They'd never be perfect, but they were going to be all right. They'd come to the Foxhole Court as fractured messes but they were fixing each other one semester at a time.
love languages: going along with them on their errands, taking quizzes together, sharing bakery goods, waiting for them to tie their shoe, asking 'what happened next?' when somebody interrupts them, walking home with them and not leaving until they've made it inside
When I get angry, I knit. For real. While I’m knitting, I try to picture it in my head. Smashing things and yelling at people. Stuff like that. That helps me calm down.
A C H I L L E S, it reads. And beside it, P A T R O C L U S.
I found myself grinning until my cheeks hurt, my scalp prickling till I thought it might lift off my head. My tongue ran away from me, giddy with freedom. This, and this, and this, I said to him. I did not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worry that I was too slender, or too slow. This and this and this! I taught him how to skip stones, and he taught me how to carve wood. I could feel every nerve in my body, every brush of air against my skin.
You’re alive and well, but you faked your death. I thought maybe it happened because… I thought maybe you were killed because of me. I still can’t sleep without drinking. So, you should have been honest with me and told me you were alive. Shouldn’t you have told me that at least, you crook? I’m sorry, Joo Eun. I’m sorry. I really am.