#i get it okay different genres for different people but some of this published shit is shoooockingggg

[seosracha]

OUR SUMMER (PREVIEW) - jake sim x reader

PUBLISHED HERE! - link

SYNOPSIS- after 4 long years, this was the end. This was the last summer before everyone went off to university, and to fully honor it, you decide to make a bucket list, completing every point through the entirety of summer while also discovering feelings that were hidden for so long.

PAIRING- jake sim x fem!reader

GENRE- friends to lovers, summer romance, fluff, highschool/college students au, oneshot

WARNINGS- sexual jokes, alcohol use + more tba!

TAGLIST- open for anyone who's interested ! send me and ask to be added!

[...]

Heeseung chose a college in town, deciding to do pedagogics on the side while he still pursued his soccer career. Jay and Sunghoon also chose a college nearby, only one town away, that meaning the three of them would be around most of the time.

Jake on the other side had some sick ambitions. When he set his mind on UCLA, he did everything in his power to get in. And so he did. There was nothing wrong in that, but how could he leave them? How could he leave you?

"Let's make a bucket list" Jay said as all of you, plus your best friend, Yunjin, hogged the living room couch in Jake's house.

Another reason you didn't want Jake to leave. That damn couch. Everything in the 4 years of your friendship probably happened or started on that couch.

"We make one every summer" Heeseung said shoving some popcorn into his mouth "And always end up freestyling it" he added unclearly, hence all the food in his mouth.

"You're disgusting" Yunjin inquired, pointing out Heeseung's disgusting habit.

He just mumbled a 'fuck you' in response and shoved another handful into his mouth.

"But this summers different" Jay said, reminding you and everyone else once again that this was the last truly youthful summer your friend group would share.

You knew very well that everything would change when they go away to college. Obviously, they could come home for summer, but new friends, a buzzing, new, shiny social life were only a couple of reasons for them to not visit so often when summer comes around next year. The adult life they were about to step into was only gonna allow them to finally party all night long, go on roadtrips across the country and meet people who would show them the other side of life.

So Jay was right, this summer was different, cause it was the last one.

"I'm down" Jake said, grabbing a pen and paper from the drawer. He passed it to Jay, who wrote a big, and definitely sloppy, 'OUR SUMMER'.

"Skydiving" Sunghoon said excitedly, pitching in the first idea.

"You know damn well" Yunjin said "Let's make it a tiny bit more realistic" Sunghoon just furrowed his eyebrows and continued to put on his thinking face.

"Let's do a sleepover. You know, like the one's we'd do in our childhood. Blanket fort and all" you said, turning your face to Jay, as he was the designated leader for this bucket list making.

"I like that" Jake said, giving you a cheeky smile.

You'd rather he be rude towards you than give you all these weird signals. None of the guys would be as nice to you as he was. What man would agree with you on everything, bring you anything you wanted at any time, give you rides at the latest hours, handpick flowers for you on a random Wednesday and buy you things just because they reminded him of you if he didn't like you like that? Yet still, you were too slow to catch on.

"Sleepover. Blanket fort and all" Jay mumbled as he wrote down the first point to your list. "How about we drive down to that lake, get some beer, talk and shit?" he asked after he finished writing.

"With your wackass, dodgy looking fake ID, I'm guessing" Yunjin said, laughing.

"Give me some credit, it works every fucking time" Jay answered, pulling it out from his pocket.

"Okay James Blunderbuss, write it down" Heeseung, said examining the ID "Anton really did you dirty with that last name"

TO BE CONTINUED.........

#blessed☝️ #OUR SUMMER -mail ☀️ #jake sim #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #jake #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff

[hypaalicious]

Unpopular opinion: YA isn’t meant for adults.

Not saying adults can’t read YA; adults can read whatever tf they want. But it’s a huge mistake of mainstream publishing to allow YA to absolutely crowd out swathes of other subgenres to the point where articles such as this one get written in full seriousness.

Awhile back, there were teens on Tiktok lamenting that they can’t find media for them anymore. There were a bunch of condescending people happily shitting on them saying things like, “Uh, YA exists? These teen-centered TV shows exist?? Why are y’all lying lololol so dumb” instead of actually listening to these kids explain what they mean. Cause wow, it don’t bother y’all that despite all this hyper visible allegedly teen-centered media NONE of it is hitting for them? Y’all don’t stop to ask yourself why that is?

It’s because YA has become a fill-in for mid-range and adult fiction over the years. I can’t tell you how many synopses I’ve read that have sounded boss asf but then they make the MC fifteen years old and I’m immediately like

And I wanna be clear, this wouldn’t be a problem if YA hadn’t oversaturated the literary field. On top of that, I do not see real teenhood reflected in these characters. They come off more like they’re written by middle aged adults projecting what they think teens are like through the lens of how they wish their own long-gone teen years went. So yeah, no wonder kids don’t feel connected to the media that’s labeled for them. Too many adult consumers are crowding that space tryna live vicariously through teen media, and since it’s adults that have the money more often than not, publishers cater YA to them rather than teens. That’s not okay, y’all.

Also, there is no reason whatsoever for some of these characters to be teens except to fit into a very narrow category set by publishers who just want a wide market to sell to. Example: when I was looking up comp titles for my manuscript, I came across a fantasy book centering a Black female character at a college discovering her hidden magical powers and a mystery hidden away at the college and was like “oh shit, this sounds dope!”

… then I read a snippet and for WHATEVER REASON, they made the MC sixteen. Sixteen years old, but going to college as an exception.

It was just so obviously done as a way to slate the book under the YA label but narratively it made NO SENSE. Just make your character 18 or older if they gonna be in college! Oh, that’s right, you can’t because YA rendered the New Adult genre obsolete so if you can’t make your characters 14-17 then it’s not likely publishers will work with you. 🫠

Another problem I have with the whole “YA is for adults too!” thing is the fact that this does not serve adult literacy levels. Mind you, they’re already abysmal in the US in particular. But it doesn’t help when the only thing adults are encouraged to consume for fun are books written at a 5th-6th grade reading level. They ain’t reading anything adult anymore, either in prose or depth of content. And why would they when publishers are only making an effort to market YA as the 10-in-one shampoo type option to everyone who ages out of kidlit?

Different categories for different age groups exist for a reason, and the erosion & blending of these categories hurts the literary field a lot. We need to go back to the days where you could find age appropriate media for every stage of your life and actually connect with it.

#I will absolutely stay on publishing’s neck for this idc idc #Make YA for Young Adults again! #publishing #authors #books #booklr

[explosionshark]

Hi hi! I was wondering, how do you choose what to read next? I know you get recs from friends and I assume you read stuff from authors you already know you like, but beyond that, how do you hear about new books? Goodreads? Sometimes I have a million books I want to read but other times nothing at the library is of interest to me and I tend to get stuck there mentally while waiting for my books on hold to be available 😂

Also, do you have any recs for horror books about ghosts? I want to read a good ghost book :) bonus points if there are sapphic ghost books!! 👻

there are a bunch of places i check in on to keep up on new titles or find out about interesting backlist stuff

first, for new releases, there are different columns/websites that exist just to catalogue the new stuff coming out (mostly from major publishers, if you're looking for indie or selfpub these probably won't help much)

io9 has their Bookshelf Injection column of new SFF (and some horror) that gets published every month

Jumpscares has a similar list for horror titles

for a more "literary fiction" bent you can always check out Bookmarks' Best Reviewed Books of the Week posts

If you're looking for a little more editorializing/reviewing I'd start looking around on sites like Book Riot (example lists include: Best Werewolves in books, 9 Books with Disabled Main Characters etc) or Electric Lit (Example: 10 Must Read Books set in Cairo, 7 Books About Grotesque Bodies).

Additionally, there are places to get recommendations that feel a little more tailored and personal. There are podcasts I enjoy for this (mostly for horror) like Talking Scared or Books in the Freezer. And there's always booktube (though finding a reviewer you like can be tricky) I like TheShadesofOrange, Petrick Leo, and Jess Owens.

There's also reddit (r/fantasy, r/horrolit, r/lgbtbooks, r/printsf are the main places I go to). Goodreads does have its uses, though admittedly I use it more to track my own reading and to follow friends, authors I like, and a handful of reviewers whose opinions I trust. Overall, I think the GR community as a whole is a total clown show and I don't put much stock into the rating system there.

If you have some favorite authors and they are on goodreads or social media, I'd say it's usually pretty worthwhile checking out the books they're hyping up.

finding new or interesting books is pretty easy, but choosing what to read from my own, admittedly ridiculously huge library? that's trickier. tbh, i mostly go on vibes.

alright for the second part of your question.

i love a good haunted house story!

anyone you ask with any taste at all is probably going to give you the answer i'm about to, but if you haven't read it yet, the #1 haunted house book I can recommend to you is Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House. It's a classic for a reason. If it sweetens the pot for you - the character of Theo is a lesbian. There's great subtext between Theo and the book's main character, Nell. A scholar recruits people who've had experiences with the supernatural to stay with him in a purportedly haunted house to see if they can come up with proof that ghosts are real. Shit gets whacky. One of the finest american novels ever written, regardless of genre.

If you want more sapphics and less house it might be worth checking out Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M Danforth (yes, the Cameron Post author). I had some issues with this one. I wouldn't say I didn't like it, but I know a lot of people liked it more than I did. It's very queer, has an interesting dual timeline - one plot set in the past tells the story of a mysterious tragedy befalling an early 1900s girls boarding school, the other plot is about a movie being made about those events in the present day.

The Red Tree by Caitlin R Kiernan - okay this one IS also about lesbians but it's probably the darkest book on this list. A struggling middle aged writer moves into a creepy old house after the death of her girlfriend by suicide. In the house, she discovers a lost manuscript of a previous resident who had been researching local folklore and documenting sinister events seemingly linked to the gnarled, tree on the house's property. Things do not go well. Very well written (have some issues with Kiernan but they're an incredible talent and, worth mentioning, they're the only genderfluid writer in the genre that I know of)

Another book I always recommend on this topic is Echoes edited by Ellen Datlow. It's a HUGE anthology of short ghost stories. Some of my favorite horror short fiction ever written is in this collection. It's a great way to be introduced to some of the best horror writers around right now - Datlow is a legendary editor. I recommend anyone interested in horror check out her collections. The stories in Echoes are varied in theme and from a variety of different voices.

Other ghost books that whip ass

Come With Me by Ronald Malfi - after his wife is killed in a mass shooting, a man gripped with grief discovers a secret she'd been hiding from him for their entire marriage. He picks up an investigation she had been secretly pursuing that sets him on a collision course with an apparent serial killer. A story of grief and the secrets we keep from the people we love.

The Good House by Tananarive Due - a woman has to return to her childhood home, still awash in the grief of losing her teenage son there two years ago. While staying there and with the help of an old friend, she begins to unravel the strange tangle of tragedies that have surrounded the house since her grandmother's time, and to uncover the truth of what really happened to her son. A story about generational trauma and breaking cycles.

The Last Days of Jack Sparks by Jason Arnopp - this one's great on audio. This book is told in the style of a posthumously published book from a VICE style douchebag journalist who was attempting to write a book that would once and for all disprove the existence of the supernatural. Extremely unlikable main character, but that added to the experience for me - I was very stoked to get to the part where bad things would begin to happen to Jack Sparks. This one's got a lot of dark humor and some genuinely scary scenes. Love it. Wish more people would read it.

Hope you find something in there you like! Good luck!

#replies #beatriceeverytuesday #explosionreads #book recs

[mitochondriencocktail]

🎨

🌿

🎨 - link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

Ohhh man this is so tough. There's such a plethora of talented artists in the fandom. This might be a copout answer, but genuinely anybody who's been kind enough to make fanart of something I've written. It never ceases to be the highest compliment ever. The ones I've gotten for Hockey AU, Star!Bojan, Good Omens AU and even the Monsterfucker one are all so so so dear in my heart because it means that something I did inspired someone else, and it's this beautiful feedback loop of art and creating.

🌿 - give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

So I wanted to sit on this one for a minute today and not just give a ramble, as I'm prone to do. Writer's block and low creativity happen to nearly every artist across the board and anybody who says different is a liar. So, trying as best as I can, here are my top tips for writer's block and low creativity.

1. Read books: This is probably my biggest piece of advice. I think of this like putting fuel in the tank. You can't go for a run if you're not eating properly, and writing is the same way. Sure, you can read fanfiction, you can watch movies/tv, you can look at art. All of these are fine and great, but nothing gets the brain going the same way as when you read a published, edited book. Exploring genres and styles you don't typically go for can bring about a lot of inspiration and help you:

a) Feel reassured about your own writing habits and -isms when you see that skilled authors also have repeat phrases they like or certain quirks.

b) Find new things to test out in your own toolbox.

When you engage with literature, like really slow down and read and study what an author is doing, you're learning so so so much just through that simple act. It can also bring about great ideas too, which is why I suggest a balance of both fiction and non-fiction.

2. Find what works for you: This is a bit vague, but let me explain. Some writers thrive under consistency while others need variety. Some, like myself, need both. I know I consistently need a somewhat quiet environment where I can feel alone, but staring at a wall all day can get dull. Sometimes switching the font up on your document can help. Or changing the background color. Putting on new music. Sitting somewhere new. It's adapting to your mood that day and working with it.

3. Write even when you don't feel like it: We all have off days. A really common obstacle for people who go to the gym is that you go through periods where you LOVE going, but then you have periods where you absolutely loathe it. Writing is like that. The brain is a muscle and creativity is the skill you're honing. Some days you'll have a great workout, others you'll have a shit one. That's fine!

It doesn't mean you're shit. What matters is that you're showing up and staying consistent. When I'm having a 'shit' writing day, I say, "Okay, just write one sentence." Usually that turns into a handful, sometimes if I'm lucky it turns into a paragraph. But that's all I'll do for the day because, hey, we're not gonna churn out 2k+ words everyday. That would be insane. Sometimes 200 is plenty.

4. Let go of perfection: This one is tough... I know. But practicing the ability to turn off the little critic in our heads is sooooo important. It comes easier to some than others, but it's still a skill you can work on. It's kinda linked with what I wrote above, but sometimes you can just write like shit and that's fine. Chances are it's not as bad as you think it is, but powering through and getting something down on the page is better than nothing, even if it's just a garbled half-formed idea. You can always come back and fill things in later!

I hope some of this made sense! I'm always happy to chat craft with people :) It can be very subjective, but I do believe in the old adage regarding art that once you know the rules, you can break them.

#ask games

[ricanvvas]

And this HAD to be said. I cannot express how much it triggers me and makes me lose interest or faith so quickly. Makes me believe that you understood absolutely nothing through what the given relationship between the characters was trying to portray. Are you even properly watching the show?

Like it or not, by the way, fetishizing gay people has become so common that not only are weirdos fetishizing gay men, they’re starting to insert sexualities of their choice INTO a character that does not belong to them in any form. Go, turn tf back, and watch/read your yaoi stuff, don’t drag it into anime that has nothing to do with it + people genuinely want to enjoy what is canonically given (indeed, I’m a canon freak). Straight up disrespectful to the original author when you really try to twist characters or their relationship with another character. Disappointing.

Babes... why would it trigger you when people ship two characters? You need to understand that queer people exist in a world where there is a severe lack of queer representation in different genres, so we have to accept bits and pieces wherever we can. And frankly, I think you're a piece of shit for the way you speak about us. "Are you even properly watching the show?" "Don't drag it into that has nothing to do with it" Excuse me? The fuck do you mean by that? Queerness is not limited to "yaois". Queer people are not any different from straight people. I can tell that you have a stick up your ass about "canon" but frankly, most people don't. People ship non-canon ships all the damn time but why is it only such a big issue when they're gay? And you can say it's because you think it's "fetishing gay people" but it only comes across as homophobic. Queer people can't sexualise their own sexuality (and if you're talking about straight girls, most queer people have explicitly stated that there are nuances to everything).

As a writer myself, and hopefully a soon-to-be-author, I’d be damned if I ever opened a phone and saw some no-lifer trying to ship the two characters I put in specifically to show their deep friendship—it sounds so absurd.

I'M SORRY WHAT??? Why would you call your non-existent hypothetical readers "no-lifers" if they choose to ship two NON-EXISTENT HYPOTHETICAL characters? That's actually crazy to me, babes. I disagree with most of the things you've written on that post but I specifically wanted to say something about this. you need to understand that while yes, you are the origin of said hypothetical characters but once said hypothetical book is published, you no longer have creative liberty of said characters. think about harry potter for example. the author is a terf and yet trans people and allies headcanons some of her characters as trans. do you think jk r*wling's okay with that? i highly doubt it. (And babes, if you want to be an author, or at least one that doesn't get cancelled, a small advice would be that if people are shipping a ship that you don't want them to ship, you might not be as good of an author as you might think. Think about Naruto. No one particularly enjoys the ending. Some find Naruhina to be forced and Sasusaku were done so wrong in Boruto. And that's mainly part of the reason so many people ship SNS. Think about JJK. Geto and Geto have been explicitly written to be foils of each other. While I do understand why straight people might not be able to see the blantant queercoding but I would suggest that you start reading into things more deeply rather than just accepting whatever is presented to you on a silver platter by the author. But also think about AOT, why do you think most people don't ship Armin and Eren while they do ship Eremika? Because for once, there is a well written ship WITH a well-written female character? (Yes, I agree it's not perfect but much better than most ships)).

Small note that I forgot to add: Most female characters are horribly written (which is no fault of their own and lies heavily with their authors). Think Hinata. Why would I ship something when one part of the ship has no fucking personality other than the main male character??? I'm in no way hating on Hinata but more so on how Kishimoto writes female characters. I ship things based on chemistry and canon. I can still ship things if it's not canon but not if there is no chemistry.

This may have come across as rude and I do not apologise and I'm sure you understand why (your original post was rude as fuck if you didn't lmao). I ranted a lot so it might not make sense but feel free to ignore if you're only going to get "triggered".

Quit it with the “babes”, I don’t know you personally and it makes me gag.

Like, 98% of this message is indirectly saying I’m homophobic. I’m not.

My original message was blunt and straightforward, if I preached canon friendships and you found it rude, I do wonder who really has a stick up their ass. I mean, I’m not the one dissatisfied by canon givens and twisting platonic relationships anyway.

Frankly, keep your advice. It’s crappy! I don’t need a drag down. I’ll do what I damn wish to do with and speak my book, my characters, and my story.

None of you have convinced me of absolutely anything because there is nothing to convince. I’m not bothered by general shipping, I’m bothered by shoving it down people’s throat or attacking them when they disagree with your ship. Might as well as attack the authors, tbh, for keeping the characters platonic. Nasty.

Also, unnecessary use of profanity really does show how literally all of you resort to pure insults and attacks.

Peace and Sincerity （＾ω＾）！

[lastcrush]

wanted plots for all of my muses...

by no means is this comprehensive and some plots are vague enough that it can fit with multiple of the characters. source link is my muse page for reference. absolutely ask more about a muse if you want more information.

PLEASE LIKE AND/OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN ANY OF THESE PLOTS. while i recognize that the same plot may be written out differently with a different partner, i’ll likely cap each plot at a maximum of two depending on how much attention certain ones get. thank you for understanding.

beejal shah / novelist / 26 / any

[any] your muse Knows that bee’s mom is a high profile actress and that her dad is a politician. they know. they plan to bring this to light for some reason. maybe they dont like her. maybe they don’t like her parents. whatever. chaos. 

[any, 23-33] REALITY TV SHOW. i havent seen any but i just think it’d be fun to write bee in that type of environment considering how awful she can be. will likely require a lot of plotting. romantic or platonic or antagonistic i want them at eachother’s throats i want them to kiss i want them to be messy.

[any] fellow authors :3 maybe they write in the same genre. maybe they write in completely different genres. r they friends? r they enemies? who knows. we'll figure it out

[any] haha someone who is a fan of both bee's shitty webnovels and her published works and is putting 2 & 2 together .. very close to figuring out the connection .... drama !

james adeyemi / museum curator / 27 / she+they+he

[any, 24-32] idk i think it would be fun to have recent exes that just keep running into eachother and okay fine we can try again one (1) more time except it’s a mess and their friends r begging them to stop going back to eachother but they Can’t. anyway.

[any] fellow phd candidates.... i think she should have someone to suffer with....

[any] people who work at the museum with her !! archaeology nerds perhaps. maybe they dig too deep into something that's delivered to the museum and it ends up being supernatural in nature. maybe your muse is supernatural in nature.

killian benson / thief / 31 / he

[any] your character is part of the group that killi pissed off and ran away from. that's it. he's a scaredy cat he doesnt want anything to do with your muse/group and is currently in hiding

[any] killi sleeps with your muse and then wakes up in the middle of the night as they stay over and steals a bunch of shit and then runs <3

[any] partner in crime :]

harsh reddy / baseball player / 32 / he

[any, 27-37] these two are absolute bros. best friends. do not separate. they’re bros that sleep together sometimes. friends with benefits, one might say. except they refuse to call it that. they’re besties. that’s all. :) totally nothing bad can happen out of this arrangement

[any] ummm rival team member :3 antagonistic? platonic turned antagonist under circumstances? romantic turned antagonist turned romantic again? :3

naomi furukawa / private investigator / 34 / he+they

[any, similar age] they met years ago when naomi was still in the fbi and were partners (i mean literally, they worked together, but they could have been partners). your muse is considered dead. while naomi is working a case as a PI he comes upon something that leads them to find your muse, alive. cue angst heartbreak reconnection

[platonic romantic antagonistic] haha your muse is a criminal. naomi is tasked with finding them/taking them down. he thought this case was going to be small and easy but it quickly unravels into something much bigger than expected. game of cat and mouse. at eachother’s throats. one of them always one step ahead of the other.

[any] you: give me a superhero/powered character. me: gives you a PI that is hired to investigate something that said powered person is involved in. chaos <3

nuri jeong / actor + stuntperson / 35 / they

[any, 30-40] dysfunctional celeb couple

[any, 30-40] your character does not know who nuri is and nuri is absolutely fucking elated by that. can be platonic/antagonistic

[any, 30-40] ldr :') they were together for a year and then your muse has to move for job or family or something else 12 timezones away and nuri can’t go with them because they have their own responsibilities here so they decide theyll try this LDR thing and for the first few months its going great even if it means theyre both sacrificing sleep and their health but then it starts getting a little worse and they dont call as often and theyre starting to have doubts and one of them decides enough is enough and goes on a little trip to see the other without telling them and thats as far as i got

lochan rao / researcher + professor / 37 / she+he

[any, similar age-ish] okay stay with me here. give me lochan's ex-fiancé. the fiancé broke it off because they thought she wasn’t giving them enough time. they find eachother again. zuhi wants to get back together because of course she does. whether your muse agrees or doesnt is up to you but personally i’d love to explore the fall of their relationship and the rebuilding of it and the hesitance and the angst and everything that comes with it.

[any, 33-45] LOL. REBOUND!!! she deserves a little bit of a rebound. maybe it’s only one night maybe it lasts a month. maybe they stay friends after maybe they don’t maybe they were always in love with her and she sees them as temporary.

[any, professor and/or researcher] your muse work’s in the same department as lochan at the same university (or hospital works too?? we're flexible) :) a little bit of a rivalry. for fun :) maybe its more :)

[any, similar age] lochan and your muse made a pact when they were in their twenties that if they aren’t married by forty, then they’d marry each other. with 40 close, your muse contacts lochan after over a decade of not talking. they meet up, start talking again, discuss how the pact was silly and they fall in love anyway :)

celeste owuor / editor in chief / 40 / she

[any, 30+] i'd be a liar if i said i didnt want some devil wears prada thing. but like with a newspaper. you get it.

[any] idk . rivals? eocs of other papers? people that celeste fucked over to get where she is? we can figure it out

[any, 35+] situationship. at their big age. yeah. celeste keeps putting work first and your muse is fed up with it because they rightfully would like a little morsel of attention sometimes.

silas montague / firefighter / 40 / he

[any, 35+] you know ben warren and miranda bailey from greys? yeah. that

angel flores / hacker / 42 / he+they+xe

[any] your muse hires angel for their hacking services and you pose it as a No Big Deal thing thats totally fine but it ends up unravelling into something else entirely. haha whoops.

[any, 35+] your muse and angel are friends. or at least as close to friends as angel manages to get to others. you notice his typically immaculate memory starting to go a little... off.

[any, 35+] i'm running on fumes i think angel deserves to kiss someone and that it should be angsty. as a little treat.

santiago leon / math teacher + anti-hero / 45 / he

[any] literally anything to do with superpowers/heros/villains etc. idk it would be fun to me in particular !

[any] someone who Also came back to life Changed and they bond over it <3

[any] fellow teachers :3

[any, 40+] your character has a teenager that santi teaches math to o7

magdalena diaz / trauma surgeon / 48 / they+she

[any, 40+] someone she met in group therapy / grief therapy when her long term girlfriend passed. these two are still in contact and have occasional meet ups just to check in on eachother and make sure the other is doing well. platonic or romantic idk up2you

[any] idk. some grey's anatomy shit <3

vivianne park / horror writer / 50 / she

[any] if you want horror plots you want anne. she's been plagued by the Horrors since she was a child and has used that as insp for her writings that are getting increasingly more concerning.

[any] some ghost/monster hunting business would be fun :p

[any, 40+] hey have you seen killing eve- [i am forcefully taken off stage]

#indie rp #oc rp #okay well . hopefully that works. #& KEVA : WANTED.

[lesser-mook]

“It’s A Gundam’s” video is flawed: Do NOT reject comics for MANGA

Reject Comic Books Embrace Japanese Manga

One hand, yes, being belittled by your media is a deal breaker, that “toxic masculinity” shit being said when women being toxic is a thing too. 

Yes, cringe identity politics is cringe. Agreed. 

Yet having double standards doesn't help the credibility of said opinion.

IE. While he rightfully criticizes modern comic creators being fetishists? Living out a fantasy- 

X-Terminators #4

He conveniently misses the part where Mangaka do exactly that, often, consistently, too often, regularly actually. SO regular it IS the culture.

His reasoning is selective and biased because you have to ignore the same issues in Japan's media to say people should use it as an alternative, while criticizing "Fetishists" & other issues in the West in the same breath.

Giant Ojou-Sama, i swear to God the entire Manga is just her ass in the goddamn camera & Sebas (her companion) commenting how big her ass is.

I felt like i was reading a bizarre Deviant Art entry.

Another day, another Macrophile being a cringe factory on full display, but you see THIS author projecting their brain dead fetish isn’t a problem even though the sexual pandering gets in the way of what could’ve been a solid, wholesome, funny Superheroine story.

What SHOUD be funny situations are absolutely held back by the Author’s imaginative limitations and lack of restraint, having to revolve everything around a Giant Rich Girl being Giant and her ass is in plain view, that’s his fetish, so that’s the manga.

But you see it’s not a Trans woman, a Lesbian or a Gay man, it’s not political- so it’s either 100% okay or nobody knows this shit even exists (lucky them); So the double standard doesn’t exist because you don’t know what you don’t know right?

Not cringe at all, despite my wanting to cringe so hard i poof out of existence.

Thus the title of the video is bullshit: 

*Do NOT abandon comics for MANGA*

Just because current content is trash doesn’t mean there aren’t things to read that's been published already.

Point being, he should’ve specified which manga by genre that people should be turning to, just telling people to just to “Embrace Manga” is reckless because Manga is a mixed bag as well.

As i’ve demonstrated with Giant-Cringe Sama, vs a good Manga like Bokurano, which everyone should read.

Which ironically has an underage pregnancy involving a teacher because OFC, cause Japan amiright? Babies having babies, jfc.

I apologize for the spoiler, but i need to enforce the point. I won't spoil who it is though.

Or something Ecchi and actually funny:

Desert Punk (aka Sunabozu)

Too many genres to just say, "Leave comics, embrace Manga for the sake of Manga, because...MANGA!"

The main difference is aesthetic, but both have their own cultural deviancy issues.

I see he has Ochako in the thumbnail like she's prominent or even a main character yet MHA is one of the most incompetent reads i’ve been on.

Its a narrative embarrassment.

What it does right is backtracks on because the Author is afraid of change if it means mixing the formula. Status Quo-

And how is that any different from Comics? It’s not different.

Because that same character barely gets anything to do until its barely plot relevant (where the most she’s gotten to do since the Sports Festival & Jaku Raid was give a goddamn speech in the most contrived situation possible chapter 325 was fucking hilarious).

She’s not afforded a w when its organic. Barely involved in what’s really going on like Todoroki & Bakugou, always a sideshow.

NOTHING LIKE Katara who is consistently involved, or getting active in the action.

Ochako is rarely allowed any real W's like the male characters. Urakaka's been under-utilized and sidelined horrendously for 6+ years now.

*The Maxx is a better book with a better/more compelling female lead in just the first 3 issues vs all 350+ chapters of My Plotarmor Academia*

All the good comics have been published already, and some gems slip through in current day as well. 

You just have to stop getting caught up in Youtuber melodramatic anti-woke hysteria and actually look for yourself,  Action comics #1040 (2016) is an excellent Superman comic.

1930s to year 2000s+ 70-80 years worth of material, why pretend that doesn’t exist or invalidated because the industry is going through a rough phase right now and then hype up Japan like they're the paragon of storytelling when the best they've got is making it nice to look at but are just as corrupt.

.

All because mangaka/anime can draw/animate worth a shit (regardless if the writing is shit or not) it just looks pretty and can not be political about it. 

*Which is what this is really about, not the quality of writing, but the politics.*

Not that Japans pandering is any better, not that it's any good, or not creepy, it's just not woke. That's all the issue is.

Cause if you had a Trans woman in a comic but she had the physical complexion of Mirko, Lucy Heartfilia or Lady Slan and drawn sexy as shit by an artist worth a damn. 

And infantile like a baby looking for the approval of her male romantic interest 24/7, can cook, docile, feminine. Absolute waifu matierial:

People wouldn’t be bitching and moaning at the same frequency because people don't care about writing as much as they do looking at something well animated/drawn.

That’s the bare minimum to win people over. Pandering.

And Japan knows this and panders accordingly, but that’s not a problem: 

Furthermore, many mangaka are too pedophile for me to take most manga seriously these days.  But again, it depends on the genre.

Mitsudomoe’s Author is a woman, the Anime & Manga are hilarious but some of the jokes lean too far into pedo territory ( Marina Sugisaki is an open predator/ PEDOPHILE)

As you can tell, this toxic leniency with pedophilia is an across the board a moral bankruptcy issue in Japan. 

i’d rather deal with a cringe coming out story that i can meme, than deal with yet another casual pedophile adult in a story involving 12 year old children.

That aside, I’ve watched the show twice, it’s gross, it’s wholesome at times when it’s just the main 3 girls and their Dad. And it’s peak. 

#SingleDads

Fact is, a lot of these Japanese content creators aren’t projecting their real life experiences to tell a good story, like Stan “The Man” Lee:

 Instead too many of em are projecting their kinks and regressions to live out some fantasy just like these metrosexual weirdos in the West.

*Its pathetic artistic bastardization deviancy on both sides. 

The Anti-Woke camp just seems to conveniently ignore the one side of the coin to complain about the other.*

Sexualizing middle school kids constantly in books, and Japan as a society does NOT give 2 shits.

*Hoozuki no Shima* is a good read, when it's not a creepy pedo fest. 

A literal child, 11 year old, is highlighted for: Panty shots, nudity, changing clothes, in the bath buck ass naked, shot of her bare ass, getting caught naked by another kid, having NO panties on in multiple scenes, teacher finding her naked then taking off her panties to sniff it hence how she lost her panties in the later scenes etc.

An eleven year old little girl. (Hoozuki no Shima, Chp 3, if you can stomach it, i PROMISE you this is not a Doujinshi.) Written by a grown ass man.

But Bi-sexual Superman sales is what we’re nitpicking? That’s what has our attention...

And the manga was only 27 chp but the Author found the time to exploit this 11 year old child character in mostly all instances, one of her first 2 introductory shots in the manga is her dripping wet in the ocean from the waste down, school gym uniform. 

How do we know this? The author made sure to give us a view of her ass in both shots, & some thigh gap in the 2nd so we could see what she’s wearing.  (CHP1)

ELEVEN YEARS OLD.

But your biggest concern is a TRANS Woman in a DC comic with a Trans flag on a baseball bat?

Are you kidding me? (Is it cringe, YES, but i’d take that over a grown ass bastard sniffing a 11 year child’s panties, with the insinuation being he’s doing to deflower her)

One panel is literally supposed to be a serious revelation of a plot threat for one of the boys, Kokoro, but that 11 year old little bottom is just in the frame, not her face, her little butt. (Horikoshi might’ve taken notes from this)

I bust out laughing at how desperately creepy and unnecessary this was, this is what happens when talented creeps assume their audience is as damaged as they are:

But the premiere concern in the video is a weird segment about women roasting a dude for having a piss fetish. Is it weird, yes. Does it top the insinuation of an 11 year old mute child getting raped, while unconscious? You tell me.

And yet, nobody in the anti-woke camp panics about that, or brings it up i nthe comments because most of your Manga/Anime Palate is:

Seinen

slice of life

and A LOT of that Shonen garbage.

They don't even know these examples of Manga being a scumbag paradise even exists, cause despite the vocal opinion some people have, most of us have very little experience and exposure in the media we're hyping to death. 

But roasting fetishes in the same breath. 

And i’m not even woke, I agree with the guy but the double standard is what’s hurting my intelligence.

The guy goes on a tangent to shill Demon Slayer, not Monster, not Gunslinger Girls, not Noir, not Blue Gender, not Moribito the Guardian of the spirit- but DEMON SLAYER

Normie bro, fuckin normie.

Most people don't read the in-between genres and it shows, because if more people had that exposure, we as a collective would know his entire video both has a good point but full of bullshit because it's overlooking a media problem to complain about a media problem.

*I can read Power Pack 2006 trusting the author won't dedicate a panel or two to the youngest member Katherine: 8 years old showering or showing us her panties, a character commenting on how soft her skin is, hitting on her older brother, or bending over for a shot of her ass, because culture.*

I just need a good character driven story. That’s it. 

And you can get that with already made Comics, abandoning comics for Manga is idiotic.

You don’t need to whore out teenage/child characters to tell a story, but that’s exactly what Japan allows.

*This is why i say specify the Manga genre.*

Because NOT ALL MANGA is pedophile bait but too much of it is to say abandon the west content and ignore the clear issues JAPAN has just because identity politics is spooky to you-

But actual creepiness in Japan's subtext somehow doesn’t compare to a Trans Woman or you conveniently leave that part out to shill for Japan’s industry.

Point being, there are good Manga/Anime (MONSTER, Hokuto No Ken, Ah My Goddess, or Psycho Pass, Bokurano, Getter, Gundam, Evangelion, Junji Ito’s Collections) but not all of em are bangers nor are free of their fair share of Authors being weird; The same logic you're criticizing Comics by, hold that energy to how scummy and creepy Manga & Japan is, and still is.

*There's a trans person being corny in a DC comics so lets bitch about that, but instances of underage kids being objectified in stories, belonging to a society and culture that sees no issue with grown ass men fighting for the right to make Child porn legally & clear instances of that attitude is projected into the stories with confidence. THAT's part of the media called Manga that i'm going to endorse to people.*

-Criticize the West media for Fetishes and weird shit

-But endorse the East media, despite their Fetishes and weird shit

When all your issue boils down to is the fact that Manga & Anime look pretty and it's not political, it's all about the aesthetic at that point.

Then you don't have a leg to stand on, because you're not holding both to the same standard.

Criticize one, but glorify the other when what you're shilling has more problematic issues than a trans woman, a Bi-sexual man, or preggy Joker.

That's what most are hung up on, not the quality of writing, not the storytelling, not even the execution. The style points, how it looks, how it makes you feel, and how much of the pandering is what YOU WANT it to be.

100% Biased, selective criticism.

I repeat,

*Do NOT abandon comics for MANGA*

I understand the title of the video is likely to be hyperbole, but even as hyperbole, it’s moronic to say with a straight face.

Because you have to ask yourself: What exactly are you willing to ignore, just to spite your political enemies. 

Because it’s no secret Japan cares very little about Child protection laws in terms of media, so you shill for Japan because no Trans politics but pedophiles are KNOWN for being prevalent in the industry.

Look at My Hero and you tell me Horikoshi isn’t wrestling with his own sexual hang ups, cause i can make all the MY SUS ACADEMIA’s i want but that weird shit i’m mocking is actually CANON.

I repeat, just because current content is trash, cringe or struggling, and it is- doesn’t mean there aren’t things to read that's been published already.

Go back in time, and find the literary Goldmine. 

Image comics, Marvel, Darkhorse, DC, Wildstorm, Indie’s is all there.

300 is Darkhorse Comics owned.

Not all of it’s 9/10′s but just because it’s not new, doesn’t mean reject it because the modern is bad for Japan’s stuff like the older better shit doesn’t exist.

#it's a gundam #disagreed #off my mind #comics #manga #mangaka #double standards #media

[rockymthorrorshow]

you know, i've been thinking abt creative and artistic pursuits and like. Jobs and shit recently. (working a dead-end customer service job will do that do a gal.) and at the risk of doing my favorite thing, which is belaboring a metaphor, i've also been thinking abt reintroduction of wolves.

see, when they reintroduced wolves to yellowstone national park, it changed the course of the yellowstone river. that's the short version, anyway - the reality is a much longer process of ecological restoration that, for the most part, to my understanding, happened largely on its own. wolves reintroduced = better regulated deer and elk populations through natural predation = increased growth of wetland plants that high desert ungulates like to snack upon = better habitat for beavers and such/more robust plants to hold dirt in place in the face of water in transit = changed course of river. as someone who knows Fuck All about ecology or wildlife biology, i'm probably getting a bunch of that wrong, but it's fun to think abt. wolves changing the course of a river.

(stay with me here, this is the metaphor part.)

i don't think any human being on earth would ascribe such habitat changing effects to one single wolf. that would be silly! it was many wolves, over the course of a number of seasons, in conjunction with many other factors. it's not like the wolves set out to change the course of the river, or regulate the riparian habitat of yellowstone, or even manage the local elk population back to healthy levels. wolves were just Doing What They Do! goin about their days! and it terraformed a whole habitat!

i've wanted to write books since i was little. i'm also not very good at writing! i can string sentences together, i can even manage a pleasing turn of phrase or two, but when it comes to the structural elements that make a book enjoyable to read? pacing, plot structure, character motivation? to say nothing of themes? themes? fuck me, i'm terrible at it! but as i've explored a dozen different career options (archaeologist, paralegal, museum historian, etc.) it's the only thing i can see myself doing as a career in the long term. which, when you know you're not good at something, is a discouraging predicament to be in, let me tell you.

and when you tell people that you want to write books, they always jump to the new york times. "got a bestseller in the works, do you?" they ask, with a wide range of tones between earnest-if-blind-approval and asking-your-five-year-old-niece-if-she's-going-to-the-olympics. and like. not everyone can be a bestseller. for starters, there's a whole discussion about marketing and advance capital and the buy-in of the publishing industrial complex and corporate bookstores because let's face it, if you don't have amazon or b&n or both in your corner from the start it's an uphill slog, but there's also just. the reality of large numbers. only a few are going to hit that list. and that's okay.

as a public historian, you learn to think about the physical reality of archives. certain things get saved. others do not. whether that's because of conscious choices or limited space or the inherent frailty of material objects in the face of time (and don't think digital archives are immune from this, either), archives are more likely than not incomplete. this is especially true of historical publishing, particularly for genre fiction or niche audiences. old comic books get so expensive because they were, in some measure, disposable. same thing with pulp fiction and dime novels and penny dreadfuls and whatever the tiktoks of their day were called for the past three hundred years. even the Highest of Literature of a given era can vanish from view for a myriad of reasons. but behind each and every work that survived, and every work that didn't, there was a person who made that. multiple people, even - someone wrote the script and someone drew and inked the panels and someone colored the panels and a whole host of people brought that 10 cent comic book to a newsstand near your great-uncle Mike's childhood home. someone wrote the novel and someone set the type and someone bound the book that you found in one of those gloriously junky antique shops, tucked between a Better Homes and Gardens cookbook and the fifteenth Nancy Drew #14 that you've seen that day.

there's an inherent drive under capitalism that a company has to beat out the competition at whatever it does, to get in front of the consumer more than anyone else to the point where you have to buy whatever they're selling. and i'm not saying that as creators, marketing is bad. if you don't tell anyone about your stuff, they're never going to read it, and we do, ultimately, create art for the consumption of others just as much as for ourselves. we want people to comment on our fanfics, to keysmash in the tags of the art we post, to compliment the sweater we spent months knitting. we want someone to put our art on the fridge and say it's pretty. that's one of those silly things that makes us human.

but for me? i've found some comfort in the idea that wolves don't have a bestseller list. (see, there's the metaphor.) wolves don't have academy awards for the best elk takedown. they just do what they do, because it's a biological imperative. you don't have to write The Best Sci-Fi Novel Ever. you don't have to painstakingly hand-animate The Best Short Film Every Produced. the things you make can just be things. do your best, sure, but out of respect for yourself and your art form, not out of fear or envy of someone else's work.

i grew up with a saying in fan spaces that boiled down to "two cakes," referencing a cartoon where someone brought a cake to a buffet and found that someone had already brought a more elaborately decorated cake. the second panel is of a different person, looking with delight at the buffet, exclaiming, "holy shit! two cakes!" your work of art doesn't need to be so breathtakingly original and different and exquisitely crafted that it's impossible to create. (caveat: obviously, don't plagiarize someone else's work. it's rude, and you're cheating yourself out of the opportunity to make your own art.) but it's okay to just contribute to the ecosystem. not everything has to be the next Pride and Prejudice, or the next Legend of Zelda. make something that you enjoy, that speaks to the person you are now, in this moment, and share that with people.

your ecosystem will be better for you being there.

#thoughts #creative writing #art #been thinking about philosophies of creating #even things like furniture #things that aren't necessarily traditional or widely disseminated art forms #make it because you love making it #and because you make it for someone you love #even if that someone is an audience you haven't and may never meet #i'm gonna write my silly gay fantasy murder mystery and it's probably going to get like five readers #and that's okay #because i'm contributing to my ecosystem #we all have a moral imperative to contribute to the circle of life #make your life and the lives around you brighter through the presence of art #and through the presence of yourself through art #late night thoughts with macy #it's not even that late it's like 9:30

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

I’ve been reading fic for over 20 years and I have genuinely read fic in some fandom that is better (both in quality of writing and creativity of ideas) than some published novels that have come out in the last decade. These people who insist fic is bad think all fic looks like poorly spelled, poorly constructed drivel that is only written by (in their opinion) vapid teenaged girls. They can’t fathom there being anything of worth or quality in an area that is A. free, and B. largely populated by women and queer people

I think people get really angry at the idea of fic being as good as published writing, but like I said in my one post, I think there are a lot of differences between fan fiction and original fiction to the point where outright comparing the two isn’t really fair, so that yes, the quality of the writing in a fic can be genuinely very good even if the story wouldn’t work when published outside of the context of fandom, and that’s okay. As long as a fic is in-character with good pacing, dialogue, and descriptions or prose, then why wouldn’t it be considered good writing? I don’t think something needs to meet traditional standards of published work to be good at its core when the piece of writing was never written for that intention, anyway. People can have raw talent without ever going professional.

But yeah, there are fucking awful published books all the time, and only idiots say all books or bad, but people look at the worst fanfics and dismiss the whole genre, or there’s the patronizing bullshit I was talking about with people saying fics are a fine hobby but always unreadable garbage, and you can’t tell me that fic mainly being produced and consumed by women and queer people has nothing to do with that. Like you said, people think that it must be shit because it’s all written for free and almost always written by women, and the hobbies of women are constantly derided, especially in this context where most fics are essentially love stories, and there are few women seen as more pathetic than those who read and write romance. Even otherwise progressive people on here pop a blood vessel over people saying fan fiction is good, because they still view fic readers and writers as cringe losers writing incomprehensible smut and rotting their brains instead of reading the classics, but it’s like, bitch, I read both lmao. It’s not either/or!

Sorry for the ramble, but people being willfully obtuse about misogyny always makes me mad, as does people generally being shitty over people’s harmless hobbies. Fic has been around long enough that if a person says it’s all bad, then they’re either ignorant or just an insufferable snob tbh. Someone can be a good writer just through posting their 20k friends-to-lovers fanfic and people can die mad about it.

And I’ll reiterate: no one says all fan art is bad, because fan art isn’t gendered the way fan fiction is.

#fanfiction #replies #Anonymous

[midnights-call]

For the WIP game: Forest Green!!

(dealer's choice which wip)

Okay this is perfect because I get to talk about how much I hate the concept of genre in fiction in modern writing

Basically, I do not like genre nor do I like having to classify my works in a genre. See, if you were to ask a dozen people the difference between high and low fantasy, and then look at a few different sites online, you would probably never get the same answer twice. What we may all think genre is often isn't what certain resources, publishers, and professors would tell you, and even those three often conflict. Really, in our modern day climate of having a subgenre for every little thing and then also having everyone interpret those subgenres entirely differently means that you will never have a true consensus on what a genre is anymore

Yeah yeah, you might be like "but Riley, everyone agrees high fantasy is all dragons and elves and magic" and to that I say, not true! Places I've looked at and people I've spoken to have leaned more into the idea of high fantasy being something that doesn't take place on real earth, which would then mean that LotR is not high fantasy because JRRT insisted middle earth is just earth a really long time ago. But when that's brought up, there's backpedaling and then other fiction where there are dragons but no magic or magic but no dragons is brought up and you can see how all of this leads to the big realization of "what is genre, really?"

And the answer is that genre has changed so much in our modern climate that it's hard to say. Back when the OGs of genres, like Frankenstein and yes, LotR were coming out, they were laying the framework and people conformed heavily to them, and genre worked perfectly fine! But then when people were starting to push the boundaries and add new twists and flavors and combos of genres, things got a little messy and now we are at a point where, by some people's definition of low vs high fantasy or science fiction, LotR and Frankenstein don't count despite being the archetype, the original, the reason certain writing exists at all

And with these perceptions come these limitations on ideas. The publishing industry is a fucking nightmare, especially in the time of social media marketing and media illiteracy. I have seen so many writers who have more "formal training" than I do because they had stricter teachers or went to very intensive programs while I cannot tell you what the fuck a participle is. But this has given me the advantage of never caring about genre and not feeling like I HAVE to do something a certain way because of genre conventions. If you wanna write fantasy but don't wanna have dragons and magic, you can! There are ways to do that! If you have a hot new take on the action adventure genre but are nervous that it won't go anywhere because it isn't industry standard, write it anyway! Who cares! Write what you want and worry about labeling it later, once you have the story on the page you are desperate to tell

So when it comes to genres in my work, I literally only have them at all because 1) this discussion makes people stop talking to me and 2) I need to practice reducing my work which really does not fit into the genres I present them in most of them for if/when I look into tradpub, especially now that everyone is asking for fucking COMPS which I hate having to do with every bone in my body because again, I feel like they reduce my work and also, so much of the shit I write is purposefully going against the grain that idk what other stuff like it exists out there! Probably because it doesn't exist yet because unique work that doesn't fit into conventions or the trendiest tropes on tiktok is getting rejected by publishers time and time again, forcing writers into self pub hell if they can afford it, or making the writer give up sharing altogether.

So yeah, I hate genre, I hate comps, I hate anything that tries to force a creative work into a neat little box because no two works, even by the same person, will ever truly be the same. Genre in terms of the artistic process is meaningless (though I acknowledge the importance of it for libraries specifically, I love you libraries y'all are the only time I will let genres slide). If you wanna know if something is going to be a piece of media you'll enjoy, read the synopsis; you'll have a MUCH better idea of what's inside than seeing the "trending on tiktok" sign a book is sitting under in Barnes and nobles

But ig my favorite one to write is fantasy because I like magic and monsters, and those are in fantasy sometimes.

#my post #shut up declan #i probably still have more to say but i am tired #tired of GENRE /j #but if you find genre helpful thats fine #i personally hate it and find it extremely constricting #and like i said i have had to tell writers many times its okay if you do something unconventional #it doesnt meant your story is no longer the genre you thoight it was #and even if the genre changes thats fine too #because what matters is the story #if your story is good and its the one you want to tell then the genre doesnt matter #because its important to you and thats what this is all about guys

[olderthannetfic]

Why don't you like Red White and Royal Blue?

--

1. It's YA. I dislike all YA. Just a personal taste thing.

2. I find the author irritating, and this is why:

Oh, wait, I'm sorry, it's the fake-ass genre of new adult. Right. I dislike that also, so same difference with regards to personal taste. (I've been reading genre fiction of the general, presumably for adults but whatever, variety since I was like 12. I do not like the particular quirks of YA and even less do I like how they've turned into this 'grasping for childhood all through your 20s' marketing category. But hey, at least the stuff I dislike is labeled so I can avoid it, so I really should be grateful.)

It's that last point that enrages me though. Many authors of "m/m" are queer. This smug bullshit is acting like a huge chunk of the authors of "m/m romance" (the genre term for all those books by people like Jordan L Hawk) aren't queer. Plenty of them also write f/f and other things, but they do not sell, and people need to make rent.

(That is one of the advantages of traditional publishing: a big publisher can stick f/f on the shelf where your last m/m was and demand people buy it.)

If we take "m/m" as a neutral descriptor rather than a specific marketing term, it's still smug bullshit. Huge numbers of BL authors and cartoonists are also queer.

Overall, I was just severely unimpressed with the "Literally The First Book Ever Like This" talk from both this author and the fans of the book. The reason we lack good queer art is that we're unwilling to do more labor to get it than vaguely glancing at the Target book section.

No shit everything will be sanitized mainstream crap forever if we're not willing to lift a pinky to find our fellow queer artists in more queer-friendly spaces like small presses or the few remaining queer bookshops.

The talk around this book reminded me of the sheer idiocy around that slave kink book where everyone was acting like it was So Shocking And New and some of the goodreads reviews had to be like "Okay, so this is generic fanfic stuff, and none of you seem to know that..."

I just have such a hateboner for how people are wedded to mainstream publishing as though it isn't rife with the same issues Hollywood has.

No shame to the author for pursuing fame and getting their works out to a broader audience. I think that does have a lot of value, but I'm unimpressed with the whole climate around this book.

[shuttershocky]

Why is it that FATE is in this weird in between of being one ofnthe most popular/richest franchises in global media ,but at the same time being unknown/niche to the general mainstream? Like its got a global following,but you need to go look for it

Here's the thing. You /think/ it's niche, you /think/ it's unknown, but it's not. It really isn't. Type-Moon hasn't been a humble doujin circle for a while, and its works aren't obscure things you have to go looking for nowadays.

Go to any convention and you'll find at least one Saber / Archer cosplayer. Look through any place selling anime merch and I guarantee you a good chunk of them are going to be servants. Hell FGO had a publishing deal with bookstores where they'd put "As seen on FGO" on the covers of books like The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, or Carmilla, or The Phantom of the Opera" because they thought associating with FGO made those books sell, and they did. To the point where Ryouma's biography ended up selling out when he became a servant.

Last time I visited Tokyo, I ran into Nero twice in one day. The first time was a big banner advertising Fate/Extra Last Record in the Skytree, then the second was on a big TV ad in the middle of Akihabara. Taking the train back to my hotel in Asakusa, I glimpsed a large billboard featuring anime characters, with Saber front and center.

You don't have to go looking for Fate. If you're into anime, you can't avoid Fate. It's one of the largest Japanese franchises in the world now and has literally made billions of dollars.

I feel like what makes it feel niche / not mainstream are three things:

1) There is no proper entry point. Almost everything is an adaptation (of varying quality) and the original Fate/Stay Night was a visual novel with three very different routes, meaning an anime adaptation could never encompass the full experience, thus anime-onlies would end up missing out unless they were curious enough to actually look things up. Fate/Zero's anime is maybe the closest thing to a proper entry point to the franchise for a casual fan, but then afterwards you got to tell the new viewer "Okay from here it splits three ways and you can watch this anime from studio DEEN in 2006, this one from Ufotable in 2014, or this movie series also by Ufotable and then there are all these other spinoffs" and if they actually do that or even read the visual novel then they're no longer a casual fan, they're one of /you/ now. The result is a fanbase that has become gargantuan in size and yet feels like it's a niche nerd club, because anyone who actually overcomes the entry barrier isn't considered by others to be a casual fan who is part of the mainstream anymore.

2) Nasu and Takeuchi never stopped treating Type-Moon like a doujin circle made up of their friends even after going corporate. The Tsukihime remake exhibit in the Type-Moon museum for example, had Tsukihime's programmer explain how not only was he in charge of programming the visual novel, but he was also pulling double duty and being their system administrator along with a whole bunch of other jobs. Type-Moon didn't expand to become a major company employing hundreds of people even after its success, it just partnered up with other companies like DelightWorks to do that heavy lifting for it while the same 15 or so names from two freaking decades ago keep doing what they've always done. I think in some way this has kept TM works from ever feeling "corporate". Having the same team over and over has made the fanbase keenly aware of each writer's distinctive style as opposed to design by committee works that attempt to appeal to as many people as possible. Even FGO, the most mass appeal work Type-Moon has got, still has that something that makes it feel like Type-Moon.

3) This shit really did start niche and the fanbase just never really grew out of seeing it in that way. Nasu and Takeuchi weren't exactly overnight successes: Kara No Kyoukai was an obscure novel initially published on Takeuchi's website; they had to package the first 5 chapters of KnK with Tsukihime because they thought that was the only way to get KnK more readers, and when they made Tsukihime they were literally surviving on cup noodles and working multiple jobs. Their fanbase then would have known Type-Moon as a humble doujin circle taking part in the then-rising VN genre of games. As Type-Moon would get new fans, old fans would describe Type-Moon to them in that way and speak of their fanbase like some niche club. New fans would get this idea of Type-Moon being niche and repeat this to more new fans as time goes by. Repeat over and over again for the next 20 years.

[devilsskettle]

so i’ve been thinking about this for a hot minute since watching scream 5 and i think i finally know how to verbalize it: i think the reason why scream 5 satirizing horror “re-quels” falls flat for me is that. okay. think about how the original scream movie is working with almost 2 decades worth of classic slasher movies plus another decade of proto-slashers, it’s released just after the horror genre starts being taken seriously in film theory (men, women, and chainsaws was published just 4 years before scream came out) so it’s one of the first pieces of media to engage in this conversation about slasher genre conventions and acknowledge the fan culture around low budget “low brow” horror movies as a space that is also actively engaging in film analysis in a way that’s valuable to think about (which is why the criticism of “unrealistic dialogue” because people don’t talk about movies like that feels like. weird to me i guess lol hardcore fans of any particular piece of media talk like that about that media. gets a bit heavy handed in the sequels but randy talks about movies the way a lot of my friends in high school talked about movies). and it creates an entirely new genre with the meta horror meta slasher shit, which basically every slasher movie since tries to be, with varying degrees of success.

anyway that’s a long winded way of saying that there’s a large body of work that the original scream is working with. even the second movie is working with plenty based on conventions of horror sequels. scream 3 loses me with the trying to pinpoint conventions of third movies in a horror franchise, which doesn’t seem to have as many shared tropes or the same kind of “rules” for survival. scream 4 doesn’t even try to figure out some kind of universal 4th movie structure, because it doesn’t exist, and instead focuses on fan culture and social media (which works imo). it also satirizes remakes, which we’ll get back to. and by scream 3, the franchise is satirizing itself already. scream 4 and 5 take it to the next level. in scream 5, they’re at the point that they can use the pop culture memory of who the killer is in scream the same way they do in the original with friday the 13th (both “who was the killer” questions for these movies respectively seem like trick questions even though they’re really not). it’s like meta x3

so what’s my point? what’s the problem? thanks for asking, i am just thinking that the decision to satirize “re-quels” as the next phase of slasher movies doesn’t work for me that well, like it’s fine i guess, i get what it’s trying to do, which is return to the old format of satirizing the specific kind of film they’re making (the first movie = slasher films in general, the second = sequels, the third = well, you get it, so the fifth is a reboot/sequel satirizing reboot/sequels. re-quels). but the problem with this is the same as the problem with the third one: there just aren’t enough similarities between “re-quels” to deconstruct them as a genre in the same way scream deconstructed slasher films. the fact that people are “split on the terminology” indicates to me that this trend isn’t set in stone enough to have genre conventions of its own. the only two horror re-quels that they name drop are saw and halloween, which were rebooted in 2017 and 2018 respectively. i can think of some others (evil dead 2013, the craft legacy, candyman, texas chainsaw 3D seems to inform scream 5 quite a bit but who knows if that was intentional, apparently the netflix tcm also? but i really don’t want to watch that lol) but what do any of these have in common with the others, other than the very basic premise of linking the reboot to the original movie instead of the sequels? even the “book of saw” has very little thematic or artistic consistency, jigsaw and spiral being very different kinds of films, and a lot of the conventions they try to define for re-quels aren’t in either of them (and the saw movies aren’t slasher movies anyway. they’re slasher adjacent, jigsaw gets lumped in with slashers a lot, but they fit almost none of the genre conventions of a slasher movie). there’s no indication that scream 5 is even thinking about these specific films at all, i just can’t think of any other horror re-quels. and if they’re only looking at a sporadic trend in horror sequels over the past (not even the whole) decade, which includes non-slasher horror and specifically name drops non-horror re-quels, they’ve made a very shallow aimless meta horror movie that has moved away from what the scream movies are trying to do and what the movie itself purports to do. i also think it contributed to how fang-less and kind of trite the killers end up being, partially because they don’t spend enough time with the main friend group to meaningfully set them up as compelling suspects, partially because their motive is too similar to mickey’s in scream 2 and jill and charlie’s in scream 4, partially because the whole film is aimless and can’t seem to figure out what makes sense by “re-quel logic” — in fact, sam being the most logical suspect to our horror expert character is the exact opposite of the re-quel logic i would use given the types of protagonists most common in the movies mentioned above. doesn’t work for halloween. doesn’t work for saw. doesn’t work for evil dead. doesn’t work especially for the craft legacy or texas chainsaw 3D. arguably works for candyman but only to a certain extent. so how is this a convention of re-quels? it just doesn’t work! because it’s not an established genre with established conventions. you can’t do the same thing with it as scream did to slashers. it just doesn’t make sense

and anyway, since scream 2 covered sequels and scream 4 covered remakes/reboots, scream 5 seems.... redundant? if they could’ve done remakes, reboots, and re-quels all in one, maybe that would’ve been more effective? maybe. i guess changing it would necessitate changing the whole premise of the film, so i don’t really know what they could do to fix it lol - i was onboard when the rules were “how to survive a stab movie” because what this movie does understand perfectly is its own franchise, i’m even onboard with discussing the fan reaction to shitty remakes/reboots (with mindy as a character and how she talks about other horror fans, i even think they do understand contemporary horror fans, even if they don’t really get contemporary horror). but the meta in this movie doesn’t hit because it isn’t true to what’s actually happening right now in the slasher genre. they’re trying to bring the scream framework into contemporary horror without realizing that the 90s killed the traditional slasher film, and scream was the final nail in its coffin. you can’t write about the genre the same way because it doesn’t really exist anymore 

#horror #scream #scream 5 #name one slasher movie after 2000 that 1) is actually a slasher movie and fits the genre conventions of a traditional slasher movie #2) isn't dripping in sarcasm satire and genre self awareness #and it is because of scream! scream can't do scream in the 2020s because of what scream did in the 1990s #it was still a fun movie and i enjoyed it and the one thing that needed to happen for me happened so i was happy with it #but it doesn't pack the same punch. it's desperately hoping the audience doesn't see through it. it's disingenuous #it understands the scream franchise. it understands what modern horror fans are like. but it doesn't understand contemporary horror #i will also say that maybe i am disconnected from a certain kind of fanbase but i'm pretty.... online in terms of horror fan spaces #like this is basically a horror blog. i follow almost exclusively people who post about horror. #it's the main thing i look at think about and discuss. i read articles and shit lol i'm on letterboxd i'm on here i am aware of things #i feel like i'm in touch with popular opinion about a wide range of horror movies. and i have never heard the term 're-quel' in my life lol #like seriously look up re-quels on letterboxd. it's not the phenomenon that scream 5 acts like it is #like if you can only think of 5 horror movies that that term fits? there's not enough there to base an entire scream movie on #it's not even really part of the main movements in contemporary horror. or in slasher/slasher adjacent films

[nemir]

any advice for new writers ?

This is such a great question, and I'm honestly flattered and shocked you'd ask me! 🥺 It might be a bit of a long answer so strap in!

Read! I mean, okay, yes, obvious answer and chances are if you're a writer, then you probably love reading. But what I mean by this is, expand your reading - try out some genres you've never read before, even things you think you may not enjoy as much. It's always good to try new things, and you may even be pleasantly surprised or even inspired! And it doesn't even have to be regular ol' books. Fanfiction, poetry, scripts - anything that catches your fancy. If it looks even a little interesting, read it!

Get a notebook! Bring it with you e v e r y w h e r e. Stick that shit in your bag/purse/whatever, and write down everything. If you're listening to a song and get inspired, write it down. If you see something interesting, or inspiring, write it down! Even just writing your stream of consciousness. It doesn't have to be a physical notebook, of course, but I find it helps more than just typing into a notes app on your phone/tablet. And it doesn't even have to be a super fancy journal or anything like that; something from the dollar store will do just fine. The point is to just jot down anything and everything that crosses your mind that you find interesting. A lot of times I'll have an "ohhh, I should write that down" moment and either forget to/forget about my notes app lol, or don't have anything on me to write with and it's super frustrating.

Look up writing prompts! These are great little exercises to do if you want to write, but don't know what to write. There are a ton of them here on tumblr, and I know there are probably thousands on sites like AO3, wattpad, etc. You don't even have to write your own characters in these either; go wild!

Don't limit yourself, but don't force yourself! Don't EVER feel like you need to write a lot in order to be a good writer. The length of a novel/fanfic/whatever is not what makes you a good writer. There are a lot of bad authors out there who have successfully published books that could have ended 10 chapters ago. So don't feel like you need to hit a specific character limit for your writing to be good. That said, if while you're writing and you're reaching the end point of your piece and you feel like there could be more, then fuck it! Add more!

Get a proofreader/friend to help! Run ideas by them, ask them to proofread, or just read over your piece to see if it's too much/not enough/makes sense/etc. Getting an outside perspective is a huge help - and hopefully your friend will be the type to tell you what's what and not be afraid to give their perspective or opinion LOL.

Tackle a bigger project! If you're feeling confident, or just want to do something different, try taking on something like NaNoWriMo. Just please, PLEASE (and this goes for EVERYONE, not just new writers) remember to limit the hours you're writing in a day, and to take breaks. A silly little writing challenge isn't worth sacrificing self-care over. If you don't get it done, it's OKAY. Most people don't, honestly. It's just a way to challenge writers. But it could be fun! Especially the set-up, coming up with your idea, etc.

Remember to have fun! Don't let yourself get to the point where writing feels like a chore. It's okay to take breaks - I encourage it, honestly. Could be a few days, a few weeks, even a month! Who cares? Take all the time in the world that you need. If it allows you to get back to a point where writing feels fun again, then great!

Do not compare yourself to others! This is one of the hardest ones, but one of the most important. If you're sitting there, reading a book or someone's fic and thinking to yourself, "Ugh, they're so good at writing. Look at how popular their stuff is! I wish I could write like them/I'll never write as well as them." then you might as well stop, because you won't ever write as well as them with that mindset. You can respect and be appreciative, and still love, someone's writing without putting your own down! You obviously are able to acknowledge your own creativity and flair for words if you WANT to write in the first place, so why put yourself down?

We all start somewhere! Honestly, the cringey shit we wrote when we were all young may come back to haunt us once in a while, but if you own it and use it as a way to compare where you started vs where you are now? It's so nice. I mean, there are things I wrote a year and a half ago that I'm just kinda like, "ohhh god why did i write this, this is so bad" but that's GOOD. If you can acknowledge the faults in your old pieces, then great! But remember that everybody was there at one point and it is not a bad thing to think your old stuff was cringe - you weren't the only one, nor will you ever be.

Put your writing out there! It can be a little scary putting your writing out there on display for the world to see, but it's a good way to get feedback, and honestly a good way to just... save your writing. I personally stay away from places like wattpad (just a personal preference!) but there are TONS of writing hosting websites out there that you can put your stuff up on! It's also a good way to get some feedback! Just don't let unconstructive/purposely negative feedback get you down. Of course, not everybody will like what you write, but poopoo on them, you write for yourself, nobody else.

CHRIST that was incredibly long I am so sorry but I just had more shit come to me as I wrote. I hope that this helps you, friend!! Feel free to ask me more questions, or come to me if you need any help! I appreciate you and you've got my support 100%!!!! you GOT this!

#anon #writing tips #this was so nice of you to ask me gosh #ily nonnie

[dropsofletters]

enter for yes, delete for no [wkh]

—summary: “social science is easy. watch me get an ‘a’ on this class”, said wong kunhang, two weeks before failing his first social science test…and horribly.

in light of his new college class making him feel dumber than he really is, and trying to make it through one of his worst economical states ever by balancing three jobs at the same time, kunhang almost loses it when the professor announces that they have to work in trios and make a social science project that is worth 60% of his grade.

great.

now, he’s fucked.

with yukhei by his side, whose eyes divert from the book to scan the library and search for his next love affair, and dejun, who never wanted to be part of his major to start with, he’s left alone with the weight of getting a good grade…

until yukhei’s almost-always silent roommate gives him the idea of the century: a blog. an anonymous blog where he can solve people’s issues. he can do that!

only when he starts to receive submissions from a certain woman does he realize how wrong he was.

—title: enter for yes, delete for no —pairing: wong kunhang x reader —genre: college!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; secret admirer!au ; roommate!au ; unrequited love-ish!au ; slowburn —type: fluff ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive ; crack-ish —word count: around 19k words.

Kunhang thought that when getting into the political sciences major, he would only have to follow through with what he learned in the debate club back in high school. Tight smile, straight shoulders and a good ear for picking up on what people say.

The pamphlet that he read when opting for the college to attend to had never said that he had to have an entire class dedicated to social science. Knowing people, as human beings, individuals that feel and think, sometimes not as rationally as they should, shouldn’t be considered science. Chromosomes and genes? Sure, that’s science. Whatever the hell veterinarians study about dogs and cats? That’s science, too. Experiments based on how people react in social environments?

It’s dumb.

So dumb that Kunhang pushed the fabric of his gray hoodie on his black hair when leaning back on his seat when he attended the first class of social science in his sophomore year of college. The professor, Mr. Sam, sported his tidy and a little-too-small olive-green suit when he spoke to the class and Kunhang turned to look at Yukhei’s horrified expression with a smile on his face.

“Social science is easy,” He started, leaning forward on his seat before tapping his pencil against the wood of his desk. Yukhei scoffed at his words, a beam of his own taking place on his face because Kunhang has his moments of being too overconfident, and that coming from Wong Yukhei? It was grand. “Watch me get an ‘A’ on this class.”

Dejun sighed from his spot, the long and brown strands of his hair moving with the warm air that left his lips as he continued to scribble down some notes with as much furiousness as he could muster. “It’s not as easy.”

Humming, the tallest agreed. “I can finally say Dejun is right about something.”

The glare that Dejun threw to his friends was worthy of a picture, but Kunhang was the worst of them all, crossing his arms behind his back as he stared at the PowerPoint presentation with little to no interest.

“What’s so difficult about science that is based on people just talking to each other? I’ll get an A. Without studying, even.”

No one told him then, when he had spent most of his time studying for other classes and working his three jobs, that social science with Mr. Sam was a nightmare. Even a demon seen through sleep paralysis could be less scary that the beam the professor wore the day he decided to publish the grades of the first test of the class, delivering the pieces of paper one by one on top of his student’s desks.

Kunhang’s soft fingertips touch the surface of his test, turning it around and expecting to see—at the very least—a ninety-eight out of a hundred. Though, his chestnut eyes widen fractions that couldn’t even be measured when he sees his real grade.

“I had a laugh, Mr. Wong, dare I admit.” Mr. Sam says from his position next to him, fixing the rounded glasses that rest on the crooked base of his nose. The chuckle that leaves his lips annoys Kunhang to bits, taking in a breath. He can’t finish this class if he kills the professor, right? “One would think with how much you talk; you’d know more about social sciences…but that’s all you are, aren’t you?” The class falls silent, the student munching on his bottom lip to muffle the curses that threaten to leave his lips. “All talk won’t work for my class. Do better.”

With that, he hears a few muffled whispers and laughs around the class. Excellence was nitpicked in this exam, tainting his ego even further when he looks over his shoulder to see Yukhei’s grade.

“You got a seventy-two?!” Kunhang exclaims in a whisper, taking Yukhei’s test in between his hands.

Yukhei runs his fingers through his recently bleached blonde locks before shrugging. “I kind of had a date last weekend and she had passed this class. I was in her dorm and she repaid me with her notes from last semester.” The smugness in his voice has Dejun rolling his sharp eyes.

“Repay you for what, exactly?” Dejun questions, voice piercing, but Kunhang is not even half interested in the argument ensuing, mind roaming the sceneries of insecurity, jealousy, hatred…perhaps at himself or at this ridiculing teacher.

“I’m not allowed to say.” Yukhei replies, leaning on his desk towards Dejun, making sure to wink at him. “But I’m allowed to show you, if you’d like, bro.”

“Gross.”

Kunhang cuts through the conversation easily enough, not quite catching up with the bantering ways that surround the friend group. “How much did you get, Dejun?”

With that, the man whose drained ways have started to show on his deep eye-bags and the amount of time he spends studying, finally smiles. “I got a 99.”

And Kunhang got a 24. Fucking great.

In the scale of dumbasses, he’s right at the bottom. Even under the guys who copy and paste Google quotes on their social medias and get offended when someone calls them out because that quote is definitely not theirs, as they pride themselves in.

“No fucking way!” Kunhang lets out, his hand grasping Dejun’s test before he feels Yukhei’s breath ghosting over his shoulder.

“Who the fuck is Oaix Nujed?” The question almost seems to hold the answer to life in the way Yukhei spits it out, but it’s easy to catch up on what Yukhei didn’t understand at the time.

Kunhang turns the test around, Dejun’s alter-ego (eh-hem, Oaix Nujed) long forgotten and replaced for his real name. And his grade that stands in sixty-six.

“Shit,” Yukhei curses just as Dejun’s face pales, his thick eyebrows furrowed when he takes the test in between his hands. “I got the best grade out of all of us?!”

This can’t be.

N0. No. No.

Kunhang is certain he answered everything with a bit of logic. He read some here and there, that should be enough to pass a test. He’s sure Yukhei couldn’t do magic tricks with the notes his latest love affair gave him—

Mr. Sam stands in front of the class, his salt and pepper hair pushed to the front of his bald head to hide what is utterly obvious. He purses his lips when he fixes his jacket and speaks to the class. “The test was horrid. I even started to wonder how you made it to your sophomore year.” Well, Kunhang knows the answer. Hard work, paying taxes when it’s due, and with a lot of frustration. Example one, this moment. “So, to help you out, I’m going to reduce the percentage of value of the tests. I want you to familiarize yourself with the importance of social science, much more in the major you find yourselves in.” He breathes out, sitting at the edge of his desk. “I want a project. A social science project. Show me how people react when having relationships with other—friendships, enemies, whatever it is that interests you. With a basement of a hypothesis already done, of course. I don’t want anything from Freud because…it’s too simple. I need you to perfect it as if it was your thesis and I want it for the end of the class. Three months from now, that is.”

Okay, so he has a chance. He just has to think of a project that is not based on Freud and that shows the importance of society and their unions. If people went through this class and they didn’t die in the process, he could do it.

Right?

“I want it to be in trios and for you to show three different perspectives. You apply the same experiment but you have different thoughts about it. Conclusions, let’s call it.”

One of the girls in the class, with vibrant red hair and a black turtleneck, raises her hand in the air. “What if our conclusions are the same?”

“They can’t be.” Mr. Sam shrugs. “It’s social science. We don’t all enjoy the same relationships or friendships in one way or with just one group of people. Let’s say, if I see one word that is similar, I won’t even read the project. It’ll be a zero.”

Dejun clears his throat when he asks for the professor’s attention. “Will we be picking our groups or will you—?”

Mr. Sam interrupts him before he could continue, typical of him. His intelligence dares barricade his humongous ego. “I’ll let you guys work with whoever you want,” He fixes his folders and places them inside his backpack before chuckling softly. “I’m assuming Dummy, Dumb and Dumber are going to work together. Is that what this is all about?”

His nostrils expand the slightest when he presses his lips in a tight line. His mother has taught him how to respect elders, but if Mr. Sam just casually slipped and went down the flight of stairs in their building, with a car coincidentally passing over his face and killing him in the process…it may just not make him sad.

Yukhei whispers in the slightest deep vibrato. “Well, that’s new. Now, I’m Dummy. Normally, Dejun is—”

“I’m not Dummy, Dumb or Dumber.” Dejun shakes his head, on the verge of snapping at Yukhei. Well, he already did. “This man is just crazy.”

Kunhang nods at his words. “We agree on something, pal.”

“You know what? Yes. He’s a bit crazy.” Yukhei admits, placing his hand on top of Kunhang’s desk, the separation between Dejun and himself. “But I know a lot of people who had this class with him. From our major and other majors. It’s going to be fine. I still have those girl’s notes and my roommate is extra good at this kind of thing. She’ll help us out.”

Ambition fills his lungs when he hums along to Yukhei’s words. “I think Kun can help us, too.” Remembering the guy he works with, recently graduated, he taps his fingers against the desk. “We’re not going to let this man grade us that badly again. I don’t care how we’re doing it, but we’re getting a hundred on that project and he’ll have to suck my dick if he doesn’t give me that grade.”

“Oh man,” Yukhei says, laughter following his statement. “Kunhang is, for real, angry. He never talks about getting his dick sucked and now he wants Mr. Sam to do it for him.” Clasping his hands in front of him, he chuckles when Kunhang slaps the back of his head. “Aw, that’s so cute. Celibate and all, you’re a cutie.”

“Democratic vote to kick Yukhei out of our group.” Kunhang states, raising his hand at the same time that Dejun does, only to have Yukhei’s smile dissipating.

Well, at least he has his friends while going through this hell, scalding him with disappointment.

“You’re just jealous I’m Dummy.”

###

Four in the morning and Kunhang is already slipping into a cold shower. By six, he’s already out of the door and towards his first job of the day. With an apron wrapped around his waist, he serves coffees to people who dare say they are sleep deprived, but his eyes almost feel like they glue together from his hard work.

He’s out of there by eleven, with his feet moving incessantly on his bicycle to get to his first set of classes. Schedule arranged to take up his college courses from twelve in the afternoon and four, he gets out of his classes with homework to fulfill and another job to take care of.

By five, he waters Mrs. Ling’s plants. Makes sure to sings a tune to them or talk in order to get extra points with the older woman, who smiles at him when he gets out of the door only thirty minutes later. Once again, Kunhang finds himself in his bicycle and he rushes over to the restaurant he works in from six to nine at night. That’s where Kun is a dishwasher, just like him, trying to meet ends before he finds his first real job.

Just when he’s out, he gets enough time to study and do homework. Surprise, surprise, it’s never enough. He’s dozing off by twelve, working through his projects with expertise before he repeats the cycle again. Four hours of sleep, three jobs, classes, tests, sophomore year and a social life, if it’s after nine at night.

Three months is not enough time for him to think about a project, let alone work on it. Dejun has a job of his own—though, he takes care of children on his free time—and he’s as studious as he can get, but Kunhang just can’t play the asshole card and let all responsibilities fall on his shoulders. The thought makes him rub on the dishes with more force, his uniform splashed by droplets of water.

Yukhei could think about it—he’s got enough wit to do something, but he’s not as good in redacting something. His big eyes can stare into a Word document and not think about anything for hours. He could be in charge of tracking, excel sheets and graphics, but writing is just a big no.

If Dejun hasn’t had an idea in two weeks, as he said earlier when he saw him in class, he’s sure Yukhei doesn’t either.

And he sure as hell hasn’t had any time to think about it either.

With a pleading tone and jazz music in the background, his thin lips wrap around every edge of his words, his black hair falling across his slim face while he expresses his worries to Kun. Said man is more relaxed, not thinking about studying anymore but with a permanent frown when being denied the opportunity of trying by the real world. His degree dusts itself off in his apartment while he waits for a chance.

“I need you to give me an idea so I can develop it.”

Responsible lines of upright nature join and thread to make Kun’s shell. He raises one eyebrow, shaking his head when he chuckles softly. “No.”

Think of the pain of stepping on four Lego pieces at the same time. Yeah, that wouldn’t even compare to what Kunhang feels right at this moment. “Dude, don’t be an ass. I really have no idea what to do and my tests are going horribly—”

Kun sighs deeply, leaning his taut waist against the edge of the counter near the dishwasher. “It’s s0cial sciences, Kunhang. If I help you out, there is nothing that you will learn. You need to learn the root of social archetypes and correlations to be able to get a nice grade, and you won’t do that if I just help you.”

Alright, so, maybe, Kunhang is physically and mentally drained. He manages to be good in other classes—studies in between the times he has free and gives up his social life on the slightest bit just to be able to meet ends, but failing a class is something he can’t give himself the benefit of. He’s tight on money, and his face won’t be tranquil enough to tell his mom that he failed.

“I’m just asking you to give me an idea for the project,” Kunhang tries to convince the older man. “You didn’t have a class with this asshole. He’s gone through four divorces, man. Not a single woman can stand his faulty, stupid ass and that’s factual.”

Blinking, even his coworker seems surprised. The truth is…Mr. Sam is entire textbook-based. If he sees a comma, he wants you to write that comma on the test. Logic aside, he wants investigations, hypothesis, an entire project written on your test without a single ounce of your train of thoughts. Or, if you mask it as such, it has to be quoted from someone else. It’s tiring.

Yukhei is a memory learner. If he repeats words for a long period of time, he will learn them, a bit out of order, but his mind is skillful enough for that. Maybe, that’s why he does so great in this class.

“I just…I don’t know, man. I want you to feel the gratitude of doing this on your own.” Kun spits out, only to have Kunhang scoffing.

“I just want to pass.” Swatting his hands to watch the droplets of water fall away from them, cold in the freezing kitchen, he sighs. “I don’t care about learning because that man leaves no room for learning. He thinks he’s it. He’s worthy of writing a hundred textbooks because he’s that smart.”

“I can give you some textbooks, but I really don’t have the time to sit down and think about an idea. Sorry.” He can’t blame him, but somehow, he does. His options are running short and Yukhei, the star of the class, still hasn’t had his grand idea. Kun’s plate—metaphorically speaking, the plates are clean in this restaurant—is filled with a little too much stress right at this moment, and Kunhang can’t just beg him to go back to the pressure that comes from college projects. “I’ll bring them to you tomorrow. I know how packed your schedule is.”

He has no fucking idea. His body giving up on him, his knuckles almost become white when he leans his weight forward and grasps the edge of the counter in between his hands. A tired breath accompanies his dizzy mind, migraine thumping at the back of his eyelids. At the verge of giving up, he bites down on his lip, nodding once and returning to his positive ways.

Yukhei’s roommate is his only option.

###

Truth be told, the only good thing about working three jobs and having an apartment of his own, is that the money is worth it. He doesn’t have to deal with someone’s noise, one-night stands and the horrid walks of shame, and he definitely doesn’t have to hear one of his best friends screaming at the top of his lungs as he plays videogames and completely ignores the assignment at hand.

Sure, ten at night is not exactly the perfect moment to work on a project, but it’s the only time Kunhang has had free and he studied ahead of this Friday night just to be able to be here, at Yukhei’s place. Yangyang, one of Yukhei’s roommates, is playing around with the blender at the kitchen, making God-knows-what for the past fifteen minutes, stopping his ministrations to try the concoction before going back to the awful noise again. In any other occasion, Kunhang would have played along, nodded along to the beat of Yangyang’s dubstep blending…

Yet, for the first time in twenty-one years, Kunhang can say one thing…

He’s more stressed than Dejun.

Dejun flips one page to continue reading his textbook, his hair done a mess and his lips forever closed as he stares between his notes and one of the books Kun lent them. Still, not an idea has ensued. Maybe, he can blame it on the fact that Dejun’s girlfriend had just called him and created a scene out of him not being with her on a Friday night, jealousy pouring from her every word and Dejun’s eyebrows forever petrified in a frown growing even deeper.

None of the trio are on it today.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Yukhei curses, moving his controller to one side as his big eyes concentrate on the screen. “Babe, could you help me over here? I’m about to get killed.”

Oh, so that’s why. Kunhang could almost chuckle at that moment, had it not been for his comfortable position on the couch next to Yukhei, with one leg resting on the armrest and his eyes trained on a textbook he doesn’t give two shits about. Yukhei has completely forgotten about social sciences girl and now he’s with a gamer girl. From the faint distance, he hears a light giggle and a sweet tone.

This is definitely going nowhere.

“Found anything, Dejun?” Kunhang asks, finally straightening his back to hear every bone crack into place. When is the last time he took a nap and rested his back properly? He’s not sure.

Absentmindedly, the man’s brown eyes claim Kunhang’s attention, barely even there when he hums. “Not really. Kun’s textbooks are fine, but I asked around the class to see what topics people have picked and they’re all written down here. We need to come up with something else.”

Great. Now they’re behind everyone. “Alright,” Growing tired of waiting, Kunhang stands up, throwing his oversized bomber jacket on top of his white t-shirt, paired with comfortable basketball shorts and sneakers. “Yukhei.”

No answer.

“Yukhei!” Kunhang says louder, though Yukhei is still very much playing around with his PlayStation. Patience running low, he takes the headphones away from Yukhei’s ears, putting them around his head before speaking. “Listen, I know he looks cute in his profile picture and that you may think he’s the biggest catch in the world, but I really need you to stop flirting with him for two seconds so I can have him put, at least, a grain of knowledge into this project we’re making. It’s not you, it’s not me, it’s Wong Yukhei and his dick that keeps slipping out of his pants. I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“Hey!” Never had he heard Yukhei’s low voice grow so high, pausing his game to stand up and place his hands on his hips. “Don’t talk to GameOn187 like that.”

“Oh, GameOn187 doesn’t mind the slightest bit.” Kunhang crosses his arms across his chest, laughing at Yukhei’s antics. Okay, he was angry one second ago, but seeing Yukhei be so serious about someone he doesn’t even know the name of is hilarious. “Where’s your roommate?”

With that, worry grows on the man’s face, grasping his phone in between his hands and frowning at the time. “She told me she was outside fifteen minutes ago. She must’ve come back from her date by now.”

His stomach churns, twists in worry when he takes Yukhei’s keys in between his fingers and speaks over the noise of the game and the blender. “I’m going to look for her.”

“Do you need me to go with you?” Yukhei could fall in love as easily as he grew in high school, but that doesn’t mean his care and attention doesn’t go to his best friend and roommate.

With the starry night, blinding street lights and the college students drinking around the building in this Friday night, he’s sure he won’t need accompaniment. “I’ll be fine. I—I just need to look for her, get her home and make sure she helps us out.”

That’s how the cold night bites at the skin of his calves, long hair sweeping away from his face to showcase his worried eyes. Yukhei’s roommate may not be his closest friend, but glimpses of her in high school come back to his brain. Sweet, shy, a bit soft. The change happened when she suddenly grew dull, strong, collected and silent by the time college came around. Never had they connected on a level deeper than a few conversations and their shared interest for Yukhei’s wellbeing.

But he knows that not appearing for fifteen minutes after instructing she was outside is not a good thing. He greets some of the English majors by the entrance, drinking from bottles of beer with electric cigarettes dangling from their lips, but that doesn’t take his attention away from the quickened movement of his legs as he screams out her name.

Heart racing, eyebrows scrunched and eyes set everywhere and anywhere, he’s midway through the entrance, almost towards the street when he sees her. Leaning against the brick walls of the apartment complex for students, her back bent as her date relishes on kissing her like a madman, hungry for more of her. His hands go up and down her back, opening and closing when he leans his abdomen forward and pushes her more into the wall.

With how into it the taller man with a slim waist and buff arms is, Kunhang almost wants to look away.

Though, then he sees her. Her lips are moving, softly, delicately, not quite catching up to what her date is doing, taking more of her as if she owes it to him. Thus, her eyes are opened, lifelessly staring at the man with confusion, as if trying to understand the situation she’s in. Her hands rest on his shoulders, halfway through pushing him away or tugging him closer. Confusion and tenderness bathes over her features, clearly giving him a sign that she may not understand but he does.

She’s not into the kiss.

So, he calls out her name, loud and clear, powerful enough to make the man kissing her pull away from her, a scaredy cat in the making. She rubs her mouth with the back of her hand, the saliva glistening against her lips almost making him laugh.

Well, that doesn’t seem like a good kiss.

“We were looking for you.” Kunhang says, voice tranquil, barely jutting his chin towards her date as a greeting before trailing her eyes over her worried expression. “Yukhei and I. Want to come home now?”

Her date opens his thick lips to say something, his hipster hairstyle—shaved by the sides, sleeked back by gel—touched by the wind when she presses a hand to his taut chest. “Sorry, Leo, I think you should go.”

The man looks at her with the gaze of a man who wants something more and maybe, he’ll beg for it just to get a taste of her. “Want to take me to my car, then?”

She looks into his eyes, doubting, staring at the car with little to no longing before shaking her head. “I have to study.” Her excuse is as clear as day, but Kunhang doubts the asshole by her side even notices her reactions. If he couldn’t tell she wasn’t into that horrible kiss, then he’s not perceptive at all. “Text me once you get home, alright?”

The buff man quirks an eyebrow towards Kunhang, moving backwards as he gets the keys of his expensive car out. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“I didn’t tell you.” Kunhang answers, shrugging his shoulders when she moves to his side. For some reason, he can’t understand how someone as beautiful as her could go for the most simplistic man out there. Like everyone else in college, if not worse. And dumb, at that. “…It’s Kunhang.”

“Take care of my girl, will you?”

Scoffing, Kunhang chuckles soon after. “I think she can take care of herself perfectly well.” And he does, her change of character had only made her stronger, more reliable, though glimpses of that shy student he once knew in high school existed within her.

By the time the man’s car parked off and weaved through the streets in a rushed manner, Kunhang turns to look at her, resting his hand in between her shoulder blades to move her forward.

She walks alongside him, cladded in some beige shorts, a tight black shirt and a dark denim jacket. Unlike what she wears on most occasions, with boots tall enough to be killing her, but it’s a change of style. Glimmering beauty making him have a second take before smiling to himself.

“You weren’t into that kiss at all, were you?”

That question has her licking her bottom lip, the street lights casting down on her features before she shrugs. “Make outs should feel a bit disgusting, don’t they?” The question at the end lets him know about her insecurity, shoes dragging across the flooring. “I mean, it’s a mess of tongues against tongues and teeth and sucking and biting. That’s…meant to be gross at some point.”

Disagreeing completely, he shakes his head, resting his cold fingertips inside the pockets of his jacket before sighing. “Take a seat,” Upon seeing a set of stairs that leads to the entrance, the two of them sit on the concrete, eyes staring at the road ahead of them. Silent, until Kunhang speaks up again. “Kisses aren’t meant to feel gross. At all. If you are really into someone, it’s going to feel…sweet, you won’t even have to think about opening your eyes because you’re too entranced in the moment.”

Her cheekbones lift up when she smiles at him, resting her hand on her palm, elbow resting on her knees. “I didn’t open my eyes because of t—that…” Once again, she’s looking for excuses, blinking rapidly in the process. “I, shit, I can’t believe you saw me make out with someone.”

“Leo.” Kunhang corrects. “Why did Leo make you open your eyes, according to you?”

A sigh leaves her lips. “I guess I wanted to see how he looked like when he kissed me. I don’t know.” She replies, growing raged by her own answer. She drops her hands on her lap, looking down at them.

That’s not unusual. Some people just want to see how the other person looks like, but by the way they kissed each other with so much difference in approach, Kunhang could guess two things. It was one of their first kisses, first and foremost. And, none of them tried to meet at the middle; Leo asking for too much, while she asked for too little.

“Okay, okay!” Kunhang says, lifting his hands in the air. “Let’s say I believe you. What did you feel when you saw him kissing you?”

“Kunhang, really. It’s not that deep—”

“It is,” He finalizes for her. “I’ve known you for years and I’ve never seen you date anyone. Not once. You’re always so secretive about it. I know you’re not the kind to kiss where everyone can see you and you definitely are not the type to go for the most simplistic guy in the entire campus.”

That makes her laugh. “I didn’t meet him at the campus. I met him at my workplace.”

Oh, right. Yukhei always talks about his free yoga classes coupon that she gets him each month as a gift. She’s a receptionist at one of the gyms near the campus. “Fair enough, he’s a gym rat. I can see it. But what did Leo make you feel—?”

“I don’t know, he just looked weird!” Exasperated, she replies, a laugh leaving her after she says those words. “That should be normal. I’m sure it’s not impossible for me to be one of the few people who just don’t like kissing or think the person is cute but when they kiss them, they lose interest entirely. No one looks attractive while kissing someone.”

A thought crosses Kunhang’s head, a memory that he pushes to the back of his brain when his eyes claim each portion of her face with the drag of his pupils. “I think you’re wrong.” He whispers. “You’re always so uptight and proper, so difficult to approach, but you bend to a man’s will when you’re not even attracted to him.”

“He’s okay—”

“Okay is not enough for kissing someone.” Nudging her side with his elbow, he watches her lift her gaze, eyes connecting with her own when he sighs out of his words. “Listen, I know Yukhei should be the one to tell you this but he’s not the best of examples. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean that you have to do things just to do them. You get the benefit of feeling nice when you’re kissing someone, to want more, to not feel like lying to someone just to end a date. That’s not how attraction feels like.”

She shrugs, the night washing her down when she leans back on the stair and stares at the night sky. “What if I never feel like that for someone approachable?”

That takes the words out of his mouth for a second, turning to look at the stars as well. They twinkle, bright and clear, when he says: “I doubt you couldn’t get whoever you want.” He initiates. “Good legs and a nice smile? You’ll get any man you want.”

Deep is the laugh that leaves her lips, twirling her thumbs in between her fingers before whistling. “You’re really good at reading people, you know that?”

“Tell that to my social sciences teacher. I’m failing the class.”

A movement from her has their knees colliding, plastered to his side when she asks: “You’re failing Mr. Sam’s class?”

“He’s impossible.” He says, looking into her eyes and letting his smile fall at the memory of such class.

“Oh, tell that to his four ex-wives. He really is.” She conquers, but she swats her hand in the air soon after. “He’s all talk, though. I got a 98 in his class.”

“How?” Kunhang questions.

As if giving the elixir to a happy life, she quirks an eyebrow. “Just take what the textbooks say and apply it to our society. What you know best. In my case, I did a project about the repercussions of college on stressed students and what the root of societal norms do to craft impossible expectations, correlated to ‘all-or-nothing’ personalities and procrastinators.” The explanation of her project has his head thumping. Well, she is smart, he’ll give her that. Though not smart enough not to go out with a man like flavorless-ass Leo. “Dejun was one of my experiments and yes, his college life makes his very unhappy but that’s far away from the case—”

“What do you think I could do?” He expands his hand on top of his heart. “I truly have no idea.”

Her lips purse as she studies him, thinking for a moment before snapping her fingers together. “A blog.” She says. “Make an anonymous blog where you solve people’s issues, just like you did to me. Read people and tell them your opinion and see what’s the most common issue in selected age groups. For example, most 50-year-olds in your blog expressed issues with divorce and erectile disfunction while most 20-year-olds expressed parental issues and lack of knowledge on what their future holds for them.”

Denial almost slips from his lips, but the more he thinks about it, the more interested he is. Advice from Kunhang had been thrown around in between laughter, mostly shrugged off because he’s just some funny guy trying to take care of his friends, but then, it settles on him. He’s good at reading people, and his advice, while being anonymous, may be even better without the construction of walls of shame and dignity.

Taking her face in between his hands, he places a short peck to her forehead, standing up from the flight of stairs when he shouts out: “That’s brilliant!”

“Thanks.” She chuckles, slower in her movements when moving away from the staircase and next to him through the apartment complex.

“I’m going to tell Dejun so we can start working on the website today and Yukhei has a bunch of followers on Instagram. We can definitely find a proper following and get this going this week—”

Laughing, she adds: “See? Social sciences aren’t so bad after all.”

###

Demographics are insane. Five thousand Instagram followers from Yukhei plus the word spread around the campus in the past three days and now they have over one thousand messages to reply to. All in three motherfucking days.

The website had been coded by Dejun himself, simplistic, with the layout made for people to read the forum but to be unable to comment on what other people say or do. Against hate, of course. The only people who are able to talk are the administrations—Dejun, Yukhei and Kunhang, but even then, when he sees the inbox while standing in Dejun’s bedroom, he feels like throwing up.

“Wow,” Kunhang says, a smile taking over his features as he stands to Dejun’s right, Yukhei taking the spot on the left. “Well, we have to get to working.”

“How exactly are we going to get through over a thousand messages? And counting.” Yukhei says, watching another notification pop up from the corner of the website. “Listen, we can’t solve everyone’s issues…and leaving some outside would give us a bad reputation.”

Always the organizer, Dejun snaps a sheet of paper away from his agenda, clicking on his pen a few times, trying it out on the paper before sighing. “We’ll take turns and we’ll close the inbox by now. Each of us will personally respond to different messages, fifty at a time.” Jotting that down, he scribbles his friend’s names. “Yukhei will take the morning hours, considering that he’s free most mornings. I’ll take the afternoon time because I’m taking care of the kids by that time and Kunhang can take the night shift, respond to fifty messages himself.”

“That’s a lot of work.” Yukhei announces, but Kunhang chuckles.

“And a lot of data. This is a big project.” Kunhang finalizes. “How many days would it take us to get through all the messages?”

“We’d be responding to one hundred and fifty messages per day,” Lost in mathematics, Dejun clicks his pen one last time before hanging the piece of paper on the corner of his computer screen, glued by a bit of tape. “So, it would take us around a week, and that should be it.”

That just means they wouldn’t have to take in that much more data. One week worth of hard work and then, the only thing they would have to do is write down the project.

“Let’s do it, then.” Kunhang announces, looking down at his watch before clicking his tongue. “After I study for my final. See you guys!”

###

“Ugh, I can’t stand him. I really can’t.”

She stops wiping the main counter of the gym to watch Chaeryeong dabbing some sweat from the connection between her hairline and her forehead away with a towel. Her short black hair rests on her toned arms, her tattoo displayed on her left forearm, body cladded in her gym clothes. From the far distance, she sees Dejun rushing through his last set of push-ups before getting out the door, without even saying goodbye to his girlfriend.

Chaeryeong is a trainer here, though that’s not how he met her. They studied together during their first semester, before Chaeryeong decided that studying wasn’t her thing and dropped out completely. In between her family’s judgement and her growing relationship with Dejun, she decided to go that extra mile and start lifting weights. Buff arms and legs accompanied her, paired with her strong features and slim lips.

But what had once been the love story everyone envied now seems to be falling down. Stopping her ministrations, she leans forward on the counter to speak to her more privately. “He was just working out, Chaeryeong, he’s doing his best.”

“But he said he was going to be here two hours and thirty minutes later, he says he has to work on another project!” Chaeryeong whines, gulping down the rest of her water bottle before crushing the plastic in between her palms. Now, that’s anger. “He doesn’t even have time for me anymore and hear me out, girl, I was checking his Instagram the other night as I stayed over in his place and some bitch sent him a DM saying ‘you’re so hot’. I think the fuck not. I have all the right to be mad at him.”

Chaeryeong supports her friends much like she does her weights, but her personality goes from zero to infinity. It’s up to her to calm her friend down, hand extending to rest on top of her calloused hand. “Babe, Dejun loves you. He even gave you a promise ring and all. He’s just been really busy and that’s why he hasn’t been around as much as you want him to. After all, he’s in his sophomore year. We’re all busy around this time.”

Nodding, her friend continues her train of thought: “So, what about the girl?”

That topic is a little bit more difficult to treat, veins popping out of her neck the slightest out of the pressure building inside of her. A red jealousy monster at times…that she is. “He’s nice looking. Was she a senior?”

“Freshman.”

“Even worse,” She spits out, returning to her rubbing against the desk. “Freshmen are excited to finally be in college and they’re a little bit out there. Does he follow her?”

Chaeryeong shakes her head.

“Has he replied?”

Once again, the answer is no.

“Then, why are you worrying?”

“Because he didn’t tell me! I only saw the DM; he didn’t even want to tell me on the first place!” Chaeryeong marks her truth out with every elongation and punctuation of her words. “I appreciate your honesty, but if Dejun even dares cheating on me, I’m out. I’m not here for him to get angry at me when he has been the one who is distant and—”

From the corner of her eye, she sees a familiar figure entering the gym. A white t-shirt clings to every curve of his trained yet slim chest, pale skin plastered in some moles around his neck, thick lips curved into a smile, cheeks as tinted as the pink shorts he wears today. Zhang Leo, who had once asked her out while entering the gym two years ago, slim as ever, and had grown some muscle after a while, perseverant enough to get her out on a date.

Only a few seconds pass by when her knees duck and she’s hidden behind the desk, Chaeryeong stopping on her rambles when she mumbles: “W—What? What happened?”

“Leo is here.”

“Shit, let me cover you.”

Blame it on curiousness and a lonesome night that ended up with her saying yes not to one, but to three dates. Leo had persisted, ridiculously proud of going out with her but still, not daring to speak about himself but what he wanted to do with her instead. It was tiring, barely able to make her heart race past the initial fear of kissing him. Then, came blankness, exasperating dullness that she can’t get rid of, much like she can’t get rid of Leo.

The man moves towards the desk she hides behind of, expanding one hand on top of it as he speaks to Chaeryeong. The first thing he does is call out her name. “Where’s my girl?”

My girl, he says, even though she’s totally sure that’s a noun he uses for plenty of women. “Been throwing up like crazy since last night. She isn’t working today.”

Clinging closer to the desk, she sincerely hopes Leo doesn’t dare look to the left, because he could get a glimpse of her in this immaculate, big gray gym. “That’s weird.” Patting his hand against the desk, he adds: “Tell her to call me, okay? I’ll get tired of her if she keeps running away.”

Though, by the time he has left, she barely hears Chaeryeong’s voice mouthing out a small:

“Asshole.” She says. “Darling, you really don’t have to go out with an asshole like that, you know that? You definitely can get better.”

And that’s the set of words that cling to every corner of her mind for the rest of the evening. Even when she’s walking home after taking the bus, all she can think about is how romance is never fitted for her. Never had she felt love for someone, or the romantic kind, at least. Never had she been swept off her feet other than with a character on the screen. Never had she enjoyed a kiss as much as she did one time, and it wasn’t even a real kiss to begin with.

Her mind wonders—had love been created just to bring hope to people? Or was it misery that cladded the word and made it impossible to find these days? Had the people who had fallen in love in the past, hard and fast, with utmost sincerity, held onto the doubts that cover her every being?

If love was a word everyone understood, why was it so different for everyone?

If everyone was capable of loving, why was it difficult to find someone who loved her how she wanted to be loved?

Why couldn’t she love anyone, on the first place?

Speaking out those thoughts to her friends is the least she wants to do. None of them would find an answer—too entranced in their own issues. She can’t ask them to understand her, when she can’t do it herself. So, with a notification from Yukhei’s Instagram account from one day ago, her finger taps on his story, getting a few seconds to read the ‘swipe up’ message.

The Experience Club, get advice from people who have gone through it all!

Well, it’s worth a try. Besides, none of them would really know it’s her, after all.

Her fingers move with precision on the screen to write down the message on the big white box.

Dear ‘The Experience Club’,

I’ve never fallen in love with anyone and I feel pressured to do it thanks to my age. Though, all I’ve managed to meet are a bunch of dumbasses. I don’t know if it’s a me-issue, making me the type to attract assholes, or if it’s all them.

Should I feel ashamed of not having fallen in love? Or, even better, should I grow used to not feeling entirely attracted to someone because there is not such thing as a middle-half? I know people have flaws, I don’t expect someone to be perfect, but I thought, at least, my partner’s imperfections would suit me and be, somewhat, acceptable.

Maybe, I’m too impatient or selective, I’m not sure.

Please, help someone out.

Sincerely,

Loveless Anon.

###

“Mom, I promise, I’m fine.”

With his phone perched between his slim shoulder and his cheek, his fingertips continue to trail on the keyboard of his half-functioning laptop to finish the essay he should have finished a week ago. A plate of cold noodles settles on the side of his coffee table, back hunched beyond relief as he listens to the faint sound of a Post Malone song in the background.

Fine.

Spectacular.

Kunhang couldn’t be better.

But as he hears his mother shuffling around on the other end of the call, his ears become wary, trying to distinguish the almost imperceptible noise. “I’m sure you can do this and much more, Kunhang.” Dulcet as ever in her tone, she continues as Kunhang resumes his furious tapping. “See, baby, I’m moving your sisters’ degrees away to get that special spot for you in my living room. I want everyone to see my political scientist boy.”

His heart squeezes against his ribcage, stealing his breath away when his phone almost falls off his shoulder. Little does she know he’s halfway through failing a class for the first time, balancing three jobs and still, on the verge of paying another class with Mr. Sam. As if education wasn’t expensive enough.

“You didn’t have to—”

“You’re my boy, of course, I had to.” Stubborn, his mom continues. “You sound tired, Kunhang.”

“I already said I’m fine.” He grumbles, not meaning to sound as annoyed as he does. Truth be told—it’s the annoyance he has at himself. How fucking difficult is it to get over sixty on a test? He does fine on his other classes!

“Two jobs and studying are a lot of things, Kunhang. You used to be brighter.”

Sighing deeply, he puts the last word down on his essay, opening his Gmail and writing down some simplistic greeting before turning his work in. If only his mom knew about the third job…

“Just a bad day, mom.” Rubbing his eyes, he tries not to let his voice break. What about some bad months? Would it be too much to tell her the truth? “I have another project to work in, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to call you until tomorrow night. If you’re up, that is.”

“I’ll stay up for you.”

A smile plasters on his features. There will never be a love as beautiful as the one that comes from a good mother. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” She says. “Unless you’re playing this victim card so your mom doesn’t call you.”

“I could never.” His fingers hover over the mouse before clicking on The Experience Club’s website, the white color almost making his irises burn.

“How’s Yukhei doing?”

Typical guy who earns a spot in moms’ hearts. “I think he’s out with someone right now,” In light of Yukhei’s usual personality. “I haven’t really texted him today, but he’s doing fine.”

A little bit more talking ensues in between his mother and himself until he hears her yawn, loud and clear, barely getting a few words out when she excuses herself to go to bed. Not like he could do such thing, he has fifty letters to go through that he has to answer as soon as possible.

Forty-seven letters later and he has three hours to sleep when he feels his body melting into the seat, eyelids closing before he opens them widely. That jolts him awake, clicking on another letter to read through it.

Loveless Anon.

As he reads through the passages of questions and insecurities, he becomes awfully aware of his own vision of love. One year ago, one would see him tagging along with Yukhei, earning the attention of one or two women, responding to texts and being on social media. Then, came his shortage in salary and he had to add another job to his list. Working at a café was far more difficult than people thought.

Each day, he saw people flirting, he saw relationships blossom, but never had he stopped once and thought love was for him. Sure, he knew one day would come that he’d fall for someone…but he didn’t know how it feels. Great, he has felt comfortable enough in the relationships he has been in, but they have never been the greatest, making him think about the future.

With his mouse hovering over his answer, he starts typing:

Dear Loveless Anon,

Welcome to the Club, first and foremost. Truth be told, this had me thinking for a bit. I think love is something we’re allowed to feel, but we’re not meant to go through it per say. We decide if we want to do it or not, so being selective is never a bad thing.

Do I think it’s humanly impossible for someone to never feel love? Maybe. I think you’re just looking in the wrong place—or, perhaps, that is where you go wrong. You’re looking, you’re not exactly waiting for it and taking your chances.

Here’s a question: Do you look for a shooting star or do you get surprised when it arrives and make a wish?

It’s a one in a lifetime thing. Most people haven’t seen a shooting star, but they have seen planes fly by or starts that twinkle in different lights…and that, in the night sky, looks similar. Not all of us are shooting stars, but we’re shooting stars for someone.

Lighten up! I think you haven’t noticed you don’t have to settle for someone who doesn’t look at you like you’re that one bird that they confused for a shooting star. Flawed, sure, but still beautiful.

Thank you for giving me something to think about.

Sincerely,

H.W.

###

Four years ago.

Dipping French fries in garlic cream is a gift sent from heaven. It’s what distracts her in this awful party with high school students, sporting their best clothing, faces filled with dumb smiles in need of feeling integrated in groups. Instead, she leans against the kitchen counter in the house of one of her classmates, concentrating on the scene that develops on the TV screen, a romantic movie displayed in there as she munches on the snacks everyone has been passing on just to socialize.

With the sound of her name cutting through the music, she turns towards the gray door that leads to the small kitchen. Yukhei is there, brown hair falling on his forehead as he clasps his hands together in front of him. A ridiculous plaid shirt rests on his upper body, tucked inside his skinny jeans when he pleads, in his best whiny tone:

“Can you please stop being a party pooper and come play a game with us?” He questions, and she knows Yukhei does it in good fun. He brought her here on the first place, in his dad’s car, as he begged to have his best friend by his side. Parties are his thing—and with his high school girlfriend tied by his side, he attends them much more often. “Please. I need you to have fun once.”

Truth be told, she’s not as easy going as she should, but she continues to dip another French fry into the cream before bringing it up to her lips and taking it in one bite. “I’m having fun. Titanic is running, the AC here is just perfect and this cream, God, Yukhei, this cream is to die for—”

“You ate it all yourself?” The taller man questions, taking the plate in between his fingers and watching that, indeed, the plate is halfway finished. “Shit, you smell like garlic.” Bringing his index and thumb to his nose, he plucks at his nostrils not to smell the garlic in her, and she has to raise her eyebrows at that.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll just keep my mouth closed.”

Through a nasal tone, her best friend shakes his head. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” She says, blowing air into her rounded palm to feel her breath. Oof, boy, is it a good garlic.

“Because we’re about to play seven minutes in heaven and I want you to have a second chance at a first kiss since your first one sucked.” Fifteen, in the back of a cinema, with someone’s tongue down her throat and buttery fingertips running over her arms. It was horrid, and the thought alone of kissing someone else has her stomach churning. “I won’t pressure you to do it, but if the person you’re selected to go with is attractive to you,” He lets go of his nose, taking in a deep breath before smiling at her. “Go for it. You deserve to have a second try.”

Angel is not an adjective that would go with Yukhei’s name, but he is practical. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to offend anyone by saying no.”

“You’re not.” Yukhei says, swatting his hand in the air. “We’re all okay with it, and if you want to participate, you’re allowed to say no. We changed the rules. It’s consensual seven minutes in heaven. A classic for us.” Tugging at the sleeve of her oversized sweater, he drags her towards one of the bathrooms, rummaging through the glass cabinets until he finds some toothpaste. “But I need you to pour some of this on your finger and brush your teeth the best you can without a brush because I don’t want anyone tasting the garlic in your mouth. Thank you.”

Not enough objecting later and an endless pep-talk from Yukhei, she finds herself on a circle with some of her friends and classmates. Around twenty, to be exact, and the bottle had not landed on her yet. A few rounds pass by, and she’s left sipping on some soda to take the garlic breath away from her mouth—though bettered after half-brushing her teeth—, knees brought up to her chest when the bottle swings and she connects gazes with everyone on the circle.

Gravity makes it choice and when she looks down, the bottle is pointing at her, the other edge signaling towards Wong Kunhang.

Kunhang is not her closest friend, but he is cute. Big dark brown eyes, straight hair falling on the typical hairstyle on his forehead, dressed better than Yukhei in this occasion. A graphic t-shirt with some Star Wars quote and ripped jeans. His lips barely quirk up at the corner of his mouth when he looks up at her, her heart caged against her chest in fear of being denied.

Because Kunhang is a yes for her. She can’t say she would absolutely mind kissing him.

A shiver goes down her spine when Dia, one of the girls on the circle, claps her hands together and points to Kunhang after. “So, Kunhang, are you willing to get locked for seven minutes with your selected partner?”

Okay, this is it. This is the moment she feels like dissipating because one of the cutest guys in her class denies her. Maybe, he’ll stick his tongue out and pretend to vomit, or even worse, he’ll just shake his head and purse his lips, showing his disinterest—

“Yeah, of course.” He shrugs his shoulders, he does do that, but he sounds interested, quirking an eyebrow at her as his eyes twinkle. “Do you want to?”

The question is slow, enough to have her blinking a few times until Yukhei nudges her side with his bony elbow. “A—Ah, yes, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Sweet.” One of the guys says, deep voice following a high-five with Kunhang as the selected guy stands up and extends his hand towards her.

Shaking fingertips wrap around his, nervous beyond what she could explain. Yukhei had talked about this—kisses that were only meant to feel good, but she doesn’t think there should not be a reason for kissing. Clammy palms and tethering figure must have been made noticeable to Kunhang when they open the door to one of the closets, the lights turned off when they lock them inside, chest to chest, coats surrounding them in the cramped room.

With her heart practically racing out of her chest, Kunhang interlocks his fingers with hers, softly, speaking into the thin air: “We don’t have to kiss, you know?” He says, a chuckle following his words. “I’ll settle with a kiss on the cheek if that’s what you want.”

“W—Why do you say that?” She tries to grow accustomed to the dark room, but Kunhang’s eyes are nowhere to be seen in the dark.

“You’re shaking.”

Breathing out softly, she engulfs his palm with some strength. “I’m nervous.”

“Because of me?”

“Because of the kiss.” She mumbles out, feeling one of Kunhang’s hands pulling away from her hold to push her hair away from her shoulder, settling on her jaw softly. “I—I don’t think I enjoy kisses.”

Kunhang stays silent for a few seconds before quirking his head to the side, a confused noise leaving him. “You don’t?”

“They don’t feel good for me.”

“You’ve tried with various people?”

“One guy.”

“Who?”

“Woosung. He graduated last year.” Kunhang must not know him. Woosung was part of the soccer team, while he’s part of the debate club—

“Who the fuck trusts Woosung with a kiss?” He questions, voice levelled to have people believe they’re actually not just talking. “Isn’t that the guy who pees in the bushes instead of going to the bathroom like actual people?”

“He’s lazy.”

“It’s school. You can’t be that lazy.”

That relaxes her enough to chuckle, chest touching with his slim frame in the process. “Maybe, I just made a wrong choice.”

“Not a ‘maybe’. I’m certain.” Kunhang confesses, pushing his body forward the slightest, just one step, but enough to steal her breath away. “…What would you say if I told you I could do better? I mean, you could always compare and it could be a nice experience. You, you know, could consider this your first kiss.” He shrugs, and though she wants to continue talking, her eyes have finally settled to the dark and she sees the outline of his thin lips, too close for her not to notice them, not to want to taste them—

“Why not?”

Those are the two words that gave her the best kiss she’s ever had. Sweet, tranquil, patient, meant to feel good, to be relaxed and dizzying. Her palms extend to end on his waist, breathing in the scent of his perfume mixed with some spices, his hair tickling her face when he decides to deepen the kiss.

Most first kisses with someone are not perfect, but this one feels like it, taking every portion of her soul and claiming it as Kunhang’s. His hands settle on her waist, feeling feminine for once, as if she’s more than just a pair of lips to kiss—he has purpose on this, for them to feel good, connected beyond what anyone could have explained to her.

Wong Kunhang is one damn good kisser, even when he was just seventeen at the time.

And his sense of time is to envy, pulling away with a smile and a sly pop of his lips when he whispers, taking one last peck from her: “We have twenty seconds. I don’t want you to get caught.”

She barely has enough time to fix her hair and the sleeve of her sweater when Dia opens the door of the closet and beams at them.

“How was the kiss?”

Kunhang could have talked about how he dizzied her, made her feel better than any man but he went for the route he knew would be better for her instead.

“Wouldn’t know. We just talked.” Though, she’s not sure anyone believed him, lips rosy when he took his snapback and placed it backwards on his head, taking a seat on the circle once again with a smile on his face.

Dia wraps an arm around her shoulder, gasping at his words. “You just talked over there?”

Looking into her eyes, she finishes the conversation with a whispered: “I think we just needed to catch up.”

But her braincells hadn’t caught up to how insane she felt after kissing Kunhang.

So, that was what a real kiss was.

###

Her ribcage digs into the edge of the counter of the gym, pumped-up hip-hop music blaring from the speakers when she swipes through her phone screen. Worries, all accumulated inside her head, with the need to be voiced out, go from one corner of her brain to the other as she swipes through her screen, refreshing the website that had given her some peace of thought when it came to solitude.

How would Kunhang react had he known the reality of it all? Had he known that H.W had made her feel better? They never had that connection; that thing that she had with Yukhei where she could approach him and endlessly talk about topics with no judgement inside her heart. Not because she feared his words would pierce through her with stigmas, but because the distance between them was based on her attraction towards him. Always relaxed, honest, living a day at a time…seemingly unworried.

So, she continues to talk to him, in hopes to be read, to get a glimmer of his heart and head once again even when the website’s inbox is closed.

I don’t know why I’m writing to you again, or well, I really do.

H.W, have you ever made a mess so big you don’t know how to put the pieces together? Have you ever hidden in hopes of no one seeing you? I’m sure not a lot of people have. Here I am, hiding from the man I don’t want to date while I’m unable to tell him to just fuck off.

See, something you should know about me, apart from loveless, I’m also a coward.

The first thing I thought about was writing something to you. I know this is part of your project and you may not read me again, but whatever, I just need to let this out with someone…

Do you, oh so wise love master, have some list of ways to break things off with someone who you’re not really dating but you don’t want to see anymore because you didn’t want to see them on the first place?

Asking for a friend.

Or, not. Definitely asking for myself.

I’m a mess.

Dearly,

Loveless Anon.

P.S: Should I start calling myself Dumbass Anon? Fits better, IMO.

With that, she shrinks at the sight of Leo entering the establishment, the heels of her palms digging onto the tiles to get away from the main area and into the office at the back, closing the door behind her with a soft swish.

She’s sure of one thing, she doesn’t want to kiss that man again.

###

“What does…?” Plopping the red lollipop from between his lips, Mrs. Ling’s grandson, Lu, swings his feet back and forth while seated on the bench in his grandmother’s garden. Mrs. Ling had married a wealthy man back in her day, when her ninety-year-old bones didn’t creak whenever she walked, hence the family has a wealthy lifestyle. “What does Pikachu turn into once he grows up?”

Lu may be trying to say the word ‘evolve’, and this entire obsession for Pokémon may have come from the constant singing of the theme song towards the plants with the kid around, but with the sun beaming down his features, keeping him reddened under the limelight, Kunhang hums. “That’s be Raichu.”

Pouring water fills the silence around them until Lu pouts out his plump bottom lip, his long dark bowl-cut moving with the wind. The seven-year-old is adorable, he’ll give him that. “But Pikachu never changes in the show…”

Turning around, he stops watering the plants, a smile taking over his features when he says: “Maybe, because he doesn’t want to change.”

“But who wouldn’t want to be a stronger Pikachu?”

That question makes him think back to his website. It’s been a while since he last checked for it, inbox closed and project running, but all he can think about is Loveless Anon. She wanted to be better at love, without realizing there is no bettering what is just meant to happen.

“Strength is not everything, kid.” Kunhang replies, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “Sometimes, all we need is our friends. Or people who want to be by our sides. What’s the point of being better if you can’t be better with your people?”

That has Lu thinking for a few seconds, his Pikachu plushie placed on his lap, his chin resting on its head and Kunhang resumes to watering the plants, twenty minutes left on the clock before he has to rush out of there.

“Are you Raichu or Pikachu?”

That moment, Kunhang wants to laugh. Well, the metaphors are now connected to a kid’s show. “Like, a Feebas. Unique, but no one really gives a…thing about me.”

Lu’s eyes twinkle when he stands up from his spot. “I have a Feebas in my game.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” Lu nods. “It’s cool, like you. I want to be like you when I grow up, HangHang.”

When a plate breaks, the sound perpetrates each portion of a person’s body. It shatters to the point of bringing fear onto someone. Yet, that dulling noise settles inside his ears, confusing him when he sees Lu enter the spacious home and rush up the set of stairs. A kid, a whole rich kid who plays Pokémon a little too much had told him that he wanted to be like him?

Now, that’s one of the best things that has happened to Kunhang in a while.

And maybe, it’s about time he feels proud of what he has done. A website, along with his friends. A project now developed, that doesn’t sound too bad. He’s midway through his career. A good friend, a nice son, an annoying brother…he’s a lot of things, but he never stops and thinks about the change he can make into someone’s life.

That’s how he ends his job a bit early, with ten minutes on the clock as he takes a seat on that bench Lu had taken place on, rummaging through the website to see if Loveless Anon had written something else to him.

Nonetheless, he didn’t expect for her to actually reply to him.

Thus, taking into consideration that the website includes the option of personal replies, he starts writing.

Be honest. That’s the key to life.

You know, I don’t think you’re a dumbass. I have a friend who is just like you. She’s…amazing, but she doesn’t realize it in most occasions. If ever. I think if the guy you’re seeing is an absolute asshole, prepare with all your might, make something grand that sits his ass down in place and have a great time at it (record it if you do embarrass him, I love watching assholes have a hard time).

But hey, if he’s a nice dude, just sit him down and talk about it. Say you don’t feel the way he wants you to feel and move on.

I don’t think being a coward is inherent to us. We can change it, you know?

Or, contract H.W to do it for you. Would love to!

P.S: I really like the name Loveless Anon. It sounds so aesthetic. I can imagine it on Pinterest posts between hearts.

Talk to me sometime, maybe off anon dude,

H.W.

Though, when he lifts his gaze, he hears the sound of someone falling onto the bushes of the garden, he stands up with a frown on his face.

Oh, please don’t tell him he’s about to be part of a robbery—

###

People of the world, jot down the rule number one of living in your notebooks…

Don’t break up with a rich person while being on their car. Don’t break up with a man with an ego so huge it’s bigger than his nonexistent ass. Those are two rules, but with a comma in between, they can be added together.

Leo’s sharp eyes had managed to find her today and with his incessant need to get her out to buy some ice cream for her, a wet kiss pressed to her lips without her desire, she decided it was time. You know, how in movies the side character who is best friends with the real main character opts that enough is enough and they’re going to evolve.

Well, this didn’t go so well.

What she had said, five minutes ago was: “I don’t think we should be seeing each other. Ever. I just…ah, it doesn’t work for me, I guess?”

So, that’s where the pleading started, his plush lips spitting out the truths that he guesses about her—that she was so into their kisses, so devoted to him, so simply head over heels that he couldn’t believe she was spitting out such lies.

“Leo, I’m fucking honest. It’s over.” With her patience running short, her fingers hook around the handle of the door, ready to jump out of the car if necessary. The man is not even looking ahead of the road when he comes to a clear, abrupt stop.

“You’re such a needy little bitch.” Finally, his true colors are shown and she has to lift her eyebrows at the sentence that left his lips. “You think that just because you’re half cute, you get to treat people like shit. It has always been like this—”

“Well, you were the one trying it out with me. You were pushy, Leo.”

“You said yes,” He shrugs, unlocking the doors of his expensive car, an eye-roll following after. “What are you, stupid? Now I have to read between the lines with bitches because there are people like you that don’t know what they want?”

That is the brink of the iceberg, the tip, making her chuckle as she opens the door of the car. “I know what I want,” She starts. “And it has never been you. I dated you because you were all over the place, asking me out.”

“Out of pity.” Leo conquers. “No one wants to date you because you’re fucking impossible to deal with.”

“Okay then! I’m better off not dating if that means not seeing people like you.”

When she closes the door of the car, the swooshing motion of the windows opening has it pulling down. “Get back in the car.”

“I won’t.”

“Get back in the fucking car before I tell everyone just how much of a bitch you are.”

“I don’t care. Not about you, not about your opinion.”

Though, when she hears his wheels whirling and the man moving backwards, she starts running, fearful of what his tainted ego could do. Rocks splattered on the sidewalk may have been enough to make her lose her footing as she looks over her shoulder, someone’s gates digging onto her sternum for the briefest second when she falls, lunching forward and inside a house.

Well, what a way to end things coolly.

Curled leaves fall against her hair, the harshness of a hose plastered against her waist when she lets out a curt sigh. She swears she hears footsteps, but with the sun beaming down on her eyes and the fall corrupting every portion of her muscles, her ears barely make out the noise until someone’s strong fingertips wrap around her arms and bring her up, stomach folded, eyes widening when she sees the person in front of her.

He calls out her name at the same time that she whispers out a tiny: “Kunhang?”

For once, the sun has done him justice, scarlet streaks of embarrassment and heat transcending from his cheeks to his neck when a big smile takes over his features. “You’re trying to rob my employer’s house?”

“God, no.” She shakes her head, her own hands resting on his shoulders to straighten her back and get up as skillfully as she can while hurt from the fall. “No, no, I would never.”

“Then, explain this very inappropriate way of entering someone’s house.” Thus, she knows he is joking around with her, arms folded across his chest when she sighs deeply.

She has written to him under the name of Loveless Anon, maybe because she was scared of saying it out loud—that the only man she has ever enjoyed kissing and hasn’t lost attraction to is him. There, with the fear of being judged for being so fucking easy to read, for him to know that things with Leo weren’t working out, she decides to speak up.

“Leo was following me around with his car after I broke things off with him.” Resting her hands on the depth of her pockets, she shrugs. “Well, or he could have just driving off, but with how angry he was…I thought…”

“What did he tell you?” Through gritted teeth, he hunts for answers, jaw tightened on his hold.

“Called me a bitch. Said something about me being impossible—”

“Oh, of course he would.” Kunhang rolls his eyes, pure exasperation following his scoff when she decides to interrupt him.

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have dated just because, it was bad.”

He quirks an eyebrow at that, before humming softly. “You’ve got a point. I can’t say it wasn’t your fault.” He replies. “But that doesn’t give him a reason to treat you badly, much less make you jump into someone’s house.”

“That was a reflex.”

Placing one hand on top of her head, Kunhang chuckles. “I don’t care. That asshole doesn’t get to treat you like that.” With that, he gives one step away from her, the warmth of him replaced by the sun when he goes pick up his backpack. “Is he out there?”

She knows how tight Kunhang’s schedule is, so she shakes her head. “I doubt he is. I—I will just walk home.”

“I can’t offer you a car ride, but I won’t let you leave on your own. What if he’s out there, all pissed off?” With that, he tosses his helmet towards her, caught through nimble fingers when he gives her a smile. “We’re going on my super bicycle. Batman had his car, I have my bicycle.”

Though the sentence warms her heart, she can’t accept it. “Kunhang, you’re going to run late to work—”

“Consider it a calf workout. I need them to get stronger.” With the way he rests a hand in between her shoulder blades, moving her away from the garden and saying his goodbyes over his shoulder, her mind can already make out his positive answer to taking her home.

“Your legs are fine.”

“You think so?” Kunhang asks, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. “So, the ladies say.”

“Oh, come on.” She nudges his side with her elbow. “Too much time with Yukhei is making you go all Casanova.”

“Please. I’m not in Yukhei’s level.”

“Thank God.”

In a cramped little bicycle with the world swishing around them, her arms wrap around his taut waist, her head lulled against his back when she takes in the scent of him, the spice that she may never forget, relishing on his softness and the way he never stops talking, sometimes in a deeper voice when he doesn’t notice. It’s purely him, the guy in the closet with her that one time years ago.

It’s H.W.

It’s not a surprise when guilt washes over her when she gets home, Kunhang not having much time for conversation as he rushes—quite late—to his next job. Upon seeing her apartment complex, she looks down at her phone, seeing a notification from the website he created.

Would he still reply to her if he knew it was her?

###

You know that game people play before graduation, a little bit before prom? Most likely to become president or to get married? Well, Yangyang should’ve won the title ‘most likely to become high on one sip of caffeine but still be goddamn addicted.’

Fits him like a glove.

Fresh coffee beans, Styrofoam cups, wiped tables and soft jazz, Kunhang has learned the art of caffeine against his will. With his eyes half closing, he tries not to pour down the coffee that he is serving Yukhei’s roommate this early in the morning. With his apron digging into his stomach, his hair done a mess and his eyelashes fluttering against his under-eyes, he feels like Yangyang is another kind of specimen. If his guesses are not wrong, Yangyang may have not even slept the entire night.

The balls of his feet make him move back and forth by the time Kunhang turns around, the barista is midway through a yawn when he scribbles a quick heart on top of Yangyang’s coffee and sends it over his way.

“You look horrible,” Yangyang spits out, thankfully the last in line. With relaxation filling his bones, Kunhang rests his elbow on the counter, head lulling to the side while delicately closing his eyes. “Maybe, you should start tidying up. My roomie is about to get here any second.”

With pursed lips and a tired scoff, Kunhang replies: “Why would I give a shit about what Yukhei thinks? He’s seen me this tired since forever.”

But Yangyang is smart, with his cat-like smile, pushed back hair and oversized hoodie, he doesn’t look like a nightmare, but he goddamn right is intuitive and a headache, much more when he spits out her name and has Kunhang straightening his back, looking around the room in suspicion.

“Guilty as charged, I see.”

“T—That doesn’t mean a thing.” Kunhang tries to chuckle, shrugging his shoulders in the process. “I’m just not used…to looking bad…in front of people who are not my closest friends?” His voice sounds like a goddamned question. Fuck, why can’t he simply sound more relaxed?

Truth is, he has one of those bad cases of underthinking. When all he can think about is one person. These past few weeks, he has checked that goddamned website, with the little time he has left, and he has looked forward to talking to Loveless Anon. For, it feels like he is talking to her, and that kind of connection has never come around.

He’s a coward. He kissed her in a closet during the lamest game in the world and he could never ask her out. Partly because he expected her to say something, admit that it was a good kiss and wasn’t like the others, and another part of him was just a tad bit scared. Of the awkwardness, for example, that could come in their friend group and with Yukhei if they just happened to see each other that way and break up.

“So, the myth has it—” Yangyang takes a sip of his drink. “That you two kissed when you were like seventeen.”

Kunhang’s eyes settle on a figure at the far distance, bustling laughter and clapping hands of men making him frown. Isn’t that Leo…? He returns his gaze to Yangyang. “Who told you that?”

“You know, like, that one time last Christmas when we got stuck at the campus and you were, like, drunk off your ass?” Kunhang nods. “I asked you who was a better kisser between two girls you dated and you told me her name, and she wasn’t even in the list.”

“I was drunk.” Kunhang tries to chuckle the matter away.

“So, she wasn’t a good kisser?” Yangyang waves his eyebrows on his forehead, up and down. “Or should I test it myself just so we have a reaction out of you and you finally ask her out? Because you’re hot, she’s hot. Hot plus hot makes hotter.”

The older man shakes his head, pondering if he should go to that goddamned table that included Leo and his friends. He’s not sure if he wants her to see him, so it’s better to simply attend them and get them out of the way. Running his hands over his apron, he walks away from his spot behind the counter.

“That actually makes two hot. Hot plus hot makes two hot, not hotter.”

“Nerd talk doesn’t get the girls, bro.” Yangyang conquers with a wave of his hand.

“Oh, and you’re not kissing her.”

With a scrunched-up face and a faked gag, he nods. “Of course, I won’t. I’ve heard that woman fart, I’m not sure if I see her that way, or any way.”

“You really expect your future partner not to fart in front of you?”

“I expect them to make me fall in love hard enough for me not to care about their stinky farts.”

He laughs, patting Yangyang’s shoulder before speaking. “Listen, Leo is right over there and I hadn’t even noticed. Now, I want you not to let her inside if she gets here. I don’t want her seeing that dude.”

For a second, Yangyang’s brown eyes widen before catching a glimpse of the man by the table before nodding. “You’ve got it. We’re distracting her and making mortadella out of his dick.”

“Not really.” Kunhang spits out, but he points at his friends. “But I like your way of thinking.”

Very rarely does Kunhang feel petrified, in spot, as if the world around him is going miles per minutes and he’s stuck in half a mile. His chest contracts when he gets his notepad out of his pocket, only to hear the obscenities that left Leo’s lips, a smirk forever plastered on his face.

“You should’ve seen her face when I was fucking her.” 

He listens, loud and clear, every little detail that Leo presumably fakes, that boosts his ego and have his friends leaning on the table to hear about him from up close. The man barely looks up from the menu on his hands or stops talking about the ‘little noises she made’—his words, not Kunhang’s—when he recognizes the man in front of him. Barely concealing his grin, he continues speaking.

“She doesn’t look like the type.” One of his friends says, laughing in the most obnoxious of ways as he folds the sleeves of his red t-shirt for the umpteenth time, all in hopes of showing his muscles. “But atta boy, you got to fuck her in less than a month. Congrats.”

Maybe, he should’ve thought rationally. He could lose his job for what he does next…but who is he kidding? This is the rational thing to do. Take the used coffee cup on one of the abandoned tables, pull the back of Leo’s shirt away from his neck and soon after, pour the entirety of the sipped on, cold, perhaps rancid coffee down his shirt to hear him gasp and pull away from the table with a harsh tug.

There is goes.

Revenge and karma are fucking dating, and for a reason.

“Oh no. No. No. No.” He swears he hears Yangyang saying when he gets closer, but Leo, with his taller height, has already grasped the front of Kunhang’s shirt, breathing a little too closely.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Cooling you off.” Kunhang replies, quirking one of his eyebrows in the process. “You were getting a little horny out of your spank-bank imagination, so I needed to stop your shit.”

Before Leo could push him backwards, his fist goes forward, knocking him on his sculpted abdomen before pulling away. “Is this what this shit is about?” He questions, though when he lifts his hand to hit Kunhang, he swats it away with ease. Too much muscle, not a lot of strength. “You’re angry I fucked your friend?”

Yangyang takes this moment to butt in. “I’m not the type to fight but you definitely didn’t fuck her.”

“You were there?”

“I know you didn’t.” Kunhang replies for Yangyang, though it’s more of a prayer. If this man ever dared lay a finger on her, he’s going to lose his mind. Maybe, because someone like him shouldn’t have kissed her on the first place. “Man, everyone who saw you with her could tell that she wasn’t really into you. Get over it.”

A punch lays on Kunhang’s cheekbone, burning bright and hurting the slightest, his hand coming to the side to cradle the pained skin. “What do you fucking know?”

With the doors of the café opening and some customers still gaping at them, he hears the sound of someone getting closer, a low voice adding:

“Now I know enough.” And from the way she speaks, Kunhang could only curse at himself for what she saw. A beanie rests on her head, her face stoic, the rest of her clothing comfortable and ready for a coffee meeting with her roommate, but that had to be ruined by this asshole. “You didn’t fuck me, and I’m so thankful I decided not to do anything else with you. So, you can talk all the shit you want about me, I don’t care. Tell everyone about what we didn’t do or create a fucking story, but don’t you dare lay a hand on him again, you get me?”

Shivering from the cold brewed coffee on his back, Leo says: “You are insane!”

“Well, yeah, now you know my second name.”

“Out.” Kunhang says, pointing at the door, skin tainted on his cheekbone, hurting like a madman. Maybe, he spoke about Leo’s strength quite too soon. “Out of my establishment right now.”

“Whatever.” Leo spits out, picking up his backpack before pointing with his chin towards the door. “Let’s go, boys.”

By the time the doors open and close behind the group of men, wheels of his car whirling at his high speed, he hears Yangyang clapping his hands once before saying, in the softest tone:

“Who would’ve thought dumbass Wong Kunhang had it in him to be badass?”

Scoffing, she turns to look at Kunhang, sitting him down where Leo had taken place on pink leather accompanied by a white table before inspecting his face with soft fingertips. He really tries his hardest not to concentrate on her face, her tainted lips and sweet eyes when she studies his features.

“That’s not badass. That’s stupid.” She conquers, opening her bag and getting a cloth out before talking to Yangyang. “Bring me some water. It must be killing him—”

Saluting her, Yangyang hums. “On it.”

“It wasn’t stupid.” Kunhang hisses when she digs her fingers onto his cheekbones, palping around. “That asshole was lying about you and I couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry, but with how much it takes you to trust someone and how much you pressured yourself to like him, I didn’t think it was fair for him to treat you as if you were a toy. I don’t think it’s okay.”

Silence falls upon her, only opening her lips when Yangyang brings her a bottle of water. Somehow, the youngest understands to get away from the situation, not the annoying one by the time she pours some water on the cloth and presses it to Kunhang’s bruised skin.

“Did you believe him?”

Kunhang shakes his head. “No.” He denies softly, hissing at the pain. “But even if you had done something with him, that doesn’t give him the benefit to talk about it as if it wasn’t something you two did. As if most people don’t get involved in shit like that. No one cares—”

A little smile tugs at the corner of her lips, pushed away by her worry. “And the coffee stain?”

“I poured coffee on him.”

“Why?”

“He was talking on detail and hearing all those guys thirst over you in that light. I don’t know…” Kunhang looks over to the side, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Not that I hope no one feels attracted to you, I know a lot of people do. I sure hope you get, at least, twenty guys in your DM’s every time you post a picture because it’s the hype you deserve…but I don’t want, you know…”

“You don’t want what?”

“I don’t want you to date just whoever.” Kunhang finalizes, raising his hands in the air. “But it’s not my call and I have to accept it, because I want your utmost happiness above all…but come on? A gym rat that talks about sex and hitting it from the back even if you were absolutely repulsed to kiss him? You can do so much better—”

The moment she wraps her arms around him, he doesn’t expect it. Truth is, every action of her being tugs at his heart strings in ways that he can’t understand. The warm nature of her hug when she rests her chin on his shoulder and rests her hands on his back has his own arm coming upwards, engulfing her and resting his fingertips on her head.

“You’re not meant to be my knight in shining armor, you know?”

“I don’t mean to be that.” Kunhang whispers, pulling away to tenderly trail his gaze over her face. “I know you can take care of yourself perfectly fine. Jump into some old lady’s house on the way, too.”

“…You’re such a fool.” Rolling her eyes, she lets her thumb trail over his cheekbone. “And a cute fool, but now you look like Prince Charming after getting on the boxing ring with Canelo Alvarez.”

“I stopped listening after cute.” Batting his eyelashes, Kunhang stands up at that moment. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to continue working. May I know, our beloved customer, what your coffee order for today is?”

Fixing the hoodie over her head, she pouts out her lips when saying: “Cinnamon coffee, please? And one for you, too. You look exhausted.”

Someone please put a wall up before she gets to his much-too-busy life and heart.

### 

The world falls from her eyes, tired beyond what she could express, entering her last year of her psychology major and still, feeling unprepared. Maybe, that’s the endless minds of adults—losing confidence with each step they give into forever. Her fingers rake through her hair with the light of Yukhei’s laptop casting over her face as she reads through the last version of his shared project with Kunhang.

And maybe, in this room, she feels a bit guilty—divided in a way that she can’t quite explain. She’s not doing anything wrong, but connecting with Kunhang only through a website makes her feel ridiculous. Maybe, here where she is sitting, reading the conclusions, she starts to think there would have been no way for Kunhang to talk to her had it not been under a pseudonym and somehow, it’s the harshest pill to swallow.

Closing her eyes tightly, she taps her finger against the last sentence of the document before humming. “Proud of you, giant.” She says, voice as dulcet as it can be when treating with her roommate, turning to him with a faint smile on her features. Yukhei rests against the doorframe of her room, sporting some plaid pajamas and his blonde hair done a mess. “It’s good. You took the corrections I gave you and wrote a nice project, and the conclusions are great—”

“Did you read Kunhang’s?” He questions, her grin faltering the slightest.

She did, indeed. While Yukhei had concentrated on issues according to unemployment and how it affected people’s social lives, Kunhang had gone straight for love and how pressuring it feels for young adults to find the love of their lives.

Maybe, Loveless Anon had something to do with that.

“I read the entire project. Can’t wait for you guys to get the best grade.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, dummy.” Yukhei gets closer to her, kneeling in front of her computer seat before tugging at the edge and pulling her away from the desk. He needs her utmost attention, as it seems. “You want me to believe, me Wong Yukhei, that you’re not that Loveless Anon that Kunhang has been talking to for the past two months ago?”

Trying to look for an answer, she comes with the smallest one, barely let out through her half-parted lips. “So, what about it?”

Yukhei widens his eyes at that. “Oh shit, I was right.”

Well, there goes Yukhei guessing and doing it right for once. “…You were guessing.”

“And, I guessed right. I am really not as dumb as people think I am.” Yukhei chuckles at his own words, patting his hand against her knee. “So, when are you going to confess it all to him? Like, in one of those coming-of-age movies that we see or in those Hong Kong romance movies where—”

“Never.”

“What?”

Perhaps, Yukhei thinks of this as a movie. That romances in college last, or that either of them has the time to actually date each other. Not only that, but her own cowardly nature that had preferred to write under an anon name rather than talk to him in the way they did two months ago.

She once learned probabilities, she really did—and while she can read people, she can read situations even better. Kunhang and herself are not probable; they are not a match made in heaven and neither can they be friends. Not after that kiss. Not because they have a friend in common, Yukhei in this case, that would be absolutely devastated if he lost one or the other.

“Listen, it’s going to be weird because…I don’t know, I guess the letters feel a bit obvious about me flirting with him and—”

“And, so what?” Yukhei questions, his hands coming up to his hair when he stands up to pace back and forth. “Throughout the entirety of these two months, you’ve questioned yourself for never being attracted enough to a guy, for never wanting a guy as much as they want you but now, for the first time in years, you are interested in a guy whom you’ve kissed and you’d kiss again. Shit, why the hell aren’t you telling him and testing the waters?!”

“It isn’t that easy.” Closing the Word document with Yukhei’s project, she turns to look through the PDF book she should be reading for a class. “What if he’s not interested?”

“Oh, trust me. Kunhang thinks you’re hot.”

“That isn’t enough, Yukhei.” Though, heat fills her face once she rests her palm on her cheek, trying to hide away from her best friend. “What if he doesn’t want the same thing I do?”

“Then, you can say you tried.”

For a moment, those words repeat inside her head, with the memories—though definitely in group of friends—in between the two and the smiles shared, but she shakes her head before she can think of it any further.

“Thanks for the concern, Yukhei, but I’d rather pluck all of my eyelashes out than go through the embarrassment of being rejected by Kunhang. Bye.”

“He’s not going to reject you.” He tries to reason. “But if he did, then he’s the one losing you. Not you losing him.”

Even through it all, the hardships of college, the stress of adulthood, she can say she has someone taking care of her.

“I said bye, giant.”

“I’m not—”

“I’ll delete your Word document with your entire project if you don’t leave, Yukhei.” She adds, with humor in her tone. “And I know you don’t back your shit up.”

When he opens the door to leave, she hears a faint whisper leaving his deep voice: “You’re evil, woman.”

###

The air around his lungs feels less constricting when seated on that table in his social science class, grasping his last test in between his fingers, his project revised and approved by the professor, ending up on second place in the entire class.

This is the grade that could make him pass.

Or, alternatively, that could mean more money for university.

Kunhang has always prided on the fact that he’s confident, but with shaky fingertips and weaving eyes, he doesn’t know what to think about. Dejun’s face has softened sufficiently, meaning he has done well and of course, star of the class—somehow—Wong Yukhei is not worried.

“Come on, man.” Yukhei pats his hand against the back of his head, harsher than intended. “It’ll be fine. You’ve stupid like crazy.”

And that’s what scares him. For the first time, Kunhang has put his all and a bit more, waiting for the best outcome, but by the way his stomach twists and turns, his mind lightweight, it’s impossible for him to pass this class. No matter how hard he works, Mr. Sam wouldn’t be nice enough to grade him properly.

“Yeah, I guess.” Kunhang mumbles, turning the page around until it meets his gaze, like a glass of cold water falling on his face and awakening him. The most beautiful moments of life are not those who are perfect, but when his head felt like it was underwater and he managed to rise again.

Eighty.

Kunhang got an eighty in his last test.

“I fucking passed!” The smile on his face reads a thousand shades of sunshine when he plasters the exam down on the desk and brings his hands up his features, upwards towards the strands of his brown hair.

He can breathe again.

###

From: Min Chaeryeong.

Come pick me up at Dejun’s place.

Just broke up with him.

That asshole.

Never again, girl. Never again.

Romance movies paint it so beautifully. There’s a beginning, a limitation, a resolution and an end—well, a prolongated end in the form of happily ever after. What they never expect is for the secondary character to be rushing through the streets in order to get to Dejun’s place, looking for her best friend who had been on a long relationship only for it to end in an abrupt night of July, with a text that worries her to bits and pieces.

Her hair swishes with the movement of her hands opening the entrance door, greeting some of the students in the apartment complex before going up the set of stairs. Sneakers clanking against the tiles after coming from her workplace, her stomach roars in hunger and yet, she can only worry about Chaeryeong. Would she be crying endlessly? She knows, better than anyone, that Chaeryeong and Dejun love each other, or used to, at the very least…but if they can’t work together, then so be it.

She pulls the hood of her white sweater off her head, knocking on Dejun’s door a few times only to come up with silence. Her ear presses to the orange wood, wanting to listen to, at least, the whisper of the aftereffects of a fight, but it’s silent. Could they have gone somewhere else?

Her phone slips out of her pocket when she writes back.

To: Min Chaeryeong.

Chae, I’m here.

Where are you?

What happened?

Open the door.

From: Min Chaeryeong.

It’s open.

I’m in the closet with Dejun.

Come pick me up before I slice his nuts in half.

Okay, now that is a sign for her to open the door as quickly as she can.

The handle slides from her fingertips quickly, managing to take off her shoes in a swift motion before walking through the elongated hallway. None of Dejun’s roommates are anywhere to be around, not even his dog, Bella, but she does know where the closet can be found. Third door on the right, next to Dejun’s room.

Picking up Chaeryeong after staying over at Dejun’s place had been normal occurrence more than once, after all.

Maybe, it’s the worry for her two friends, the aspiring voice full of ambition that tells her she can save the day, but she opens the door of the closet. Darkened walls and not a single light in sight, the cramped space welcomes her body, door swinging closed behind her until she hears a small whine in a manly voice, a man standing up just when he hears the door closing.

“No!” But by the movement the visitor made—clearly Kunhang, now that she hears his voice—, caused for his chest to be pressed to hers, his left arm extending to stop the door from closing a little too late. Well, Kunhang is here, but—

“Where are Chae and Dejun?”

Kunhang pulls away at that, crossing his arms over his chest, glimmers of sweat dancing across his forehead and temple before sighing. “They’re in the other room, celebrating their anniversary by playing some fucking prank on us but for some reason, they locked me up in here and said you’d come in any second. The handle doesn’t work from the inside.”

“Fuck!” She curses, trying the handle out just when she hears Kunhang plop himself down on the flooring. “Why would they lock us in here?”

This sounds oddly familiar, and by the way Kunhang tugs at the collar of his shirt to wave some air towards himself, they could fry themselves from the heat here. “I have no idea.”

A knock on the door makes her look up, only to hear Dejun’s voice. “Because you two have something to tell each other and—”

“Chaeryeong, Dejun, you either get us out of here or I swear I will kick this door down!” Knowing the reason why she is here doesn’t make her feel any better. All of this just for her to admit that she’s Loveless Anon? Not a chance. She won’t stay here to make a fool of herself or die in the process. “Are you fucking out of your minds?”

“Well, everything with you guys has always started with a closet, so.” Chaeryeong is so dead for doing this to her— “I’ll give you seven minutes. If nothing happens, well, we’ll quit and accept we are just being stupid. If something happens, you’re welcome.”

“Chae!” Banging her fist against the door, she doesn’t hear anything else more than footsteps and the start of a timer, making her sigh deeply.

“Something to tell me?” Kunhang questions, voice low and soft before releasing a scoff. “Okay, you can tell me whatever. I won’t judge you. I just don’t want to suffocate in here because I think I’ve been here for five minutes or so and I’m—”

“I—I don’t know what to tell you!” She replies back, taking a seat next to him on the flooring before crossing her legs. “It’s really nothing. Like, it’s not a big deal.”

Turning to her, face closer than ever, he sighs through his nostrils. “They think it’s a big deal. So, it should be…”

“Listen, it’s…” With the scent of him engulfing her and her heart racing inside her chest, she thinks about how much of a coward she has been. Closed up and pulling away from him, even not saying anything to him that one time they kissed years ago. It was as if it didn’t happen, afraid of the consequences to the point she never tried to understand what that kiss meant. “You know, I’ve always…shit, I don’t know how to say this.”

“Just say it.” Kunhang laughs, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I promise I won’t judge. Unless it’s something really bad.”

What does he consider really bad?

“I’ve been confused for years. I thought that…that I’d never like someone for a long period of time. I guess, I wouldn’t ever be interested in someone for more than a week and it made me feel like the biggest bitch. And not in the good sense,” Turning to look at him, she rakes her eyes over his features. Twinkling eyes, rosy lips and understanding nature. “So, what did I do? I pushed myself away from ever feeling like that and I would’ve been perfectly fine with it had it not been for that one time at that party when I was curious to kiss you. I did, as you can remember.”

Kunhang lets his gaze fall down to her lips, chuckling in the process. Soft. Tender. “I do, of course.”

“And this is bad, really bad, but I compared every kiss after to you and part of me always wondered, as I was kissing other men, if I would only like to be kissed by you or how could I teach someone to kiss me like you did…and I’d feel even worse.” Her voice becomes duller, fluttering eyelashes from endless blinking. “So, that night you told me it wasn’t my fault, I was curious, again. I couldn’t believe that I was still stupid enough to be hung up on you, but I couldn’t talk about this with anyone. Shit, Yukhei is one of your best friends…”

“You really thought of me as your best kiss?” Kunhang questions, pointing with his index finger towards his taut chest. She nods once.

“I really thought I could learn how to come to terms with the fact that romance and kissing isn’t that big of a deal if I just talked to someone like you. You’re so relaxed all the fucking time and…” This time around, her throat contracts, not finding the words to say. Her eyelids close tightly when she breathes out: “I became Loveless Anon, because I wanted to know your opinion about it.”

For one second, Kunhang remains silent, a house of cards that has fallen onto the weight of realization, but then, laughter comes from him, barely audible when he shakes his head.

“I knew you were Loveless Anon.”

She widens her eyes at that, inspecting his impressed features. “You did?”

“The speech was the same as yours. And you only replied at times when I know you weren’t working or studying. It had to be you. Same issues, too.” Who would have thought that Kunhang would have guessed it from the beginning? “I didn’t want to believe it at first…but when I started to reply to you more often, I just knew. Every time I pressed enter on those messages, I thought of you.”

“Holy fuck.” She whispers, covering her face with her hands as sweet laughter leaves her lips. “I was mortified, Kunhang.”

His fingertips wrap around her wrists, uncovering her face when he beams at her face “Why? Why? You shouldn’t have been stressing out about this.” He whispers, cradling both hands in between his. “I should be the one stressing out because I never said anything either—and I really liked that kiss back then, too.”

“You don’t have to say it just because I did.” She laughs, trying to shrug the embarrassment that creeps up on her away. It’s impossible for him to have thought of that kiss in a closet to be something he enjoyed, much more compared with the number of women that were in his life during college after. “It’s okay, really. You’re just a really good kisser and you should know that—”

His arm wraps around her waist, bringing her forward to rest his lips against hers, his chest to hers when he turns to left to peck her lips softly. Delicately. Her eyes are barely closed by the time he pulls away, though from the brief glimpse of light from under the door, she can see that his eyelids have denied her the benefit of looking into his powerful eyes.

What she doesn’t expect is for him to press another softer, longer peck to her lips, her hands melting against his touch and resting on his chest, curling onto his side when she’s the one to pull away this time. Her sweater becomes his axis, curled into his fist when he leans in one last time, a sharp intake of breath following his actions when he deepens the kiss, his free hand resting on her shoulder, caressing the skin over the fabric.

Her own hands end up on his long hair, lips melting against her own, dancing with fervor, necessity, yet not picking up his pace—as if he has all the time in the world and he would rather spend it with her. Her fingertips go lower, to his jawline, burning skin scalding her own, sharp under her touch when he softly breathes against her skin, a sound captured on the back of his throat.

“You’re stupid, you know that?” He says over her lips, making her chuckle before resting another peck on his skin, hiding her face on his neck soon after.

“What a thing to tell a girl after you’ve kissed her.”

“I could’ve been kissing you since way before this, but you had to make things complicated.” His fingers tingle against her skin, even when he’s still holding her waist above the thick hoodie, and when she pulls away, she hears him speak again, timbre low. “Still as good as you remembered it?”

“Just as good.”

“Not better?”

“You’re still very patient. I’ve always liked that.” She grasps his face in between her hands, looking into his eyes. “No one kisses like that anymore.”

“Is this the ‘getting the guy I’m dating’s ego as big as Jupiter’ challenge?”

Her eyebrows frown at his words, his lips dancing along her own once again, spine curved the slightest to join him in the middle before laughter interrupts their kiss. “Since when am I dating someone?”

“Oh, right now.” Kunhang’s confidence, ever-present, becomes apparent when he pats her ribcage. “You can’t just expect a guy not to want to date you, the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a while, when you tell him he’s the best kiss you’ve ever had.” He shrugs. “You owe me four years of dates and kissing.”

“Okay, alright. Fair. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“And we get to kiss on places outside a closet.” Kunhang stipulates. “I’m sweating my ass off.”

“That’s so romantic.” Sarcastically, she adds, only to hear keys dangling outside the closet.

“You guys have talked it out?” Dejun asks from the other side of the door, only to have Kunhang standing up, knocking on the door.

“Yeah.” He says, pressing his forehead to the door. “But you better open this door up before you have a talk with the foot that I’m going to put up your ass.”

“Alright. Talk time is over. Time to let the dogs out.” Dejun tells someone, presumably Chaeryeong, before he opens the door to the closet, not missing out on the way Kunhang wraps his arm around his neck and keeps him locked in place. “Ow!”

“Are you crazy?!”

“You two talked it out! I had to do it!”

“That was the stupidest idea you could have, Dejun.” She adds, crossing her arms across her chest. “You’ve now downgraded to the Dumber position in the trio.”

Or, the methods weren’t just the best…but at least, she can say one thing.

Wong Kunhang is still the best kisser she has gotten the chance to try.

#hendery scenarios #hendery #wayv scenarios #nct scenarios #nct #wayv #writing #wayv fluff #wayv angst #wayv au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct au #college!au #i don't know what else to add fdanjfndaj but i like this!

[gukyi]

the courtship chronicles | ksj

summary: dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

{friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, and emotional hurt/comfort! word count: 20k a/n: big, big, big thanks to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this piece!! i honestly am so happy with this fic and even happier to give my main man kim seokjin the love and attention he deserves!!! this fic is pretty much slow burn from start to finish, so enjoy!

check out the post-script drabble here!

“You’re bringing a plus one, right?” Cynthia demands on the other end of the line, voice frazzled and breaths quick. “You better, because I already factored it into the wedding budget. There will be food meant for a plus one for you which I already paid for so you better bring one. I paid for it already.” She’s running in circles, trying to make her point. It’s clear she’s got an awful lot on her plate as it is. 

“Can’t I just eat their serving myself? You know I’m a growing woman,” you plead. Cynthia and the rest of her bridesmaids have been on your back about bringing a plus one ever since she got engaged. 

“No, you have to bring a plus one. Even if it’s your mom, Y/N, I don’t care,” Cynthia says. She makes to say something else, but then pauses. “Actually, I do care. Can it please be a date? Even like, someone you met off of Hinge. I don’t know. Not your mom. Don’t bring her. That would be only a little weird,” she corrects herself. 

“Weirder than some stranger I met off Hinge?” You ask pointedly. 

“No. At least they’re around your age. I want to see you applying yourself, Y/N!” Cynthia scolds. “Go out there and find a man! Pick him up off of the street if you have to! Anything!” She rallies. “Being single is cool and everything but being in love is just as fulfilling!”

“Of course you would think that, you’re getting married tomorrow,” you tell her, sighing. Can’t she just accept that you aren’t really looking for a relationship right now? And haven’t been looking for one since you graduated college three years ago?

“I love my future husband, thank you very much. We plan on leading a very full and extraordinary life with our fifteen dogs and eighteen geckos.”

“Okay, Miss We Bought A Zoo,” you tease. 

Cynthia laughs. “Pretty soon it’ll be Mrs. We Bought A Zoo, thank you very much!”

You hear a knock on the door, turning to check the kitschy cuckoo clock you had found at a flea market for five dollars for the time. It’s six on the dot.

“I have to go, Cynthia, Seokjin’s here,” you tell her, already making to hang up the phone as you head towards the door, using your shoulder and ear to hold it in place. “We’re making a family dinner for two, tonight.”

“Bring Seokjin! He’ll charm the shit out of my mom, I just know it,” Cynthia tells you. “Bring him! Tell him to clear his fucking calendar for tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cynthia,” you say as you reach out for the doorknob, twisting it to reveal your grinning best friend with a bag full of goodies on the other side. “I have to go.”

“Send Seokjin my love! I don’t even expect a wedding gift from him! His presence is enough!” Cynthia shouts, loud enough for Seokjin to hear everything despite the phone not even being on speaker. You hang up before Cynthia can say anything else to goad Seokjin into accompanying you to her wedding, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

“Sorry, that was—”

“Cynthia?” Seokjin finishes with a grin. You usher him into your apartment, letting him place his bag on your kitchen countertop as he pulls out two wine glasses to get the party started. You sigh, helpless. “Yeah, I figured. She’s getting married tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“She’s uber stressed, if that’s what you mean to say,” you correct, joining him in your kitchen as you start to unpack what he brought, countless tupperware containers filled with vegetables, meats, pastas. There’s even an entire bag of rice. Does Seokjin really think you have no rice in your apartment? Seriously? 

“I can imagine,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “Thank god you and I aren’t getting married anytime soon, right?” With a flourish, he produces a bottle of red wine you had been saving in your fridge for this very occasion, filling up half of each wine glass. 

“I’ll toast to that,” you say, smiling as you hold up your glass. Seokjin swirls the wine around in his own before holding it out. 

“Here’s to not being romantically involved whatsoever!” Seokjin hurrahs, and you laugh at his honesty as your glasses clink together, the sound echoing around your kitchen. “Who says you need to be married to prepare a kickass meal together.”

“You’re in charge of the meat,” you immediately tell him. You’ve never been the biggest fan of handling it. Vegetables are much more your speed. They also don’t get angry at you when you make a mistake cooking them. Besides, Seokjin’s always been the better food mediator between the two of you. 

“Like always,” he teases, giving you a nudge as he pulls the pots and pans from the cupboard beneath the counter and hands you one of the seventeen different cutting boards you have in random places in your kitchen. You don’t know what it is about them, but every single month you find yourself buying a brand new cutting board. They may as well be drugs. “You should really branch out and try cooking beef sometimes. I’ll teach you, hey? So you don’t have to be scared of it.”

“I am not scared of cooking beef,” you tell him sternly, flinching when Seokjin places the meat in the oil-slick pan and it begins to sizzle and pop. 

“If you say so, Y/N,” Seokjin singsongs. “You know, I’d make a pretty good teacher. I reckon I could show you a thing or two about cooking.”

“Okay, Mr. Cooking Is My Passion,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Just because I can’t make a damn filet mignon does not make me a bad cook,” you tell him, “whose soup do you ask for when you’re sick and in bed with a cold? That’s right, mine!” You poke his chest for good measure, making him put his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I concede,” he says with a laugh. “Your soup is delicious.”

“Thank you,” you say, proudly. “How about I make a couple of servings while you cook the meat?”

Seokjin blows a kiss your way. “Y/N, You know just the way to my heart.”

An hour later, you and Seokjin have whipped up an impressive set of dishes, from your homemade vegetable soup to his traditional bulgogi bibimbap, a small bowl of kimchi in the middle of the table accompanied by some sauteed vegetables and a serving of glass noodles. There’s enough to feed a family of four (one of whom could be a ravenous high-school football player) on your table, and yet, you and Seokjin never fail to finish it all. 

Seokjin takes one bite out of his bulgogi bibimbap and moans in delight, tossing his head back as he holds out two thumbs up, chopsticks clanging onto the side of the bowl as he drops them. “Wow,” he says loudly, patting himself on the back. “I’m amazing. Gordon Ramsey wants what I have.”

“There’s no way it’s that good,” you tease, even though it most definitely is that good. Seokjin is, without a doubt, the best chef you have ever met, the best chef whose food you have ever had the pleasure of eating. If he weren’t employed by a publicity company he would almost certainly be the owner of the best restaurant in the city. The New York Times would visit his restaurant and write a five-star review to be published in the paper the next morning. You take a bite of it yourself, chewing it slowly and pretending to ponder its flavor. It’s delicious. It’s never not delicious. “Hmm… it’s alright.”

“‘Alright’?” Seokjin shouts, slandered. “Just ‘alright’?” He slams a fist onto the table in anger. “This is blasphemy! It’s amazing!” Grabbing the knife beside his plate, he holds it under your chin dramatically, glaring into your eyes. “You better retract that statement, or else!”

“Or else what, Mr. Kim?” You say, desperately resisting the urge not to burst into laughter. Seokjin’s not doing much better, lips pursed tight in an effort not to cackle aloud. 

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to eat all of your bulgogi bibimbap for you!” He cries, reaching over with grabby hands to take your plate away from you. 

Just as he suspected, you hold on tight to your plate, refusing to let such good food go into the mouth of someone who has his own plate. It’s then, as you’re playing tug-of-war with your food, that Seokjin finally breaks into chuckles, hiccuping out his laugh as he concedes and lets you eat your food in peace. 

“Just as I suspected, peasant!” He says proudly. “It’s delicious!”

You put a heaping chopstick-ful into your mouth. “It really is, Seokjin. You always do such a great job.”

“I’m honored,” he says, bowing slightly. “Food is what brings people together.” He holds out a piece of kimchi in front of your mouth, and you eat it obligingly. “Speaking of bringing people together, what was Cynthia shouting about on the phone?”

“Oh, just her wedding, you know,” you tell him with a shrug. “The usual. She’s desperate for me to bring a plus one,” you say. Marriage is disillusioning her. She thinks everybody around her should have a love like her own. And while it is a wonderful, fairytale-esque thought, you just aren’t really on the same wavelength. You never have been. “She even factored it into the budget to guilt-trip me into doing it.”

“Why don’t you?” Seokjin asks, downing a spoonful of soup. “Going to a wedding alone can’t be too much fun.”

“I won’t be alone,” you protest. “I’m one of her closest friends. I’ll know a bunch of people there.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have brought someone who, by way of how plus-one’s work, will be obligated to be by your side the entire night. Who are you gonna dance with when Crazy in Love comes on, huh?” Seokjin points out. 

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

“Yeah, but a plus-one would make it more fun! You guys can dougie, or whatever it is the cool kids do these days. Is dabbing still a thing?” He dabs, just to make a point. It’s cringey and awful and hilarious, all at once. 

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself and I’m the only other person here,” you plead. “You and Cynthia are so on my ass about bringing a date, God. I just—I’m not really interested in anybody right now. Dating just isn’t my thing.”

“Has dating ever been your thing, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, even though he clearly knows the answer already. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date since sophomore year of college. Do you even know what dating is, anymore? Love?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s one person who’s a bigger hopeless romantic than Cynthia, it’s Seokjin. The man has an entire bookshelf of romance novels in his bedroom. He waxes poetic about falling in love every other day, about coming home to a significant other, a family, to cook for, to spend time with. He’s been on more Bumble dates in the past year than you can count on both hands and feet. 

“I know what it is,” you defend yourself, “I’m just—I don’t really believe in that, for me. I don’t ever see myself having it. I have friends. My family. That’s good enough. I don’t need romantic love.”

Seokjin scoffs. “What? You mean to tell me you don’t ever want to fall in love? Never ever? Come on, Y/N. Love is great! It makes you feel warm and happy, like one of those giant Costco teddy bears. Those are the material equivalent of love. Haven’t you always wanted a giant Costco teddy bear?”

“When I was five, yeah,” you tell him. “Listen, Seokjin, I get it. Love is great and amazing, I’m just not that interested. You and Cynthia have been trying to get me to go on a date for years and it doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”

“What about dating is unappealing?” Seokjin inquires. He’s determined. And you, the best friend, are weak. 

“I don’t know, having to meet new people, talk about yourself, try to see a future with them. It seems so tiring,” you say, sighing. Seokjin looks positively bewildered, because of course he enjoys dating—he’s so charismatic, charming, and outgoing. Even if a date goes poorly he still ends up with a new friend. “I’m just not that into doing that stuff.”

“Psh,” Seokjin says casually, skeptical. “I bet that if you just gave the whole dating thing a try, you might actually like it. You haven’t gone out on one in so long—maybe it’s different than what you remember. The last time you did it, we were all just college students.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “How exactly do you expect me to ‘give the whole dating thing a try’, then? Last time I checked, I wasn’t particularly interested in anybody.”

Seokjin pauses, pondering for a moment as he taps his chin with his pointer finger. Then, like a smack to the face, it hits him all at once, and in his excitement, he pounds his fist right onto the prongs of the fork by his plate. “Ow, holy shit!” He shouts, excited nonetheless.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” You ask, a little concerned and a lot amused.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, rubbing the side of his palm. “But what I was about to say, is why don’t we go out?”

You sputter, choking on the soup you had just taken a sip of. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we date? It’ll be fun!” He says happily. 

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say. 

He shrugs, carefree. “Yeah, sure we are. But think about it: since we’re already so close, you won’t have to worry about introducing yourself to someone new. You won’t have to go through the whole tell me about yourself thing, we can just jump right into the dating part! It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see what dating is like past the introductions. How about it?” He asks. 

He thinks it’s brilliant. 

You think it’s ludicrous. 

“But, Seokjin, are we actually going to date? Like, be a couple? Because I don’t know if that’s what I was really aiming for with our friendship today,” you say hesitantly. You love Seokjin, sure, but you aren’t in love with Seokjin. You’ve been best friends since college. Won’t it be weird if you suddenly start dating? And doing other couple-y things?

Seokjin waves a hand around like a nonchalant businessman. “No, we won’t actually be boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything,” he promises. “It’ll just be fake. Make believe! Think of it as a dating test-run. What do you say?”

“You sound too enthusiastic for me not to be worried,” you tell him tentatively. He’s like an energetic salesman. It’s a little frightening. There must be some fine print you aren’t looking at. Something that you’re missing. “Are you sure about this? Like, do you want anything in return?”

“Anything in return to help my best friend find love?” He asks, scandalized. “Of course not!”

You frown. 

“Okay,” he gives in, “maybe some more soup. I’m about to visit my mom and she loves it.”

“Why don’t I just come with?” You suggest. Seokjin’s mom is the second-best chef you’ve ever met. Somewhere along the line, Seokjin took what he learned from her and improved it ten-fold. 

“Even better! Mom’s been begging me to bring you around sometime. How about it, do we have a deal?” He asks, holding his hand out. 

You sigh. He’s your best friend, and all he wants in return is for you to visit his mom with him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Sure,” you say, conceding. “Why not?”

Seokjin’s first order of business as your self-appointed brand new not-real boyfriend, is to accompany you to Cynthia’s wedding as your plus-one. He does actually find a wedding gift on such short notice—a fairly new cookbook from which he had memorized the recipes already, so it was no longer of use to him. Because of course, Kim Seokjin is the only person on Earth who memorizes the one hundred recipes in a book just because he wants to. Where does he find the time?

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

Seokjin: Are we wearing matching colors? Seokjin: Or is that too senior prom?

You: As long as you don’t show up wearing white you should be fine

Seokjin: >_> Seokjin: You know that if I wore white the groom would drop everything and marry me instead ;-)

You: Only because of your charm You: I’m wearing pastel pink! I don’t suppose you have anything in your closet to go with that, do you?

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

Seokjin: Oh, Y/N, you don’t even need to ask twice

An hour later, Seokjin pulls up to the curb outside of your apartment complex in his Volkswagen, which is every bit as charismatic as he is, right as you’re scrambling to tug on your most comfortable heels (as if such a thing could exist!), running late, as per usual. The ceremony begins at 5:30 and you and Seokjin were meant to leave for the venue at four. 

It is 4:19. 

Frazzled, you rush around your apartment movie-montage style, tweaking strands of your hair in the mirror in the hallway and nabbing your bottomless bag on the coffee table. It’s not even really summer yet, but your apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s becoming more and more of a curse as the globe slowly warms multiple degrees over the years. The true loser of climate change, rather than the polar bears, the bees, and coastal cities, is you, who thought renting a place with no air conditioning would be just fine. 

Desperate not to open the door to Seokjin with your forehead dripping, you dab off the beads of sweat gathered by your hairline with the skirt of your dress—whatever, you were going to sweat in it at some point—right as you hear the first knock. 

Seokjin’s fashion choices are usually rather conservative. He does work a somewhat menial half-office job, so he can’t roll up to his desk wearing the exceedingly stylish and exceedingly adventurous clothing that Namjoon and Taehyung wear, which, in turn, limits his closet. Lots of plain or argyle sweaters pulled over dress shirts with the collars peeking out, lots of navy jeans, lots of white sneakers and loafers. The only clothing item Seokjin does experiment with is socks, of which he has an impressive collection, ranging anywhere from corgi butts to Santa Claus. 

You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Seokjin said you didn’t need to ask twice after mentioning that you were wearing a pastel pink dress. He does own a couple of pink things, but as far as you’re aware (and you’re pretty aware, considering you’ve been best friends with him since the beginning of college), it amounts mostly to his sock stash and a couple of sweaters, which he most often wears under denim jackets or over dress shirts. 

What you most certainly aren’t expecting when you open the door is to see Seokjin standing on the other side in a full-on suit, a light grey color that complements the peach in his skin tone perfectly. More so, however, you hadn’t at all anticipated for him to be wearing a perfectly-matching pastel pink dress shirt underneath, complemented by a rather obnoxious bow tie with red hairs littered all over it. 

“Wow, okay,” you say, blinking just to make sure that your eyes are working perfectly. “It’s May, why do you look like Valentine’s Day threw up on you?”

Seokjin opens his mouth to send a witty response back to you, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all of the words have fallen from his lips. He swallows, hands fumbling with the bouquet in his hand. “Don’t say that to me like you aren’t also wearing the most Valentine’s Day dress I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a pastel pink midi dress,” you tell him, frowning. “At least I’m not wearing something that has cartoon-y red hearts all over it,” you accuse, pointing to his bow tie. 

Seokjin gasps, offended. “Hey! This is my lucky bow tie. It’s never steered me wrong when it comes to love.”

You scoff. “I don’t think Cynthia and her fiancé need your bow tie’s help today. Have you ever seen someone more in love with another person than they are with each other?”

Seokjin pauses. He sighs a little bit, like there’s something weighing on his mind he refuses to divulge. You won’t press. You may be best friends, but you aren’t mind-readers, and sometimes, there are some secrets that have to be kept even from each other. Yours is that when you guys were juniors in college and Seokjin was running late for class because he was desperate to find the last Pop-Tart in his apartment, you had actually eaten it the night before when he was in the bathroom. 

You wonder what his is. 

“You never know,” he finally says, “we could always use the extra luck, don’t you think?”

You nod, “I suppose. What’s with the flowers? You know you aren’t supposed to bring them to a wedding. They probably have enough flowers as it is.”

As if caught off guard by the flowers held in his very own hand, Seokjin turns his gaze down to look at the bouquet, a collection of baby’s breath, tulips, and carnations. “Oh,” he says, speechless. “Well, I was dropping by the flower shop anyway to bother Hoseok, and he said that they had some leftover stock that nobody wanted because they were a little smaller than the other flowers, so he gave them to me at a discount. They’re for you, I guess.” Like a nervous high schooler going on his very first date, he shoves them towards you, making you step back to avoid getting punched in the chest. 

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do that, Seokjin,” you say happily, pleasantly surprised at the bouquet. Sure, some of them are a little wilted, a little dehydrated, but you get flowers so infrequently (in fact, you don’t think you’ve gotten any since Seokjin sent you one of those singular rose grams during your first Valentine’s Day at college), that the gesture is as good as gold. 

“Eh,” he says, shrugging casually. “I don’t really have anybody else I would want to give them to.”

Gleefully, you take them from his outstretched hand and immediately rush to put them in some sort of vase. You, like the piece of millennial trash that you are, end up using a random empty mason jar you find in one of your kitchen cabinets. 

“What time is it?” Seokjin asks, looking around for a clock. 

“Late, we have to go,” you instantly respond, shooing him out of the door and darting down the stairs because the elevator in your apartment building is about four hundred years old and doesn’t even have a light bulb inside of it. You cram into Seokjin’s tiny white Volkswagen, which just screams hipster-mom-in-her-forties, and he speeds off at a velocity that tiny Volkswagen beetles were not meant to go at. 

Surprisingly enough, you make it to the wedding venue with a few minutes to spare, which you largely attribute to the fact that Seokjin was driving faster than some of the SUVs on the highway on the way over. He isn’t a bad or reckless driver. He’s just a driver with certain priorities that rank higher than the act of driving itself. 

“Ah, the smell of nervousness and love,” Seokjin says as you step out of the car, inhaling dramatically. “Smells like a wedding.”

“Smells like the ceremony is about to begin,” you say, and you both rush over the pebbled path to the entrance, giggling like a bunch of high schoolers as you stumble through the front doors very ungracefully. 

“Wow,” Seokjin says, impressed at the extent of decoration. Cynthia had been raving on and on about how she was aiming to have a sort of romantic, Impressionist art painting vibe to the wedding, lots of pastels, flowers, twinkling lights. “This is very impressive. One hundred out of ten.”

“Cynthia’s been planning this for months, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it,” you say, ushering yourselves into the main wedding hall as the rest of the guests file in from chatting outside as the clock ticks down. There are two seats close to the front that Cynthia’s saved for you and your plus-one, which she most certainly will be very happy to see you have brought with you, in the form of your best friend, Seokjin, of course. 

“Aren’t you excited?” Seokjin whispers as everyone settles down. “Can’t you feel the love in the air?”

“It’s not in my genetics to feel that sort of thing,” you retort back, earning a pout from your best friend in return. 

“Well, it’s in mine, and let me tell you, Y/N, it feels like love!” He exclaims happily. “You should be basking in it.”

“Are you?” You round on him. No point in not practicing what you preach. 

“Always,” Seokjin says, gazing at you happily. He seems so content, in this very moment, about to watch a ceremony that will bond two people together for the rest of their lives, devote themselves to each other, wholly and completely. “I’m always basking in it.”

Then, the officiant steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Seokjin reaches his hand over to grab yours, letting it rest in his palm on his lap, and the ceremony begins. 

Going to weddings as a child, even as an adult to a fairly distant coworker, they’ve always felt so detached from you as a guest. Sure, the ceremonies are wonderful and you’re happy for the newly-married couple, but it’s almost as if you’re watching a movie and instead of being another character, you’re part of the audience. When you leave the wedding venue, when all of the dancing and eating and celebrating is over, you forget all about it, and you move on with your life. 

But knowing the two people standing up at the altar as more than just coworkers, or a distant relative, knowing them as friends, as near family, tints everything in a rosy pink. It’s the most beautiful wedding ceremony you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. It’s humbling and real and unrehearsed, romantic and funny and meaningful all at once. It makes you feel warm inside, truly, truly happy for your friend and for what is to come in the next chapter of her life. 

Crying was pretty much unavoidable. It was mostly on Seokjin’s end—he’s not as close with either of them as you are, but he certainly loves love much more than you do—but some tears were shed on your end, as well. This is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about for years to come, even after you walk out, in the hopes that a constant reminder will prevent it from ever fading from your memory. 

As weddings go, the next part is the best part: free food. You get to your tables and Cynthia’s fancy (and expensive) caterers come whooshing around with bottles of wine and pitchers of water, filling up the glasses on your tables as the wedding party prepares to enter. You’re seated next to some other old friends from college, ones you recognize and ones you don’t, and ones that Seokjin is very happy to start chatting up the moment you take your seats. 

“Are you here together?” One of the men—you think his name is Nathan(?)—asks, pointing to the two of you. 

“No,” you say. 

“Yes,” Seokjin says. 

You both turn to glare at each other as Nathan—no, maybe Noah—furrows his brows, clearly having not received the response he was aiming for. Seokjin makes a bunch of aggressive and dramatic facial gestures to remind you that you two are fucking dating, remember? Even though it’s not actually real, and that was the part you were focusing on. The not real part. 

“We are,” you correct awkwardly, even though Whatshisface seems to have moved on from the topic. “He’s my plus-one.”

“I’m not as tight with the bride as I am with one of her closest friends,” Seokjin says jokingly, even though you’re the only one who laughs. 

“Yeah,” one of the girls chimes in. “You guys were best friends in college.”

“Still are,” you say, grinning. At least you don’t have to lie about that. 

“So cute,” the same girl says romantically. “I wish I could fall in love with my best friend,” she turns to the man she’s with who clearly doesn’t want to be here whatsoever. “You guys must be so happy.”

“It’s not always a walk in the park,” Seokjin warns, and you don’t have time to smack him in the chest and ask him what the hell he means by that, as the officiant taps onto the microphone to begin to announce the entrance of the wedding party. 

As each couple, each bridesmaid and groomsman, walk through the door, you can’t help but wonder why Seokjin said it wasn’t always a walk in the park to be together. Are you that awful to fake date? 

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Cynthia’s father asks, tapping his teaspoon against the wine glass in his hand. “I’d just like to make a toast.” He turns to where Cynthia and her fiancé are seated, and he looks on the verge of tears. “For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen two people love each other so selflessly. When they’re together, they make grey skies turn blue, turn night into day. All I can wish for you both is that you will forever be each other’s best friend, each other’s rock. There is no greater joy in life than to get to spend the entirety of it with your best friend. Congratulations, Cynthia and James. We are so lucky to know you both.”

Everybody begins to clap. 

Everybody, except Seokjin. 

You notice that his hands are resting in his lap, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyes welling up, his smile soft and wistful. 

“You alright?” You ask quietly, giving him a nudge with your shoulder. 

Seokjin looks back at you like you’ve caught him off guard. “Me? Yeah.”

“You’re crying,” you point out. 

He shrugs, blinking to let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I just love that,” he explains. “Love knowing that some of us can be so lucky to spend the rest of our lives with our best friends by our sides.”

 According to the ancient law of weddings, the reception is where all guests are mandated to get out of their seats and boogie-oogie-oogie. At least, that’s what Seokjin says, when the food gets whisked away and the space morphs into a dance floor, tables in the center cleared as the bride goes to change in her mandated second dress, because one just isn’t expensive enough as it is. Seokjin just seems to know everything about weddings. It’s almost as if he’s planned one himself. 

“Just wait until all of the stuffy, traditional dances are over,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as Cynthia and her father share a dance. Seokjin looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat, desperate to get onto the dance floor. “You’ve never seen me dance at a wedding.”

“I’ve never seen you dance at all,” you correct, excluding all of the dabbing he did in 2016 when it was still a cool thing to dab. 

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he says smugly. 

Sure enough, the moment the rest of the guests are invited onto the dance floor to drop it low, Seokjin is the first one out of his chair, and you, the second, begrudgingly dragged to the center by your over-enthusiastic best friend. He’s always been absolutely shameless in everything he does, which makes for high confidence and low embarrassment, two things you are certainly not the strongest in. Which is exactly why you end up side-stepping awkwardly like a geek at senior prom, while he uses every single one of his limbs to express his passion for whatever generic pop song is blasting through the speakers. 

Cynthia’s never been one for niche, hipster music.

“Come on, Y/N, have a little fun!” Seokjin encourages, grabbing onto your wrist and rapidly waving it up and down, making you shake. 

“You can have enough fun for the both of us,” you tell him, still just as aware of everybody else’s opinion of you as you were in high school. Some things really never change. 

“Impossible! Come on!” He says, and you have no idea what dance move he’s about to break into from his positioning, and then you suppose you’ll never know, because the song immediately switches to an acoustic one by Ed Sheeran, which is the most generic type of slow song you could possibly think of. 

“Grab your boys and girls, everyone,” the DJ says, a random white guy who definitely would prefer to make mixtapes in his basement than do this shit. “This one’s for love!”

You don’t even have time to take another step before Seokjin is grabbing your hand with his own and pulling you in close to him. He holds your one hand out and places his other on your waist, and instinctively, you rest your hand on his shoulder. 

When you went to senior prom in high school, your date was this terribly nervous friend of a friend, who asked you because you both didn’t have a real date to go with, and you figured it would be better to go with an acquaintance than nobody at all. And it was sort of fun, because you sat at a table with all of your friends and ate decent senior prom food, and it wasn’t in your stinky high school gymnasium but a fairly nice country club. But when the only slow song of the night came on, thus ensued the most awkward three minutes of your entire high school career. 

This is by no means an exact science, but you figure that the people you are closest to are the people you can slow dance with without it being terrible and awkward and awful. You did it with your parents when you were a little girl in the living room of your family home. You did it with Cynthia at two in the morning one night when she had just gotten dumped by this absolutely rotten boy. 

And now, you’re doing it with Seokjin. And it isn’t terrible or awkward or awful at all. You sway to the soft strums of the guitar and it feels just right. The feeling of his hand in yours, on your waist, of yours on his shoulder. There’s less than a six inches of distance and you feel as close as you have always been. Seokjin feels so natural. He always has, and you know that he always will. There’s no doubt when it comes to him, no regret. 

“Isn’t this nice?” Seokjin asks, grinning at you. 

“Only because it’s with you,” you say back with a smile. Seokjin beams. 

Later, when the slow dance is over and you make your way back to your table so you can watch your best friend make a fool of himself from a distance. Cynthia drops by, blissful. 

“I knew you’d bring Seokjin! He’s charming the pants off of my mom as we speak,” Cynthia says happily. You both crane your neck to see him teaching Cynthia’s mom the floss, outdated as per usual. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you say with a shrug, “who else was I going to bring?”

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Cynthia asks. She looks proud. She deserves it. 

You turn back to look at Seokjin, on the verge of tears of laughter as Cynthia’s mom successfully flosses for the first time. He’s so wonderful. The light of your damn life. “Yeah. He does.”

When the fair comes to town, you don’t find out from posters stapled to utility posts and taped to traffic lights. Nor do you find out from word of mouth, from the two strangers in your favorite (slightly overpriced) coffee shop ahead of you in line. It’s not even your coworkers who mention it to you in passing one day because their eight-year-old has been begging them to go but they can’t because they have a dentist appointment.

It is, because who else would it be, of course, Seokjin, who texts you at 4:18PM on that Saturday and says:

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment to pick you up Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

And it is, in every possible way, the scariest thing you have ever received on your phone. Seokjin’s always been one for spontaneity, but ever since the two of you graduated and stopped feeling the urge to go out to McDonald’s at three in the morning, random activities have become less of a rule and more of an exception. But it’s a Saturday, which means you don’t have to go to work, and it’s near-evening, which means you’ve been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing all day as it is. And it’s May, which means that the sun only sets at seven at night and there is so much to be done in this wonderful weather. 

So, Seokjin’s on his way. 

You spend the next seven minutes (Seokjin lives approximately eight minutes by car from where you live, not that you’re counting, or anything) changing out of the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since you returned from work Friday evening and trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You don’t know where he’s taking you. He could be bringing you to an alley to murder you for your inheritance. He’s definitely on your will, that’s for sure. You want to look nice. 

Seven minutes later, you see his tiny white Volkswagen pull up outside your apartment complex as you’re slipping on some sandals. He hops out of the driver’s seat and scurries into the lobby, which signals to you that he is a man on a mission, and you are simply the best friend who gets roped along for the ride. He knocks on your door thirty seconds after that, and you linger for a few moments so as not to seem like you’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“Let’s go,” Seokjin declares in lieu of a hello. He reaches out to grab onto your wrist, pulling you out of the door as you frantically make sure you have your bag with you, otherwise you’ll be phone-less, key-less, and lip-balm-less. Three equally terrible fates. 

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

“I parked in the no parking fire lane with my blinkers on, which means we have to go right now. We also have to go because I am very excited about where we are going,” Seokjin elaborates, though it does nothing to clarify the situation at hand. Other than the fact that if you don’t get into his car right now, he’s got a ticket to pay. 

“But where are we going?” You ask again, as Seokjin and you scramble down the stairs to make it to his Volkswagen before the security guard in the lobby starts shouting at him for his illegal parking job. 

“The fair!” Seokjin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you see it was in town?”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Oh,” Seokjin says awkwardly. “Well, it is, and I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while—”

“It’s been three days.”

“—and we haven’t gone out on a real date yet, you and me.” Seokjin explains as you get to his car. Luckily, there is no angry security guard nor a ticket underneath his windshield wiper, so you slide into the passenger seat and he drives off. 

“Yes, we have,” you object. “Cynthia’s wedding counts as a real date.” He was literally your plus-one. What more could define the word ‘date’?

Seokjin scrunches his nose up in clear disagreement. “No, it doesn’t,” he argues back. “Cynthia was going to tear your arm off if you didn’t bring me with. That was a date out of obligation.”

“Aren’t all of these dates out of obligation?”

You expect some sort of witty response, but instead, you’re met with silence as Seokjin opens the driver’s side door, the two of you looking over the top of his Volkswagen wordlessly, each waiting for something. 

What? It’s not like you’re wrong. Seokjin is taking you out on dates to get a feel for what a real, blossoming relationship is like. Except this isn’t real, and your relationship is far from blossoming. It’s bloomed, already. Into an irreplaceable friendship. 

“Yeah, well,” Seokjin sputters, for once in his life, speechless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sitting roughly in the driver’s seat as you get into the passenger side, watch as he fumbles to put the keys into the ignition. “Don’t you want to know what a first date is supposed to be like?”

“You don’t have to take me on a fake first date just to spend time with me,” you tell him, the two of you facing forward, staring at the road in front of you as he drives. The radio is playing, some generic alternative rock song that neither of you are familiar enough to warrant turning up the volume for. Seokjin’s always preferred listening to the radio over his own music. Something about ambience while he drives. “We can spend time together wherever. Even if we’re just in my apartment.”

Seokjin’s wonderful and the best and one of the (if not the) greatest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he doesn’t need to do all of this for you. It’s enough for him to text you in the morning to remind you to drink a glass of water before you eat anything to wake your body up. Enough for him to leave leftovers from your dinner nights in your fridge, so you can savor the taste of his food after he’s gone home. Enough for the two of you to be as you used to be, as you always have been and always will be. 

Seokjin scoffs, honking at a driver who sped through a red light. “Those aren’t dates, Y/N,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “They’re just ways that we spend time with each other.”

“So then what makes this a date? What’s the difference?” You demand. Seokjin’s not making any sense. Sure, you aren’t nearly as well-versed in the dating scene as he is, certainly haven’t been on as many as he has, but from your limited knowledge, you’d always thought that what makes a date is not the setting, not the time or location, but the person you spend it with. 

Arguably, that would mean that all of the nights and days you’ve spent with Seokjin could, by that definition, be dates, but that’s obviously not the case. You’ve always just been friends. 

“It’s a date because I say it is,” Seokjin declares. “You wanna know what makes a date? It’s when the two people—or more, depending on how you swing—decide that it is a date. It’s just a label.”

“If it’s just a label, then why are you making such a big deal out of it?” You ask. You know you’re being a bit annoying with all of the questions at this point, but who’s to say you couldn’t have spent the evening curled up in your apartment and called that a date as well? 

“Because,” Seokjin begins, sighing. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. “Because,” he repeats, “if someone really wants to impress you, then they will make a big deal out of it. Because you deserve it.”

Eventually, Seokjin pulls into the giant open field designated for parked cars, and expertly squeezes into this tiny space between two absolutely massive SUVs, likely once filled with five children and two very, very tired parents. Sure, you both only have about six inches of space to shimmy out of his car, but it was a good parking job nonetheless. 

“Get you a boyfriend who can park as well as I can,” Seokjin says, patting himself on the back as you head towards the entrance. 

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have you?” You tease back.

You wait for a cheeky response from Seokjin, turning to look at him when he delivers the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, Seokjin reaches a hand down to grab onto yours, and you walk hand in hand towards the entrance, wordless. He pays, which makes you angry, but he tells you that you can buy a funnel cake for you to share to make up for it, and that’s good enough. 

In movies and books, a fair is a very high-school event for people to attend. Lots of bright flashes of color, loud noises, and junk food, which are three things that society believes deters anyone over the age of nineteen from attending. You can’t name a single piece of pop culture that features two fully-grown adults eating cotton candy and sitting in a ferris wheel carriage. Because the moment you turn twenty, your back starts to permanently ache and noises louder than the sound of your refrigerator making ice give you a headache, of course. 

Seokjin, of course, has never been one to let the media define him. 

He lights up like New Year’s Eve the moment you walk through the gates. Like a child on Christmas day. 

There’s a difference between being immature and being youthful that people often fail to realize, confusing the two, or worse, thinking they’re the same thing. But there are sixteen-year-olds out there who are more mature than middle-aged adults, and there are middle-aged adults who still act like they’re going through puberty. Seokjin was immature when you first met him, the same way all college freshmen are, but over the years lost that mindset while still never parting with the youthful part of himself, the part filled with childlike wonder, with innocence and hopefulness. It has always been part of him. 

When Seokjin looks at the world, he sees it bathed in light, in color. He sees people in their most wonderful form. Sees every day, every moment, as something worth remembering. Sees the future as something worth looking forward to. 

You’ve always envied that about him. Perhaps it’s just in your nature, but you’ve always been jaded, a little cynical. 

A realist and a dreamer. 

And they always say that opposites don’t really attract. 

Here at the fair, Seokjin is more than prepared and willing to have enough fun for the both of you, even as you pull up to one of those impossible-to-win water-squirter games. He’s already pulling out his wallet to hand a couple of bills to the angsty-looking teenager behind the booth. 

“You know that these are totally rigged, right?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Seokjin rubs his hands together with a wide-eyed excitement. 

“Just because they’re rigged doesn’t mean winning is impossible,” Seojin says confidently, taking a seat and gearing up to begin. You stand to the side, arms crossed, waiting to be sufficiently unimpressed. “What are you doing standing there? I paid for both of us.”

Before you know it, Seokjin is pulling you down into the seat next to him as the teen counts down, giving you a very monotonous three seconds before the bell rings and you have to aim weakly-pressurized water into the mouth of a faded plastic clown. 

You’ve never had the best hand-eye coordination. On multiple occasions, Seokjin has tossed you a fruit, a bag of rice, something non-dangerous and relatively large, and on multiple occasions, you fumble to grab it and it eventually ends up on your kitchen floor. It takes you about half of the minute you’re given to blow up the balloon to get your aim straight, and by then, Seokjin’s balloon could eat yours for lunch. 

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Seokjin teases, relishing in his lead. This is embarrassing, and you’re better than this. And yet.

“It’s working against me and you know it!” You defend yourself. Because their unfairness is the reason Seokjin’s about to win and you’re about to lose. 

“How can you say that when I’m doing so well?” Seokjin laughs, and his balloon pops the moment that the sixty-second countdown ends, an underwhelming blare of celebratory music playing through the speakers at the corners of the tent. 

A sad little “Better luck next time!” echoes from the clown in front of you, and you slam your water gun on the table as Seokjin gloats in your face, the teenager coming over to hand Seokjin his prize, looking dead on his feet. 

“What should I get, hmm?” Seokjin asks. 

The selection is pretty weak. A lot of Frozen merchandise, two-dollar stuffed Olafs and capes with Anna and Elsa’s faces on the back. A couple of nondescript stuffed animals, from glittery lizards to pastel teddy bears. What looks like a generic-brand Whoopee cushion. 

“You don’t want a stuffed Olaf?” You ask innocently. The design is a little off, so it looks like Olaf is staring into your soul, Mona Lisa-style. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, pretending to think about it. The poor kid looks like he’s about to faint from boredom, desperate for two fully-grown adults to stop acting like they don’t know what prize to pick from an amusement park booth. “How about the pink teddy bear?”

Very on-brand for him. The teen hands it to Seokjin and the two of you go on your merry way, Seokjin demanding the two of you go to stuff your faces with funnel cake before rounding out the night on the ferris wheel. 

“For you,” Seokjin says, holding the teddy bear out to you as the two of you stand in the surprisingly-long line for funnel cake. 

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as your fingers curl around the fluffy fabric. It’s softer than you thought it would be. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, certain. “To remind you of me.”

You grin, holding the bear close to you. Sure, it’s a little bit kindergarten, like the cute boy on the playground placing a quick kiss on your lips before the teacher calls everybody in after recess ends, but the gesture is more than enough. To know that Seokjin won something, even something as plain and inexpensive as a prize from a fair, and his first and only thought was to give it to you, well, that makes you happy. “I don’t need a bear to be reminded of you,” you muse. Not when there are pieces of your friendship lingering everywhere you walk, from your apartment to your old university to your mind. 

“Can’t hurt to know you’re always thinking about me,” Seokjin says, and it’s not greasy or smug or weird. It’s honest.

You laugh. “When am I not?”

Funnel cake starts with a black t-shirt and the two of you arguing over who’s going to foot the ten dollar bill, much to your dismay. Even though Seokjin had explicitly said that you could pay, since he covered your entrance ticket, he still makes a big deal about doing it himself in front of the poor funnel cake girl, who definitely doesn’t get paid nearly enough to watch two grown adults fight over a ten dollar funnel cake. Eventually, you get your way and successfully hand the girl a ten dollar bill and she hands you a paper plate piled high with funnel cake as you begin to search for an open place to sit. 

“Just because I said that you could pay for the funnel cake doesn’t mean I actually meant it,” Seokjin says with a frown as you scope out a place to sit. At evening’s peak, it’s nearly impossible, which leads the both of you to a curb next to a recycling bin piled high with plastic cups, stained with Coca Cola and Fanta, knees up to your chin as you crouch over a single plate of funnel cake.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Seokjin says with a grin as a burly middle-aged dad steps on Seokjin’s clean white sneakers to throw something away. 

“We’ve been in more cramped quarters before,” you say. One of the many instances that immediately comes to mind is when the two of you were trapped in a closet in a frat house for nearly two hours because two people on the other side were having sex, the entire time. It was a good bonding experience. The two of you got very acquainted with each other’s scents. 

Seokjin’s hasn’t changed. Still sweet, sugary and vanilla from all of the baking he does, and a little bit like raindrops.

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours. 

“You know I don’t mind where we are and what we’re doing when I’m with you,” Seokjin says, and it sounds like a line straight out of a Hallmark movie, cheesy and cliche and rehearsed. But it’s none of those things. Seokjin says it and it’s real. And it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder if you’re ever as true with him as he is with you. 

“Even when we’re sitting on the ground and eating funnel cake next to a recycling bin in a fair filled with messy children and their deadbeat parents?” You ask. 

Seokjin nods, taking an enormous bite of funnel cake. “Yes, even then.”

“True love,” you muse. Very few people would you do this for. Seokjin is one of them. 

Seokjin coughs at the words, his whole body shaking, and the powdered sugar from the piece in his hands goes flying, like a tiny little blizzard, falling onto his skin, his shirt, his lips, and everywhere in between. Snowflakes. 

Funnel cake ends with Seokjin trying to wipe the white dust on the front of his pitch black t-shirt away with a napkin, and only smearing it further into the fabric, cotton turning sticky from the sugar. It looks like a cocaine bust gone wrong. It looks only slightly not-kid-friendly. 

“Am I addicted to cocaine or did I just spill powdered sugar on myself?” Seokjin jokes, much to the horror of a family passing by, the mom giving you and Seokjin an alarmed expression as she picks up the pace. “It was powdered sugar!” Seokjin calls after them, making the two of you laugh. “Or it was cocaine. Whatever you want to believe.”

“You’re too soft to do cocaine,” you tell Seokjin, a very strange sort of compliment. 

“Maybe powdered sugar, though,” Seokjin says with a laugh as you heave yourselves off of the curb, tossing out the paper plate and dusting off your hands, flakes of powdered sugar falling to the ground. “Ferris wheel?”

“Anything you want,” you tell him, letting him lead you towards the ride, lit up like a Christmas tree. 

It’s as if every possible holiday threw up on the damn thing, a jumble of rainbow flights flashing erratically as a generic carnival tune plays in the background, sluggishly moving on its axis. It couldn’t have been built before this century. 

You squeeze into the carriage, clearly built to fit a child and their father at most, let alone two adults who both don’t have a regular exercise schedule. In order to fit, you have to stretch a leg over Seokjin’s lap and lean so that part of your shoulder is against his chest. It’s… cozy. It’s most definitely not the most cramped either of you have ever felt. 

“This is the part where I pretend to yawn and then stretch my arm over you,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if that particular action is a mandatory part of the date.

“Oh, is that proper first-date etiquette?” You tease. 

“Only for me,” Seokjin says, cheeky, and it’s the greasiest thing you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. Even so, you let him fake yawn, melodramatic and totally contrived, feel as his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, hand swinging down over your side. Instinctively, you reach up to grab it with your arm, letting the two of you sit like this as the ferris wheel creaks, slowly moving you upwards. “Aren’t you having the best first date ever?”

“It’s the only one I can remember,” you admit, especially since it’s still in progress. 

“That means it’s the best.” Seokjin grins. 

“And the worst,” you add on, making Seokjin laugh. 

Finally, finally, finally, you reach the top, overlooking the entire fair, lit up in the night in a warm pink and yellow haze. At this hour, only the teenagers are left, families having gone home for the night, and you can hear the cheers even from up here, hear the laughter and jokes and chatter. it’s a sort of ambience you’ve never had the pleasure of listening to before. One of an active night, filled with people, and you, far away enough to be out of the action but close enough to enjoy it nonetheless. 

“Isn’t this nice, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, the two of you looking out into the distance, wishing you could stay like this forever. “When we’re up here, it feels like I can forget about everything and just think about now.” If only you could stay like this forever.

“And what are you thinking about, right now?” You ask, head resting on his shoulders. 

Instinctively, his arm moves from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you into his side, letting you rest your legs on top of his own. Seokjin’s never needed to be more honest than he already is. He says what he means, and he means what he says.

It’s always been so easy when it comes to him. 

He lets out a breath, and you can feel his chest rising beneath your hand on his torso, feel the subtle beat of his heart beneath your fingers. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He rests his head atop yours. “You,” he says.

Seokjin, a man of his word, holds up his end of the deal like he does everything else: honestly and fully. Little has really changed about your relationship dynamic—he still sends you good morning texts and reminds you that you need to drink your eight glasses of water (which you never do, and he consistently does because he’s an organized man with perfect skin). Still randomly comes to your apartment with two brown bags filled with groceries to last you the next two weeks. Still makes time for you.

But now, it’s all being done under the guise of courtship. Of what it’s like to have someone romantically interested in you. 

Of course, Seokjin’s not actually romantically interested in you, but he does a damn good job of pretending to be. For the sake of this whole thing. Seokjin still has one objective in mind: get you to believe in love again, and that all of these things he’s been doing, from taking you to the fair to dancing with you at Cynthia’s wedding, are means to accomplish an end. 

(The stuff in between, the texts, the calls, the visits, those are just part of your routine.)

It feels completely normal and totally unnatural, all at once. Like a new kind of relationship neither of you have really ever delved in before, toeing the line between friendship and this other feeling, one without a name. Seokjin will do something that you and he have always done, long before any of this was in motion, like ordering Indian takeout to your place unprompted, and then he will say that that’s what people are supposed to do when they’re courting someone. As if he is the end-all be-all of chivalry. 

Truth be told, you can’t wait for this to end, for things to go back to the way they were. You never did set an official fake breakup date (if that’s what it’s even called), but you suppose that that means that you can just call it off whenever you’d like. You don’t feel as though anything he’s doing is working. He treats you just the same. What is there to fall in love with, other than familiarity?

But Seokjin’s diligence makes you diligent, too, which is why you’re standing in your kitchen, outnumbered by vegetables (ten to one, which means they could definitely kill you if given the chance—and opposable thumbs), a gigantic pot on your creaky gas stove, boiling soup swirling inside. Even though your kitchen is nowhere near the level of organized and systematic as the Chopped set, it certainly smells like it. Your cooking can hardly compare to Seokjin’s (you roughly chopped vegetables and put them in broth, he makes kimbap for fun), but, like all other aspects of your life, he rubs off on you, one way or another. 

Seokjin seems to think that this transference of his personality will apply to how he feels about love, too. But time can only work so much magic, and ever since freshman year of college, for the seven years you’ve known him, it’s always been like this. 

You let the soup simmer on your stove as you begin to pack up the food scattered on your counter, unsure when next you’re going to use it, especially since your daily meals usually consist of leftovers and, if you’re feeling exotic, stir-fry. It’s then that you hear the knock on your door, and you don’t even need to think before you’re scurrying over to pull it open, revealing Seokjin leaning over to peek happily into your peephole.  

“Look who it is, for a change,” you say sarcastically.

“You mean your favorite human being in the entire world who is about to take you to see his mom and enjoy a nice home-cooked mom meal?” Seokjin corrects obnoxiously, making you laugh as you let him inside. 

“You blackmailed me into this,” you remind him, pointing an accusing metal soup ladle his way. “You convinced me that you’re doing me a favor by treating me like someone you’d want to court, and tricked me into making an enormous pot of soup for your mother!” A lose-lose situation. 

“I am doing you a favor,” Seokjin defends. “Don’t you love having a doting, attractive young professional taking you out to fairs and ordering you take-out? This is what the beginning of a relationship is supposed to look like.” Emphasis on supposed to. “Also, I accompanied you to Cynthia’s wedding after she had been talking your ear off trying to get you to bring a plus-one, so…”

A dirty, dirty play. 

“Fine, you win,” you concede. You did really appreciate him coming, especially so last minute. “I better hear nothing but pure, unadulterated praise coming from your lips when you eat my soup, or else.”

“I would have showered compliments on your soup even if you hadn’t sent me a thinly-veiled threat,” Seokjin says proudly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Perhaps one that confused you a little less. 

You spend the entire car ride to Seokjin’s mom’s house (who lives forty-minutes out of the city) listening to him ramble on about how desperately his mother wants him to get married, settle down and have kids or a dog or two. The two of you still have half of your twenties to go, but the moment he graduated, Seokjin got a steady job and a nice apartment in the city, which immediately equates to marriage material. 

At least, that’s what his mom thinks. 

But those aren’t the sort of things that make Seokjin marriage material. You’ve known him for years. Ever since he first spoke to you, it was immediately obvious he was always the sort of perfect, dreamboat husband material that teenage girls fawn over, that characters in anime fantasize about. 

At the most basic level, Seokjin is goddamn attractive, and even if you’ve seen him in nothing but tighty-whities as a nervous eighteen-year-old, seen him with tomato sauce in his hair, seen him sick with a cold and strep throat, you can’t deny him that. He’d got the sort of looks that make people on the street take photos of him, thinking he’s a celebrity. 

But not only is Seokjin undoubtedly gorgeous, he’s an entire package. He’s an excellent cook, capable of impressing any and all parents, hilarious, charming and charismatic. Professional but never dull. He does his part in group projects, studies for his exams, listens to the music recommendations you give him even if they aren’t his style. The girls he dated in college knew exactly what they were doing when they went out with him. They were attempting to secure their future. It’s a shame none of them stuck, not like you, Elmer’s glue on his skin. 

Seokjin’s mom, the lovely woman she is, is under the impression that Seokjin became husband material when he graduated, got a job and moved to the city. But you know better than anyone—Seokjin’s always been husband material. Now, he’s just old enough that he knows he could be looking for himself. 

When you pull into Seokjin’s mom’s driveway, a little suburban home with a freshly-mowed font lawn and flowers by the mailbox, she’s already opening the front door and scurrying out, still wearing her slippers. 

“Eomma!” Seokjin says happily, getting out of the driver’s seat as she bounds towards him, the two of them wearing the same smiles on their faces. Like mother, like son. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long!” She chides, smacking him slightly. “You have to come and visit me more often. I don’t live that far away from you.”

“I’m busy, Ma,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I have a job.”

“A job and no wife!” She exclaims, though her attitude immediately changes the moment you exit the car, pot of soup still warm in your hands. “Y/N!” 

She rushes over to give you a hug as well, albeit a much more careful one. She looks positively thrilled to see you. Seokjin’s mom has always liked you, even when you were an insufferable eighteen-year-old. They would invite you over for their Chuseok celebrations every year, and sometimes to their New Year’s Eve parties, if you were in the area over winter break. 

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” Seokjin’s mother tells you. She takes the pot from your hands wordlessly, refusing to listen to your protests as she shoos you both inside. 

The house smells of a home-cooked meal, savory and salty and sweet all at once, and you can see several dishes already laid out on the table. It’s both a familiar sight and scent, something you all too frequently experience whenever you barge into Seokjin’s apartment around mealtime. Seokjin immediately joins his mother in the kitchen, scrambling around to help her finish cooking, as you wait awkwardly by the table, easily the most inexperienced of the three of you. 

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks. 

“Yes, I thought to make some to bring tonight,” you say with a smile. Seokjin’s mother beams. 

“Delicious! Seokjinie always tells me how much he loves having it when he’s sick. You take care of him very well,” his mother grins. She places it on the stove, turning on the heat to warm it up. 

“Only because he does the same for me,” you say, sending a grin Seokjin’s way, one he returns instantly. 

The rest of the meal preparation (which doesn’t take long, especially with an extra pair of equally-gifted hands) goes by like this, Seokjin’s mother heaping compliments onto you as you stand there, helpless, watching as the two add the final dishes to the dining table. Seokjin dodges every question about his lack of engagement, always deflecting and shifting the topic to something you’ve done. Maybe this is why he wanted you around…

Finally, when dinner is ready, the three of you sit down, eager to pick up your chopsticks and dive in. 

“Seokjin’s father is away on business,” his mother explains after you note the empty place setting. “He sends his love!”

“I knew I was missing the dad jokes,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head. “Luckily, I can make up for them with my own.”

Seokjin’s mother laughs. “You must get a lot of this, don’t you?” She shoves an extra serving of fish onto your plate, letting it plop on top of the kimchi she had previously spooned onto the dish. “Eat, eat. I made it for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a smile. You’ll probably walk out of this house with a food baby the size of Jupiter. You always do. “And yes, but it’s nice. I like spending time with him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seokjin says dramatically, a hand to his chest. “I was worried about that, for a second.”

“You two have always been inseparable,” his mother comments. “Don’t tell me this is why you haven’t married yet, Seokjin-ah.”

“What do you mean, Ma?” He asks over a mouthful of naengmyeon. “You know that I’m waiting to get married.”

Seokjin’s mother scoffs, shocked. “What? But Y/N’s right here! You two make an excellent couple.”

“Eomma!” Seokjin admonishes, even a little taken aback himself. You had no idea this was the secret plan his mother’s been plotting, all this time. It seems both you and him were just operating under the assumption that she was doing what all mothers do when their children are adults—dreaming out loud for grandchildren. 

“I’m sorry, did I misread something? You two are a couple, aren’t you?” His mother asks, positively bewildered. No wonder she’s been grilling Seokjin so hard about getting married. She had thought he was halfway there, already. 

You open your mouth to correct her, but your mind gets the best of you. Isn’t this what Seokjin wants? For people to think you’re a couple? For the true dating experience—are they, aren’t they? 

“No, Eomma,” Seokjin says, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re just friends.”

Nobody mentions marriage, dating, or love for the rest of the meal. 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom once everyone is finished, Seokjin’s mother shooing you away from the kitchen sink, refusing to let you partake in any sort of clean up as the honorary guest. You’re glad to get away, the tension palpable and thick, looming over your heads, a reminder to all three of you that friends is all you have been, and friends is all you will ever be. Strangely enough, Seokjin had seemed the most disappointed out of all of you, even more so than his mother, whose dreams of grandchildren were crushed before her eyes. 

You wonder why. 

If Seokjin had been so adamant about the two of you calling yourselves a couple at the wedding, then why did he backtrack here? Was it his mother? Was it you? What could have made him change his mind?

As you walk back to the kitchen, you can hear the two of them having a conversation, hushed voices so as not to alert you. You take a step back from the entryway, hiding behind the wall to eavesdrop. 

“You must see the way she looks at you, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says. 

“No, Ma, that doesn’t mean anything,” Seokjin says, voice cold. 

“Yes it does, my boy,” she says. “Can’t you see it? The way she cares for you.”

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Seokjin-ah, please. You’re being stubborn.”

“Eomma, believe me, I know better than anyone else that we’re only ever going to be friends.”

“You don’t see it, then?” His mother’s voice is sad, helpless. “The way she loves you.”

You hear Seokjin suck in a breath, a deep, heavy inhale, weighed down by his thoughts. At that moment, you decide to round the corner, pretending like you haven’t hear a thing. 

“Y/N!” Seokjin’s mother exclaims happily. “Your soup was delicious. You’ll have to come over more often so I can keep having it.”

“I’ll have Seokjin send home a thermos with it,” you joke, lightening the tension you can still feel lingering in the air. 

“Ah, you’re too kind!” She says, sending you a warm smile. Seokjin hasn’t turned around from where he’s facing the sink, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows as he scrubs the dishes clean. “Seokjin-ah, you must remember to bring Y/N more often. I love seeing her.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Seokjin says dutifully. When he finishes, he packs up the leftovers his mother is sending him home with, placing tupperware after tupperware into a plain brown bag. “Y/N, ready to go?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” you say, the words stiff on your tongue. Seokjin seems closed off, bottled up. There’s something he’s not saying, and you can feel it weighing on his tongue. “it was lovely to see you again.”

“Of course!” Seokjin’s mother grins. “You must visit me again soon. I’ll be waiting!”

“Bye, Eomma,” Seokjin says as you head to the front door, pulling on your shoes as he opens the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Remember what I said, alright, Seokjin-ah?” His mother says, pulling him in for a hug. “You mustn't ignore what’s right in front of you.” You can’t help but wonder if maybe, you had overheard something you weren’t supposed to. 

In the car, you ask, “What was your mom talking about? When we were saying goodbye?”

Seokjin shrugs, nonchalant and calm. It’s so plain that it’s uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, nothing.” You hate not knowing what really lingers in his thoughts, rests deep in the pit of his heart. You want nothing more than to reach over and promise him that, no matter what, you’ll always be by his side. “She just wants me to look out for myself.”

Even on this clear night, the moon and stars visible above your heads, your mind (and heart) couldn’t be foggier. 

In your freshman year of college, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 had just been released on DVD, digital, and Blu-ray. Seokjin, the eighteen-year-old genius he was, had brought a projector to school that year, and so, one chilly November weekend, you and him set up in an empty lounge with a perfectly white wall and watched (spoiler alert) Voldemort get Avada Kedavra-ed at one in the morning. 

Ever since, monthly movie nights have been ingrained into your routine, even when Seokjin was in London for a semester in your junior year and you used a shady website so you could stream Netflix movies together. You think, that semester, you watched every Certified Rotten movie on Netflix possible, relishing in being able to joke about how terrible the films you were watching with your best friend. You almost thought you would break your tradition, just because of how difficult it was to organize. 

But still, you persisted. 

Of course, now, in the age of platform subscriptions and renting on YouTube, it’s a lot easier. Seokjin has a subscription to every movie-streaming platform under the sun, which means that by default, so do you. One of the many perks of having Seokjin as your best friend. 

As two mostly-functioning adults in the real world, this is how your movie nights typically go: you will alternate apartments as the designated living room of the weekend, the host is in charge of arranging a pre-show dinner, and the guest is in charge of bringing a bottle of wine as a gift. You eat dinner, drink wine, and watch a movie together, either on the couch, or, in emergencies, in bed. The host always chooses. Three years out of college and running, neither of you have been able to come up with a system more foolproof than this. 

Tonight, it is Seokjin’s turn to host, which you always prefer because he cooks dinner on his own instead of giving up and ordering takeout like you always do, and because his couch and bed are much more comfortable than your own. Not that you frequent his bed. Because you don’t. You just know that from your limited experience, it’s much more comfortable than your own bed. It’s probably his mattress. 

When you arrive at his apartment, his door is already cracked open, resting on the door frame as you can hear him whistling a tune you don’t recognize. Almost like he’s been expecting you, or something. 

“If you leave your door open like this, you’re gonna get robbed,” you announce, forgoing a hello as you barge inside, the apartment smelling of smokiness. “Whoa, what the hell are you cooking? Lava?”

“I accidentally set off the fire alarm,” Seokjin explains, back turned towards you as he bends down to pull something out of the oven. “That’s why the door’s open.”

“Oh, not because you were expecting a guest?” You tease, placing the bottle of wine on the counter as you join him in the kitchen. 

Seokjin turns around to reveal a baking dish with four chicken legs, drenched in a sauce that smells of spice and flavor, charred on the skin. Gourmet restaurants couldn’t even compare. 

“No,” he jokes. “I was gonna eat all of this food and drink this wine by myself.”

“Hey, that is my wine!” You shout, making grabby hands towards the neck of the bottle. Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed, as he dishes up the food, two chicken legs a piece on some luxurious paper plates. “Fine, I guess we can share.”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Seokjin tells you, and you hate it, because it’s true. 

 As you finish up, washing the pots and pans as Seokjin puts away the various bottles of seasoning on his counter, some of which you can’t even name, he asks, “Couch or bed?”

You turn, scandalized, swatting him with a fork lathered with soap, “So forward!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You know I don’t mind where we watch our movie.”

(So long as he’s with you.)

You give the two options not another second worth of thought. You’re in the mood to lounge around on Seokjin’s terribly comfortable mattress tonight. You’ve had a rough past week at work, and sometimes, if you complain enough, Seokjin will massage your shoulders as you watch the movie. 

“Hmm… bed, please!” You say like a child, wrapping up the dishwashing as Seokjin grabs his laptop from the coffee table by the couch. You skip into his bedroom, giddy and only the tiniest bit wine-drunk, Seokjin following like the heavyweight best friend he is. 

Seokjin’s bedroom space has always felt so familiar to you. Plants along the windowsill, shelves with photos of his family, an enormous full-length mirror for gratuitous outfit-of-the-day pictures. Even in college, it felt this warm, this cozy. When you knocked on the wooden door of his dormitory at midnight to go out and get McDonald’s, coming back and gorging out on your McNuggets, it felt like this. 

People always say that your bedroom should be your little sanctuary, a home within a house. But instead of your own bedroom giving you that comfort, it’s Seokjin’s. Here, more so than anywhere else, you feel safe. Warm. Loved. There’s something magical to it. 

“What are we watching?” You ask happily, jumping onto his bed and grabbing the nearest plushie to hold onto. Seokjin plugs his laptop charger into the nearest outlet and sets it up on a couple of pillows for optimal viewing pleasure, the two of you leaning against a mountain of pillows as he pulls up Netflix. 

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, have you heard of it?” Seokjin asks, clicking play on the movie. 

You furrow your brows as you curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Really? I thought you were gonna pick something cool, like Interstellar, or something. Not something my fifteen-year-old cousin loves.”

“First of all, your fifteen-year-old cousin has great taste,” Seokjin tells you, offended. “Secondly, just because this is a teenage romantic comedy doesn’t mean it’s any less cool than Matthew McConaughey in a spacesuit, okay?”

You’re still skeptical. The New York Times gave To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a pretty decent review, but you have long outgrown your teenage coming-of-age romantic-comedy movie phase, even if you still quote Clueless regularly. As you’ve gotten older, your movie nights have transitioned away from young adult books turned into movies and more towards films that people like Lupita Nyong’o star in, movies with sad endings on purpose. So this is very out of character, especially for a movie junkie like Seokjin, who sends you weekly movie reviews of the latest indie divorce drama.

You snuggle in closer, accepting defeat. It is Seokjin’s turn to choose, after all. And you suppose, that after a long week of unforgiving work, you could use this time to unwind, mindlessly watch a movie geared towards high-schoolers instead of analyzing some unknown French historical drama. “Alright then,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

Famous last words. 

You always have a habit of putting your trust into your best friend at the absolute worst times. Example One: In junior year, when he swore that the new salad place on campus was delicious until you got food poisoning from their chicken. Example Two: The summer after you graduated, when he promised you that roller skating was “easy” and “fun”. Example Three: Two months ago, when he blackmailed you into letting him take you out on dates after promising to go with you to Cynthia’s wedding. 

Example Four: Right now, as you’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather, watching two sixteen-year-olds agree to fake date for personal gain. And even though they’re high schoolers, and even though he’s going through with it to get back at an ex-girlfriend and she’s trying to recover from her disastrously-mailed love letters, it feels too similar to be something that Seokjin just happened to stumble upon. 

You turn to look up at Seokjin, the movie a distant hum in the background, hardly at the forefront of your mind, but he doesn’t spare you a second glance. Instead, he pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your torso as his fingers dance across your own, mindless. He doesn’t have a damn thing to say, a rarity in your relationship, letting the movie do the talking. 

I think it’s funny, the boy says as the two main characters sit in this absolutely ancient diner, you say that you’re scared of commitment and relationships, but you don’t seem to be afraid to be with me. 

Well, there’s no reason to be, the girl responds casually. Unbothered. 

Why’s that? He asks. 

She shrugs, nonchalant. Because we’re just pretending. 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tighten, feel his skin pressing against your own, the exposed part of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. It’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you. The mere sensation, one you have felt hundreds, if not thousands of times before, sends shivers down your spine. 

“You cold?” He asks softly, pulling up the blanket that’s crumpled up by your feet, placing it gently over your bodies. 

You couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you. Not when Seokjin’s this close, not when he’s got his arms wrapped around you, not as you feel his soft breaths against your forehead, as he tucks you underneath a blanket. You’re frozen still next to him. You think that even your heart has stopped. 

Dozens of movie nights, but never one like this. Dozens of cuddle sessions, dozens of nights in. But this one feels brand new. 

Seokjin adjusts himself, turning in towards you. You can’t even feel yourself breathing. 

When did this start happening? You ask yourself. Why do your palms feel clammy? Why does his touch leave little embers along your skin? 

Traitorously, your mind responds, a question to a question. 

Hasn’t it always been like this?

Tuesdays have always been your least favorite day, because they’re Monday’s shitty cousin. They’re far enough into the week to have you not complain about it being the beginning of the week, but they’re too soon into the week to warrant any excitement about it ending. At least, when you wake up to go to work on a Monday, you know it’s a Monday. When you wake up to go to work on a Tuesday, you think it’s a Wednesday. Tuesday is the day of the week that wears a mask and tries to make you think it’s something else. 

After the printer jamming, salad dressing getting spilled on your pants, and your coworker losing his cool in the break room and breaking a cabinet door off of its hinges, you think that, when you get called into your boss’s office in the middle of the afternoon, there could be nothing worse for him to tell you. 

Instead, you walk out of his office with a brand new job title and a salary increase to match, positively ecstatic as you bounce all the way to your desk, whipping out your phone to text, well, who else?

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

Seokjin: OMG SERIOUSLY?? Seokjin: CONGRATS YOU DESERVE IT !!!!

You: thank u jinie 8) now i can buy us more expensive wine for our movie nights

Seokjin: :D Seokjin: I’m so proud of you, you’re amazing!

And it’s the sort of text exchange that makes your heart soar, even more so than the promotion itself, because there is truly nothing more fulfilling than sharing your accomplishments with the people closest to you. 

You pack up later than usual that day, sitting at your desk for a little bit longer as you wrap up some emails and reorganize the space, determined to make it suitable for someone who just got a kick-ass raise. You’re leaning underneath your desk to gather your belongings, plopping your phone charger and a couple of nice blue pens into your bag, when you feel a sudden tap on your shoulder, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of you.

“Ow!” You shout as you bang the back of your head on the underside of your desk. Angry and in pain, you turn to face the asshole that’s just given you a bump on your scalp for the next week, only to find your expression lightening the moment you lay eyes on Seokjin, fresh from work with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you say, “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Seokjin jokes, rolling his eyes as he reaches a hand out to help you up. “You alright? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Rubbing the nape of your neck, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m alright. You just caught me by surprise. What’s all this?” You ask as Seokjin reaches his hand towards you, the flowery scent permeating the air around you. The bouquet in his hand is a collection of various pastel-colored flowers, baby’s breath and lilies, carnations and hydrangeas. 

“A congratulations,” Seokjin says in lieu of any other sort of explanation. “You deserve it.”

“You make it sound like I’m pregnant,” you tell him, grabbing your bag as you double-check your desk, making sure you haven’t left anything behind. 

“Oh my God, are you?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you accept the flowers graciously, immediately holding them up to your nose. “No, I’m not, Seokjin. You’d be the first to know. But this is so sweet of you, you didn’t have to come to my work like this.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to pick you up for dinner?” 

Stopping in your tracks, you knit your brows together in confusion. “Dinner?”

“The reservation is at 5:45 so we’re already cutting it close,” Seokjin informs you, offering no explanation. “Come on. I had to pull a few strings to get this, so over my dead body will we arrive late.”

Seokjin reaches down to take your hand in his own, giving you no time to ask any more questions as he tugs you out of your office and into his little white Volkswagen, the scent of the flowers filling the air in between the two of you. 

When Seokjin somehow manages to get a parking spot a block away from the restaurant in question, your mouth practically drops open. 

It’s a cozy Lebanese place, complete with more plants you could ever dream of owning, and an outdoor patio decorated with warm fairy lights, lanterns hanging from strings above your head. It’s been ranked one of the best restaurants in the city for years now, and it is practically impossible to get a table (that is, unless you book a year in advance). 

“Seriously?” You ask, in awe, as Seokjin leads you towards the restaurant, the flowers resting safely on the passenger seat. 

“Of course,” Seokjin says like it’s nothing. “You deserve it.”

You aren’t a moment too late, the hostess happily seating the both of you at a corner table on the outside patio, the evening breeze sending flutters through your napkins as she hands you your menus and the wine list. 

“How did you swing this?” You ask, blown away as Seokjin grins. 

“Well, you know my friend, Yoongi?” He asks. You remember him, having met him a couple of times at Seokjin’s few-and-far-between house gatherings. He’s a dainty man with colorful hair who’s got the biggest alcohol tolerance you’ve ever seen. “He’s a food critic, so I had him do me a favor…”

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” you say. Seokjin probably owes Yoongi his first-born child, now. 

“But I wanted to,” Seokjin says firmly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate something like this with you?”

Seokjin must know, after all of these years, that you aren’t one to make a big deal out of things. That you vastly prefer staying inside, curled up with a good book or an even better best friend, over going out and getting wasted, over eating at a too-expensive restaurant with portions the size of your fingernail, because that’s who you are. And still, he insists, because that’s who he is. Someone who thinks that everybody deserves a little celebration in their lives, a little love from the people closest to them. 

“You’d be my best friend no matter what,” you tell him, because it’s true. Because Seokjin has always been and will always be that person: the one you’ll never second-guess. “Even if you had gone home after work and passed out on your couch, you’d still be my most favorite person.”

Seokjin grins. “I’m your favorite person?”

“Well, other than Yoongi,” you tease. “After all, he did get us this reservation.”

“Can’t believe that I’m second best to a friend you’ve met like, twice,” Seokjin says, mock-offended. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You’ll find a way,” you muse. He always does. It’s incredible—ever since you met Seokjin, you don’t think anyone’s ever quite stacked up to him. Nobody has ever compared. 

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N,” Seokjin says, the two of you clinking your wine glasses together to celebrate your promotion, celebrate the night, celebrate being together. “You deserved that position more than anybody else.”

“You don’t even know half of my coworkers,” you joke. 

“But I know you,” Seokjin reminds you. “And I know that you’re the most hardworking, determined, focused person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you get it.”

“What?” You ask, a hand reaching out over the table to caress his own, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand. “You’re like that, too. You’re honest and real and certain.” They’re traits you’ve always admired about him, things that you wish you could be but know that you’ll never compare to him. 

“No,” Seokjin says, with a shake of his head. “I’m really not. I wish, though.”

Seokjin’s the truest person you know. What secret could he be keeping? Why hasn’t he told you? Doesn’t he know that you’d care for him, stay by his side no matter what? Not a damn thing in the world could ever make you leave him. 

Your waiter comes around to take your order, and you and Seokjin order a variety of appetizers that you fully intend on sharing with each other. You’ve never really been able to keep to your own plates. There is something so genuinely wonderful about sharing. Afterwards, Seokjin launches into this hilarious story about some old college friends that he had recently heard back from, ones that you’d met once or twice during university but never cemented a real friendship with, unlike Seokjin. 

Quite honestly, you couldn’t care less for them or what they’re doing, but Seokjin is so animated, so vivacious and excited to be telling you about them, that his words are music to your ears. Nothing makes you quite as happy as Seokjin when he smiles, when he laughs, when he’s fucking effervescent. His joy brings you joy, and you suppose that that’s really what it means to care for someone. To love them. When even something as simple as being in their presence makes your heart feel lighter. 

In the evening light, illuminated by the warm flame of the lanterns littering the sky above you, the fairy lights along the fence that encloses the patio, the house lights from the building next door, Seokjin glows. The way his body bounces as he speaks makes it look like a yellow halo surrounds him, his gold jewelry glinting when it catches the light, shimmering. He looks straight out of a movie, straight off of a red carpet, warm brown eyes and an honest smile to match, charismatic and golden and real. 

The craziest part is that he’s always looked like this. Always outshined everybody, no matter his surroundings. Every day, you wonder how on Earth you could have gotten so lucky to have been able to meet him. How blessed you are to be his best friend. How fortunate you are to love him. 

When your meal arrives, the two of you take a break from laughing aloud in this ambient, cozy restaurant, likely bothering all of the people within a twenty-feet radius of your table, and dig in, only emitting the occasional groan of pleasure. It’s no wonder this restaurant has been ranked the best in the city for years on end. Every bite explodes on your tongue, decorates your taste buds. You won’t be surprised if, next time you go over, Seokjin’s recreating every dish you have tonight. He’s always had a knack for it, anyway. 

“You know,” he says over a mouthful of zucchini, “you’re my favorite person, too.”

Normally you’d say something cheesy and dramatic, something along the lines of a sarcastic I’m touched or even a self-deprecating At least I’m number one at something, but instead, you smile softly to yourself. You always knew you and Seokjin were entwined with each other, but it makes your heart flutter to hear him say it for himself. 

“I know,” you murmur. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t know, I just—” Seokjin begins, pausing. It’s not the sort of stop where he’s trying to figure out what words to say. He already knows. He’s just waiting to see if they’re the right ones. “You know, it’s always been you, Y/N. A lot of my life has always been uncertain, but you—you’re the only thing I’m always sure of.”

Afterwards, Seokjin walks you to the door of your apartment, the two of you lingering in the doorway, him refusing to leave and you refusing to say goodbye. 

“Don’t forget these,” Seokjin says, handing you the brown paper bag filled with your leftovers, various to-go boxes filled with treats. 

“What? I thought you wanted them,” you say, eyes wide. “Don’t you want them as reference for a recipe?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin tells you with a shake of his head. “I’ll remember.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask. Seokjin nods, certain. He’s got a steely expression to him, one filled with determination. There’s something he’s not saying, and you’re almost positive it’ll come out tonight. Maybe he knows that you ate that Pop-Tart in junior year. Maybe he’s about to get his revenge. To protect yourself, you smile, telling him, “I had a really nice time tonight, Seokjin. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Seokjin repeats. He need offer no other explanation. “Any excuse to spend time with you, I’ll take.”

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?” 

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own. 

They’re swirling in ink. 

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you. 

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air. 

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips. 

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him. 

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever. 

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether. 

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry. 

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run. 

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life. 

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon. 

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is. 

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you. 

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself. 

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out. 

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you. 

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do? 

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him. 

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity. 

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe. 

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up. 

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along. 

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be. 

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be. 

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse. 

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity. 

Well, look at him now. 

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t. 

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint. 

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled. 

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other. 

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space. 

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life. 

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment. 

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance. 

“Long time no see,” you tell him. 

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something. 

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment. 

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show. 

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you. 

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last. 

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

It’s high time you were honest, too. 

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be. 

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for. 

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