be coming over but not show up. He attempted to ignore the time she spent on her phone instead of having a small conversation during dinner. Yoongi wasn’t the type to explode easily. He had always been laid back and at ease, but he was still a human being with many nerves and Seolhyun just happened to strike the last one. After confronting her about all of the shit she was doing, she had promised to do better and to communicate.
The promise was, of course, broken more than once and instead of getting angry with her, Yoongi just walked away.
“You know, there used to some sort of underlying reason as to why we would fight. But it’s like I can’t even breathe in the same room as her.”
You stood there for the brief moment of him ranting.
“I went to see her at her dorm and all I asked was ‘what did you do today?’ And she didn’t even look up from her phone when she answered me saying ‘nothing much.’” Yoongi exaggerated his tone voice at the end of his sentence. He brought his hands to his face and stretched his face muscles downward. “I didn’t even say anything when I left her dorm.”
The atmosphere was thick and silent. You had so much you wanted to say to him but now was not the time. Instead, you settled with a barely audible whisper of I’m sorry, Yoongi.
He shrugged his shoulders and hopped off the bar chair. He already knew what you thought of Seolhyun: a fucking stubborn bitch who doesn’t know the first thing about communication; your words, definitely not his.
“Could I stay at your dorm? I just—I really don’t want to go to mine.” Yoongi released himself of his coat to fix the thin sweater underneath. “Jungkook is probably playing Overwatch and my walls become paper thin the moment he starts gaming. Plus, you have a solo dorm. It’s ten times better than having a roommate, especially one who games every Monday and Thursday.”
How could you decline? Jungkook was a dear friend, but you knew exactly how competitive he was after staying late at their dorm one night. There was nothing but loud talking and curse words coming from behind his bedroom door.
“Fine with me, Yoongs. Just let me lock up first.”
You walked into the back room to retrieve your belongings. You did a final check of the espresso machines, the shelves of assorted coffee beans, and you made sure you locked up the bathroom.
Yoongi stood at the entrance patiently waiting for you to be done with whatever it was you were doing. He caught you approaching him whilst slipping on a cream cardigan. He clicked his tongue and reached for your school bag.
“Yoongi, hey, I can carry it you know.” He stayed quiet as he slipped his arms through the straps. You opened your mouth to protest, but he was now closer and trying to get you to wear his coat. “Yoongi. I’m okay! You said it’s freezing out there. Just wear your coat.”
You tried to move away from him, but he pouted and gently pulled a few strands of your hair. A quiet yelp left your lips as you mimicked his pout.
“Please just—” Yoongi opened up his coat for you to put you arms through. “I don’t want to argue, please. I’m so tired of arguing.”
The sound of his voice practically broke your heart. It was the sound of a month’s worth of petty arguing and possible sleepless nights. Without a word, you reached back to fit your arms into the sleeves of the coat.
The both of you walked out and a gust of wind whirled through right on cue. You were busy turning the key in the lock, but you swore you heard the sound of Yoongi’s teeth chattering. The soft click of the lock sounded and you immediately turned around to squint your eyes at Yoongi. He tried to play it off by biting down on his bottom lip, but it was obvious and he knew you weren’t that stupid.
“Here.” You stood as close as possible and hooked both of your arms around one of his. “Hopefully this helps a little.”
Yoongi let out a chuckle and broke free of your hold to drape his arm over your shoulders. He pulled you closer into in his side and on impulse, your around crept up beneath your backpack to capture his waist.
“I think this a little better.” He chuckled and took the first steps, guiding you down the path toward you dorm.
There was a god awful emptiness in your chest. You physically could feel the oxygen leaving every particle of your body. The hollowness sucked your throat dry, but you tried your best to keep a conversation with him without wavering.
 ↠↞
 It almost seemed too natural the way Yoongi stole your dorm keys away from you in the elevator heading up to the eighth floor. Even more natural when he unlocked your door, kicking his shoes off near the entrance and making his way to your bedroom to drop your bag.
“Jesus, Yoongi. You could’ve at least neatly aligned your shoes with my other ones.” You shuffled his shoes with you sock covered feet. “Yoongi?”
“You got any water bottles left?” He nonchalantly asked, now in your small kitchen rummaging through your fridge.
“My god…” You muttered hanging his coat over one of your kitchen chairs. “Yoongi at least close my fridge, please?”
He stood in front of your opened refrigerator drinking half of his water bottle. A small laugh followed as he finally closed the door.
“I should’ve have signed up for a solo dorm instead.” Yoongi left the kitchen to drop your keys onto your kitchen table as well as his own lanyard filled with keys. “You’re practically living in an apartment.”
“But you love Jungkook.”
Yoongi scrunched his face, scanning his surroundings. “I guess.”
“You’re not hungry, Yoongs?”
“No. Just really, really, really exhausted.” You watched him disappear again into your bedroom like it was his own.
You also scanned your surroundings, eyes falling onto the black coffee table in your living room. The smooth surface looked almost like the perfect space to repeatedly slam your forehead into. Suddenly, the idea of spicy ramen didn’t sound as delicious as it did back at the coffee shop.
You turned off your kitchen light and strided into your bedroom. Five minutes didn’t pass since Yoongi walked in your room and he was already knocked out cold. You closed the door behind you and rolled your eyes.
Yoongi took the farthest side of your bed and was facing the wall. You took this opportunity to quietly change out of your clothes into something more home-friendly. You settled with a random crewneck sweatshirt that sat on your desk and the drawstring gray shorts you usually wore to bed.
It took you a while to actually get under the blanket with Yoongi sleeping soundly underneath it as well. But you realized that you had the opening shift the next morning, so after setting an early alarm on your phone, you slipped in next to him.
The feeling of Yoongi beside you wasn’t foreign, but no matter how many times it had happened, your heart never learned to calm down. You turned to your side to stare at the back of Yoongi’s head. His beanie was discarded somewhere in your room and you watched the rise and fall of his shoulders. It was in this silence of your bedroom where you recalled your first meeting with Yoongi.
 ↠↞
 “Look, Hani, I appreciate what you’re doing for me but I could’ve found an on campus job on my own.” You spoke into your phone, walking down a path scattered with autumn leaves.
“You worked at a coffee shop at the community college, so you might as well stick to what you know.”
“Yeah, but—” You saw the lettering of the university coffee shop coming into view. “I didn’t even properly meet Seokjin!”
“Oh, hush! I already told you he’s great. Plus isn’t even better working at the coffee shop nearest to your dorm?”
“Ugh, I guess.” You fingers curled around the door handle and pushed it opened. The smell of brewing coffee and toasted bread naturally welcomed you. “Okay, I’ll text you later.”
Hani sang a quick love you before hanging up the call. The sighting of what Hani described as a tall man sculpted by angels themselves. Seokjin had raven hair that covered his forehead when you first met him. He greeted you with the call of your name and a gentle smile behind the glass container of pastries and ready to heat food.
“Good afternoon! I’m so sorry we couldn’t meet sooner.” He walked out from behind the counter and it shocked you to see how tall and broad his shoulders were. He stuck out his hand. “Seokjin, you can call me Jin, pleased to meet you.”
You repeated your name with a laugh as if he didn’t already say your name. Your hand made contact with his and you squeezed. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
Seokjin guided you behind the counter to officially hand you your name tag and apron. “Hani told me you have barista experience.”
“Yeah, I worked at the one at the community college I was enrolled at.” You say trying to tie the strings behind you.
Seokjin smiled and gently brushed away your fumbling fingers to help you. “How long did you work as a barista?”
“Hm, since I enrolled so, about two years?” You felt the tap of Seokjin’s hand on your shoulder. “Thanks by the way, for tying my apron and for hiring me right away.” You gave him a smile filled with so much gratitude.
“It’s my pleasure, really. I hope you didn’t mind skipping any introductions and starting your first shift.” He said apologetically walking towards the register.
“It’s no problem, Jin. I make a mean cinnamon cream latte.” The biggest grin tugged at your lips as Seokjin let out a squeaky laugh and greeted a customer.
“Cinnamon cream latte? Dude, that sounds bomb.”
You turned to face the bar counter to find a boy with deep red hair. He had an opened textbook and a blank page of what you assumed was supposed to notes.
“Uh yeah, I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but it is pretty bomb.” You laughed.
“You had enough sugar, Jungkook.” The boy next to him, his friend you assumed, interjected taking his earbuds out. “This kid refilled his iced blended mocha about three times this afternoon.”
Your mouth turned into a small “o” shape as you worked at the espresso machine. “Aw, you’re right then. I was gonna make one for you too.” You glanced at Jungkook who shoved the latter’s shoulder.
“Thanks, Yoongi.” He drew out sarcastically.
“What? It’s for your own good dude.”
It was entertaining watching the way the two boys argued small things. You handed the customer his triple shot latte with a smile. With the way Jin was paying no attention to the commotion in front of you, it seemed like it was something he was used to.
“Geez, Jungkook—anyways, I’m Yoongi; future music producer.” He greeted you with the most adorable gummy smile whilst taking away Jungkook’s mocha drink.
Yoongi had dark brown hair that fell just above his eyes. He wore a thick sweater with the university’s initial stretched across the front. In front of him was his laptop and multiple sheets of paper. He looked gentle and friendly like someone who deeply cared about people.
“And I’m Jungkook; future marine biologist! We’re roommates.”
Once again, you greeted yourself adding “future criminal profiler” at the end of your name. Their eyes grew big and even Jin, who happened to stumble on the conversation, looked just as shocked.
“Wow. I didn’t think you would take up criminal justice. You seem like the type to be in the medical or business field.” Yoongi said.
You laughed and added “I honestly get that a lot.”
Some time went by and you found yourself growing more and more comfortable as you talked with Yoongi, Jungkook, and even Jin. It was your first semester at the university, so making friends wasn’t really your first priority being the awkward person you were.
“Five already?” Yoongi sighed. “Well, I’ll catch you guys later. Seolhyun finishes class soon.” He stood up to gather his things into his backpack. He hopped off the bar chair and bid you a personal farewell.
You watched him leave with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his keys dangling off a lanyard around his neck. He’s cute.
“Seolhyun’s his girlfriend by the way.” Jungkook said finishing his drink. In your mind, you already put the pieces together hoping it wasn’t entirely true, but you always can’t get what you want. “And since Yoongi left, I think I’d love to try that cinnamon cream latte you mentioned.”
Tossing away whatever emotions you were feeling at the moment and chuckled at Jungkook who eagerly awaited your answer. You simply nodded starting up the espresso machine.
 ↠↞
 A year later, it was now your second semester and here you were; lying next to him underneath a blanket. It occurred to you that your so-called feelings for Yoongi weren’t going to go away because of how much time you spent with him, and other friends as well. You hated yourself for feeling this way about him especially because you knew how much he loved Seolhyun; the way he spoke about her, the look in his eyes when he watched her while she spoke. It was all too clear for you and god, you hated it.
“I fucking hate you, Min Yoongi.” You whispered at the back of his head. On cue, a soft whine escaped from him and he turned onto his back. You panicked and laid out on your back as well shutting your eyes. You felt the bed shift and the weight of his legs were on top of yours. Opening your eyes, you glanced at Yoongi whose body was now at an angle and his lips were slightly parted. You reached for your phone which was on the wooden drawer next to your bed. The brightness of your screen agitated your eyes as you struggled to make out the time.
10:47 pm
“You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled quietly, you swore it was almost midnight.
Carefully and quietly, you released yourself of his clutches inch by inch. The exhaustion of your body screamed at you to go to bed, but the rapid beating of your heart wouldn’t let you.
You escaped the stuffy atmosphere of your room to watch tv in your living room.
The never ending episodes of Forensic Files never failed you. You sat on your sofa with your knees tucked to your chest, the quiet sound of the show host filled the room hoping to not wake Yoongi.
“No one knew where Sheryl went after her shift at the Crestview Bar. The only working surveillance camera was pointed at the entrance—”
You mindlessly scrolled through your emails on your phone as the episode played. All you really wanted was to go to drift into a deep sleep so your solution to that was to tire out your eyes first and possibly sleep on the sofa.
“Why did you leave me?”
Yoongi stood at your door frame running a hand through his hair and clutching your blanket in the other. Without another word, he joined you on the sofa and squinted at the tv.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
You shook your head keeping your eyes focused on the tv, but you had this feeling he was staring at you waiting for you to look at him.
“Well, I’m still tired, so—” Yoongi unfolded your legs so he could lay his head down on your thighs. He moved around to find a comfortable position and each time he moved the strands of his hair tickled your thighs.
“H-Hey, what if I need to get up?” He chose to lie flat on his back facing the ceiling. His hands rested on underneath the blanket and on top of his stomach.
“Then just wake me up and I’ll move.” Yoongi kept his eyes closed and you just stared at him hoping he could feel the daggers you were shooting from your eyes. “Do you work tomorrow?”
“Y-Yeah. I’m gonna be leaving my dorm around 7:45. Are you still gonna be here?” There was an urge inside of you that wanted to rest your hand in his soft locks of hair. As you lifted your hand, the sound of his voice caught you off guard and you placed your hand back to your side.
“Maybe.”
The tv show was long forgotten at this point. You couldn’t help but gaze at the features of his face. He had the prettiest eyelashes and his skin was the epitome of perfection; for the amount of time you know him, you swore you never saw a pimple on his face. You couldn’t help but stare at his lips; flushed pink and slightly chapped because of the autumn air.
The urge to caress his hair came back and you gave in instantly. Your fingers grazed the plain of his forehead and rested in the sea of his blond hair. Yoongi stirred a bit and you reeled your hand back.
“Why’d you stop?” He asked with his eyes still closed.
“O-Oh. Sorry.” Heat crept up to your cheeks as you went back to your previous position. You lightly massaged his scalp with your fingers earning a low hum from his lips.
“Your thighs are warm.”
“Really? Sorry, you can get up if it’s uncomfortable.”
“No. It’s fine. I like it.”
In that moment, you almost stopped your movements. You prayed that Yoongi wouldn’t open his eyes anytime soon because you already knew your cheeks had turned crimson. At this point,the tv became an unknown noise because the sound of your rapid heartbeat took over.
“Do you have plans after work?” Yoongi’s questioned made you jump in your seat. He felt slight bounce your body did and he bit back a smile.
“I planned on going into town to buy some food for my dorm. I was going to ask Hani to join me, but I think her and Seokjin are going out on a date.”
“Good. I’ll go with you instead.”
Yoongi opened his eyes a little and caught you gazing down on him. The smile he bit back broke through and he readjusted himself, pushing his head higher on your lap.
“You might as well give me a key to your dorm. I feel at home here.” You watched his eyes close and he brought the blanket closer to his neck.
“Maybe.” Your answer was nothing but the truth. You wouldn’t have minded it Yoongi came by whenever he wanted because that meant you could see him and hung out with him. But this would only deepen your unwanted feelings for him.
“If you do, I’ll probably replace Seolhyun’s key with yours. It doesn’t seem like she’s excited to see me there nowadays.” Yoongi dragged out his words with a hint of annoyance. His facial expression hardened and you could see his eyebrows furrow together.
Your hand movements continued in a more delicate manner in hopes of calming Yoongi down. It took a while, but you watched his face soften and soft snores escaped his mouth. The corners of your mouth tugged upward at the image of Yoongi soundly sleeping.
You should have been used to the feeling of Yoongi lying in your lap. But each time he did it, time would stop and you grew nervous. He constantly had this effect on you and it drove you crazy.
You could’ve had feelings for anyone else, but nope. You heart was stuck on the sleeping boy in your lap.
Min-fucking-Yoongi.
hellooooo i know it’s long i’m sorry T__T i decided to write something for each member before continuing with any series if that’s okay. i’m a bit excited for this series tbh. ive been putting off this plot for a loooong time because of my writer’s block, but aldkjfalkfjk here it is my friends. i hope you like it ^-^
♡ rae jagi
244 notes · View notes
brokebuckkmountain · 7 years
Text
More stories from the grumpiest barista on Earth
customer: (stands in line for ten full minutes)
customer: (reaches front of line)
customer: Oh wait, I just need to reload.
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customer: (sticking card into the machine)
customer: (without removing their card) Oh, and I want these almonds too.
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customer: (standing several feet from my register)
me: Actually, I’m gonna ring you up right over here.
customer: (like I’m a goddamn idiot) What, you can’t hear me? (then got very angry when I asked them to repeat their order)
(Forreal why do customers stand so far away form your register like, yes register one is open but I like it over here so fuck you)
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The amount of drinks and pastries I’ve had to give away for free because the customer yanked their card out before the machine was done reading it and left the store is ridiculous. Or how long I’ve had to wait and tell customers “You pulled your card out too soon.. Wait until it prompts you to put it back- no not yet, wait til it tells you. If it says insert card, then yes you can insert your card. What now? Well if it says don’t remove your card, then don’t remove it. Not until it beeps- okay you removed it, now we get to start all over.” Meanwhile, my line gets longer and longer.
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customer: (several feet from register)
customer: (holding up impulse item) I want this! How much is it?!
(HAND ME THE ITEM SO I CAN SCAN IT HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN TO A STORE BEFORE)
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I had a family order five different caramel drinks from me (macchiatos and frappucinos), but they didn’t know who wanted what and kept losing track of how many drinks they wanted and yelled at me because I was ringing them up for what they asked for, not what they really wanted.
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me: (making a mocha, which comes with whipped cream unless specified otherwise)
customer: (turns to her friend and scoffs) Ugh, did you want whipped cream?
(Because I’m at fault for following the recipe. Not you, customer who doesn’t know what goes in their drink. You’re always right, remember.)
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On a similar note, I’ve had customers ask for no drizzle or whip or something and say “Yeah, they just decide to add that stuff to my drink even though I don’t want it! Like why do they just decide to do that?”
Baristas aren’t making artistic decisions with your drinks. We are following the recipe. If what you want differs from it, then tell us. Your preferences are not the standard.
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A woman mobile ordered a cascara coconut milk latte (which has the milk in the title), and when she came to pick it p, she complained that we made it with coconut milk because she wanted 2%...
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I had a customer stand at my register and ask me for directions while one the phone. She wouldn’t leave. I had a very long line.
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customer: Can I have an earl grey tea latte?
me: Sure, what size?
customer: So, it’s a London Fog basically. You’re gonna wanna steep the tea bag in water, then-
me: I know what an earl gray tea latte is. I just need to know what size you’d like.
(Hipster mf really tried to mansplain a menu item to me, the barista who worked at the store. I was so annoyed. It was as if he had practiced his little spiel in his head, and he was just looking forward to explaining how to make the drink to me.)
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me: (literally shuts my cash drawer)
customer: Here’s a quarter, I want even change.
me: My cash drawer is shut, the transaction has ended and I can’t open it again.
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So a customer wanted dark roast while we were brewing more of it, he said he was willing to wait. When the dark roast was done, I asked my customer support (who was pouring other coffees) if he would pour it and hand it off, because I had a line out the door. Fifteen minutes later, when the rush had finally died down, I turned around... to see he had never called out the dark roast. Later that day, the same coworker was getting warmings, and he said he’d get the cheese danish in the oven for me. Ten minutes later the woman who ordered it wandered over and yelled at me that she hadn’t received it. I turned around to see that my customer support had put it in a bag and left it next to the oven. The same coworker frequently tries to snag register from me and starts making me do customer support stuff (and I do it, because I’m not gonna just let the jobs not be done because he’s the one that should be doing them. But it’s annoying). He also fucks up a lot, no call no shows a ton, and still tries to act like he knows more than all his female coworkers. After doing basically nothing during a huge rush, he then wandered over to my coworker and I while we read something and shouted “Whatchu need?! Whatchu need?!” in our ears. He’s my second least favorite coworker. My actual least favorite coworker does the same shit to me, but he’s probs getting his own damn post.
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Variations of “I want the cheese from this sandwich on this bread with this kind of meat, cut like this, okay?” Um, no. This is a coffee house, not a cafe. The sandwiches are pre-made.
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One girl was on the phone the entire conversation while asking for incredibly modified drinks and food, and was super rude in the way she gestured to me. Someone got decaf.
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Why do so many customers walk away from the register, then when I begin helping a new customer, they cut in and demand their receipt. You walked away bro.
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Yes, Starbucks serves two smoothies. But please stop modifying them like you’re at Jamba Juice. If this is where you’re coming to get your health nut smoothies, I have bad news for you about the the ingredients going into the drinks.
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customer: Can I have a (whatever)?
me: Unfortunately, we’re out of that one.
customer: No you aren’t.
me: Um... yes we are? I’m sorry, is there something else I can get you?
customer: I see one in the case!
me: Oh, I can’t actually serve you that one. The case is not kept cold enough.
customer: But I want it.
me: And I don’t want to lose my job when you sue because of food poisoning. Would you like anything else?
(this happens all the time)
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customer: (seeing me write on a hot cup) You got that it was hot, right?! (or the same with the cold cups)
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These two super rude customers started complaining to the new guy on bar that their drinks tasted wrong. “I drink this every single day and it just doesn’t taste right. No you don’t have to remake it but..” BUT you’re fishing for a freebie. My coworker and I stepped in and squashed that bullshit right quick. Nice try, I watched him make the drink properly. And you don’t get the drink here every day, because I’ve never seen you before in my life. Either let us remake it or GTFO.
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These two customers asked for the most obnoxiously modified drinks ever (and I could barely understand them because they didn’t quite know what they were asking for and had super heavy accents). The drinks must have been at least $8-something each. Then they handed me two free drink coupons that Starbucks hasn’t given out in years. My ASM accepted it, but I’ve heard of other Starbucks getting these super old fake coupons lately too. What the fuck people.
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Apparently this is like a new health thing, but imagine my coworker’s and my shock when a woman asked for two butters to be put into her latte.
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This one woman was informed by my coworker that we were out of whatever she ordered, and was getting something different. She clearly had some questions about what my coworker said, because she came to my register and wouldn’t leave, asking me a million questions even though I had a line out the door and couldn’t answer any of them.
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customer: I want a mocha frappuccino, no mocha drizzle. (the drink doesn’t come with drizzle)
me: Okay, that’ll be ready for you down at the bar!
coworker: (puts drizzle on it, even though it doesn’t come with that)
customer: (after having her drink remade, she still decided to wander back to the register side, come almost behind the food case,and start condescendingly going “Is there not a box for you to put the no drizzle? I’m just curious. There’s boxes, right? I don’t see ‘no drizzle’ on my cup, so I’m just wondering.”)
me: (because I’m not a dick and don’t want to throw my coworker under the bus and subject her to this bullshit, I just want the lady to leave because it’s 7:30 am and I have a long ass line) No there is, sorry about that! Have a nice day.
manager: Oh, you were actually right. It was (girl on bar) who messed up.
me: (internally) No shit, but it was still me who got shit on in front of all these customers.
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While I was in the middle of ringing a woman up, my manager started to work on something on the second register. The next customer in line assumed she was ringing and went to her. When my manager informed her she wasn’t actually ringing and that I would be with her in a second, she tried to cut the woman I was helping off and have me ring her stuff. When I told her I was in the middle of a transaction and would be with her shortly, she got super pissed.
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customer: Can I have an Americano with four pumps?
me: Four pumps of what?
customer: Coffee!
me: Do you mean four shots of espresso?
customer: Nevermind, four regular Americanos with no foam.
me: Americanos don’t have foam. They’re just espresso and water. Did you want a drink with milk?
customer: No foam!
me: Americanos never have foam. Foam comes from milk.
customer: Nevermind, just give me four drip coffees!
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customer: I want a trenta black tea. (sees me reaching for trenta iced cup) No, hot!
customer: Unfortunately, we don’t sell hot beverages in trenta size. The largest size I can give you is venti.
customer: (insanely rude) Pretty sure I said venti. Just get it.
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So this customer ordered a panini, and I saw the new guy doing warmings so I assumed he’d get it and went back to ringing my long line. It turns out he did not do this, which was kinda my fault for assuming he’d know to do that. The customer came back five minutes later to yell at me for his sandwich, so I apologized and put it in. While it was cooking, I started to help a couple. In the middle of my sentence, the original customer walked up and screamed “Yo! My sandwich!” The couple looked at me and said “You can just grab it, we’ll wait, That was so rude.” When I came back to them, they kept repeating how rude the first guy was and how sorry they felt for me. It was literally the first time anyone had been nice to me all day. I accidentally charged their venti drinks as grandes.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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customer: Coffee!
me: What size?
customer: Regular!
me: Okay, one grande coffee-
customer: No, I want tall!
(Regular isn’t a size, but it sure as hell isn’t the small one)
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customer: (who is apparently enough of a regular for my coworkers to know her name) One large mint majesty tea. Oh, I want six honeys.
me: Okay, sure! (hands her drinks and honeys)
customer: (in the most entitled way possible) Oh no no no, you put those in for me, thank you! (with a nasty smirk)
(About a week later she came back in. My coworker put the tea bags in, and had me do the honeys. She came back and demanded to know who made her drink. Apparently she had spilled some on her hand and it hurt her. She didn’t want us to do anything about it, she just wanted us to know how mad she was. As soon as she left, I turned to my coworker and said “Wow, hot water is hot? Who knew!” I’d like to hope she won’t come back, but she works too nearby.)
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me: Hi, how are-
customer: Banana loaf. Yes warmed.
me: Okay, anything else for you?
customer: Do you have the new iced cappuccino?
me: You want an iced cappuccino?
customer: No, it’s this new thing where they make the foam cold. I had it at another Starbucks in (big city). You guys must not know about it yet. I’ll take a frappuccino.
me: Sure...
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I had a line out the door and a family ordered a bunch of drinks and a cheese danish. There was a bunch of warmings before theirs, and I wasn’t even getting them, so I went back to ringing. They shouted at me from across the store about their goddamn cheese danish.
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customer: Do you guys sell..um..cappuccinos? Do you know what I’m talking about?
me: (internally) THIS IS A GODDAMN COFFEE SHOP ARE YOU JOKING
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customer: Can I have a cinnamon delicioso?
me: Um, do you want one of our cinnamon dolce drinks?
customer: No, it’s a specific drink. I always get it at my Starbucks. It’s a latte.
me: And it’s not just our cinnamon dolce latte? Whats in it?
customer: Cinnamon dolce syrup in a latte...
me: (trying not to scream) Okay, how about I just get you a cinnamon dolce latte?
customer: Sure. (picks up gum pack from counter, notices it’s barely wet from when I wiped it down earlier) Oh my god, is this bleach?! (starts smelling back of gum pack).
me: No...it’s just water and sanitizer. We use it to clean. It’s perfectly safe.
One of the most wtf customers I’ve ever encountered...
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One morning I was trying to call out a sprouted grain bagel for David, and this woman at the end of the bar impatiently snatched the bag from my hand and marched away. Then came back because she ordered an everything bagel and I had “made it wrong”. No, her name was not David, in case you were wondering.
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customer: I’ll have the slow roasted ham and swiss with cheddar instead, cut in half, only slightly warmed-
me: Okay, I can not do like, a lot of that.
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customer: (makes big show of giving me a dollar tip) I’ll take those lattes fast.
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One day a customer saw I was on my lunch and in line for food. She still decided to ask me if we had more of a certain protein box in the back and asked me to go look for her. I figured it would only take a second so I did it. Then she asked for more. While I was running back and forth to get shit for her on my lunch, she let people take my place in line, so that when I was done. I had to wait a really long time.
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me: Okay, that’ll be $7.25 please.
customer: (shoves $10 bill in my face without deigning to make eye contact)
me: Okay, $2.75 is your change, have a good day!
customer: No dammit, I wanted you to put $10 on my card!
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I have a regular who frequently (and rudely) orders a trenta iced coffee, no ice, no sweetener. One day we were in the middle of getting more and she started yelling at us about her coffee. She also refuses to give her name because “no one esle is ordering this”.
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I had a customer drop $200 on Starbucks cards like it was nothing. Meanwhile, I’m stressed about paying for my classes...
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customer: I’ll take a Pike’s refill.
me: Okay, I’ll be right back with that!
customer: (when I came back) It was supposed to be half caff!
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me: (hands off latte to customer)
customer: (rudely) This is too much ice
me: (looking at latte that I definitely made with light ice, as specified on the mobile order ticket) You want less ice than this?
customer: Well I asked for it, didn’t I?
me: Okay, let me remake that for you!
(I had literally just gotten onto the bar, and we were super busy. Also, as someone who always asks for light ice, and doesn’t always get it, I think this is stupid. If your drink is actually wrong, I get it. But having me remake the entire beverage because you want less ice in it is so stupid. And while I was waiting for the shots to pull, I started working on other drinks. This little teenage nightmare did not seem happy about that.)
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I had a customer, after the transaction was over, suddenly grab the tip jar and yank it really fast to the edge of the counter. It happened super quickly and I panicked, thinking she was stealing it and going to run. Then she went, “You should leave this here, so everyone can see and tip you!”
Girl... wtf... you don’t just grab people’s tip jars like that...
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My coworker and I also literally watched a guy grab two bags of coffee and try to walk out with them.
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I was in the middle of helping a customer when I saw coffee on the floor. Thinking someone had spilled, I looked a little closer... to see the woman had intentionally dumped it everywhere and was aggressively punching the cup. Turns out she’s banned from our location and I just didn’t know.
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I had a customer (who has been super rude to my coworkers before) come in while I was wiping down the door at night (and he yanked open the one I was cleaning, not the other one, and smirked at me) right before close. He then did not leave no matter how many warnings we gave, and finally, when it was a minute and a half til close and he was the only one left, we informed him he had to leave. He glared daggers at us, worked a little bit longer, and finally got the hell out.
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A customer walked in during 8 am peak and asked for a coffee traveler. I told him it’d be a bit of a wait (as I assumed any grown ass adult would know) and he said he needed it fast. Then asked for 8 venti coffees. We were brewing more and said it’d be about 4 minutes. He said “If I get less than 8 can I get it in less than 4 minutes? I’m in a hurry.” We told him no so he stuck to the 8.
Homie had less than 5 minutes to spare and wanted an entire goddamn traveler. Dumbass.
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I wound up barring during a crazy rush, with my manager and district manager sitting two feet away. In the middle of this, I had to stop because this dumb mf ordered a cascara coconut milk latte and wanted me to blend it, hoping it would come out like a frappuccino. I told him that wouldn’t work, and if he wanted one like that he could order a coffee frappuccino with cascara syrup and coconut milk. He told me he was ordering it for a friend who liked coconut and caramel, and he needed me to “help him out”. So I begrudgingly made him a coconut milk caramel frappuccino (which I don’t think he paid for, even though that is a more expensive drink). Then, after holding up my line, tells me when I give it to him that he wants a bunch more whipped cream and drizzle. Like, you fucker. I’m so backed up because of you.
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customer: I want a mocha with no coffee.. a hot chocolate, actually. Almond milk
me: Okay, do you want the whipped cream and mocha drizzle?
customer: No, I hate coffee!
me: Mocha... is chocolate. There’s no coffee in mocha drizzle...
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So we all know those customers that order two shots over ice in a grande cup with pumps of vanilla (or whatever), and go to the condiment bar to give themselves a cheap latte. Well today, a woman who mobile ordered and did exactly that then walked up to my register and asked for whipped cream to be added, because she wanted her “lattes” with whipped cream (like I couldn’t see on the sticker that they were iced espressos). You know you’re cheating the system, do you have to rub it in my face? Ugh.
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I had a customer walk up while on the phone, order one thing, and then resume shouting into his phone and pacing in front of my register. When I tried to tell him his total, he said “I also want a (whatever).” This continued on repeat for five minutes. He’d order one thing, shout into his phone (even other customers from across the store looked annoyed), add one more thing when I told him his total, talk more on the phone, add another thing, etc. He also kept saying “sorry beautiful” as if that made up for it, and at the end said “god bless you beautiful!” and walked away. He tipped 15 cents.
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I also experienced for the first time a customer who talked on the phone and stuck her finger in my face when I tried to ask her what she wanted. I’m not kidding. She did it three times. Stuck her nasty ass finger right in my fucking space. She’s lucky she still has that finger.
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The other day we were crazy busy (the day I almost started crying on the floor). I’m talking one person on register, one person on bar, not enough time to even brew more coffee or get warmings. Eventually customer support came back from lunch and helped save the day. Still, we were like, running out of cups, coffee, lids, literally jumping over spills and trash bags because we didn’t have time to clean up busy. My manager and ASM sat in the back this entire time.
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letters-from-alex · 7 years
Text
Dear Friend,
May 23, 2017
Part I It’s been fourteen days since I’ve last written to you. I’m very sorry for that.  I’ve actually been really busy lately.  I’m on vacation visiting my dear friend Marie.  She’s the one that sends me letters in the mail.  It’s been lovely staying with her.  She’s made me feel at home: making me dinner, buying me gifts, and letting me do all the things I want to do.  Lately we’ve been watching a lot of tv shows and movies and reading and writing.  It’s a good feeling to be doing things you don’t usually do.  It feels productive to me.  I won’t tell you where I am, but I will tell you that I’m still in Texas.  I’m a lot more north than usual so it’s very strange to be in a town that has sixty-seven degree weather at the moment.  I’m really not used to it at all.  I just checked the weather back home - it’s eighty-nine degrees and cloudy.  I bet it’s really humid too.  I wasn’t expecting it to be so cool here, so I didn’t pack any long sleeve clothing.  It’s a wonderful feeling though, to be somewhere different and to not be in ninety degree weather for once.   I like being a little cold. I’d rather be shivering than sweating my ass off.  I’ve been here for almost a week now.  A part of me doesn’t want to go home, because for once I’m really happy. But the other part of me knows that I can’t be here for long.    I left my problems at home.  I feel so stress free, not having to worry about them.  Like the fact that my ex-boyfriend is going to Finland.  Like the fact that he hasn’t paid our car; I took it away from him and now I have to get it repossessed; It’s going to ruin my credit, but it has to be done; I want to cut all ties with him.   Like the fact that I don’t have to worry about work and seeing my case manager.  Like the fact that I don’t have to do so many things for my parents.  The only problems that traveled with me was my financial ones.  I’m running out of money and this trip probably made that worse.  I left the people who don’t care about me at home.  Like Voldemort and other people that I thought I could call my friend.  Like my friend Diana - She told my ex-boyfriend about Taylor after he and I went to Applebee’s with Josh and Sabrina one day.  She was our waitress.  She honestly had no right to do that and I don’t understand why she had to keep tabs on me for him.  I found this out because one day, when my ex and I were fighting about the car, he had the audacity to bring up Taylor.  He texted me, “Hey. Be careful with your new boy. He’s been around the block. Just because we have animosity between us doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt. Don’t let your guard down. I had class with his twin. And if you think I’m doing this to mess with you, then you obviously don’t know me at all. All I’ve ever done for you is look out for you. Have a nice life.”   This made me so upset.  Diana had obviously told him about Taylor because she is the only person that still talks to my ex.  It’s so sad that little does she not know that he did nothing but talk shit about her when she didn’t say goodbye to him before she left back to California.  Now that she’s back, I thought she and I could be friends again; not after this stunt.  My ex can have her and continue being a fake friend.  I wanted to tell him so many things that he didn’t want to hear.  I was so upset and hurt and in so much pain.  Why does he have to keep up with me? I don’t want him to keep up with me.  It’s pathetic.  I don’t give a shit about him anymore. Why can’t he just not care about me just the same as I don’t. Instead, he decides to stir the shit pot of emotions that I have locked up inside that want to come out. I just want him to leave me alone.  If he wants me to be happy, then he shouldn’t have left when I needed him the most, as a friend.  I just left… Everything. Even the people I do love and that love me back.  Like my parents, Josh, Jenna, Angel, and Aaron. That’s the only part of me that does want to go home.  I want to go home to my family and my good friends.  I miss them very much.  They are my light.  And I know I can go to them for anything.  They keep me strong.  I don’t know what I would do without them.  Part II This city I’m in - it reminds me of home.  There isn’t much to do and there’s a lot of other cities next to this one. So, if we decide to take a trip to some other town, it takes about twenty minutes.  Like I said, there isn’t much to do, but we are making the most out of my time here.  For example, just the other day, she and I decided to take a drive to a neighboring city to walk around the mall there.  I bought myself a Dragonball Z statue of Teen Gohan from GameStop.  It was an early birthday gift to myself - it’s a few weeks away.  I also bought myself a a face serum from Sephora.  We were at the mall for over an hour.  When we were done window shopping, we rode to Best Buy so I could buy a new screen protector for my phone.  I was lucky enough to find the last one there.  Then, we went to Staples so Marie could buy some blue ink for her new pen.  That’s also when I bought my first calligraphy pen.  When she saw it, she said I had to buy it because I’m a “writer” now. Am I? So I bought it.  Afterwards, we walked to a Barnes and Noble that was nearby.  That’s when I bought my first journal.  Marie said I should get it so I could write down all my thoughts.  So, I did.  Later, on our way back home, we stopped at a Panera Bread. I had never been there before and Marie really wanted me to try it.  I wanted to try something new, so I thought - why not? She parked the car and turned to me. “Do you want to take down your book so we can read when we’re done eating?” “Yeah, sure. That sounds like a good idea,” I said, smiled, and continued. “Hey. I can take my journal too. Maybe I can write about what we’ve been doing today.” “Oh my gosh. Yes. You should!” With excitement, I grabbed my newly purchased journal and a book called The Reason by Lacey Sturm and walked into Panera Bread. I’ve had the book for a good eight months now. I haven’t bothered finishing it because I get so lazy. I do hope to finish it soon.  I walked in with Marie and was a little confused with the set-up. They had kiosks on the side so people could order their food themselves.  “Do you want to use these so we can look at the whole menu?” Marie asked and pointed at the high-tech looking kiosks.  “Yeah. I know I’m probably going to take a long time deciding anyway.” That comment ended up being very true.  I didn’t know what I wanted to eat.  I also didn’t want to try something too risky.  But I also didn’t want to try something safe.  I was so indecisive.  There was so many options.  After about five minutes of thoroughly navigating the menu on this ten inch screen, I figured out what I wanted to eat.  I decided on a turkey and ham sandwich with a few vegetables and a cup of chicken noodle soup on the side.  I also ordered a papaya green tea that turned out to be very delicious.  Marie and I sat down by the window secluded from other people.  In fact, we were alone for a good twenty minutes in the section we chose to sit at until some lady and her daughter decided to dine-in a few tables away. It didn’t take long for our food to come out.  Within ten minutes, an employee brought out our meals. The sandwich waiting to be eaten by me looked so delicious and the soup was still steaming hot.  I took my first bite of my panini - God, I was right.  Delicious!  The soup was just as good.  Marie got a turkey bacon club on a croissant bread with a broccoli and cheese soup.  I didn’t try her sandwich but I did try her soup.  It was sadly better than mine.  I knew I should’ve gotten that one instead when I was being so indecisive at the kiosk.  Didn’t matter; I enjoyed my meal nevertheless.  When we finished our meals, Marie started reading a book called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller and I started writing in my journal.  I wrote about our day, which I have already mentioned to you earlier.  Then I started to read the book that has been on chapter six for the past eight months. I only read one chapter while I was there.  I would’ve read more, but we had to leave if we wanted to take a walk at the park before sunset.  So, I closed my book, took my journal with my first entry in it, and left with my best friend back to her apartment.  I guess I should start calling it home. For now… Part III I will admit that it feels a little strange to be so far away from home.  I haven’t traveled alone (without family or a boyfriend) in about six years.  The farthest I’ve driven alone was San Antonio when I wanted to visit my lesbian friend Renee.  Irregardless of the fact that this city reminds me of home, it definitely doesn’t feel like it - I’m surprised I haven’t had an anxiety attack.  As I said earlier… I miss my parents.  I miss my dog Zoey.  And I miss my friends - especially Josh.  I felt really bad that I left the day before his birthday.  So, to make it up to him, (before I left) I bought him a cute birthday card and wrote him a note.  I also wrote him a two page letter and sent him some money.  I left it in my mailbox and thankfully it was delivered to him the next day.  He was really happy and surprised to get something like that from me.  He only read the card on his birthday.  Josh said that he was scared to read the letter because he thought it said something bad, like that I was moving away for good and wasn’t going back.  Thankfully, I don’t intend on that.  I do want to go back home, eventually.  Just yesterday, two days after his birthday, he finally read the letter.  He thought it was really sweet and it made him smile a lot. His girlfriend wanted to read it too, but he didn’t let her.  She just read the card, and when she did she said to him, “Dude, I think Alex is in love with you.” He laughed and said that we are only friends.  I am in love with him… But, I know I can never be with him.  I’m just grateful to have him in my life as a wonderful friend than not at all.  I care about him too much and I don’t know what I would do without him. He’s always been there for me when I needed him.  I couldn’t ask for anyone better.  He makes me so happy, and he doesn’t even have to try. I didn’t think the card was enough. On my way over here, I stayed in San Antonio for a night because I didn’t want to drive straight here on the same day. While I was there, I stopped at a few stores at North Star Mall.  I went to this novelty shop called Think Geek.  I found a lot of Rick and Morty stuff that I got for his birthday.  I don’t plan on sending them to him, because I want to see his face when I give them to him.  I also bought him an animated movie called Princess Mononoke and had it sent to his house.  He just got it today. He was so surprised.  He texted me. “Oh my god Alex! How many things did you buy me?” I replied.  “Why?” “I got the movie. Thank you Alex. Oh my god.” He was obviously speechless.  “Aww. Do you like it? Did it make you smile? It got there quick! I just ordered it on Sunday!” “Yes. Of course! I love this movie.”  “I got you a lot more things. But I won’t send them to you. I want to see you open them.” “Oh my god. You’re insane.” “You love me.” “I do,” he confirmed. That made my heart clench.  He’s so cute.  I missed him so much that I had to ask him if he could FaceTime me.  We didn’t talk until late in the night because he was busy playing a raid on Destiny all day.  So to kill time, I started watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I with Marie.   In the middle of the movie he finally called me on FaceTime. I paused the movie, walked to the blow up mattress that was behind me, and answered him.  The phone took a while to connect us.  After a moment of looking at a black screen, I saw his face for the first time in a few days.  I know it seems pathetic of me to say that I missed it because I just saw him last week, but I can’t help but want to always see him.  He was shirtless and I could see that he got a haircut.  It looked nice and clean.  “Hey Josh,” I said with a big smile.  “Hey Alex,” he replied and mirrored my smile.  His smile is so crooked and his teeth matched it just the same.  He doesn’t like his smile, but that’s what I love the most about him. Then it’s his eyes.  He looks tired all the time, but somehow I’m attracted to that.  “Your hair looks good! I like it.”  “Oh. Thanks. The girl that was cutting my hair messed up the back. She was annoying me” I couldn’t help but giggle. “What? Why do you say that?” “Because. She wouldn’t shut up. She just kept on talking and talking. She wouldn’t shut up!” He repeated. “I literally just wanted to tell her, ‘Bitch. Shut up and just cut my fucking hair.’” I bursted out laughing! Josh was on speaker so Marie heard what he said too.  She was laughing just as hard as me.  I couldn’t catch my breath.  Then when I was just about to, I’d turn to Marie to catch her still laughing! This, of course, made me laugh even more… “Why are you laughing?” Josh asked. He laughed and then continued, “If Marie is telling you things about me then you need to tell me. What did she say? Why are you laughing?” He repeated. I took another moment to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. “She didn’t say anything. We’re just laughing at what you said! It was so funny!” My stomach started to hurt from all the shrieking giggles.  It was the good kind of hurt though.  “Alright. I guess Alex,” he said as he gave me that compelling stare of his.  The rest of the conversation was mostly about his day and mine.  Like what I’ve been doing lately while I’ve been away.  I told him that I’ve been writing a lot - physical letters.  I told him about my adventure to the neighboring city. I told him how I’ve been feeling.   And how Marie and I have been doing a lot of cute things together.  He told me his girls weren’t there which was odd because it was a Monday.  Usually, they are back by Sundays from the mom.  He also mentioned that he got written up at work because someone decided to show up two hours late to cover his shift.  The managers knew he wasn’t going in and this girl, the one that took over his shift, knew what time he had to work and decides to show up late. Then he’s the one that gets written up? I don’t see how that was fair.  A few minutes later, the conversation started to die out. We had nothing left to talk about. Coincidentally, he got a phone call from his girlfriend.  “Hey. Sabrina is calling me. I have to go.” Josh said in a rush.  “Alright Josh. I’m glad we were able to talk tonight.” “Me too Alex. I love you. I’ll talk to you later.” “Love you too. Bye-bye.” I hung up my phone with a smile.  It wouldn’t go away.  I almost forgot I was with Marie.  She was quietly watching videos on Instagram on her phone.  I got off from the air mattress and walked up to the empty chair by the bar.  I looked at Marie, gave her a smile, and she gave me one right back.  She didn’t say anything - she didn’t have to.  I hovered my hand over the computer to press play as I asked her, “Are you ready?” “Yas queen,” she said.  We both laughed. I pushed play and we continued to watch the magical world of Harry Potter until the night ended… Part IV I don’t know when I’ll be back home. When I leave here, I plan on going to visit my friends in Austin.  My good friend that would like to be referred to as Fisto Roboto said I could stay at his place for a few days.  I asked him last week if I could go visit him and stay at his apartment. He never replied, but the next day he sent me a Snap of him in a cap and gown. It was graduation day for him. I sent him a message on Snapchat. “Oh my god. You look so freaking cute! Congrats! I hope you have a wonderful day.” He replied. “Thank you so much! I hope you have a great day too!” I thought it was really strange that he sent me a photo on Snapchat, but not reply to my text the day before.  Was he ignoring me? Did he not want me visiting him? I didn’t bother asking him again because I didn’t want to be annoying.  To my surprise, a few days later, I noticed that my text never went through to him while I was at Panera Bread with Marie.  That’s when I saw that my iMessage didn’t go through and my send button turned green.  I decided to send him a message on Snapchat again. “Hey! Is your phone not working? Or do you not have an iPhone anymore?” “No iPhone,” he responded. I felt a little relieved. “Oh. No wonder. I texted you last week! I wanted to ask you something!”   “What is it?” “I’m not sure if I should ask. I don’t want to be annoying.” “Don’t be afraid to ask me something silly boy. Just say it.” I got a little nervous as I typed out the words. “Well. I texted you because I wanted to know what you’re doing the weekend of June 2nd.” “Hmm. I don’t have any plans. What’s up?” “I was hoping I could stay over for a few days if you weren’t busy. You can tell me no!” “Haha. Yeah of course! You know you’re always welcomed here. On June 2nd, I’m free after 5:00pm. Now that I’m done with school I have a lot of free time.” “Oh my gosh. Okay! That’s awesome! We can go to the arcade and go drink!” “That sounds like a lot of fun.” “Yes it does. Let me know if anything changes!” I was already getting so excited to see him.  Given our history, I’m expecting something to happen with him, but sadly, he has a girlfriend.  “Alright. I will!” The conversation ended there.  Today, we continued that conversation. I texted him. “Fisto Roboto.” “Alexxxxxxxx.” “I just wanted to tell you that I hope you have a great day today!” I like to send cute messages like that when I’m thinking about someone a lot. “I hope you have a great day too!” “Thank you!” “Alex. When are you planning on staying?” Oh no. Something must have come up. Why would he be asking me otherwise? Ugh.  I knew it was too good to be true.  “June 2nd! Why?? I can go a little before or after? My schedule is really flexible.” “June 3rd and 4th: Campfire and wedding proposal to attend.” I knew it.  I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stay. “Oh! Alright. Should I go a few days before then? Maybe the 31st of May?” “I’m saying you’re invited too, if you’d like to go. Haha.” I dropped my jaw. I was in utter shock.  I couldn’t believe he was inviting me! Why isn’t his girlfriend going? I thought.  “Oh! Okay! That sounds so fun! I’ll go!” He never replied after that. I’m honestly really curious now to know if he’s still with his girlfriend or not.  I’m anticipating so much to happen if he and I decide to go drinking and he somehow accidentally gets drunk. I also wonder where I will sleep when I stay with him.  I wonder if he’ll let me sleep on the same bed as him… I don’t want to sleep on the pull out sofa-bed in his living room. I like him a lot and think he’s so cute. I know I won’t let the opportunity go pass by if it decides to be offered to me. And by “it” I mean his body.  It’s getting me excited just thinking about it.  I want to be with him already.  I guess I’ll have to wait and see what happens when the time comes.  For now, I will continue to be stress-free. For now, I will continue to have a good time with my best friend. For now, I will continue to keep writing about my life.  All these things are too calming for me to give them up.  I need to take advantage of this moment, because I know when I get back home, all the problems that I left behind will still be there. Waiting for me...  Waiting to tear me apart again. Love always, Alex
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2traveldads-blog · 7 years
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Most random place I’ve visited in a long while:  Mobile, Alabama.  When I first found out that I got to go I was neutral in my excitement.  And then I started researching; and then I got there; and then I fell in love.  Mobile, Alabama’s theme for the city is “Born to Celebrate” and really, that’s the vibe everywhere and I love it.
Being the birthplace of Mardi Gras in the South and founded by one of the brothers who also founded New Orleans, it’s already in position to be cool.  You don’t hear a lot about Mobile as a destination or a party city, but it is.  It’s not a party city like Las Vegas or the Daytona Beach of the 90s, but it’s a place full of fun and pride.  And it’s delightfully gay which added to how welcome I felt and how much I loved Mobile, Alabama.  Anyways, here’s the scoop on Mobile and why I can’t wait to return with my whole family.
Locale of Mobile, Alabama
Mobile is at the very south of the Great State of Alabama on the Gulf of Mexico.  It’s located where five different rivers meet.  It’s surrounded by lush live oak forests and meandering waterways.  It’s a short drive to the beaches of the Gulf.  It’s a pocket of awesome in a place thought of as the Deep South.
Mobile has its own airport (MOB) and has two major interstates feeding into it.  You can arrive in Mobile, Alabama via cruise ship or private charter.  Basically, what’s stopping you from getting there and having an incredible time?
History of Mobile
It’s in Alabama.  That’s enough to make somebody who hasn’t been think about all they’ve heard, read or seen on TV about Alabama.  Just stop right there:  Mobile is completely different in nearly every way.  Yes, of course there are people who are stuck in the 1860s or the 1950s, but they’re not as common as you’d think.  Here are some interesting tidbits shared with me by Mobilians during my visit (but might not have factual backing):
Mobile was the first city in the south to elect an African-American mayor with a white majority vote.  
Mobile was the only major city in the South that didn’t have a civil rights march due to several very active public groups that worked to change local laws, including desegregating schools, prior to government mandate. They’ve had protests, but weren’t at the forefront of marches in the 60s.
Mobile has Gay Pride celebrations with lots of community involvement in addition to being involved in Mardi Gras activities.  
It’s the most progressive city I’ve been to south of the Mason-Dixon line.  Love it!
And Mobile, Alabama is an old city; it’s older than New Orleans.  Founded in 1702 Mobile has that same French influence you’ll see in NOLA, but it’s had it for longer.  And here’s a fun fact:  at one point Alabama was actually its own country (for a few days), and if you know where to look you can see references to it throughout Mobile.  And then there’s Mardi Gras… We’ll save that for last.
Top 5 things to do in Mobile, Alabama
Every city you’ll ever visit has a few super awesome things that will keep visitors coming back or talking about for a long time.  Mobile is for sure one of those places, but we’ll keep it short and sweet… like a beignet.
Exploring Mobile’s neighborhoods
Seattle, San Francisco, Portland… all three are great cities made of beautiful and fascinating neighborhoods.  And so is Mobile!!
Downtown Mobile
Downtown Mobile, Alabama is really nice.  The buildings aren’t too tall and there are countless sandwich and coffee shops giving it a quiet, small city feeling.   And downtown is right next to Dauphin Street, which is the main drag and is highly entertaining.  The people of Mobile have been exceptionally active in restoring their city since the 1960s so the whole area west of the financial district is charming, historic and full of fun.  At night, it’s lit up with twinkling lights, neon, marquees, glowing bar lights…. Strolling through downtown Mobile at night is a must.
Oakleigh Garden and DeTonti Square Historic Districts
Being such an old city, Mobile has some incredible residential neighborhoods including seven historic districts.  Just north of the downtown area is the DeTonti Square Historic District.  Some of the homes here are so old and ornate that they’ve each been under renovation for… well, forever.  Walking through the neighborhood you’ll find a combination of Gulf Cottages, Federal style and shotgun houses.  Each of the homes as it’s renovated is held to strict standard for color and outdoor features to keep the district as historically accurate as possible.  A homeowner can pop into the paint store in Mobile, say where they live, and leave with a color palate for the exterior of their house that is historically accurate and perfect.
Tip:  as you’re exploring the neighborhoods of Mobile, Alabama look at the historic markers and coats of arms on the restored houses.  You’ll learn all kinds of fun facts about the city and be able to impress all your friends when you bring them back!
Another beautiful neighborhood to wander through is the Oakleigh Garden Historic District.  Here, in addition to the beautiful and interesting homes, you’ll find some of the most impressive live oaks I’ve seen anywhere in the South.  And wandering the streets below the oaks and past the shotgun houses you’ll eventually get to the Church Street Graveyard.  It’s right by the old library so you can’t miss it.  This beautiful old cemetery has some of the oldest graves in Mobile, Alabama, including that of Joe Cain, the re-founder of Mardi Gras.
Photo tip:  photographing the live oak neighborhoods and cemeteries is best in the LATE afternoon.  The filtered light makes for interesting shots with much softer shadows.
The last neighborhood that I wanted to mention is the Church Street East Historic District.  This is actually where I stayed, at the Malaga Inn, and I loved it.  In the morning I could walk past wrought iron railings and find Mardi Gras beads in the bushes.  At night, there were gas lamps.  A few blocks away was Fort Conde and the Plaza for Mardi Gras events.  The historic charm is there along with bustling activity.  If you’re not staying in this neighborhood, as least pay it a visit.
Eat all of the deliciousness
Where to begin?!  Let’s just say that between blue crab legs and beignet sandwiches I was never hungry or bored with food. Here’s just a taste of what I found and no doubt anybody else could discover even more yum.  Here are three tasty beyond tasty ideas for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Wintzell’s Oyster House – anything with the tiny crab legs or the shrimp in ANY of their sauces and styles.  And their Oysters Monterey were my favorite.
Panini Pete’s – so the beignets are amazing and much more dense and, dare I say it, more delicious than other’s I’ve add throughout the South.  And they’ll make you a bacon and egg sandwich on a beignet!
Noble South – this is where I learned the Southern cooking isn’t all butter and butter.  Even though there were some beautiful meat dishes being served, my vegetarian collection of courses was an unforgettable surprise.  Especially the squash blossoms.  Perfect.
I had all kinds of other great food, but these three hot spots rang the bell for me.  Each was delicious and totally unique to dining I’d find anywhere in the Pacific Northwest.
Gab with EVERY local Mobilian you meet
OMG, you don’t even have to try to do this.  I met so many great people just walking around Mobile.  Some of my favorite characters included I got to talk to were actually the many different servers in the restaurants I ate at.  Ms Pinky at Wintzell’s Oyster House had a new phrase for how delicious each dish was.  The gentleman at the Mardi Gras museum had amazing stories about festivities through the years and strength and presence of the LGBT population of Mobile, Alabama.  One of the four different servers I had when dining alone at a sidewalk cafe didn’t want to talk about Mobile, but about my kids and all the weird things about being a parent.  
And then Spring, our breakfast server one day.  She was a delight.  We chatted about food and Mobile and Mardi Gras, and then art.  She’s an artist whose medium is beads.  How perfect for being a Mobilian from the birthplace of Mardi Gras.  
Tip:  take a look at Mardi Gras bead art. It has got to be my new favorite medium and motif.  So intricate and takes much more patience than I’ll ever have.
Someday when I’m bored and just want to gab, I’m going to book a plane ticket to Mobile and just go cafe hopping inviting random people to sit with me and drink iced tea.  Or sweet tea.
…and sometimes the locals will dress up with you…
Airboating in the Mobile Delta
We got to take the kids on a airboat ride through the mangroves of the Everglades and it was awesome!  Here is Mobile I had another opportunity to do an airboat ride and it was just as fun but totally different.
We headed just out of town to the Spanish Fort area where we met Captain Geoff.  In addition to being an airboat captain, he’s also a naturalist, so boom, sold. We had three really unique ecotours in Florida and doing the airboat with Captain Geoff was equally thoughtful and educational.  Between the care he showed in his boating and the knowledge he imparted with great intent, Airboat Express is definitely in the top ecotours I’ve been a part of (including some amazing ones in Montana and Alaska).
The highlight of the Mobile Delta airboat tour was definitely the wildlife.  There were all kinds of fascinating birds and really unique vegetation, but this was the first ecotour I’d done that took us past alligator dens and nurseries.  We saw some enormous gators, yes, but getting to see baby alligators swimming or crawling all over each other was a real treat.
Tip:  if you have kids with you for an airboat tour, be sure they have sunglasses.  This helps keep the wind out of their eyes and they’ll have a much more enjoyable experience.
MARDI GRAS EVERYTHING
As I’ve mentioned several times Mobile, Alabama is the birthplace of Mardi Gras.  The city really is born to celebrate like their motto says.  So, for starters, the Mardi Gras museum is pretty darn cool and interesting. And weird.  If you happened into it without any preface you might think you stumbled into the Inauguration Gown gallery at the Smithsonian…but full of drag costumes.  I’ve never seen such lavish regalia.  So much embroidery and beadwork.
And then there are the strands of beads.  Everywhere.  On my first night in Mobile I went for a walk and my eyes kept darting around to find beads in the trees and on lamp posts left over from the recent Mardi Gras celebrations.  I went on a tour driving around the many historic neighborhoods and sights and was given my own strand of Mardi Gras beads. They’re now sparkling somewhere in Mobile, reminding somebody else that there’s another celebration around the corner.
When you spend your time talking with the locals and gabbing it up with your server you’ll see that everything is related to Mardi Gras.  
“What have you got going on this weekend?” “Oh, I have a meeting with my mystic society.”  
“Oh, when did you do X, Y and Z?” “Well, it was just after Mardi Gras and…”
“Any big plans coming up?”  “I know that there’s a ball I am attending at Thanksgiving… It’s the start of Mardi Gras.”
Seriously, you can’t escape it and that’s just fine.  Seeing how excited and how dedicated each person is to EVERYTHING Mardi Gras is bizarre and inspiring.  It is a complete sense of community. Hopefully we’ll get to experience Mardi Gras in Mobile, Alabama in the next few years. It’ll be amazing.
So I know Mobile might not have been on your radar before today, but doesn’t it sound fantastic and aren’t you ready to plan a trip? I can’t wait to return with my family and have an awesome time making Mardi Gras memories and more.
Want to pin it for your own travel planning to Mobile or the South in general? Go for it!!!
Mobile, Alabama: top 5 ways to celebrate a surprising gem of a city Most random place I’ve visited in a long while:  Mobile, Alabama.  When I first found out that I got to go I was neutral in my excitement.  
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bibliosexxual · 7 years
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ships passing in the night.
A quick, (hopefully) fluffy little fic featuring musician!Derek. Inspired by this prompts post of “Reunited AUs.”
now also on ao3!
Stiles is so close to getting somewhere with Derek. He can feel it.
They have inside jokes. They eat lunch together every day in the cafeteria. Stiles has found out that Derek can play like fifteen different instruments and likes to fiddle around with composing music in his spare time, and Derek knows all about Stiles’ fascination with folklore, unexplained phenomena, and The X-Files. Stiles overhears Derek telling Boyd that Stiles is a “brilliant researcher.” Derek has seen Stiles having a panic attack in the men’s restroom and talked him through it, and he went with Stiles as his (sadly platonic) plus-one to his dad’s wedding. There's even a drunk almost-kiss at their boss Lydia Martin’s engagement party, Stiles making an idiot of himself but Derek smiling fondly anyway, and then—nothing.
"Hey, where's Derek?" Stiles asks Greenberg when he comes in Monday morning. Derek is one of those annoyingly productive morning people and always beats Stiles to the office. Today his desk is empty. Like, weirdly empty. Stiles would almost venture to call it bare, except that makes no sense. "He's not sick, is he? Or hungover?"
Although, as far as Stiles knows, Derek doesn't drink.
"He quit," Greenberg says, not looking up from the magazine he's reading, as if this is totally normal.
There's a strange ringing in Stiles' ears. "Like, for the day?"
Greenberg doesn't look up. "Like, for forever."
It really is that sudden. One day he's plugging away in the cubicle next to Stiles', and the next, Stiles finds out from fucking Facebook that Derek Hale is overnight famous.
*
When he asked about Derek’s hobbies once, a couple months ago, Derek had hesitantly shown him a song he’d been composing in his apartment. He hadn’t shown it to anyone else yet.
Whatever Stiles had been expecting, it wasn’t this. This was one of the best fucking songs Stiles had ever heard in his entire life. It was hopeful and pained all at once, a soft rock beat that made Stiles think of long car rides at night on empty highways, Derek’s voice drifting through it all so achingly lonely and perfectly it gave Stiles goosebumps just to hear it. The lyrics were vague enough that a stranger might think Derek was talking about an ex-boyfriend or girlfriend, but Stiles knew. This was about Derek’s family, the family he’d lost when he was fifteen.
Derek hovered nearby the whole time, leaning his elbows on the break room counter and watching him nervously, trying to gauge his reaction, and all Stiles could do was stare at him, speechless for once in his life, because he’d had no idea Derek was so talented.
When Stiles finally managed words again, he ranted at Derek for ten minutes straight about how awesome it was and begged him for the mp3 so he could listen to it again and again for the rest of time. Derek bit back a smile and said gruffly that maybe he’d show him some more songs sometime.
Instead, Derek’s sister, who had about ten thousand YouTube subscribers and also thought the song was great, uploaded it to her channel with the excuse that it was “too amazing not to share with the world.”
Not fifteen minutes later, some internet-famous blogger, and then another and another, posted about it on their Tumblrs.
By the next day, it had gone viral.
That was the start of everything.
*
Stiles can't say he blames Derek for quitting. Hell, this is basically the best thing to ever happen to Derek, Stiles knows that, and it’s awesome. They'd talked about their dreams, and Derek had always said he'd love to be a musician. Now his single has climbed to number eight on Billboard’s Hot 100 and his face is at the top of Stiles’ news feed every day for a week, and Stiles wouldn’t take that away from him for anything.
BUT. Just because Derek gets his dream job doesn't mean he can just—just leave and never contact Stiles again.
Only, that's exactly what he does.
What makes it worse is that Derek's song plays at least ten times a day on every radio station in Beacon Hills, and Stiles can’t stop missing Derek even though it’s increasingly obvious that Derek doesn’t miss him at all.
THEN. Then. There's an interview. The interview, really, the only one that matters as far as Stiles is concerned.
It’s been two months since Derek quit his desk job. He’s just released his first full album, and Stiles hasn’t listened to anything else in a week. It’s been a revelation. Critics are, rightfully, raving about it. Especially the most popular song on the album, “Ships Passing in the Night.”
Stiles hates “Ships Passing in the Night.” Not only is it absolutely stunning—it almost brings Stiles to tears the first time he hears it, and Stiles is not a crying kind of person, okay—but his stupid brain can't stop twisting the lyrics into some kind of Stiles-and-Derek love story. Which is ridiculous. Really. Derek hasn't sent Stiles so much as a text since he quit. Stiles has probably been the last thing on his mind.
Anyway.
The interviewer starts out asking Derek all the getting-to-know-you questions about how he got interested in music (it was something he got into as a form of therapy after the death of most of his family) and what he's planning next as a musician (it’s a little early to say), and then... then she’s leaning forward like she and Derek are about to share a secret and asking if his latest hit song is a true story, if there really is a "honey-eyed boy” Derek’s hopelessly and unrequitedly in love with.
Stiles is toasting a sandwich in his panini press and nearly sears the flesh off his finger because he can't look away from the screen, from the way Derek fucking blushes like they're in middle school or something and says, “Yes. He’s real.”
“What the fuck,” Stiles breathes.
On Stiles’ TV, the interviewer puts a hand on Derek’s knee and asks, “So tell me, what’s the story there?”
“Well,” Derek hedges. He not-so-subtly shifts his knee away from her hand. “I saw him my first day at work and I… fell in love, I guess.”
“Just like that?”
Derek shrugs. “When you know, you know.”
The interviewer practically has heart eyes at this point. “Wow. That’s so romantic. So what happened? From your lyrics, it sounds like he was the one that got away.”
“We were friends. He was even my first real fan. He was the first person I ever showed my music to.”
Stiles is pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe.
Derek sighs sadly and spreads his hands in a what-can-you-do kind of gesture. “I’m not good enough for him, though. I’ll never be as special to him as he is to me. I haven’t even heard from him since I quit my job to pursue my music.” He gazes wistfully somewhere off-screen. “He’s probably forgotten about me by now.”
*
Stiles marches over to Derek's apartment. He hasn’t even stopped to put his shoes on. He doesn't think until he's already climbing the stairs to Derek’s floor that maybe Derek isn't home at 9 at night on a Friday in sleepy Beacon Hills, not when he's suddenly the next big thing in music.
Also, Stiles is not technically supposed to know where Derek lives, but he might've hacked the company database a while back to snoop one night when he was alone at the office, working late. He just wanted to know when Derek's birthday was; it was totally innocent and not stalkery.
He pounds on the door and then paces, and when Derek opens the door, looking bewildered with unfairly messy hair, Stiles doesn’t even say hello like a normal person. Instead he just comes out with, "I saw your interview on TV."
Derek winces and says, "Oh," and Stiles says, “‘Oh’ is right, you idiot," and kisses him.
Derek falls back against the doorframe and makes this little whimpery noise Stiles never wants to forget as long as he lives. His hands fly up to curl in Stiles’ hair. He kisses the breath right out of Stiles’ lungs.
“Stop telling people I’m not in love with you,” Stiles says at some point. He’s trying to be stern, but he can’t stop smiling.
“I can do that,” Derek says.
Stiles nods. “You better.”
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sonatine · 7 years
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2015
“Where are you going now, Yuri?” Viktor asks, because practice is over and his brain can focus on other things like 1) the hole in his sleeve 2) the impressive gap in Yakov’s eyebrow that he does not want to know about and 3) chitchat with rinkmates.
“I’m going to try this new club,” Georgi announces, like nobody knows he’s just seen his ex check in there. “Seems cool.”
Viktor smiles politely and turns back to Yuri, who has just graduated from juniors. “How about you?”
Yuri gives him this look. The one you give to an adult when they ask how to print an email attachment.
“Seeing my grandpa,” he says. “It’s Sunday. We’re making pierogi.”
This is the most Yuri has ever said to Viktor, and he seems to have exhausted his reserves. Viktor’s follow up questions are all met with irritable shrugs.
2016
Sometimes Viktor says he’s going out but stays in. Sometimes Viktor says he’s staying in to do laundry when he is 100% planning to try out that new bar the next block over.
He doesn’t know why he does this. 
Maybe it’s security. He lives for the grid, loves checking in and being tagged. But.
Yuuri left the onsen, clearly bothered by something, saying, “I’ll be at the rink.”
Viktor looks for him everywhere, in all his favorite places. The beach, the boardwalk, that panini place in the grungy part of town, the hardware store where Yuuri buys polish for his equipment.
“I looked for you everywhere,” Viktor says petulantly when he finally finds Yuuri methodically practicing the salchow.
Yuuri gives him a look. Viktor blinks, thinking for a moment he’s back in St. Petersburg and talking to small Yuri.
“I told you I’d be here,” Yuuri says. He adjusts his gloves. “But since you’re here — when I step out at the end, I’m not sure —”
Yuuri chips away at a problem with the patience of a coal miner. Viktor usually bashes his head at an issue until it’s cracked down the middle and he’s tired to the bone. And then sleeps for twenty-four hours straight.
“Sure,” Viktor says, and walks Yuuri through the snarl in the yarn.
Yuuri watches intensely, carefully. He asks Viktor to repeat himself four times.
Viktor never minds.
2014
It’s Easter Sunday and St. Petersburg is deserted. Viktor woke up early, because his body is cruel, and tried three of his favorite coffee shops and finally slunk to the Starbucks when he was roundly taunted with closed signs.
The place is packed with tourists and Viktor drinks his concoction in grim dignity. He pretends not to speak English to the five people that all ask directions to the Kremlin. He leaves with his drink only half-finished, his paper only half-read.
Sometimes you never know your dad, as it happens, and sometimes your mom dies when you’re twenty-one, as it happens.
You’re legally an adult, so you get an apartment with the sponsorship money. You train at the same rink, with the same coach, and your life still revolves around the same neighborhood, so it’s not so different is it?
Viktor passes by a couple holding hands, two slim guys, laughing quietly about something on a phone. The one guy looks a little like Chris Giacometti and Viktor has an idea for a step sequence that would definitely inch him up a couple tenths of a point.
He makes some good progress at the rink that afternoon and rewards himself with a bubble bath that floods the bathroom in glitter, like he’s Oberon incarnate.
He wakes up later from a dream, something about hands and gold at 4am and can’t fall back asleep.
But the sky is streaked a pretty pink, like Makkachin’s tongue, and he runs to the rink. The ice smells welcoming.
2017
Viktor comes home to his apartment in St. Petersburg.
He passes by the cafe where he first convinced his mom to give him skating lessons, when he was four.
(His mother, who was an engineer for their country — now it was called Russia again, not that it made a difference to whether Viktor could watch more cartoons in the morning — stared at him with her mathematical brain and said, “For what purpose?”
“Any purpose,” said Viktor. She signed him up, provisionally.)
Viktor unlocks his front door with the usual elaborate ballet of wrist turns and shoulder slamming, and sets the groceries on the floor.
“Please,” says Yuuri, from the kitchen. “Please let me replace that lock.”
Viktor abandons the bags to kiss Yuuri instead until he’s blushing and forgotten his cereal.
“I like that lock. It has character.”
“It’s difficult,” Yuuri says, exasperated and fond. His hands are resting on Viktor’s hips, like they belong there, and Viktor feels —
“I too am difficult,” Viktor says.
Yuuri rolls his eyes but humors him. “I’m going for a run before going to the rink. You want to come?”
Viktor rests his head on top of Yuuri’s. He lets himself listen to Yuuri’s steady breathing for a minute and kisses the top of his head.
“Yes! Let’s run by the river.”
“Sure,” Yuuri says.
2012
Viktor is in Canada or Shanghai or maybe Johannesburg, he can’t really remember right now, but he’s wedged into a taxi beside Chris, who is expounding on the virtues of some new blade. Viktor smiles, not attending, and stares at the lights outside the car window.
They don’t hook up that night, but instead play Gin Rummy and дурак in Chris’ hotel room. Then Chris brings out an actual travel backgammon set from his suitcase.
“This game is so boring,” Viktor tells him, still a little drunk.
They’re speaking English, the common tongue of all competitors, though sometimes Viktor can persuade Chris to let him practice his French.
Chris just smiles and shrugs, sheepish over the wire-frame glasses he wears at night. Viktor is a little bored and a little tired, but that’s okay. The backgammon passes the time.
2016
Viktor has an anxiety attack on the plane, in the tiny Hasetsu airport with a smattering of gates, in the uber ride over, and while explaining to the kind but baffled middle-aged Japanese couple what Viktor and his ten billion suitcases are doing on their front porch.
He has another one while soaking in the spring, though it’s probably just a continuation of the slow long quarter-life crisis he’s been having since his thumb pressed the ‘call’ button under YAKOV and his mouth said, “I’m going to Japan to coach Yuuri Katsuki,“ and then the only father figure he has ever known said, “Don’t expect to come crawling back.”
He rests his head on the rocks behind him and dreams of a time when things — anything — felt fine.
But you can’t expect to get a different result from doing the same thing, his mom would have said. Something has to change.
The sliding door to the main building rockets open. Viktor thinks the door actually might derail off its tracks, but he’s distracted by the sweaty, gasping vision of Yuuri Katsuki, in glasses and workout gear, standing above him.
They gape at each other for a minute. Viktor is naked and flushed and not breathing correctly, but Yuuri is at least two of those things too.
“What are you doing here?” Yuuri asks.
He doesn’t pretend not to know Viktor, like the day after the banquet. And it’s the undertone of desperate hope that bolsters Viktor’s confidence.
Maybe two negatives can make a positive.
2016
It’s after the adrenaline crash and flashing lights have faded, and Viktor and Yuuri are alone, in their hotel room, showered and in sweats, perched on the pushed-together beds that Viktor feels an attack coming on again. He hasn’t had one in so long.
Yuuri nudges Viktor’s leg with his foot. There is a hole in the heel of his sock.
“So,” Yuuri says. “Next season.”
Viktor loves him like this, hair still damp around the edges, relaxed and serious. He loves goofy Yuuri too, but this is the calm version Yuuri never really trusts anyone else to see.
“Yeah,” says Viktor.
He misses skating like a missing limb, but he forgot the other side of the coin.
“You scared shitless?” says Yuuri.
An undignified snort bursts from Viktor.
“Obviously,” he says.
Yuuri scoots in, so that he’s wedged snug into Viktor’s side, and pulls out his phone.
“You already have a PS3,” Viktor says as Yuuri sends a message to the craigslist user.
“Yeah, but I doubt your apartment does,” says Yuuri. “Unless you wanted to get a new place together?”
“After all the work I put into decorating?” Viktor says indignantly.
Yuuri kisses Viktor’s neck, just at the juncture of his jaw, tender and unhurried, with a casual possessiveness Viktor never thought he’d know.
Viktor shivers and leans in.
Yuuri’s lips move up the side of Viktor’s face. Viktor can feel them curve into a smile.
“You know,” Yuuri murmurs, hand warm against Viktor’s side, “this grey hoodie blends in exactly with your hair.”
“This is heather,” Viktor tells him, and tugs the edges of Yuuri’s hair — just becoming long enough for a ponytail.
ao3 // all my fic
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