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sass-and-suspenders · 5 years

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The Patron Saint of Discounted Candy

GIF from big-brass-ego-deactivated201812

Pairing: Dr. Frederick Chilton x Reader

Words: 1,647

Author’s Note: This was based on a post by @somethingstately (but with a different ending because I have a soft spot for Chilton)

Frederick sighed as he walked down the grocery store aisle. Another Valentine’s Day had come and gone and, as usual, he had spent the day alone. His annual February 15th tradition of buying discounted candy and eating it alone on his couch in a fit of self-loathing was becoming hazardous for his mental health, not to mention his waistline.

As he made his way towards the colourful heart-shaped boxes, Frederick tried to avoid stepping on any of the rose petals, half-crushed candy hearts, and ribbons scattered across the aisle floor. No doubt these were the remnants of yesterday’s lovers and spouses frantically buying last-minute gifts on their way home from work.

Frederick scoffed at the thought. If he was fortunate enough to be in a relationship on Valentine’s Day, he would certainly not leave anything to the last minute. No, plans would have been made months in advance; ordering his partner’s favourite flowers, making reservations at a Michelin-starred restaurant, buying countless gifts to spoil his partner with throughout the day. He would do everything to make certain his partner felt loved.

His thoughts turned to the only time he came close to spending Valentine’s Day with someone. It was during his second year of residency when he had been dating a cardiology resident. Full of excitement at the prospect of spending Valentine’s Day as a couple, he planned the perfect evening: dinner at the restaurant where they had their first date, tickets to see Swan Lake, and then back to his apartment which he would elaborately decorate with candles and flowers.

Except, on the evening before Valentine’s, Frederick had stumbled upon his partner with someone else in an on-call room. While the cheating broke his heart, it was the look on his partner’s face that had shattered it. She looked at him as if he was just a stranger who had entered the room. As if he was an annoyance. As if he meant nothing.

Frederick had spent the next three days holed up in his apartment, eating discounted chocolate and trying to drink to the point where he could appreciate the irony of a cardiologist breaking his heart.

Shaking off these unhappy memories, Frederick scanned the shelves for his preferred post-Valentine’s Day chocolates. Unfortunately, he had arrived at the store too late. The shelves had already been picked over, with only a smattering of sad-looking stuffed animals and the chocolate that tasted as if its main ingredient was sawdust remaining.

As Frederick turned to leave, resigned to his usual fate of eating dinner alone in front of the television, he spotted a lone heart-shaped box of his usual chocolate peaking out from the highest shelf.

Reaching for it, Frederick felt the pull of the stitches that now sullied his abdomen. He lowered his arm and scowled. No employee was in sight nor was a step stool. Pursing his lips, Frederick mulled over his options.

He could forget about the chocolate, but he desperately needed a win today.

He could go find an employee, but that would leave the chocolate open for someone else to take it.

He could step on the lowest shelf for a height boost, but the shelves did not look stable enough to support the weight of an adult male, particularly one whose clothes had been fitting a bit too snug lately.

He hated that he had been reduced to this -a man who was spending more time and energy than one should on obtaining a discounted box of chocolate.

A man who was missing a kidney.

A man who needed a cane.

However, Frederick realized that his cane would be useful in this situation. It was a crude solution, using his cane to knock the box off of the shelf, but it would do the trick. Though, on his first attempt, the only thing Frederick managed to knock over was a teddy bear.

Cursing under his breath, Frederick gingerly bent down to retrieve the fallen bear. As his fingers skimmed its plush fur, he noticed stuffing seeping out of a small hole in the bear’s stomach. Upon the realization, Frederick let out a bark of bitter laughter. Clearly, the universe was playing yet another cruel joke on him.

And, to pour salt on his literal wound, someone was about to grab his box of chocolate.

“That’s mine,” Frederick snapped at the offender.

“Excuse me?” You turned your head to face the man who spoke.

Frederick straightened, the teddy bear still clutched in his hand, and gestured towards the obnoxiously large heart-shaped box now in your possession. “That’s my chocolate.”

Your initial reaction was to assume the man was joking, but the expression on his face told you otherwise.

“Right, and that was made so clear by the chocolate being up there on the shelf and you being a foot away staring intently at a teddy bear,” you deadpanned, feeling a spark of annoyance at his sense of entitlement.

“Well, I was about to get it,” Frederick replied, suddenly feeling flustered.

“Look, I’m not going to argue with you over a box of chocolate. You can have it,” you said, holding out the box to him.

Frederick was momentarily stunned by your gesture; he was rarely on the receiving end of kindness these days.

“Thank you, but you should keep it. You did get to it first after all,” Frederick gave you a shy smile.

It was that small, almost hesitant, smile that made you reconsider your first impression of him.

“How about we flip a coin for it?” You suggested and Frederick nodded.

“Heads or tails?” He asked, reaching for a coin in his pocket.

“Tails.”

Frederick tossed the coin and both of you watched it somersault in the air a few times before Frederick caught it. Opening his hand slightly, Frederick saw George Washington’s profile staring back at him.

“Well?” You prompted, unable to see the outcome from where you were standing.

“Tails, definitely tails,” he lied, slipping the coin into his pocket.

You held his gaze for a moment and Frederick was worried you could see through his ruse.

“That’s lucky,” you finally said, allowing Frederick to let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “At least you’re not leaving empty-handed.”

Frederick’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“The bear?” You pointed to the stuffed animal he was still holding.

“Oh, no, this,” He stammered, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I was just picking it up off the floor.”

“That’s too bad -it’s a cute bear.”

“He’s also damaged,” Frederick pointed out, showing you the gash in the bear’s chest.

“All the more reason why he needs a good home. Besides,” you added, studying the bear. “He’s definitely fixable.”

Frederick fiddled with the bear for a few seconds before speaking again. “Perhaps you should take him as well.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

“Okay, but then you take the chocolate.”

Frederick was opening his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“It’s not fair if I get the chocolate and the bear. Besides, the only chocolate left is the kind that tastes like sawdust and I can’t in good conscious let you buy that.”

“Alright,” Frederick consented, feeling a frisson of excitement as your fingers brushed his when you exchanged the items.

“I promise to take good care of the bear.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Frederick replied, not being able to muster the courage to look into your eyes. It certainly didn’t help that you managed to look lovely even in this dreadful supermarket lighting.

Sensing that the conversation had nearly run its course, Frederick blurted out the first thing that came to mind in a desperate attempt to remain in your company a few moments longer.

“Did you know that the origins of Valentine’s Day can be traced back to a Roman fertility festival called Lupercalia?”

Oh my God, I am such an idiot, he thought, wanting to fling himself into the sun. He swore he could even feel the judgmental stares of the rejected Valentine’s Day stuffed animals on his back. At least he’d had enough sense not to go into detail about what the festival involved. He couldn’t remember anyone making him feel this nervous before.

But instead of finding his rambling annoying, as the tiny voice in the back of his mind told him you would, you smiled at him.

“And yet everyone thinks that Valentine’s Day is a conspiracy invented by Hallmark and chocolate companies.”

Frederick grinned at your joke. He desperately wanted to ask for your phone number but he could feel the tiny voice in the back of his mind growing louder, telling him not to be ridiculous. Someone like you must certainly be in a relationship and, if by some miracle you weren’t, why would you ever want to be with him?

As if sensing his thoughts and deciding to take matters into your own hands, you plucked a heavily discounted box of Peppa Pig valentines off of the shelf and, after taking one of the many pens from your bag, began to write your name and number on one of the cards.

“In case you ever want to visit the bear,” you explained, handing the card over to the man in front of you. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to pay for these cards,” you added, mistakenly attributing the shock on Frederick’s face to your blatant disregard of store regulations.

Frederick fought the urge to pinch himself and delicately accepted the card. He would later tell you that your small action was responsible for dividing his life into before and after.

With that you said your goodbyes, remarking that you (and the bear) hoped to hear from him soon.

Watching your retreating figure, Frederick said a silent prayer of thanks. While St. Valentine might have abandoned him, his prayers had certainly been heard by the patron saint of discounted candy.

#frederick chilton x reader #hannibal #valentines day #frederick chilton #chilton #chilton x reader

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poorquentyn · 7 years

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Hey PQ, love your analysis. I agree with you that Victarion is likely to blow Dragonbinder and die a fiery death from within. I think he's seduced by the horn and is power hungry after battle, and believes that somehow Morroqo can save him again. My question, if/when Vic blows the horn and dies, what happens to the Ironborn? They are leaderless, far from home. They lost more than half their fleet on this journey as well, so going back doesn't look like a great option. Do they stay and Reave?

Good question! In the show, the Iron Fleet was Team Dany’s ticket to Westeros. In that case, however, the Fleet was led by the at least semi-sympathetic younger Greyjoys; in the books, Nuncle Vic is at the helm, and not only is the Iron Captain much less likely to play nice with others, he’s (as you note) probably not gonna last much longer.

Moreover, there’s a considerably larger fleet creeping behind Victarion’s…

And I must needs reach the dragon queen before the Volantenes.

In Volantis he had seen the galleys taking on provisions. The whole city had seemed drunk. Sailors and soldiers and tinkers had been observed dancing in the streets with nobles and fat merchants, and in every inn and winesink cups were being raised to the new triarchs. All the talk had been of the gold and gems and slaves that would flood into Volantis once the dragon queen was dead. One day of such reports was all that Victarion Greyjoy could stomach; he paid the gold price for food and water, though it shamed him, and took his ships back out to sea.

The storms would have scattered and delayed the Volantenes, even as they had his own ships. If fortune smiled, many of their warships might have sunk or run aground. But not all. No god was that good, and those green galleys that survived by now could well have sailed around Valyria. They will be sweeping north toward Meereen and Yunkai, great dromonds of war teeming with slave soldiers. If the Storm God spared them, by now they could be in the Gulf of Grief. Three hundred ships, perhaps as many as five hundred.

…and the heart of Tyrion VII ADWD’s deep dive into Volantis was his seismic reading of the fire underneath the city’s triumphant surface, exposed by those kindling it: the one with the flame tattoos…

The river road was thick with traffic, almost all of it flowing south. The knight went with it, a log caught in a current. Tyrion eyed the passing throngs. Nine men of every ten bore slave marks on their cheeks. “So many slaves … where are they all going?”

“The red priests light their nightfires at sunset. The High Priest will be speaking. I would avoid it if I could, but to reach the Long Bridge we must pass the red temple.”

Three blocks later the street opened up before them onto a huge torchlit plaza, and there it stood. Seven save me, that’s got to be three times the size of the Great Sept of Baelor. An enormity of pillars, steps, buttresses, bridges, domes, and towers flowing into one another as if they had all been chiseled from one colossal rock, the Temple of the Lord of Light loomed like Aegon’s High Hill. A hundred hues of red, yellow, gold, and orange met and melded in the temple walls, dissolving one into the other like clouds at sunset. Its slender towers twisted ever upward, frozen flames dancing as they reached for the sky. Fire turned to stone. Huge nightfires burned beside the temple steps, and between them the High Priest had begun to speak.

Benerro. The priest stood atop a red stone pillar, joined by a slender stone bridge to a lofty terrace where the lesser priests and acolytes stood. The acolytes were clad in robes of pale yellow and bright orange, priests and priestesses in red.

The great plaza before them was packed almost solid. Many and more of the worshipers were wearing some scrap of red cloth pinned to their sleeves or tied around their brows. Every eye was on the high priest, save theirs. “Make way,” the knight growled as his horse pushed through the throng. “Clear a path.” The Volantenes gave way resentfully, with mutters and angry looks.

Benerro’s high voice carried well. Tall and thin, he had a drawn face and skin white as milk. Flames had been tattooed across his cheeks and chin and shaven head to make a bright red mask that crackled about his eyes and coiled down and around his lipless mouth. “Is that a slave tattoo?” asked Tyrion.

The knight nodded. “The red temple buys them as children and makes them priests or temple prostitutes or warriors. Look there.” He pointed at the steps, where a line of men in ornate armor and orange cloaks stood before the temple’s doors, clasping spears with points like writhing flames. “The Fiery Hand. The Lord of Light’s sacred soldiers, defenders of the temple.”

Fire knights. “And how many fingers does this hand have, pray?”

“One thousand. Never more, and never less. A new flame is kindled for every one that gutters out.”

Benerro jabbed a finger at the moon, made a fist, spread his hands wide. When his voice rose in a crescendo, flames leapt from his fingers with a sudden whoosh and made the crowd gasp. The priest could trace fiery letters in the air as well. Valyrian glyphs. Tyrion recognized perhaps two in ten; one was Doom, the other Darkness.

Shouts erupted from the crowd. Women were weeping and men were shaking their fists. I have a bad feeling about this. The dwarf was reminded of the day Myrcella sailed for Dorne and the riot that boiled up as they made their way back to the Red Keep.

…and the one who cut her tattoos away.

The widow sipped daintily at her wine. “Some of the first elephants were women,” she said, “the ones who brought the tigers down and ended the old wars. Trianna was returned four times. That was three hundred years ago, alas. Volantis has had no female triarch since, though some women have the vote. Women of good birth who dwell in ancient palaces behind the Black Walls, not creatures such as me. The Old Blood will have their dogs and children voting before any freedman. No, it will be Belicho, or perhaps Alios, but either way it will be war. Or so they think.”

“And what do you think?” Ser Jorah asked.

Good, thought Tyrion. The right question.

“Oh, I think it will be war as well, but not the war they want.” The old woman leaned forward, her black eyes gleaming. “I think that red R’hllor has more worshipers in this city than all the other gods together. Have you heard Benerro preach?”

“Last night.”

“Benerro can see the morrow in his flames,” the widow said. “Triarch Malaquo tried to hire the Golden Company, did you know? He meant to clean out the red temple and put Benerro to the sword. He dare not use tiger cloaks. Half of them worship the Lord of Light as well. Oh, these are dire days in Old Volantis, even for wrinkled old widows.”

Tyrion grinned. “If I were Volantene, and free, and had the blood, you’d have my vote for triarch, my lady.”

“I am no lady,” the widow replied, “just Vogarro’s whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis.”

She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.”

So the slave soldiers and sailors on the Volantene fleet seem likely to revolt sooner rather than later, especially after it becomes clear that the slaver coalition their masters came to support has been wiped out by Barry and Vic, hammer-and-anvil style. As such, Team Dany might not need the Iron Fleet, and the latter’s narrative function was more to do with Dragonbinder and Moqorro…which if so, means the reavers will likely face the same fate as their leader.

#the iron fleet #volantis #benerro #the widow of the waterfront #asoiaf meta #victarion greyjoy

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

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Life Story Part 54

So, I hadn't really spoken to Ava in some time at this point. I feel like we saw her time and time again in vehicles. We were now going to school in the same town after all, albeit, in very different environments. I certainly heard the stories about her – in a year's time since she'd left Kendrick, she had become very well known. How promiscuous she was, or that she had cheated on people, stolen from people, or how she had done more drugs and alcohol than most of the other people. She seemed to have her hands in a lot of cookie jars. Ava had dated Teal's boyfriend for a time, Lee – until he had left her for someone else. Lee had been into this band, HIM, which was a band that Sarah was really into. I could never quite get into HIM. I didn't like the sound of their instruments. I felt their albums were overproduced, and their lyrics were more about dark romantic images but had no meaning.

Ava ended up getting tickets to see HIM in Seattle that late fall however, and she hadn't seen Sarah or I for awhile, so she invited the both of us to go with her to Seattle. I had never been to Seattle before. There was always a part of me that resented Ava for what she had done. I felt like, in stepping between Zack and I, she had changed the course of my life. It was more than just the friendship betrayal thing. I really woke up everyday going over it and over it in my mind, even though it was going on two years since Zack had been in my life. They say time heals all wounds, but of course many of us know that to be silly. Time distorts feelings and memories. But certain things just don't disappear like that. I would say at this point, Zack was like this secret teddy bear I would pull out whenever I felt like the world was out to get me, either physically, or metaphorically.

Also, the feelings I had had for Zack had changed me in other ways that had nothing to do with Zack or myself anymore. I am not saying that my love for him was one of a kind. I realize there is only so much that is possible for me to describe with my writing capabilities, and it's been nearly fifteen years since those junior high days, so things are blurry to me now. But what I had felt had been so real that I had – and still have this ability to emotionally transcend all the meaninglessness of my life. The feelings come and go, but they laid the tracks down for my depth of feeling and imagination. For this reason, Zack became a symbol to me, of enlightenment. This is what he was to me, and how I viewed him, long after the fact. If Zack thought of me often during these times, I cannot say – but I am sure it was not like I thought of him. And when I had to see Ava's wild happy manic face, I felt this cold resentment. She had Jolened me. She had stepped on something beautiful because she had felt like it at the moment. She had changed me, and in some metaphorical way, I felt like she had clipped my wings, so now I was forced to struggle on the ground to build the stairs to reach the places in life that I had once had wings to fly to. For Ava, there would always be another person to go to after this one. She was much more of a survivor than I was. But things still hurt me.

All the same, Ava was fun as hell, I have never met a more fun person. And Seattle was Seattle. And I more or less liked HIM at the time, even though it wasn't truly my thing, so I went along. It was over the course of a weekend. Ava's father drove us. I was mystified and perplexed how Ava treated her dad. She would yell at him because of his driving. She would tell him to pass people, scream at him to speed up. Chastise him for not making the right lane. It was awful, and unnecessary. She didn't appreciate the trip at all. I could never even imagine doing that with a straight face, let alone to my own father, who would have shouted so loud that a black hole would have formed (I'm no scientist – seems legit), and I would have been sucked in for all eternity. The Washington desert is actually quite large. When people think of Washington, they think of the evergreens, basically the areas by the Coast and Mount Rainier and the Cascades. They don't realize that 75% of it is just dry evil desert. Each time I cross the Washington deadlands, I always wish that I could stop and take pictures of all the small towns, the dilapidated buildings that I find beautiful, with the bleak clouds in the backdrop.

When we finally got towards Seattle, I could barely believe my eyes. I had seen Portland, and I thought it had looked industrial and enormous. Seattle looked like the future. I was shocked at all the enormous signs, the angular sky scrapers. It looked like (and is) a very corporate city. It seemed almost like another planet to me, I was so used to small town life. When we went through the tunnels upon entering I was almost afraid and thrilled, seeing the way the darkness took over everything and there was nothing but the cars in front of you, all seeming to speed at 100 miles an hour, with the orange glow from the lights on the side of the tunnel. I was really that taken aback. It was hard for me to believe this place was real somehow. I knew that cities were big, but I didn't anticipate the atmosphere, or the feeling of hundreds of thousands of living beings competing and all with separate lives and ideas. This might sound crazy, but when I am in places where there are a lot of people, I feel really can sense all those people. It's not like I can hear thoughts. It's much more subtle than that. I get the strong vibes about it.

We were supposed to get the the show as soon as possible, but Ava was hungry and mad, so we stopped at a local Ihop. My father hadn't given me any money for the trip – he was/is very much a cheap toe in this regard, so I watched Ava wolf down ten pancakes. I was happy though, just staring out the window at the big city. It was raining of course. I remember leaving and we drove on city streets that were steep. The rain and the lighting and all the people almost reminded me a little bit like Bladerunner. When we finally got there, I had to wait in line. My ticket was in will call, and my line ended up being much shorter than theirs, so I stood alone and eventually got a better place than them. I was dressed grungy in a low key sort of way, and I felt a bit peculiar, because many of the people around me, real fans of HIM and melodic goth music in general, were dressed in black lace Victorian outfits that must have cost a fortune. White skinned lads with monocles and top hats escorted ladies in corsets and large framed dresses. HIM attracts a very similar crowd of people, and seems to lyrically loosely be based on the same people who admire and adore The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice. I could not help but to notice just how lovely city people were. Small town people, though I don't actually see ugly in the same light as others do, are a lot more molish. I don't know what the secret of city people are keeping from middle America, but I want to find out. Other than the homeless people, people are better dressed, their skin looks nicer, they seem trimmer and more ready for the world. Of course, it's probably because I am walking down areas where people who have money shop. And money buys health – to a certain degree.

I was stopped, and a very giant lady – not fat, but giant, felt me up and down in a very serious way to ascertain that I was not carrying a weapon into the venue, she was slightly rude and pushy with me in the way that city people are when they don't have time for you. Of course, I just stood in the front area of the concert, trying and wishing I could get in the very front, and then eventually squeezing in to a place I wanted. Then I stood for another ten years, as you do during the beginnings of concerts, till your legs are just about to fall off – until the first roady comes in and gives you false hope that the band is going to start. Eventually, the first band came out, a band called Finch. Though I will never really say I dislike any genre, since certain bands give their genre a good name and some bad, I won't say that I dislike metal, screamo, nu metal, or post grunge, exactly, but this music never really appealed to me. From what I remember, Finch was kind of a screamo metal band that fit loosely in that category. It was kind of painful.

Then, eventually HIM came out. Sarah and Ava both had enormous crushes on Ville Vallo, the singer. He is a very unique and strong faced man. I will say that. He is lovely, in a very feminine vampirish way. He was definitely not my kind of lad however – like he was theirs. The show was pretty decent overall. I liked it more than I thought I would. One thing I will say – not that it matters since most people don't know who HIM is anymore – they were more of an early 2000's deal, is that they sound a million times better live. Ville actually sounds a lot more like Billy Idol than he does on album. He had a great scream, a scream that was never once captured on any of HIM's albums – which is pretty disappointing as history will never know the truth.

And since seeing CKY and meeting Chad I. Ginsberg, I had decided that in concerts, when you want someone to notice you – or even if you want someone to notice you in real life (though they might find you a bit odd), you stare at their eyes intently, and you try to dig through their brain. I didn't want to bother with Ville, but I tried it with his guitarist, who had famously taken some kind of shyness stoic oath to never look at his fans when he played. And he did seem to just look down almost the entire time. But I had one goal in mind, and I set to it. Eventually, after five songs in, he looked at me and he smiled. I was very satisfied. In a way, I felt like my ability to make the guitarist – I think his name was Lindy look at me, it kind of made me feel like I was still unique and special, even in a big city, and if I angled my goals properly, I could bypass just about anyone to get what I wanted. I could also mentally manipulate people without having to say anything. When you are not good with speaking – as I for the most part am not – being able to have an effect simply by giving the right facial expressions or wielding a commanding presence is very helpful in compensating for that.

I was saddened to leave Seattle. All my life, Seattle had been there, and I hadn't known it. I had walked back and forth in the small little town of Kendrick my whole life. I had learned to be deeply satisfied with rocks I found at the creek, fifty cent ice cream cones at the small supermarket, the howling of coyotes at night, the smell of nails in the local hardware store. And that had been all there was. I found people who seemed to elevate my life in some way or another, just in my small town. I could only imagine the possible friendships and people that I was meant to meet in a place like Seattle. I was missing out on life. It ached deeply.

Thanksgiving came along once again. My father decided to skip Thanksgiving. Mostly, Maria's family was living with us at that point and he didn't have the money or the wish to spend time with Maria or her kids. She took care of the house by this time and he would come home and go straight to his cold room upstairs. The television was always on cartoons – usually Barbie movies for Chantelle. The house was warm and peopled. To me, it was better than it had been. I think it was doing my father a favor too, but he was getting frustrated with Maria being there. Mostly, he wanted to buy more speakers. He had already spent several thousand on speakers and amps and foot pedals and such, and he wanted more. And Maria's son Ian was the kind of kid who would have ruined his speakers, and there was also not enough room for the speakers and amps he wanted so long as they were there. But he couldn't complain. I was in school till 6:00pm and couldn't be home to make dinner or anything like that.

My mother also skipped Thanksgiving, though we ended up getting invited to a late one later on by Danny's rich parents of Italian heritage. It was a last second thing. My mother felt anxious and outclassed. She was very worried that she wasn't good enough for Danny, and she demanded that we all dress up for the invited occasion. All I had was flannels, t-shirts and jeans. But she somehow found a black velvet baby doll dress for me to wear, and that was the first time I ever wore a dress since I had been ten or eleven years old, and only then for a band field trip at the time.

Before then though, I had been under the assumption that I wasn't going to get a Thanksgiving at all. Mike and Jenni heard about that, and Mike's eyes teared up a little bit. I tried to explain that it really wasn't too big of a deal, but he seemed to feel that it was heartbreaking and cold. Mike and Jenni always had their own Thanksgiving for the students. And in most ways, that is the official Thanksgiving I had that year, since Danny's parents were kind of judgy and strange and it had been an awkward dinner to say the least. I remember Mike and Jenni really went out of their way. We had all the good Thanksgiving foods, and there was as much of it as we wanted. They even had three different kinds of pies. I think at that moment, Mike and Jenni were at the peak of my liking for the two of them. They just really seemed to care if I had a good Thanksgiving. I tried to take that care, and spread it over my entire childhood. I tried to imagine that someone above me had cared at every junction in which someone had not cared, and for a time, I really believed they did care about me quite a bit.

Math was the one subject that wasn't taught well. The school had limitations in this area. The teacher was a young shy woman named Julie. She was very nervous and didn't seem confident in her ability to explain mathematics. I could tell she was a very practical and serious person. I've noticed those who get degrees in mathematics come in all shapes and sizes, but they all seem linked by this particular outlook on life – mathematical. She had just gotten her degree – and this was her first job teaching. There wasn't room for her to teach us altogether in one classroom, since the building only had two classrooms and one computer lab, so we were forced to watch a video in the computer lab with a sterile man explaining math problems to us. The video's sometimes didn't even work, so in that case, you were lead to a test, where they would give you multiple choice answers to pick from. Remember, I had only a passable understanding of ½ of a year's worth of algebra I. This was geometry, and I wasn't really ready for it. However, it was the only math class that was available and I needed math credits, so I was put in this class anyway. Julie tried to help all these students, but every single one of us was lost so she was over her head bouncing around trying to explain to us individually how to do the questions. She had a tendency to start doing the problem you were having troubles with, without explaining why she had chosen each step.

I sort of challenged her in a way that I didn't need to. It was probably immature. I just felt lost in the class, and got sort of nihilistic about the meaning of why I was doing multiple choice on complex math equations. I was passing, given that I had a way of staring at the problem long enough to where one just seemed more right than the rest, and generally it was. But I didn't know why, so it seemed pointless to even try in the math class, and I think Julie understood why I might feel that way, and yet she had no remedy for this mathematical crisis since the job was nearly impossible as it was – and she was shy and nervous and it put her on edge. I often would spend time on MS paint rather than do my math, and eventually she raised her voice at me. Looking back, I was making it difficult for people to teach me. I wasn't able to put myself in other people's shoes like I am now. She was actually trying to do something that was impossible. I could have at least complied to the best of my ability – but oh, the folly of youth. We are all masters of hindsight.

Mike began reading a book to us for literature class. I felt this was a strange move on his part – since it seemed to me that reading aloud was only ever done when teachers lazily wanted to give off the impression of making their students be 'involved' with each other's learning, by forcing them to all take turns with reading, which gives a very inconsistent and nerve racking experience for me. The book Mike chose to read us was called A Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley and I had never heard of it. Honestly, though I had been an adamant reader when I had been younger – mainly fantasy and soft science fiction books for young readers, I had given up on reading the moment I met Zack, and it had never occurred to me after that to pick up a book very often unless it pertained to a musician I liked. Mike read it very passionately, and it was offputting at first, but after awhile, very enjoyable. I won't explain the details of the book – else I spoil it for people, but I have always felt that, with having had the privilege of having the novel read aloud and explained to me by someone quite passionate and qualified to do so – I have a much fuller grasp of what the novel was about than many people do – not that we are talking about something profoundly difficult, but it has challenged a lot of people. I've met people who read it and didn't really understand the ideas that were at play.

What I took from the novel, and what the novel captures has less to do with a dysutopia we should all be afraid of happening in our imminent futures. Basically, it was a novel that explores consumerism and technology in society, the incompatibility between comforting bliss and truth, alienation from the society you grew up in and the meaning of love and sexuality – or meaninglessness of that. These are ideas I still explore today. This novel really changed the way I thought about things. These were ideas that, as a dumb 7th grade girl pining for Kyle Blegen's attention, I dealt with. Ideas of this nature had always been a part of my life in some form or another, and I believe that these subjects are ones that come up in unspoken forms everyday in people's lives. I just didn't know how to name them and I had believed that I was the only one who noticed them – which might have been partially why I was taken in by the conspiracy theory stuff that Zack introduced me to. Feeling frustrated and alienated by the town I grew up in, being rejected, wanting love to be incredibly deep, but being confused by how sex was more of a product that you sold to people – men in particular, watching the world change around me, looking at the adult world that was quickly coming up on me and being sickened by the emptiness of it, the monotonous emptiness of my parent's lives and their overworked, overstressed systematic suppression of frustration vented at me for being born, and doing everything in my power to pull Sarah down in my own unhappiness, seeing her ability to get by in life that I lacked as a symptom of being 'one of them' - I really felt very trapped and alone.

But apparently, as I was soon to learn, I was not alone. In fact, I was never alone at all. I had not been able to articulate my thoughts – never heard anyone talk about these ideas and in a way I had never felt that they could be talked about – aside from maybe touched upon in song format – which I attributed to a sort of magic rather than the construction of logical thought, and so I had turned to feelings instead and rejected logic as some kind of enemy to art. When in all reality, the two were not exclusive, and there has literally been people in any given society for as long as human beings have been around. And there were writers, and great thinkers of every capacity that struggled just like me. It was what it meant to be human. And even the most famous supermodel in Hollywood probably wonders and struggles with these manifestations. It was humbling to me. It meant that I no longer had to put myself on a pedestal in order to feel like I had any sense of control or feel validated in my own confusion.

We ended up writing a very difficult essay for the book after it was finished, and it took me about three weeks of writing, but I got a B+ on it – and I felt like even though this might not be much for many of the students in public schools – none of their essays were this hard. This form of learning was actually causing me to rapidly catch up and even in some ways surpass the students of the main schools. It was painful. I remember this was when I started drinking energy drinks – I would drink them and write on the buzz. Mike was very impressed by my rapid improvement. He also noticed that due to the way my eyes shifted on the paper book (we all had copies of A Brave New World to read along to as he read), that I was gifted with being an equally auditory learner as I was a visual. Very few students were as centered in that category. And of course, this was happy news for me, as I felt unique and special on account of it.

I think that having reached this point in school where I was, even though I hadn't been there that long – I was now beginning to see myself as being academically gifted – not that I felt like I was a genius or anything, but some kind of pathway had been forged in my mind. I was at the top of my class. And now I was able to demonstrate a point with proof – I was not the dummy everyone thought I was. I had connected the left side of my brain with the right side and even though I had not learned a lot, I now saw the world of ideas and books as being equally real to the feelings I had, and the exterior reality around me. I knew how to swim through it and come out on top. I could visualize it. But this bothered me. I guess it bothered me because the only further thing a person could do with their academic capacity other than learning for fun – was to go to college. I felt like I had somehow been tricked by my teachers into seeing myself actually going to college and getting a degree. A part of me must have thought at the time that having a degree meant something was wrong with you. That you had sacrificed your anger and your youth to 'the man'. I felt like if I even considered college, then I was essentially giving up the life I wanted – being in a band, writing music, playing with Sarah – being cool and living in some kind of heightened form of reality I now know isn't real – or at the very least, is fleeting just like so many other things.

During second semester, Sarah and I didn't go to the middle class. It was a speech class. Mike was oddly cold about my stage fright. He didn't really want to talk about it with me, or at least that is how I remember it. He wasn't going to give me baby steps into it, and when I had to stand up to read something I had written, I felt like I was going to throw up or pass out. It was too much for me. My ego was too problematic. And for some reason – I think it was because I had done okay in speech class in Kendrick's high school, I didn't need speech credits per say. I still could have used those credits towards other subjects (for some reason they let the school do that), but I wasn't about to suffer like that on account of a speech class. So Sarah and I skipped. Since lunch was one hour, and classes went at about two hours, this gave Sarah and I three hours in the middle of the day to do whatever we wanted. It was winter now, and mind you – we were both very broke. So we would often cross the street over to this gas station jointed with an A&W and we would scrounge up the money to buy watered down coffee to draw and talk. The coffees were a dollar a piece and weren't so bad if you took total and full advantage of the mini creamers and sugar packet section. It was starting to snow in Moscow. It gets mighty cold in that college town in the middle of one hundred miles of farmland surrounding. It was oddly comforting to stay indoors, sitting at our appointed table to draw and talk as we looked across the street at the school, and at the snow and rain and cars. Everything felt so impending and real somehow.

I started talking to Sarah very seriously about what we should do next. Because I could only see staying the course of school to be counter intuitive to everything we stood for. I was beginning to get nervous about just how much I loved going to school. It didn't seem right somehow. It wasn't the cool life I had invisioned. It didn't seem very punk to stay in class and get an education. Furthermore, I was so behind on credits, I would have been in my twenties in order to pass – and that would be if I passed every single class. I was grateful at having learned so much, and wasn't about to rebel for the sake of it anymore. In fact, I was quite embarrassed for my first days in class of announcing stuff about The New World Order and the Freemasons and not knowing what I was saying or making any sense at all. I actually cared about what Mike thought of me. I actually cared about the truth now, and everything that came with that. But it didn't make sense for us to stay only to not graduate anyway. Sarah agreed with me, or at least seemed to. We agreed we would stay the rest of the year, and then we would get jobs, and start getting the equipment we needed and start practicing everyday like our lives depended upon it.

So, probably in an attempt to get a reaction from Mike, I started intentionally talking to Sarah about it in front of Mike one morning as he was getting his lessons in order for class that day. He was disappointed to hear about it. I could tell he didn't want to outright dismiss my dreams of angsty youthful instant success. But he wanted to do everything in his power to stop it from happening. To Mike, a college education was everything. Subtly, I think Mike looked down at people without degrees – which probably wasn't right, though I can see where he was coming from. I think he felt his goal in life was to get people with problems and in hopeless and lower class economic status to go to college and maybe to fight back against oppression and war. Mike was very much an idealist, and his realism was more of a defense mechanism against not getting his hopes too high. I don't remember the arguments I made exactly. I wasn't rude exactly, but I wasn't exactly diplomatic about it either. Mike ended up telling Jenni, who also talked to us. I can imagine it now, the conversation they had about Sarah and I in their ride home from work together. Mike and Jenni always felt that Sarah and I weren't good for one another. Maybe in some odd way they had a point – especially back then, but on that note I still have to say fuck them on that one ( a friendly fuck you, not an aggressive one). Not that they were ever mean about it. But they said and did some things that gave me a strong indication of what they thought on that note. Our dynamics were probably very unhealthy. Jenni didn't trust Sarah. She was friendly towards Sarah, she liked Sarah. But she thought that there was something about the dynamics of the situation that Sarah was feeding off of. And maybe my emotional issues were more understandable given I had a - I won't say abusive per say, because there was good in the bad, but a traumatic life thus far and might have been struggling against life more than Sarah was. Sarah was avoiding any sense of anger or responsibility and almost felt more important if people were mad at her – though it also stressed her out and made her feel horrible about herself. She just liked living in her room and daydreaming – though I think it is unfair to say that Sarah's problems didn't matter or exist. She had every reason to respond to her life the way she did as well.

Honestly, I wish I could have seen what they were seeing at the time, but being that I was the subject of study, I couldn't exactly ever know for certain. It would have been interesting. And I think Mike felt that I was more at fault than Sarah. One thing is for certain, Sarah and I had somehow developed a very unhealthy and codependent friendship, when I felt low about myself, suddenly the whole world became black and white and I felt betrayed and angry at Sarah, and then the next day I felt like our friendship was some kind of blessing and I felt very happy to be her friend and could not imagine what had caused me to be angry. And then I would go the other way. I was living in a split reality. I could not figure out why. My perceptions seemed amazingly clear and what I had to say made sense the same as when I was upset as when I was not. But I was getting crazier and crazier mad. We would come home, and Sarah and I would both be sobbing until we were too tired to think, and though we were both responsible for this madness, I was probably more at fault than she was. I had desperate insecurities and needs. Sarah had those too, but she didn't seem to know or want to do anything about it. So I was the one that acted out – probably due to childhood stuff that made me who I am.

After Jenni and Mike could not convince Sarah and I to stay in school, after getting called to the office to talk about it, I pretty much told them both it was a done deal. I asked Jenni not to tell our parents. I didn't really want to cause problems at home with my father or Sarah's mom just yet. We didn't want to be afraid to go home because of it. And it wasn't fair or wise to say anything to Sarah's mom or my father until we had a more realistic plan. Jenni agreed that she wouldn't call our parents on it, but come that weekend, Jenni had called Sarah's mom and raised her concerns. She didn't call my dad. Carol was not happy with Sarah. There was a chewing out of sorts. And I think this must have triggered me to feel betrayed completely. It reminded me of when the school had called my father, or when the teachers almost expected and wanted me to go to school with a black eye. I had gotten to the point where I felt safe with Mike and Jenni and now it was completely ruined and I could no longer trust them. I felt stupid for having ever trusted them to keep our secret. I was in a way – annoyed that they called Sarah's mom and not my father as well. Sarah and I talked about it as we drove to Moscow, and I was still heated up about it when I got into class. At some point in my conversation with Sarah, I called Jenni a liar. Mike overheard me talking, and he stepped in really pissed off about it. He told me not to call his wife a liar. He was actually angry. He wasn't about to lose his mind or anything, but I think it gave him the shakes. He really seemed to feel I was attacking Jenni on very personal ground. I don't think I said much about it because Mike's immediate reaction was offputting and intimidating, but I tried to point out that she had lied and it had messed with our lives outside of school (though it really hadn't messed things up for me actually – I was exaggerating because I was actually offended by the principle of the matter more than anything).

I think after this, Mike didn't like me. It was really quite that simple, and even though I held up my head as much as I could on it, it really hurt my feelings. In his mind, I had spit on the flower of a soul that was his beautiful wife, and with all the other awkward inconsistencies in my personality, the flawed need I had to argue, and just my overall everyday state of mind, he had had enough of me. He tried not to show it, but he seemed irritated by me in subtle ways. I suppose I don't blame him. I couldn't stand me either. He attempted to talk to me fairly even with the animosity, and some days were better than others, and we still engaged in conversation from time to time. But on a personal note, he didn't like me talking about friendly none school topics with him anymore – he would find subtle ways to snub me in that way. It felt like a wall was up against me. I didn't feel betrayed, I felt exiled. I became a little nervous about asking for help – as I have a famous issue for avoiding asking for help when I need it anyway and the slight bit of aggression towards me will certainly cause me to take a million steps back. The only time I felt safe to do so was when I was so deeply into my studies that I couldn't care about who I was or Mike was – all that mattered was reaching a core message with what I was trying to express. I would get zoned and ask for help on something without caring during those times - so I still was asking for help, but it still was never easy. And I am not going to lie, thinking about that cold reaction of someone I had grown to trust suddenly becoming a wall still hurts a little bit. I guess it must have hurt his feelings. Being a teacher the way Mike was could not have been easy. I suppose I must have been impossible.

PART 53 - http://tinyurl.com/yae9wgbj

PART 52 - http://tinyurl.com/ybwft2g6

PART 51 - http://tinyurl.com/y9gsjg4j

PART 50 - http://tinyurl.com/y7729d45

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PART 35 - http://tinyurl.com/ya5xhe2f

PART 34 - http://tinyurl.com/yc6y4p69

PART 33 - http://tinyurl.com/y87449dz

PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep

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PART 30 - http://tinyurl.com/ybht9aul

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PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47

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PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng

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PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

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taeguboi · 7 years

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“Can’t Buy Me, Love” PART 1 Jungkook x Reader Angst / Fluff

I added gifs, similarly to my “Goddammit, Hoseok!” fiction based on another dream [I think I’m a bit too deep into the k-pop fandom now, having solid dreams about idols but ah well]. Though this one turned out to be way longer in word count than expected so it’s in 2 parts whilst I get to the ending!

Fiction Masterlist // Reactions Masterlist - Requests always open

Jeon Jeongguk. He’s a beautiful man. You have to sometimes try excuse and justify yourself for being, what can only be referred to as, shallow.

But you've always been a sucker for pretty people; it's probably the reason you've always managed to utter the courage to let your feelings be known to the targets of your desires. Sure, it's a little unconventional, even nowadays, for a girl to ask the guy out, but it anything otherwise just isn't you. You're just not a fan of suppressing emotions and bowing down to over-oppression.

You first saw him from across a crowded room, just like a dream. It was cliché and surreal, and you were drawn in. You knew you should have known better than to fall for looks, but… Well actually, there was something in the expression of his features that suggested a kind person inside and out.

Each time his glistening brown eyes occasionally glanced your way that day, you felt energized.

The way he stood with grandeur made you weak at the knees with his broad shoulders and strong arms that seemed like they were about to break out of that shirt...

When he scrunched up his nose when he let out an infectious laugh paired with a bright smile, you felt a connection, even though you weren't even in the conversation… You couldn't even hear the conversation, but it felt like you were right next to him.

So then you started imagining what it would have been like. What would it have been like, after taking in his perfect features from all the way over there, if it was you to walk over to him and have that comfortable grip on his arm. If you were the one who got to openly laugh at those jokes you couldn't hear right now. If you were… that bitch.

Yep, of course he was taken. And there was nothing you could do about it; look how happy he is.

The best ones are always taken.

It was either fortune or disaster, the day he walked into your place of work, sporting one of the company shirts. It amazed you why anyone with his appearance aura would want to go into retail, but this was happening.

You figured it’d only be a matter of time before they promote him from serving and stocking into modelling the clothes…

“Y/n, this is Jeongguk, and I have appointed you to train him” your manager tells you.

The training, initially speaking, should be straightforward. Just show him the ropes and he can get started independently in no time.

But…

“Oh dammit!” you exclaim as you find yourself dropping change everywhere upon serving a customer… for the fifth time today…

Jesus Christ, he must think I'm stupid… Okay, maybe I am when his stupid cute face and firm muscles are literally being shoved in my face…

You know you're being an embarrassment to yourself, but it’s involuntary how you keep dropping things with weak hands and shaking slightly each time he brushes past you to help stock the rails.

The same shit happens even a few weeks later, when you really should have gotten used to Jeongguk’s presence by now. Today is a particularly weak day for you; the weather is humid and it doesn't help how the store can be poorly ventilated in some areas…

Now, it's not like you've been flirting as such with this guy, but you've most definitely been dropping subtle hints in those moments that you do manage to compose yourself. There's even been a few times where you'll jest

“I bet tonight's date can't accidentally knock over a ton of boxes with skill like I can…��

“She's cute, but she isn't me. But I'm sure you're just having your freedom whilst you're getting round to that.”

Ignore the caption in the gif

Okay, so they're a bit stronger than subtle hints, more rejected requests of a date that have become quite infamous now, but he actually talks to you about personal matters quite a lot, and likewise on your part. You consider that this is probably because it can be generally easier to talk to someone less familiar about the difficulties in life, but your hopeless self just falls a little deeper with each experience he shares with you.

You were right, you know. About his features indicating a kind personality. He seems almost too perfect.

Perhaps you aren't thinking straight, but you realize today that you haven't actually indicated your romantic status to him… Besides, you haven't seen (a seriously considered, but inevitably discarded character from the beloved series of children's books, of course,) Little Miss Tart Face around for a while. Of course, it could just mean he's separating personal and professional life quite well, but in your mesmerization of him, you catch that glint of hope.

So you leave him your number upon scooting out of your chair after having coffee together and leave it at that.

The shift that follows is intense, or at least it feels that way to you. Is he going to say anything about the number? What meaning has he taken from it?

“Here’s £2.01 change. Enjoy the rest of your day” you smile to your customer.

The last customer of the day, it would appear as you glance at your watch to read 17:54.

It’s strange how many strangers you have to smile to. Pleasantries mean bugger all when you have a real reason to smile.

“I have a date on Saturday” Jeongguk tells you abruptly.

“Dammit” you mumble under your breath, hoping he didn't hear that moment of frustration.

But in your mind, you're not quite willing to give up just yet, no. Y/n always puts up something of a fight, at least a mental debate, before letting go of something.

A date? He didn't say with whom? Could this be a different girl from the last time? Of course, he can get whoever he wants. Which is probably girls a lot less clumsy and boisterous than me, let's be honest… The basic bitches probably just lead him on and take him for a meal ticket and don't see what I see...

“I'll keep the number though,” he smiles. “It might be useful some time.”

Okay, a little heartbreaking. ‘It might be useful some time’ doesn't exactly scream promise of even a remote interest… Of course, the date with another girl is the biggest signal, but the fact that he said it only might be useful is a bit shattering. Might suggests that it's an unlikely event to happen, that he would need you. Might suggests that only when he's being held at gunpoint and being demanded to give a ransom, only then he could need you…

Okay y/n, you're over thinking this...

...

He probably works out enough to fight his way out of a situation like that.

Goddammit he’s handsome.

This craziness has to stop. You're chasing something travelling faster than your maximum speed. Life is too short to dwell on a guy who doesn't give you the time of day, at least not romantically.

You’re pretty good at moving on. You know that if you don't, then what else can you do with yourself? All you can do it enjoy life.

And you do for a couple of months.

You still talk regularly to Jeongguk, but you pay much less attention to the little things now.

Yet it became increasingly difficult not to notice how the glimmer in his eyes had disappeared recently. Come to think of it, his recounts of dates were becoming less consistent. Lately, it was a different girl each time as opposed to the same one about three or four times before he concluded it wasn't working out. Sometimes there would be a few weeks before the next one. Sometimes it would be the very next day. Maybe he just became better at reading people. Maybe his perspective had changed with experience.

But more importantly, maybe it was all getting him down.

“It was awful, y/n. She clearly just saw me as a one night stand, even despite me pulling out all the stops for her. I treated her to a romantic film and payed for the ridiculously over priced popcorn there… A meal at the finest restaurant I know... I guess it felt right at the time to take her home and… She just left in the morning…” he sighs, head in his hands, and it would seem his eyes are watering.

You've seen him rant and vent before but this is something else.

And this something else broke your heart too.

He left it for a whole month. Not a single chat about a date, not even a spark of interest as a cute girl would arrive at his til to make a purchase.

In your mind, you're half joking, half serious, when you wonder

Is he broken?

At this point, you and Jeongguk have established a relationship on which you make slightly harsh but meaningless jokes about each other, so it’s really just like any other day when you notice him pouting and you walk past him down the shop aisle

“Jeongguk, I know we're at work but you could at least smile when I'm around”

Admittedly, your comments hold a somewhat large percentage of arrogance at times, but it's become your way of holding back on expressing directly how you wish he felt about you. Y/n can be dumb enough to fall for a guy, but never to appear desperate or embarrass herself about him.

“Sorry, yeah” is all he replies with a forced smile. This is odd. Usually it's some fast paced witty comment right back at you…

Again, I didn’t pick that gif for the caption hahahaha

“Seriously, if you're feeling that depressed, you should take another girl out again” you suggest, kind of bored of seeing him become a bit more and more lame and tragic each day. Yes, you still scream inside that you're right in front of him, but you don't want to see this. Like you said, in your mind around the time of Jeongguk’s a hundreth-and-something date; people have to just get on with life.

“Oh yeah, like who? I don't even go out once a week anymore, it's hardly enough to meet new people…”

“Yeah I suppose it is hard when you've dated almost half the town” you retort, only saying almost half because the other half are guys.

“Will you just leave it, okay?” he snaps, desperately trying to get on with stock taking.

After a moment of silence, you continue on the topic anyway “No. I don't think I will leave it. Just go do something about your mood; I hate seeing people miserable and unwilling to help themselves.”

“I hate it when you're right…”

A few hours later at lunch break, you sit at the usual table at the usual coffee shop next door to your workplace. You take in the view you get from looking through the window to see hundreds of people just getting on with their own lives, each with a story to tell. You wonder how many of the girls that pass you have had Jeongguk in theirs…

“I've got it” Jeongguk tells you, slamming his cup of coffee to go on the table in a spot right in front of you, more than enough to make you lose your train of thought.

“Huh?” is all you can question as he sits opposite you.

“I need to find a different type of person to take out.”

“Different type of person? Ah, so you're going to try guys!” you joke, taking in a sip of coffee.

“Look I'm serious! I know what my problem is now! I always just go for girls who just stand there looking pretty and feign politeness for free things… So I need someone with a bit more… I don't know, like umph to them? A bit more bold and feisty…”

As he babbles on, you feel something again. He looks even more handsome when he talks about something with a bit of passion and courage. His eyes are lighting up with each time he gives you an adjective of the type of girl he’s planning to go for. It’s like he's the sun as you eyes take in his bright expressions and you can return the same energy and cheerfulness that he gives with his words and gestures. So much so that you almost believe he could finally notice you.

“I need someone like…”

“Someone like me.”

“Yeah, someone like you.”

Almost.

You have got to be kidding me.

So when Jeongguk gave you his little lecture, he might as well have just been talking to any old stranger down the street, because when he said someone like you, he really did mean only like you, as in similar to you.

“I've asked y/f/n out” he tells you cheerily on the way out as you close the shop.

Great.

Sometimes, it can be harder to pick yourself back up after falling in the same place several times. You know you have to do it, but it’s a slower process since all you can recall is the times when you fell back down from an all time high and you gained more injuries. So you try to ignore anything you feel about Jeongguk being more interested in y/f/n, but you don't lift your spirits too high so there is less of a fall next time.

You've just come to accept that there's going to be another fall.

Thank goodness for the sake of your little broken heart that it all shatters to pieces.

“It’s got to be me, not them.”

“What are you rambling on about Jeongguk?”

The two of you are in the storage room on a very unbusy Sunday morning, seated on the most sturdy boxes you could find next to one another.

“Turns out y/f/n wasn't looking for the same thing as I was -- Well I know I most definitely wasn't looking to fuck another person…”

You wonder why you still comfort him when you could just walk away and spare yourself from any more torture but…

“Crap, really? Did she actually…?...”

“Right there round the alley of the club… Fuck’s sake, why did I take her out to a club?!” he angrily questions with a clenched fist.

“Wow, class…” you comment, trying not to take his stupid sorry ass in for a hug right now.

She may have hurt him, but you've been hurt too

“Ugh, what's the use? I don't even know if I really cared that much… I just don't know what to feel about anyone anymore.”

Neither do I.

“Actually, d’ya know what?” you begin, bringing yourself to your feet.

Fuck it. This is it. If it doesn't happen this time, then I'll accept that it never will. I've been holding back; it's so unlike me. But it means he's changed me. It’s worth one. last. try.

“What?” he enquires.

“I'm fed up of hearing about you spending all your work money on girls who take it without a second thought - and don't deny the spending part Jeongguk, I've seen the receipts for watches and necklaces and expensive wines stuffed in your pockets… I want to take you out for a date. We split the bill, we have meaningful conversation, see whatever movie you want to see, and at the end of the evening, you know I won't be expecting anything more. I'm probably really in over my head with the amount of months I've been hardly anything but obvious and still gone unnoticed, but… what d’ya say?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, really?”

“You're right y/n. It's time to stop being taken for everything I've got.”

Read PART 2 HERE

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