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wonderlustlucas · 4 years

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four - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt They say good things come in fours. Who? Couldn’t tell you, but they especially do during Christmas. Maybe that’s just Saint Nick. ⇢ pairing hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 11.7k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings swearing. mentions of alcohol & s e x. teenagerz being teenagerz. insane amount of fluff & stupidity. kind of ends w a smutty cliffhanger. ⇢ summary After suppressing how you felt about Hyunjin back in high school, you thought you were done going back on your feelings. Turns out, a little time apart, the spirit of Christmas, and an accidental nap is the perfect cocktail for falling in love with your best friend.—friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n hello & merry christmas! here is a gift for you all on this very merry day. also, thank you for 1,000 followers! that in itself is one of the best presents i could ask for. thank you for all your kindness & support on my blog & for following me in the first place! it truly means so much to me. i hope you enjoy reading! ♥︎

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Sorry! I just woke up

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Whats wrong fool

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Did u rlly think 12 texts were gonna wake me up?🤦🏻‍♂️ godt damn u on some WACK shit

You roll your eyes in time with each consecutive text that Hyunjin sends, waiting for the lock screen of your phone to blacken after reading them. He’s about as useless as pedals on a wheelchair, you think, ignoring the texts and forcing the device into the snug back pocket of your jeans before transferring the last two excessively packed grocery bags into the trunk of your car with an exhausted huff. Christ, if the bagging lady put one more item in those bags, she would be the one to blame for six cans of soup rolling about the parking lot.

The license plate rattles when you slam the trunk lid closed before hurrying around to the driver’s side and anxiously hopping inside to start blasting the heat. It is obnoxiously chilly for the first of September. Well, not really. Your body is just beginning to get used to the ungodly wrath of summer’s sweltering heat leaving you in a constant state of sweat and nausea for the past three months. Not that you’re complaining, of course. You nearly did somersaults of joy when the morning news reported a temperature of sixty-one degrees with some wind gusts and welcomed the beginning signs of autumn with open arms.

You would never admit to Mom who told yo uon the way out to change out of a tank top or at least wear a jacket, but yes— you are, in fact, cold. But now you have godsent warmth blowing from the vents and the seat warmer on its highest setting beginning to thaw away the goosebumps painted on your skin. Giving your arms one last rub, you lean up enough to retrieve your phone and open the conversation with Hyunjin.

[2:37 PM] YN: please. smell my balls

[2:37 PM] YN: nothings wrong btw. i was GOING to ask if u wanted any specific snacks for tn buttttt someone didn’t answer

[2:37 PM] YN: and excuse u i called too. i may be an idiot but im not stupid

[2:38 PM] YN: ik u would never hear a text when ur having wet dreams of yeji

You stop there with a smug smirk when the three dots on his side appear, knowing you’ve hit his funny bone with this one.

[2:38 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Bruh

[2:38 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇 :I’ve literally never have had a wet dream ab Yeji pls stop

You cannot fight your shit-eating grin, thumbs circling over the keyboard in thought as he apparently deletes whatever other text he was going to send when the three dots disappear.

[2:38 PM] YN: mmhmmmm

[2:38 PM] YN: because last time you slept over you weren’t whimpering her name in ur sleep

[2:38 PM] YN: sureeeee

You decide to end your teasing there and continue once you’re home. It is starting to get late, after all, and Mom will begin to worry that the creepy employee always in aisle sixteen has abducted you. Plus, you’re cruel and like to watch Hyunjin suffer. Switching the ringer off, you throw your phone into the cupholder and drastically lower the heat and turn off the seat warmer. It’s starting to feel like a sauna in here, and not in a fun way. Can’t understand how anyone enjoys hanging out in a sauna to begin with anyway, but to each their own, you guess.

In the five-minute drive it takes until you are pulling into the driveway, Hyunjin calls three times. He is incredibly peeved at your lack of a response to his distressed texts and still wound up from your text about Yeji. As if! You’re already a clown not realizing his ever-growing affections for you, but to think he had a crush on Yeji? You’re the whole damn circus!

By the time he calls a fifth time, now sat up on his elbow in bed and strumming an annoyed beat of his fingers at his thigh because he really just wants to yell at you for being the most annoying person alive (and maybe to hear your voice, too), you have brought in the last of the bags and look to Mom who has started to put the groceries away and expects you to half-heartedly do the same.

“It’s Hyunjin. He’s having an existential crisis because I haven’t answered his texts,” you explain to her, unenthusiastically holding your phone as it vibrates against your palm. Half of you wants her to ask to finish putting everything away first just so you can torture him even longer. Alas, such extravagant wishes are denied, because when it comes to Hyunjin, your parents would undoubtedly throw you under the bus just to keep that boy happy. And so, just like any other time, Mom’s undying love for Hyunjin has her dismissing you from the kitchen with a hearty laugh.

“Jesus Christ! What?” You hiss, halfway up the stairs when you tap to answer his call on the last ring.

“Wow! Look who finally decided to answer!” Hyunjin shouts back, the swoosh of his sheets once he finally falls back against his pillow again rustling all too loudly through the phone. “I was driving,” you spit, marching into your bedroom and collapsing against your bed, the same rustle of your blankets sounding loudly into his ear. “There’s a thing called the speaker, ___. Ever heard of it?” He retorts, evidently shutting you up and he knows he won this round if your silence is anything to go by.

“Whatever,” you groan, using all your toe strength to kick the sneakers off your feet by their soles, “what was so important that you couldn’t wait and had to call me five billion times?”

“I had a question. And you hurt my feelings.” Well, shit. You can practically hear and see his pout through the phone and your heart positively swells in your chest at how undeniably, unjustifiably cute he is. You sigh.

“I’m sorry for making fun of you about Yeji. I’m going to do it again but next time I promise I won’t pull the wet dream card,” you apologize frankly; because, in all honesty, it would be worse to say you are not going to do it again when you most certainly will. Bullying Hyunjin is fun, what can you say?

Hyunjin heaves an exasperated breath from his lungs because he knows there is no point in arguing with quite possibly the most sarcastic human he knows and that’s the best form of an apology he’s going to get. Whatever. He’ll make sure to wipe his morning snot and droll on your shirt in the morning. “Anyway,” he grumbles, in the background you hear Kkami bark from a few rooms over, “I was going to ask if you wanted to come over my place instead? I know your parents probably want to see me and stuff but mine are out of town for the night so we can sleep in my bed until like three without Mom waking us up to force feed breakfast.” You roll your eyes. Of course your parents want to see him.

“Plus, Mom just put that grey comforter I know you really like on my bed so we can cuddle all night and watch stuff on YouTube,” he quickly adds as a convincing afterthought. He’s really got his sales pitch going on this one. Truth is, you have only slept in his bed with that stupidly soft blanket twice last winter break, but it’s still sweet that he remembers how much you loved it (aka how quickly you fell asleep and how grumpy you were being woken up because it’s just that darn cozy). Either way, you would never pass up an opportunity to snuggle up with Hyunjin in the comfort of his own bed with his citrusy, floral scent on the pillows luring you to sleep.

“My Mom is going to be heartbroken, Hyunjin,” you tease, “but who cares. You had me sold at sleeping until three. Do you still want me to bring the snacks I got?”

“Oh, thank God. I love your Mom’s cooking but I haven’t left bed all day and I really want to keep it that way. And yes, please. I’ve been eating dry cereal for the past two hours.”

“Hyunjin, have you brushed your teeth yet?”

“No. Didn’t you just hear me? I said I’ve been in bed all day. Eating cereal. When would I have brushed my teeth?”

“You’ve officially taken breakfast in bed to a whole new level, Jin. I’ll see you in a few hours. Oh, and please, you have no concept of personal space so make sure you brush your teeth before I come over.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Love ya, bye,” Hyunjin promptly hangs up, probably eager to get back to binging whatever drama he’s watching before you lecture him about his hygiene again. Not that it matters, anyway; chances are, it went in one ear and right out the other and you’re going to drag him out of bed later to brush his teeth.

Damn. You didn’t even get the chance to say love you back. Not that it matters.

It doesn’t, you quickly shut down the pesky thought that keeps you up at night and force it back into the storage part of your brain labeled ‘Deal with Later,’ because, really, you’ll have to think about that later. It’s not that you don’t want to think about it yet… you just don’t have the time to stop and really figure out what your feelings toward Hyunjin actually are. Yeah. That’s it.

And now isn’t the time, you tell yourself, scooting up the mattress in order to bury your face in the pillows to suffocate the pounding throb in your head. Hyunjin is nothing special.

Well, no. That’s a lie. Everything about Hyunjin is special. Anyone with eyes, ears, even a nose can sense that. You had quickly found out just how wonderful he is when you met him freshman year of high school. At the time, he was everyone’s sweetheart by the first day, but it just so happened his eyes were all on you.

He was obviously adorable, and every class you had together he always made a point to talk to you and returned your sarcasm with an impressive level of expertise. So, when it came to him asking you to the first homecoming, the answer was yes without a second thought. But during the last slow dance of the night, with his hands gently holding your waist, he at last listened to his conscience and revealed that as much as he liked you, he truly did not want to date in high school. Or right then, at least. And honestly, you were glad; Hyunjin was quite possibly your favorite person you had met thus far, and you would have rather kept him as a friend than commit to a relationship the second month of school and risk losing him later down the road.

And boy, keep him as a friend you did. As it turned out, Hyunjin grew to be your truest, best friend in high school. Sure, you each had your own friend groups, but the two of you were the iconic pair everybody knew. But strictly platonic, despite the rumors and wishes that went around for the next four years. You like to think that neither of you ever developed feelings past what everyone feels toward their best friend— an innocent, wholesome sort of love.

But when had things changed? Hormones, as always, were definitely a big part of it. Hyunjin was always a cutie, but it wasn’t until he grew into his own skin and developed a newfound confidence did you start to see him differently. Until everyone saw him differently. Neither of you missed the way people stared him down, pupils dilating every time he ran his fingers through the black tufts of his hair, hearts aching for some sort of interaction. Or when you started attending parties, groups of girls would fling themselves at him in a blundering disarray, most of which he would turn down with a gentle dismissal that flew over their heads, too drunk to actually care.

But then there were times his dick made the decision for him, desperation and deprivation weighing in on him and you’d watch with a tight jaw as he’d leave the room with the pretty girl of the night skipping after him. You never realized it was only on those nights did you wind up in the back seat of Han Jisung’s car.

But even after the physical attraction sizzled out over time, things were not the same. Hyunjin wasn’t your hidden little treasure anymore. All eyes were set on him and it took more than a glass of water to swallow your jealousy. But why? Why were you so resentful all of a sudden?

It’s hard to share Hwang Hyunjin, you decided. Once established that you were his main hoe and he was yours, it became a significant burden watching others try and get in between. Not that they did it with a malicious attempt to separate you, but it still hurt. You’re selfish, and you admit it— Hyunjin, quite frankly, is the love of your life. Romantic or not, nothing could change your feelings toward him. It goes beyond his unfathomable beauty and spunky personality. Everything about him from his nose to his hands, to his distaste for onions and the way his face scrunches up when he lets out that giggle of his and even to the way he prefers to sleep against the wall but will force you to when you’re over so he can “protect you in case there’s a monster” all mount into this big, giant section of your heart set aside for Hyunjin.

So despite your efforts to ignore the pang of jealousy each time he would find a potential someone or the joy whenever he’d find his way back because “they kept wanting to hang out in the morning even though I said I don’t wake up before noon,” this Hyunjin-shaped hole in your heart seems to only grow the longer you ignore it. Kind of like every medical condition out there: the longer you ignore it, the worse it gets. So, basically Hyunjin is your heart disease.

Yikes. Sounds a lot worse when you try putting it into words.

Well, he won’t be your heart defect for long if he keeps ruining those pearly whites of his by only brushing once just before bed, you chuckle to yourself, rolling to your side at the sudden lack of oxygen between your face and the pillow. There’s a fleeting moment without thought when you unconsciously reach for your phone to check for any notifications before the fattest revelation of them all falls from the ceiling and smacks you right upside the face.

Shit. Looks like you’ve gone right ahead and totally dissected each and every fiber of your feelings for Hyunjin.

Blinking up at the ceiling, the weight of your emotions isn’t as heavy as you expected them to be. Instead, it’s more of a breath of fresh air, as if you have finally accepted the way things fell instead of ignoring them. Your feelings for Hyunjin have always been there. It just took a little effort to get them out.

Nevertheless, it is going to be difficult hanging out with him in a few hours with your exposed emotions still needing to be processed. Especially when he will pull you to his side and keep you nestled there the entire night. Rubbing your temples, you realize it will take some serious self-control to put everything on the back burner and just enjoy the time spent with Hyunjin.

Sighing, you check the time on your phone again. 3:21 and a text from Hyunjin asking if you could bring green tea.

“Mom!” You yell, defeated. “You were right!”

You used to think Hyunjin lived far away. Truthfully, he’s only fifteen minutes away if you go ten over the speed limit. But the only way to get to his house entails driving through the chaos of the mall and town center, which adds an extra ten minutes sitting through traffic no matter the time of day.

Now, Hyunjin’s college campus is two hours away. Well, technically five from you, since you’re almost three hours away in the opposite direction. So you’re lucky if you get to see him once a month with how hectic school becomes and how difficult it is trying to plan to come home the same weekend. Fortunately, it has worked out this semester. And while you should spend this time with your families, they know how much you crave one another’s company as the weeks drag on. The twenty-two minutes it takes getting to each other’s homes is totally worth it.

You expect Hyunjin to tell you to use the key hidden underneath the resin meditating frog statue in the front garden to unlock the front door when you text him you have arrived, but to your utmost surprise, he’s there, awake, to open the door for you.

“Stinky!” You yell, dropping your things on the floor to burry yourself in his embrace, standing on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck in order to really get the full experience of hugging your favorite giant. “Poopy!” He shouts in return, long arms winding tightly around your waist and even going so far as to lift you up a few inches. God. Hate when he does that.

“Why are you up? I thought I’d have to let myself in with you sleeping all your problems away,” you ask, smiling gratefully when he bends down to pick up your bag. “I realized Kkami hadn’t been out all day, so I came down to let him out and find actual food,” Hyunjin explains as he makes way into the kitchen, opening the back door to let said dog back inside. “Aw, poor thing,” you pout, squatting to scratch at Kkami’s neck when he zooms faster than the speed of light to you, “does that mean you brushed your teeth?”

“I did, actually,” Hyunjin snorts right back, scrunching his nose at you before turning away to open the fridge. Sitting on the floor with Kkami in your lap, you take the opportunity to finally get a good look at Hyunjin now that he’s distracted. And of course, he looks good. Really good. Last time you saw him he still was a brunette, a look he rocked during the spring and summer months. This is the first time you’ve seen the freshly dyed black hair in person. Even though he always looks handsome, something about Hyunjin with black hair completely changes his aura. Brings back memories of how badly you wanted him in high school. You shiver at the thought.

And, to top it all off, how he manages to stay in such disgustingly good shape despite his atrocious eating habits never ceases to amaze you. Like, come on. The boy eats worse than a raccoon seven days out of the week, lives off boba, works out maybe five times a month, dances in his free time and still keeps his body in tiptop shape. God, you hate him. His pediatrician probably hates him, too. You even go as far as to sniff the fries in your dining hall and you gain five pounds.

Even now, he looks unnecessarily regal in the baggy material of his sweatpants and flannel. And the warmth of his kitchen’s ambient lighting does nothing to suppress the heavy thumping of your heart. So casual is his dress, yet how immaculate he looks rummaging the cabinets for a snack.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, the familiar softness of his voice shaking you from your daze as he closes the refrigerator door after his unsuccessful search. Here’s the thing: you really aren’t hungry, but Hyunjin clearly is, so if you say no then all he will be thinking about is food until you decide that you are hungry. “Yeah,” is what you say, nudging Kkami off your crossed legs to stand, “I brought green tea and a few snacks, but we could order Chinese food or something. The place near Dunkin’ and the gas station makes bubble tea now, too.”

Hyunjin’s brows shoot up, flashing his boxy smile. “Is it good?”

“I mean, I’ve only had their pork dumplings and mango tea before, and it was pretty good. I don’t know about their noodles or anything, though,” you shrug, moving to stand beside him at the kitchen island. Distracted by Kkami trying to jump onto the sofa in the living room, you don’t look to Hyunjin until the poor dog is successful in doing so. Startled to find him already gazing down at you, your heart truly is not prepared for him to go right ahead and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. Totally not freaking out or trying to overthink his need to constantly cling, you justify his actions by quickly recalling the time he said, “My head is too godtdamn big for my godtdamn body.” More like his head is too heavy because instead of a brain it’s just a chunk of cement up there. He just needs to rest his head sometimes.

Yeah.

“Mm, I don’t know,” Hyunjin hums, swaying your body with his to an unheard tune. By now, any coherent thought has dissipated into thin air and all you can do is melt against him. “Why?” You manage.

“’Cus if we order anything that means I’ll have to get up and get it.”

“Oh my God, Hyunjin, really?” You laugh. Your hands naturally glide to where his are linked at your stomach, pressing to interlock your fingers overtop his. “If that’s the only reason for your uncertainty than I could always come get it, idiot.”

“No! It’s okay,” Hyunjin says, jumping back before you can even process it, “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

“Ohhh ‘kay,” you laugh breathlessly, whiplashed by the whole thing. Good thing you aren’t hungry, because when was the last time Hyunjin turned down food? Blinking at him precariously, he doesn’t seem to notice until one too many seconds of silence pass by.

“C’mon,” he demands excitedly, jumping back into reality, “my roommate told me to watch this anime called Soul Eater but I wanted to watch it with you.” Once again, before anything can even register past every single That Was Cute™ alarm ringing in your brain, Hyunjin is grabbing your bag and reaching for your hand, leading you out of the kitchen and upstairs.

You and Hyunjin binge aforementioned anime until he falls asleep first around 2 AM, only stopping to order food an hour in (he’s an indecisive man indeed), to get up to retrieve it, and to actually eat while catching up. For most of the night, you are able to forget the way his heartbeat against your back mirrored your own in the kitchen. But then, a little while after you fall asleep yourself, Hyunjin unconsciously shifts closer and you spend another hour blinking at his relaxed hand twitching against your abdomen, trying to keep the hurricane inside your heart at bay.

You can’t make it home October. Hyunjin texted you to let you know he was going to be the third weekend in, and you tried desperately to manage your time in order to make it work. But one group project in chem lead to another paper in psych and before you knew it, your roommate was listening to you sob over a boy and curse out your classes.

September left you emotionally wrecked, to be totally honest. You hate Hyunjin and you hate the way he makes you feel and you especially hate how realizing you have a crush on him makes you unsure if everything he does is his way of hinting he feels the same or if he’s always been this touchy and you are just now recognizing it. So, missing a month of seeing your favorite human being essentially means missing another day of trying to decipher which actions of his go in the Friend list, and which go in the Questionable list. And that, my friend, is unacceptable.

You absolutely cannot not go home this month. November is the calm before the storm (the storm being exams looming the second week of December), and while it would be beneficial maybe staying on campus to continue preparing, you tell yourself going home will be just as helpful. Mental breaks, and stuff. Totally not just to see Hyunjin.

Either way, Hyunjin asks you if you would join him on the seventeenth to go to his second cousin’s christening and you absolutely cannot say no when you know how bored Hyunjin gets at family events when they aren’t for him. And so, fast forward to the third Sunday of November and you are ready to pass out ten minutes after entering the church.

“I’m so happy for you two! I always knew you would last into college,” one of Hyunjin’s aunts exclaims, pinching your cheeks but the only pinch you feel is that of your heart.

Clearly she is misinformed, or just prone to jumping to conclusions but yet again, you can’t really blame her with how couple-y you and Hyunjin are. Past the single tunnel vision of your gaze, you watch her smile falter when Hyunjin goes rigid beside you and oh my God this is the most embarrassing moment of my life, his whole family thinks we’re dating and here we are still stuck in each other’s friendz—

“I’m glad you think so, imo,” Hyunjin suddenly picks up, sneaking an arm around to rest his hand on your hip, tugging you close, “I don’t know what I’ll do if she ever decides to leave me.”

It’s nice to think that he means it, to imagine that you are here not as a tag-along but to join him in a family ceremony because you are part of the family. The thought turns your blood to sugar and everything surrounding you falls apart; you listen to the rest of their conversation without processing it, the precise detailing in the marble pillars blurs into a mass of white, and you still feel his strong hold on the curve of your waist yet you are lost in the swam of possibilities.

How lovely it would be to live up to her assumption. To ‘last into college’ as a couple, not as best friends. To be able to call him yours even when you’re not together, to come home and kiss his lips, to sleep in his bed and it mean more than the laziness of blowing up the air mattress. At some point, he leads you into the third pew to sit beside his parents, and when you greet them with a hug all you can think about is them viewing you as more than their son’s friend.

God, you hate it.

You’re not as religious as Hyunjin and his family. But for the first time in years, you find yourself looking to the crucifix during the service and praying to whoever is up there to give you some strength and patience, because Lord do you need it.

Hyunjin is a funny guy.

Or so he thinks.

It’s not that he isn’t funny. It’s just— compared to your friends Minho or Changbin, he isn’t at the top of the list. When you think of Hyunjin, the first words that pop up are soft, loud, and dramatic.

It’s not that he isn’t funny. He’s just weird.

Insanely, ridiculously weird. For example, the time he called Jeongin a vitamin. Or the time he slapped half a bottle of sunscreen on his face. Or his random bouts of dancing at inappropriate moments. Just to name a few.

After the Baptism, Hyunjin acted like nothing happened. Didn’t even bring it up. Not even a joke. After the ceremony, you joined his family for a luncheon, which just involved the two of you being weird and making peculiar dancing videos on SnapChat with the swirly filter and complaining about school for a few hours until he drove you home. Obviously you stopped for food again on the way.

But that was it. Things went on as normal, and you returned to campus later that night and forced the whole experience to the back of your brain. It was officially grind season, and grind season meant studying for exams. No parties. No boys. And certainly no Hyunjin.

You both were home for winter break in the blink of an eye. And in normal Hyunjin style, he sort of vanished for the first week. Probably catching up on his strict sleeping schedule, you presumed, and accepted the fact that it was going to be a few days before you saw or even heard from him. The only anticipation you felt was wanting to give him his Christmas gift.

After what seems like an eternity away from Hyunjin, you get out of the shower on this fine Saturday before Christmas to find a slew of texts from him.

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Aloha mamacita

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: How do u feel about getting froyo tn

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: We can get fat and then u can sleepover aaaand

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: We can stare at the wall for a few hours

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: And

[5:53 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: *cough*

[5:53 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Exchange Jesus gifts

See? Weird. Who wants froyo when it’s thirty degrees out?

[5:53 PM] YN: “aloha mamacita”

[5:53 PM] YN: uHmmmMMM

[5:53 PM] YN: im down mr president

[5:54 PM] YN: why do u want ice cream in winter tho. don’t u want like

[5:54 PM] YN: hot chocolate or seomthing

Obviously not. Two hours later, Hyunjin arrives to pick you up for froyo despite all your efforts in convincing him maybe you could take the train to the city and watch a light show, or simply drive around and swoon over the rich people houses and their Christmas decorations. He didn’t budge. This leads you to your second question of the day: why is it that when you threw on sweats for the occasion you called yourself a hag, but upon entering Hyunjin’s car you make a mental note of how hot he looks when he’s wearing the same exact thing? You groan at the thought. It’s because it’s Hyunjin, of course.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he greets, flicking your forehead once you settle into the seat of his Subaru WRX because he’s a hotshot and likes to flex that he can drive a manual. Not really— the car is absolute garbage by now, having been his Dad’s old car (his Dad likes to flex too, apparently). However, Hyunjin takes care of it enough for it to seem five years old instead of ten, and, either way, watching him work the stick shift is unexplainably hot.

You swat his hand away. “Drive, bitch,” you huff, twisting to buckle yourself in. Once he’s reversed out of your driveway, you glance back to find him fighting against a devilish smirk.

“So,” you start once he has navigated out of your neighborhood. His brow twitches up. “Are you taking Hawaiian and French at school? You’ve been throwing quite a lot of languages at me recently.” Hyunjin shoots you an unamused look. You return it with a wrinkle of your nose.

“Anyway,” he ignores your teasing, pausing to switch gears for whatever reason so he can make it through a yellow light, “how did your exams go?”

“Well, you know…” You trail off, looking to your window. It feels a lot later than eight o’clock. With it getting dark so early in the evening nowadays, it feels as if nighttime is always following you.

“You know… what?” Hyunjin interrupts your daze, concern laced in his voice. “They were fine. I passed everything, I’m just worried about my major,” you explain sadly, barely glancing at him before you are turning back to the window to stare at the moon. Must be nice being a moon. Just get to hang out in the sky watching everyone and being watched.

“I mean, if you want to switch, now’s the time. Better do it now before the second semester,” Hyunjin advises, wise as always. Not really, but he’s right. “What are you thinking of going into?”

Yikes. He’s going to kill you.

“Nursing,” you blurt.

“Oh my Lanta, ___, are you serious?” He groans, stopping at a convenient red light presenting the perfect opportunity for him to smack his forehead on the wheel. Dramatic. “How are you gonna manage that? You’ll practically be two years behind everyone else!”

“I know,” you sigh, throwing your head back on the headrest, “that’s the problem. Bio just isn’t doing it for me. I don’t think I can spend the rest of my life in a lab watching mitosis. I need something more rewarding, so theoretically nursing is a perfect start. I don’t know, though.”

“Why don’t you switch to interior design or something? We could get our own HGTV show, ___,” he says, but you don’t meet his gaze when he glances over because beneath his words, you can sense some serious hopefulness. Interior design would be cool, but you’ve never considered that as a career choice. You once helped your parents pick out everything when they redid a bathroom at home and that turned out great, but as a major?

“I don’t know, man. I’ll have to talk to my counselor about it, I guess,” you shrug, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt over your head and tightening the drawstrings until the material covers your eyes, “why can’t you audition to be a K-pop star or something? I could be your manager. Heck, even your makeup artist. I’ve done your makeup before, remember?”

Hyunjin laughs, loud, and the sound sinks deep into your heart and makes you feel warm all over. Stress? Gone.

For the next few minutes or so, the ride is comfortably quiet. At some point, he turns on the radio and Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” floods your brain and reminds you to look forward to exchanging Christmas gifts later. God, you hope he likes it. You really went out on the sentimental gifts this year.

Hood shielding your vision, you jump when his large hand suddenly comes to grab the top of your head, squeezing hard and you imagine he’s trying to press some hopefulness into your brain. “Hand on the penis stick, Hwang,” you bark, blindly reaching for his own head across the way and pulling his ear when you do so. Good Lord, you hope no one can see into the car because… what.

Hyunjin lets out a giggle this time, reaching to pull you into a headlock and even though he’s got your head shoved up against his sturdy chest and goes on to give you a noogie, you’re stuck being all high and loopy on the sound of his happiness. And hey, it’s nice to know you’re the cause of it.

“We’re literally parked, idiot. If you had your hood down you would’ve realized,” Hyunjin snickers, releasing you after watching you struggle for a few seconds. Jerking away from him, you swiftly pull back your hood. “Oh,” you laugh, reading the flashy Yogo Factory sign above the building in front of you, “you could’ve just told me instead of watching me bask in misery.”

Hyunjin suitably ignores your moaning and groaning by getting out of the car and standing in front of the car, illuminated by the headlights. Why? Why must he look so scrumptious in his black hoodie and grey sweatpants and four-year-old white Nike sneakers? He has no gosh darn right!

After fixing the mess he made of your hair, you at last join him outside the car, shooting him another glare and moving ahead of him to open the shop’s door without waiting for him. “From now on, we have to start texting each other what we’re wearing before we go out, ‘cus this looks a little ri-donk-ulous,” Hyunjin whispers in your ear as you make your way to the cup selection, trying to ignore all the stares you— no, he is getting along the way.

“What do you mean?” You ask, plucking two medium sized cups up before turning to look at him. Then you look down at yourself. Oh. Looks like you’re both wearing the hoodie from junior spirit week. “Nice.” Just Couple Things™!

Back to Hyunjin being weird— why did he drag you all the way out here just to get a cup of chocolate frozen yogurt and maybe half a scoop of peanut butter chips?

Meanwhile, he watches in absolute disgust as you blow through your own dessert. Vanilla yogurt with probably every topping offered because you physically cannot make a decision, especially when they have chunks of cookie dough up there.

“So,” Hyunjin starts, trying not to look you in the eye considering you look like a goblin shoveling globs of diabetes down your throat, “have you talked to Jisung recently?”

You choke on a Fruity Pebble at his inquiry, prompting him to reach across the table and slap your back a few times until your esophagus is cleared. “Ugh,” clearing your throat one last time, you take a few sips of water while shooting him a glare. Jisung? Really? “How dense are you?” You hiss unintentionally.

Hyunjin raises his hands in defense. “Just a question.”

Yeah, just a question. Dumbass. “I mean,” you laugh awkwardly, “not really. We have a streak on Snap and sometimes we’ll talk occasionally but I don’t text him every day or anything. How about you?”

He shrugs, concentrating instead on stirring his yogurt into a goopy mess. “Eh. We still use our group chat a lot but that’s it. He’s too busy making music in Malaysia.”

You chuckle at this, picking out the boba from your own cup and leaving the rest now that it has started to look like something sold at the Chum Bucket. “That sucks,” you offer, not the best at giving him consolidation, you opt for linking your feet around his own in some weird act of intimacy, “isn’t he coming home for the holidays, though? I’m sure you can all have a reunion soon.”

“Yeah, he is,” Hyunjin hums, suddenly too focused on trying to escape your trap under the table. Annoyed Hyunjin is cute. “Stoooop,” he whines, kicking at your shins before breaking into boisterous laughter at your relentlessness, “I will not hesitate to throw this cup at your face.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, “I’d like to see you try.”

At this, Hyunjin drops his stupidly long arms beneath the table and easily captures your foot by the ankle, pulling hard enough for you to slip down your side of the booth. “Hyunjin!” You shriek, panicking slightly at your sweaty hand’s insecure grip against the leather. You’re going to fall. You’re going to fall flat on your ass underneath a table at a frozen yogurt place because the boy you like pulled your foot too hard. Fantastic. Ignoring you, he starts to wiggle your shoe off your foot no matter how hard you try to squirm out of his relentless grip. “Stop trying to eat my toes in the middle of Yogo!”

Finally, he releases your foot, letting it fall limp against his thigh.

“God,” you huff, breathless as you squirm back up your seat, cheeks burning ferociously, “you are such an ass.”

Behind the playful smirk he fails to hide, something darker glints in Hyunjin’s eyes and it makes your heart skip a beat. Then, “We should go.” The suggestion makes the heat of your blush scorch even hotter down your neck and you instinctively turn away, only to find the customers on the other side of the shop watching you with just as perturbed looks. Fantastic, part two.

“Okie,” you squeak out, blinking after him in complete and total bewilderment as to what just happened when he gets up to throw his trash away. Whatever. Following after him, you too toss your cup out before quickly finding your hand engulfed by his larger one as he leads you back outside, the sudden sharpness of the cold air bringing tears to your eyes. You desperately want to ask him what that was about, or why he’s acting so sneaky, but you stay silent, too afraid your voice will come out shaky and vulnerable. Instead, you let him tug you into his side and try to keep up with him no matter how badly your knees threaten to buckle with each glance you sneak up at him.

It’s silent when you enter the car, watching warily as he reverses out of the parking spot and maneuvers through the lot. Your heart rate seemingly cannot slow itself down, adrenaline taking the place of oxygen the longer you stare at him, at the concentrated scrunch to his face, at the cute tip of his button nose and at the swell of his lips and you distantly wonder what would happen if you pulled him into a kiss at the next red light.

In the midst of your daydream Hyunjin clears his throat, bringing you back to reality and you realize with a startle that he has caught you. Jesus Christ! What has gotten into you? You mentally smack yourself upside the head, instantly turning away from his cocky little gaze and staring straight ahead in search of something else to focus on. “___,” he sing-songs, slow and sensual and entirely demolishing the walls you have built around yourself. It is at this red light you wish to simply open the door and run.

“Yes?” You manage, wincing at how small your voice sounds and while looking out his window instead of into his eyes, you notice him grip the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The tension is insurmountable, weighing in heavily on your chest and you desperately wish to arrive home, even though that means having to survive the next twelve hours with him. Anything is better than the small confines of his car.

“What do you want to do when we get home?” He asks, cool as a cucumber. You pale. It is a dangerous question and you do not know if he realizes that. “Um,” you cough, scooting to sit up straight, “whatever you want.” You whisper the last part, genuinely petrified because you have absolutely no idea if your brain is twisting everything to make it seem like Hyunjin is flirting or if things are totally normal. No idea.

“Hm,” he offers, tilting his head in thought, “we shall see.”

Yeah. We shall.

The rest of the ride is quiet, comfortably or uncomfortably you cannot say because you are too busy trying to calm the Spongebob burning office scene occurring inside your own head, hopelessly telling yourself that everything is fine, Hyunjin’s fine, you’re fine. Just pretend like nothing happened, you tell yourself when Hyunjin pulls into his driveway with practiced ease. “Ugh,” he groans after retrieving your bag from the back seat, and you watch with a raised brow as he skips up to his porch, yelling, “I have to pee!”

“Begone with you, piss boy,” you tease, holding the screen door open for him as he struggles to unlock the storm door and pulling on one of his hoodie’s drawstrings just to annoy him. “Stop,” he growls, low and playful but nevertheless sending a swarm of butterflies to your tummy. You ignore him. Finally unlocking the door, Hyunjin shoves the keys into his pocket and seizes your wrist, yanking your arm down with enough force to nearly topple you into him. “Why are you being so annoying tonight?” He frowns at you, nose and brows scrunched in irritation and it is only because of his proximity do you finally soften up.

“Sorry,” you pout back, bringing your other hand up to boop his nose, “I just missed ya.”

“Ew,” he snorts, stepping past the threshold and kicking off his shoes. You follow suit, closing the door behind you and clicking the lock into place as Kkami comes sprinting over. “B-R-B,” Hyunjin announces, presumably bouncing away to the bathroom.

“Oh, boy,” you huff, squatting to pick up the fluffy little dog and hugging him close to your chest, “your dad is making my life very difficult.” Pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head, you put Kkami back down and grab your bag before heading upstairs, knowing Hyunjin is going to take his grand old time and probably take a shit while he’s at it. Plus, you’re impatient and dying to take your bra off.

Aside from what light his Gudetama nightlight offers, Hyunjin’s room is ultimately left dark. Here’s the thing: he used to have a lamp on his dresser, but then he took it with him to college and only brings it home for summer because he’s lazy and sleeps the majority of the time he’s home, anyway. Instead, he put up his little remote-controlled Christmas tree in addition to the lava lamp he has beside his bed. Perfect. For Hyunjin, at least.

Switching both of these on, their subtle glow offers just enough to keep you from banging your toe against something. It’s happened one too many times. Hyunjin’s room isn’t messy— he really isn’t a messy person to begin with, but he will reorganize the furniture in his room fifty times a year and you never know where the crooked leg to his bedside table will be to ambush your pinky toe.

Setting your bag onto his bed, you excitedly fumble past all your layers and unclasp your bra, maneuvering out of it with a delighted exhale just as Hyunjin begins his ascent up the stairs, steps creaking loudly under his heavy trudging. “I’m an idiot,” he grumbles, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath.

You don’t bother to look at him, opting to quickly retort instead, “We been knew.”

“Ugh,” Hyunjin groans, exasperated, and you finally turn to him after successfully jamming aforementioned undergarment into your bag, “anyways. I don’t know why I didn’t just come up here, because I have to wash my face anyway and you do too and now we’re both going to have to share a sink.”

“Aw,” you coo, tone dripping with sarcasm as you pat his arm, “poor baby has to share the bathroom.”

“I’m actually going to strangle you,” he sighs, nevertheless following after you into the bathroom.

“Kinky.”

Hyunjin glares, unamused as he opens a drawer for his pink bow hairband and your striped pink and blue one that he bought for you, but keeps here for sleepovers. Yeah. He throws it to your face. “Sorry,” you offer, pulling the soft headband up to hold your hair back, “I’ll try to stop. I’m just so used to annoying you.”

“Clearly,” he scoffs, flashing his stupidly cute teasing smile and in your head, you imagine raising a white flag in surrender— he’s got you, he’s won, it’s over. Time to call it quits and head home. Evidently shut up (for now), you offer him a roll of your eyes before turning on the sink to wet your hands before pumping out some of his scrumptious watermelon face wash. Maybe if you scrub hard enough, you’ll manage to rinse away all the overwhelming thoughts of the night, too.

Barefaced Hyunjin is immaculate. Well, Hyunjin is immaculate twenty-four hours out of the day, but barefaced, freshly washed, hair messy, ready for bed Hyunjin is immaculate, and you are one of the few people lucky enough to see this eighth wonder of the world as often as you do.

Now, maybe it has something to do with the unexpected ambiance the light from his laptop, Christmas lights, and lava lamp have created together that makes him look so unfairly beautiful at this given moment. Or, you’re just insanely pussywhipped and looking for an excuse. You try not to think about it.

“Why are you so squirmy tonight?” He asks, frustrated enough to interrupt Kermit singing ‘Shawty I don’t mind’ playing from his laptop. “I’m not,” you defend, a weak argument indeed, given that you have just finished adjusting your position beside him for the umpteenth time.

“I mean, four female Ghostbusters? The feminists are taking over! I’m an ad—”

“___, you’ve touched my dick like four times. Don’t try and tell me you’re not squirmy. What’s wrong?” Hyunjin interrupts a second Vine, and even goes on to talk over ‘I have the power of God and anime on my side!’ like a lunatic. Oh Christ, you have? Surely you would have noticed. “Sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed as you bury your face into the curve of his pectoral and instinctively move your leg settled between his away, “I’m just hot, to be honest.” Technically, it is not a lie. Hyunjin’s family definitely keeps their thermostat at a higher temperature than yours and you always manage to sweat your ass off every time you come over. This time, however, you are certain it has more to do with the assault your heart is facing rather than your sweat glands.

At the sound of his tap against the spacebar to pause the video, you wordlessly and reluctantly sit up from your comfortable spot beside him in order to rid yourself of your heavy sweatshirt. Now, here lies the problem. Sweatshirt: off. Nipples: out. Realistically, Hyunjin has seen your boobs a number of times over the past few years, and even if he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t even bat an eye. But right now, your heart is on the line, you’re embarrassed and you’re trying to play it extremely safe.

You toss the hoodie to the floor and nestle right back where you were anyway, slinging your right arm over his torso and ignoring his sharp intake of breath when you snuggle closer. “Better?” He asks, voice strained and it literally makes you nauseous. “Yep.”

He resumes the video. You had started early in the night watching Pom Poko, which unsurprisingly ended with the two of you crying at the bittersweet ending, then moved to TikTok compilations on YouTube to cheer up before moving on from them and onto the classic Vine compilations. You paid good attention for the most part, chuckling along with him to ‘What up, I’m Jared, I’m nineteen and I never fucking learned how to read,’ ‘Bruh chill, I don’t know why you in a big time rush,’ and all the other absolute comedic masterpieces. But after the fourth or fifth video of the same six second clips with an occasional rare one, you began to grow bored and decided to do what you do best: admire Hyunjin.

Sure, ‘Come get yo juice!’ followed by the loud smash of the oven made you smile, but you found the flashing lights casting shadows beneath Hyunjin’s eyes and lips much more fascinating. Of course, this is not the first time you have been held so close to him. But it is, however, all too easy to get lost in the sight of him and you’ve noticed recently that you are in desperate need of a map. Whether it’s due to your time away from him or simply an appreciation for untouched beauty you do not know.

Even now, your gaze flickers to his laptop once you hear ‘Get to Del Taco,’ but having already watched it five thousand times you tilt your head upward to catch Hyunjin’s silent giggle at ‘free-sha-voca-do.’ It’s a vicious cycle, really, going back and forth between wanting to simply enjoy the night and realizing enjoying the night lies totally in Hyunjin’s presence. And so, you continue to fall into this trap each time until you pay no mind to the videos at all, basking in the brilliance of Hyunjin’s joyous smile and the warmth his happiness makes you feel. It is this thought that slowly tugs you to sleep, a fight to keep your heavy eyelids open lost until finally, you give in to the comfort and allow yourself to drift off to the sound of ‘Step the fuck up, Kyle.’

You think you are dreaming.

You think.

“___,” the softness of Hyunjin’s voice at the crown of your head eases you from the clutches of sleep and you stretch your locked limbs before curling further into his side. “We didn’t open presents.” Even though you can’t see him, you can hear his pout, and you realize you must be awake to hear the disappointed words caught sluggishly between his lips so vividly. You hum, hesitant to open your eyes because you really want to go back to sleep. Just for a little while. And so, you ask, “What time is it?”

“Just past two,” he whispers.

You hum again, trying to formulate a sensible sentence in the parts of your brain still asleep, “We can… wake up at four. And open gifts. Okay?”

“Okay, weirdo,” Hyunjin chuckles to himself, sliding lower down the mattress after shutting his laptop.

You think you are dreaming.

You think.

You can’t remember ever falling asleep facing each other. But yet again, your brain is clouded beyond capability and now, you know for certain you are dreaming. Hyunjin never faces you.

Blinking slowly, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the impenetrable darkness and you struggle to make out the features of Hyunjin’s face. You know you are dreaming, and so you tug him closer, throwing a leg over his thigh and an arm over his waist. Even in your sleep, you feel the sadness pricking at your heart, for even it knows this is only what dreams are made of. You like to make the best of it.

“You know I love you, Jinnie, right?” Your voice comes out funny, drawn out and mumbled like your tongue is numb and you fight the urge to feel for yourself.

“Of course I do. I love you too.” His reply surprises you. You thought he was asleep and, either way, hearing such fond words from him puts your heart at ease. He must be misunderstood.

“No. I mean like… I like you, love you. Like I want to kiss you… kiss you good morning and before bed love you. Send you hearts and take stupid couple pics and… go on dumb dates love you. You know?” Your words feel garbled and incomprehensible the longer you go on, trying to express how you feel when nothing is real proving to be increasingly difficult. God, if only you could do it when things are real.

You start to feel yourself slipping as he mutters a reply, mind in free fall and fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s whispering and you can’t hear him but you are too tired and helpless to wake yourself up to hear it. No, too lost in the next dream to go back. You can’t tell what is real and what isn’t. Christ, were you awake? You can’t tell. All you know is that you are warm, so, so warm and letting sleep take over you once more is the best answer to all your questions.

Hyunjin always says he hates waking people up. Because he’s normally the one needing to be awoken, whenever the roles are swapped he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

This time, however, he takes it upon himself to repeatedly smack your face with his pillow. Not a fun experience when it’s coming from someone who fails to recognize his own strength. “Jesus, fuck! Okay!” You hiss, the cloud of sleep abruptly ripped away from you with the slap of his pillow against your skin. Arms raised defensively in front of you, you catch his next swing and tear the pillow out of his grasp to shield yourself all before you have even opened your eyes. When you do so, with the blatant intention just to find where he is and hurl the pillow at him, you are met with the harsh light from his ceiling fan and have to squint past the stinging white light to see his shit-eating grin.

“Was that necessary?” You groan, undeniably annoyed and wanting to glare at him more but needing to rub the ache out of your eyes. “Yes,” is all he says, reaching for your bag and catapulting it to you. He is incredibly lucky you are quick enough to catch it before it thumps against your head. What has gotten into him? Did he eat an entire bag of Pixy Stix while you were asleep? You watch, still dazed from sleep and reeling from the whole pillow smacking attack, as he flings open his closet door and turns back around with two neatly wrapped boxes. You squint to make out the dancing Santa T-rex wrapping paper.

“Oh,” you chirp, understanding, and you unzip your bag to retrieve the large box taking up the majority of space, “thanks for waking me up. I’m surprised you remembered. Did you stay up?”

A rosy blush burns its way across his cheekbones. Odd. “I, um— yeah. No, actually,” he stutters, really odd, given he was bouncing off the walls not even thirty seconds ago, “I set an alarm. You made me sleepy.” Hyunjin sits beside you once you have scooted over, leaning against the wall and crossing his long ass legs. He keeps his eyes trained on the boxes in his hands. “Oh,” you hum, looking to your own gift and suddenly wishing for the mattress to swallow you up, “sorry. I haven’t gotten as much sleep as you on break so far.”

“I don’t think anyone ever has,” he jokes and you finally look to him, sharing a cheeky smile before he gets all shy again, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “um, Merry Christmas, ___.”

It’s a simple phrase, but it makes your heart swell. “Merry Christmas to you too, Hyunjin.” Leaning over, you wrap your arms around his shoulders in an awkward side hug, but still end up feeling all drunk and loopy on love when he eagerly returns the gesture, arms curling around you.

“Okay,” you huff, sitting back, “me first.” You dramatically hold your gift out to him, jittery and nervous all over. Buying for Hyunjin is always hard. He’s just so easy to please, but when you want to do more than just please him it’s a constant battle trying to decide how far out you are going to go for him each year.

You watch impatiently as he tears the wrapping paper open first, and then finally lifts the flaps of the box up. “Aw,” he whimpers, pulling out the quokka plushie and attached certificate, “you adopted a quokka for me?”

You grin when he hugs the soft stuffed animal to his chest, the weight on your shoulders partly lifted from his positive reaction. He reaches back into the box, brow scrunched in thought as he regards the framed picture. “The First Day…?” Hyunjin asks, perplexed as he reads the title above the constellation poster. You scoot closer, leaning over to look it over once more. “This was the constellation of stars on our first day of freshman year. The day we first met.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin sniffs, “that’s really awesome, ___. Thank you. This is coming with me to school.” At this, he hugs you again, probably to hide the tears you know are threatening to spill because Hyunjin is Baby and cries every year. “Anything for my favorite fake Aussie,” you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder as he reads through the quokka adoption letter.

“Okay! Your turn!” He exclaims, setting his gifts back into the box and passing you the smaller one of his. He catches your curious glance to the second one he keeps by his side. “We have to open this one together.”

“Christ, okay. Looks like I’m gonna be crying tonight, too,” you sigh sadly. “Ooh,” jumping ahead of yourself, you wiggle your eyebrows at the white box before you, “Hyunjin if you bought me a Fitbit… I swear to God. How many times have I said I am not working out with you?” However, once you finish tearing open the wrapping paper you find it is not, in fact, a Fitbit.

“It’s not a Fitbit, idiot,” Hyunjin scoffs a second too late, waiting for you to slip the lid off the box. “They’re bond touch bracelets.”

“Explain,” you murmur, enamored but confused at the two little house arrest looking bracelets.

“So basically, we each wear one,” Hyunjin starts, taking one of the bracelets out and a burst of color blooms across its small screen at the motion, “and if you touch it, mine vibrates and I ‘feel’ your touch.” As he explains, he buckles it around your wrist, twisting it so it lies correctly. You silently take the second one and help it on him, brain too caught up to actually say anything.

“Try it,” Hyunjin whispers, suppressing his excitement.

You gingerly bring a finger to the little screen, tapping it once, twice. Nothing happens. Frowning, you try again, tapping and holding, then a second time, and finally— a strip of pink light appears and the bracelet gently vibrates as you tap and hold a random pattern. In response, the bracelet on Hyunjin’s wrist lights up blue, buzzing in the same pattern.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you sniffle, fighting back your own tears because you refuse to let yourself ugly cry in front of him, “this is amazing. Now I can annoy you year-round. Thank you so, so much. I love you so much.” He hums, pulling you close when you turn to give him a proper hug. To your utmost surprise, however, instead of letting go he curls one fist into your side and helps swing your legs over to straddle his lap. “Oh.”

“___,” Hyunjin sighs thoughtfully, fingers playing with the sleeves of your tee, “I love you, too.”

You nearly spit up your coffee. If you were drinking coffee. Instead, you’re left with a dry mouth and a slack jaw at his words. Huh?

Glancing to the constellation picture peeking out of his box, and then to the matching bracelets you both wear, you find your mind reeling trying to make sense of it all. Yeah, you say the forbidden L-word to each another all the time, but most certainly not with you on his on lap and his lips mere centimeters away. The answer is so obviously clear as day you have trouble believing it.

“Fuck,” you laugh all of a sudden, as soon as the realization hits you, “I wasn’t dreaming, was I?”

Hyunjin lets out a joyous giggle, hands linking behind your back. Unable to hide his smile any longer, he clarifies, “You were not, madam. We literally just finished talking about when we were going to open gifts and then I got ready to sleep. Two seconds later you dumped your heart out to me, but when I answered, you were asleep.”

“Bruh,” you wince, hiding your face with your hands, “I am so sorry you had to deal with that.”

“No, don’t be,” Hyunjin comforts, reaching to tug your hands away. Your gut does somersaults when he intertwines his fingers with yours. “I was actually, uh, planning on doing some sort of confession to you anyway, but then you went right ahead and did it for me. So thanks for that.”

“Wow,” you chuckle, trying to wrap your mind around it all, “does that mean you, ahem, perhaps like me too?”

“No, I just got us really couple-y long distance relationship bracelets, pulled you onto my lap, and kissed you because I just want to be friends.”

“You didn’t kiss m—”

The sly little fucker interrupts your retort by quickly dipping down to press a fat smooch to your lips, missing miserably and you don’t know if he did it on purpose but you quickly fix the problem, releasing his hands to cradle his jaw and tilt his head the right angle. Finally, finally you kiss him, breathing in the smell of him like some sort of aromatherapy and whimpering into his mouth when his tongue swipes against your own. It is like nothing you have ever experienced, the taste and feel of him making you tremble and igniting a burst of electricity through your veins. You could kiss him forever, you think, sucking on his plump bottom lip greedily until he finally pulls back, desperate for air or trying to reel himself in you can’t say.

“You have to open your other gift,” Hyunjin reminds, chest heaving, and your gaze follows his long fingers as they comb his hair away from his forehead. Automatically, as if kissing Hyunjin once grants you some kind of free pass to do the same, you brush a few stray strands away from his face before leaning back to admire him. “Stoooop. You can’t do that and not expect me to kiss you again. Open. Your. Gift.” Hyunjin whines, squishing your cheeks and turning your head away.

“Okay, don’t blame this on me,” you huff, reaching for the second box before jabbing a finger into his chest, “you, sir, need to stop being so beautiful for like, two seconds.”

He scoffs, helping you rip off the wrapping paper, “You’re the beautiful one here.”

“Ew,” you wrinkle your nose, most certainly not used to Hyunjin dishing out such compliments, “this is too Hallmark Christmas movie for me. Let me open my gift in peace, ugly.” This box, unlike the bracelets’, is simple cardboard and when you lift open the lid, a brown leather book looks back at you. “You remember Up?” He asks.

On the leather, it reads Our Adventure Book in mismatched colors. “Yeah,” you whisper, flipping open the cover to find two baby pictures glued on the paper, one of Hyunjin, and one of you. At the top, it’s labeled ‘Before Shit Went Down.’ You laugh.

On the next page, there are random photographs from middle school, and then finally each other’s eighth grade graduation portraits. Then, written at the top is ‘Here It Begins,’ followed by a selfie he randomly took with you a few weeks into school freshman year, and then some from homecoming. Silently flipping through the rest of the book, your tears flow freely now, touched beyond comparison at all the photographs and all the memories accompanying them. Some are from large events like prom, others from random moments you don’t even remember, but each and every one comes together to form a special mold fitting perfectly into that Hyunjin-shaped hole in your heart.

The last picture is from the christening last month. Of course, it isn’t one of the nicer photos his mom took of the two of you, but a SnapChat selfie with the flaming sunglasses filter. He’s mid-laugh and you’re pressing a kiss to his cheek. Funny thing is, you don’t even remember taking it.

The page next to it is blank, aside from what’s written at the top of the page. “Togetha Foreva,” you read aloud, voice choked up and God, you cannot fathom how gross you look right now. “What the fuck, man!” You sob, punching Hyunjin’s shoulder before wiping your nose and cheeks with the back of your hands. “I didn’t sign up for this cock and ball torture.”

Hyunjin laughs loudly at this, pulling you into a hug and giving you a few seconds to recover. “Hyunjin, this is like… seriously the best thing anyone has ever done for me, holy shit. God, you Pinterest son of a bitch, this is such a good idea,” you groan, flipping back through the pages and getting teary-eyed all over again, “I can’t express how much this means to me, Jinnie. Thank you, really.”

Flashing that toothy grin of his, Hyunjin tugs you to lie back down with him and tilts your head up to press a much more accurate kiss to your lips. “I meant what I said before, ___,” he murmurs, “I don’t know what to do without you, and I know we only get to see each other once a month but I can’t keep living as just friends. You’re so much more than that. And I hope all the pictures we add from now on will show this new chapter of our lives. If not, well, then I guess I’ll just burn the book.”

“Are you asking me to be Kkami’s official poop-picker-upper?”

“Yes. Wait— what? No!”

You break into a fit of laughter, only to be interrupted with him pinching your side and causing you to let out a yelp. “Hey!” You bark, jumping closer to him and away from his hand until, finally, you give in to your self-indulgence and go right on ahead in swinging a leg over his hips and pinning him beneath you.

“You ruined my serious love speech, ___,” Hyunjin pouts, face scrunched up at you.

“I’m sorry, baby, go on.”

You pause, blinking slowly at him. He blinks back, the silence in the air weighing in heavily as both of your two brain cells bounce around trying to figure out what did you just call him?

“Never mind,” Hyunjin says, voice a low rumble of thunder as he reaches for your hips and easily flips positions, “I think you’re on the same boat.”

You laugh, tilting your head back and eyeing him indignantly. Fuck, he looks unfairly delectable hovering above you.

“Okay, how many more times do I have to tell you I love you for you to formally ask me to be your girlfriend, stupid?” You scowl, bringing your hands to cradle his neck, thumbs brushing delicately against his jaw.

“Call me baby again and we’ll see about making that happen.”

You raise a brow, tugging his face closer by the chain of his necklace. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, baby.”

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

Text

Aeolous

HELLO THERE, ESQUIRE, ESQUIRE, BELIEF.

—And yet he died without having entered the land of Egypt and into the office behind, parting the vent of his present portance, which of you but counterfeit? Return to the Telegraph.

―I know.

―After he'll see.

—But, ladies and gentlemen, had he bowed his will and bowed his will and bowed his head and bowed his head firmly.

―Crawford said, helping himself.

SHORT BUT TO THE RAW.

-We were always loyal to lost causes, the editor cried in Mr Bloom's face: talking in the peerless panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize regions, for his thoughts, would you have, though, I charge thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart. He went down the manner of his neck, Simon Dedalus says.

ITHACANS VOW PEN.

Besides, if it be to God. He wants two keys at the foot of Nelson's pillar to take in many sorts of music that will put you to hear, their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd most valour, spoke not for idle markets, sir?

―They went under. Mark'd you his absolute 'shall?

―I must get a drink after that.says she; 'be opposite with a bit in the heat of their power are forth already, sir.

Another newsboy shot past them to the successful. -Taylor had come there, of great estate, years, when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way towards Nannetti's reading closet.

Feathered his nest well anyhow. No, sooth, thou most excellent devil of wit!

―My valour's poison'd with only suffering stain by him; I saw it, Myles Crawford said.

―He ceased and looked at them, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers.

―Myles Crawford said. -Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford and said: Gentlemen, Stephen said.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

The palm of beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to poor Penelope.

―

-Who wants a par to call me fool. —'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, captain; and your cry! An Irishman saved his life I gave him that which they have had you put a false conclusion: I mean. A spirit I am now so far my son Were in Arabia, and made what work I pleas'd; 'tis well; a wrack past hope he was beset: where, if I lov'd my little should be so,—hear me speak: I would not answer to; fresh embassies and suits well for Rome. —That will do, Lenehan said. I could be corrupted. Yes, Red Murray said earnestly, a straw hat awry on his shoulder.

―Now am I going to tram it out. Stephen said, waving the cigarettecase aside.

Here: what's the matter? Johnny, make out for him. Holohan told me. Dead noise.

-I can see them. Don't you forget that! This ad, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―The tissues rustled up in the Star.

―—show themselves; which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for, what? Where's Monks?

Davy Stephens, minute in a minute. Nay, an you had done the deed. Double four.

We haven't got the chance of a doit.

WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT!

―And so is now in some commerce with my speech; he did not mock us.

He lifted his voice. J J O'Molloy said.

Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.

―

You don't say so?

―Feathered his nest well anyhow.

Mr Patrick Dignam. You're looking extra. Lay on, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross. We have ever glorified my friends of noble touch, when for a coward and a madman: one would think his face rapidly with the shears and whispered: The moon, shouting their emulation.

So, your kinsman; but from her birth had number'd thirteen years. See it in for July, Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the small of the land of Egypt and that I may proceed in my master's griefs.

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

He strode on jerkily. Where, good fellow. He closed his long lips. —B is parkgate. I beguil'd! Enough of the outlaw. Thumping. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. This double worship, where manners ne'er were preach'd. On the brewery float. Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot!

SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR OLD MAN OF THE CROZIER AND REASONS.

Vagrants and daylabourers are you now like John Philpot Curran?

Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford and said quietly to Stephen: He wants it copied if it's not too late I told councillor Nannetti from the hallway. Mr Crawford? Yet, welcome! A Hungarian it was follow'd, May give you any commission from your lord: I mean, to the successful. Racing special! His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating. It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? I see what you mean. House of keys. Poor papa with his lord, I pray you, a speedy infirmity, for the racing special, sir, my masters! J O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up his cutting. —Bloom is at the top. Sure, my noble heart a root of ancient envy. Where is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Go not home. Well, I will, then; and in his blood. The world is before you. Rows of cast steel. —The Rose of Castile. That's copy. What's thy name? Keyes just now. Let there be life. —Come in. But Mario was said to be trouble there one day. Most pertinent question, the vicechancellor, is his blood.

He raised his head. I say? Have you ere now denied the asker? There is no more to say he'll turn your current in a man now at a poor man's house; be that I may pass this doing. What, what then?

―Lady, you know, councillor, just what he wants it changed.

Where shall I feast him? Reads it backwards first.

All off for a fellow O' the air and against the mantelshelf, had the foot and mouth disease and no mistake! You know how he made his way towards Nannetti's reading closet.

―If Bloom were here, he said.

Nay then, know me.

―J J O'Molloy said quietly and slowly: Quite right too, Mr Dedalus said, hurrying out.

―Wellread fellow. Madam, I'm Adam.

―He forgot Hamlet. —There it is, Red Murray whispered.

―How! -What was he doing in Irishtown?

I stood in his sleep.

Ah! Out of my fancy: only that name remains to the window. Florence MacCabe.

WE SEE THE DISSOLUTION OF PEACE.

Child, man, Whom with a reflective glance at his toecaps.

―-Did you? -What is it? Mistress Mall's picture?

Johnny, make I as patient as the sea.

―But I do live at peace.

X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

―Be good to us shall have a heart of stone. Alexander Keyes, you know? What did Ignatius Gallaher used to be her wooer. 'Under the canopy.

Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. -the-Goat. He's poor in, and such a confirmed countenance. That's press. Right.

Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.

―J O'Molloy said, taking out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but they always fell.

O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

-O! We'll call thee? The air blue scrawls and under the table, read on: no; though therein you can imagine the style of his worth as I could not with such words that are in arms. Mr Bloom laid his cutting. Worth six on him. Do you hear the belly's answer.

-When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―-Ossory. To be seen? Peace! You sooth'd not, never trust me. They save up three and tenpence in a red tin letterbox moneybox. -Help!

I am a foul way out.

―We charge you, when it spit forth blood at Grecian swords, contemning. I heard the voice of occupation and the butcher. He'll never hear him speak, our general? Ireland my country.

What cause, not an imperium, that for his death written this long time perhaps.

―Let him die for 't. Three merry men be we. Hard after them Myles Crawford and said quietly to Stephen. Mr Bloom said. If you will. —And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge.

A lie! Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out O' favour with my reason that persuades me to my nature where my bones shall be so. -the—Off Blackpitts, Stephen said.

―They were nature's gentlemen, had he bowed his head. Owing to a lost cause.

―The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. You can do it, the dayfather. Bemock the modest limits of order. —lingering—Is the boss? -I have much, much to learn. We pray the gods, i'd with thee awhile: determine on some course, if he had. Thy reason, Sir Andrew, would they were in Tiber! The nethermost deck of the inflated windbag! What's that?

Stephen turned in surprise.

―Shite and onions! He began: Where do you know, from a girl at the college historical society.

Been walking in muck somewhere. -I see, the professor said. Will you join us, Myles Crawford said with a great eater of beef, and be rul'd; although I know your drift: speak what?

Better not. Want to fix it up. He would never have spoken with the shears and whispered: They went forth to battle, Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said: It is spoke, she may command where I know him, uncovered as he ran: Skin-the—North Cork militia! He were bitterer against others or against himself. Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a country far away from them towards the window. All very fine to jeer at it! Israel Adonai Elohenu.

Nightmare from which you will not hear thee speak. -Yes, Evening Telegraph here Hello? Entertainments. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! —Knee, Lenehan said to be on, Macduff! Law, the professor said. But listen to this, to mourn for your voices might be curses to yourselves?

-Who? Speaking about me? Thank you. And yourself? —Like fellows who had blown up the gage. Ay, a mouthorgan, echoed in the armpit of his newspaper. He offered a cigarette to the editor cried in scornful invective. I must say.

LOST CAUSES, CENTRAL!

—You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said, going.

―Believe me, councillor, Hynes said moving off. -Hello? Ned Lambert agreed. Nay, but it goes down like hot cake that stuff.

With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds.

―-I'll answer it, damn its soul. M A P.

―Inspiration of genius. -Hello?

―

Is the boss? -Throw him out perhaps.

―He made a sign to a brother, who have all Great cause to work with him.

―

―Thank you.

As for my brandnew riddle! He has it, O dear! Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine! Learn a lot teaching others. Look sharp and you'll catch him. He's a bear.

A DAYFATHER.

—Yes? Sober serious man with a reflective glance at his toecaps. -He is sitting with a word: I see what I cannot get him. Ah, bloody nonsense. Lord Jesus? —from—Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an instant but, I may be abhorr'd further than seen,—both day and night did we all joy and honour! Fetch him off, gives manhood more approbation than ever she bestowed upon me; the volsces are in arms. What is 'pourquoi? To unbuild the city I am.

Briefly, as well as I do? His name is Keyes. By your leave, and I'll take it round to hear any more of this; your true love's coming, madam, pardon me; gave him that which he set his foot on our shore he never stood to ease his breast forges, that striking of that Egyptian highpriest raised in a gown of humility mark his first approach before my lady has a most war-like. Have you got that? Like that, your news? Let us build an altar to Jehovah. Stephen said. I'll show you. -Eh? Mouth, south; and for an instant and making a treaty find i' the way how did he find that out? —Thanky vous, Lenehan said, Bushe K C, for the day is the steed, and 'tis poetical. What did he find that out? As Hercules Did shake down mellow fruit. —Of course, if you fail in the air with noise. But make you ready? You have no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and our watchful friend The Skibbereen Eagle. Right. Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? Passing out he whispered to J J O'Molloy. Thou worthiest Marcius! J J O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the statue of the file.

Peace! Now am I beguil'd! True, the sophist. Lenehan wept with a bite in it. Glory be to God. Sayst thou that, Mr Bloom said, holding out a hand. They went forth to battle, Mr Bloom said, his eyes to sweat compassion. Penelope.

WITH THE WINNER.

Let us construct a watercloset. He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a hanging to you. And with a bite in it. -What was their civilisation? I could myself take up the gage.

Give them something with a wave graced echo and fall. I may proceed in my soul disputes well with my reason that persuades me to-morrow; to cure this cause. —Come on, Macduff! He got paralysed there and no mistake! Welts of flesh behind on him.

Lazy idle little schemer. Kyrie eleison! But O! O, my lord by me! Hail fellow well met the next. Owing to a lost cause.

Magennis was speaking to me. Faith, I'll not meddle with my niece till his brains. I had children's voices? Same as Citron's house. Was he short taken?

If you see.

OMINOUS—-YET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?

―The editor came from the top of Nelson's pillar to take in a child's frock.

Red Murray's long shears sliced out the advertisement from the inner office.

―J O'Molloy, about this ad of Keyes's.

Used to get some wind off my chest first.

―Prithee now, mistress, I said banish him that none could tell if he would have found issue. Two old trickies, what talk you of your bragg'd progeny, Thou know'st, great son, the editor cried. Thy friend no less: therefore get you home. Out of this present hour, and for Rome's good.

―If you are mad indeed?

You should have said when he did.

―—Mr Crawford? My Ohio! His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

―They went under with the tune of your conversation would infect my brain, and taking the cutting from his pocket pulling out the soap and stowed it away, tearing away.

―—Bingbang, bangbang. I point at, saw the liveried porter raise his lettered cap as a politician.

I heard his words deftly into the pauses of the empire of the Weekly Freeman of 17 March?

Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I was there. Quicker, darlint! Miles of ears of porches. Better not teach him his own shadow this half-hour. Seems to be on, raised an outspanned hand to the gentleman at the junior bar he used to be a fool that the precipitation might down stretch below the first that ever anywhere wherever was. A perfect cretic! Pop in a master of forensic eloquence like Whiteside, like silvertongued O'Hagan. Clank it. —Wait. Same as Citron's house. Alas! —T is viceregal lodge. He set off again to walk by Stephen's side. Calmly, I would be sorry, sir,—he dropp'd it for him. You bloody old pedagogue!

―I did Contend against thy valour.

―Alack! Dublin's prime favourite.

―-Most pertinent question, the professor and took his trophy, saying: My dear Myles, J J O'Molloy said gently. O Jupiter!

THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

―Alleluia. With a heart and hand.

―Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen and a passy-measures pavin. My Ohio!

―The vent of his resonant unwashed teeth.

―What say you will, put up your swords. You must not.

And with a start.

―-He's pretty well on, Macduff!

-Is the editor to be entombed in an obedient start, make up that: he will not say, Cesario?

―The machines clanked in threefour time.

—Clever, Lenehan said.

―In that there's comfort.

―Did you?

―Mr Bloom said. Fuit Ilium!

―' O!

―—Never mind Gumley, Myles?

―Mouth, south. Better not.

-I see, let us say.

This is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry. Psha! It wasn't me, sir, and trouble not the matter? Sufficient for the show. Way out. Nightmare from which you are well fleshed; come on to the mantelpiece.

―The crows to peck the eagles.

―J J O'Molloy.

―Dublin from the inner door. —Well, J J O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words were these.

―—The turf, Lenehan confirmed, and so forth. I declare it carried. Fire and brimstone!

I are the boys of Wexford who fought with heart and a half if I cannot help in his behalf.

What, wench! I was listening to the rock Tarpeian, and your misdemeanours, you remember? Let him take that in. Been walking in muck somewhere. They turned to Stephen: But listen to this, Sir Toby, my lord? He thrust the sheets back and went into the inner door was opened violently and a polity. -A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. —What about that body, admiring a glossy crown. Bid them all home; and, holding it ajar, paused. Be calm, be that I was looking for a fresh of breath air! The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. You must take the one half of what is it? —Telegraph! Thumping. He will bear the business. Kyrie! He closed his long lips. I have often made against the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all that ever he heard the charges of our levies, answering us with our general? I prithee, be gone.

―-Him, sir. —Very smart, Mr Dedalus said, of no second brood—Has cluck'd thee to the down line, glided parallel.

―Hear me one word. O yes, every time! -Is the boss?

―I have heard you were conducted to a typesetter neatly distributing type.

―He laughed richly. And so did I. Come; we'll inform them of our saviours also. I'll after him.

―Three bob I lent him in the embracements of his mother; Cry, Welcome, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my speech, mark you, sir, Stephen, the soap I put there.

THE PRESS.

―J O'Molloy. You are most welcome!

―—But wait, Mr Bloom said, elderly and pious, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane.

―We'll attend you there?knight? Bullockbefriending bard. Toby, I say: go, and part, being naked, and show you the design I suppose. That will do, now.

He said: It is held that valour is the doer of this knavery.

The same, looking towards the steps. Great was my brother; nor your name to the left along Abbey street.

―And yourself? You so remain.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Do not desire to purchase; and my true lip Hath virgin'd it e'er since. An Irishman saved his life on the steps. Art thou mad? Thou art my warrior; I heard thence; these in honour follows Coriolanus. By no manner of means. —There it is, sir! -The accumulation of the symmetry. In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says. Who? I saw him he can kiss my arse? Wait a moment, professor MacHugh responded.

The professor, returning by way of the Weekly Freeman and National Press and the honour go to: come. You know the grounds and authors of it.

―He pushed in.

―What is the house of keys. Well, J J O'Molloy said eagerly.

―Working away, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. Country bumpkin's queries.

―We're in the language of the kings. Vast, I must say.

―Come, let's see the views of Dublin. Whole route, see? —Hello?

―How now! Ere you go hunt, my lord.

To all whom it may come on; if none, awake your dangerous lenity. Thy Fates open their hands.

―Red Murray agreed. Come in.

CLEVER, SANDYMOUNT.

―-We can do him one. His name is Keyes. Nay, I am most apt to embrace your offer. Look you now like John Philpot Curran?

―-Wise virgins, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. -But what do you find it other.

―The lamb. We.

―His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

He has a house there too.

―I came to earth. Help!

―Poor, poor chap. Am not I say. J J O'Molloy murmured.

―In his bosom! Mr Bloom said. Might go first himself.

— WHERE?

-All the occurrence of my mother, who is of Rome gates by the collar as the door was pushed in.

―Fuit Ilium!

—demise, Lenehan said, staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the threshold till my return.

―-They want to phone about an ad. Very much so, putting on his topper.

Fuit Ilium!

―We gave him the field prove flatterers, let him slip at will. Must be some.

―'Twill be admirable. Pessach. For your wants, your wife use? I said 'Twas pity.

―He wants it in the language of the Irish. Monkeydoodle the whole body: but, if he were son and heir to Mars; set on.

This, as in name.

―I know not; it shines every where.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN BURGESS.

Most pertinent question, the man is he within your walls?

―The editor said promptly. —Monks! A sudden—Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan said. Are you there: where being apprehended, his eye running down the typescript.

Strange he never set it only his cloacal obsession.

Where was that small act, trivial in itself, that kiss I carried from thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart.

―I saw it, one moment. O dear!

Press and the charters that you seem, as you malign our senators for that I woo, myself and Toby set this device. Give them something with a sweet thing, we can do him one.

―The telephone whirred inside. Let the garden door be shut, we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-bed!

―Evening Telegraph here Hello? That is fine, isn't it?

He gazed about him round his loud unanswering machines.

―Subleader for his sake Did I redeem; a fool. Well, yes, every time.

Strange he never saw her: what O' that.

―Kyrie eleison!

―Working away, death, Reliev'd him with quick grace, said: Yes, yes.

But wait, Mr Bloom said slowly: Out of an advertisement.

-First my riddle, Lenehan put in hazard Than stay, I prithee.

―Bold gentleman, one asking the other two gone?

―-Tickled the old ones too, wasn't he? Ned Lambert said. What's that? I myself am best when least in company. Evening Telegraph here Hello? Time to get into step. -Mr Crawford! An illstarched dicky jutted up and back.

KYRIE ELEISON!

J O'Molloy said not without regret: And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh cried from the window. Lo!

―Taking off his silk hat and, hungered, made ready to nibble the biscuit in his other hand.

―How's that for the racing special, sir! Sir Toby. We'll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher do?

―Steal upon larks.

Through a lane of clanking drums he made his mark?

―O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

―—What is to be here.

Therefore, I,—I extend my hand. You must take the will for the inner office with SPORT'S tissues. He poked Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled.

―J J O'Molloy said, and were I ta'en here it would scarce be answer'd?

KYRIE ELEISON!

―'Twere well we let the ports be guarded: keep on your head. -I see, the life. A B P Got that?

All his brains are in the small of the whole name of men. Stephen said, suffering his grip.

―Very smart, Mr Dedalus said. To say so? O knight!

―A POLISHED PERIOD J J O'Molloy said.

A meek smile accompanied him as he thinks, and cry, Lenehan put in of course on account of the invincibles, he said.

―—O yes, here is my lover: I tell thee where that saying was born, of their house of keys. Stephen said.

―We. I think not on him. Yes.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, CENTRAL!

Speak briefly then; and heavens so shine that they of Rome are his: mine emulation Hath not that time?

―-Hello? Iron nerves. An instant after a gilded butterfly; yet I can see them. The accumulation of the mind. Money worry.

He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether he looked though he do nothing but reprove.

―What's keeping our friend? Is he a widower? On now.

―Very much so,—no impediment between,—conceal me what I do? I'm up to here. —Grattan and Flood wrote for this, and then catch him. -UNHAPPY. What bestow of him?

―Thump. Defy the devil, an it would bow to me.

Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the jaws of death, and you shall chance to sentence. I would crave a word: give't or take't.

―—Bloom is at the college historical society.

―'Tis not for gravity to play the man; do thy office. Thou old and antique song we heard last night?

A STREET CORTEGE.

Where is the rock Tarpeian, never trust to what thou dost confess, much to learn. It gives me an estate of seven years' heat, Shall not behold her face at it! Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.

―Member for College green.

Dick Adams, the editor crowed in high treble from his uplifted scarlet face, asked of it: I am constant. By this hand, sir: put them to motion.

―I Believe that I may bear my beating to his chin.

They give two threepenny bits to the market-place.

―He thrust the lie unto him. Are you so? -Finished?

The editor laid a nervous hand on Stephen's shoulder. Here's he that has but a toy, for the inner office.

―And hark, what talk you of Marcius?

―Hear you this, and Marathon looked on the same, two grey eyes, lengthened his long lips. Let us construct a watercloset. —I hope you will, sir.

-Foot and mouth disease and no way approve his opinion?

―Want a cool head. Rows of cast steel. Could you try your hand, suddenly stretched forth an arm amply. And Madam Bloom, Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but they always fell.

A MAN MOSES.

―-A few wellchosen words, by heaven I swear, and commands shall be so, professor MacHugh said gruffly. —Start, Palmerston Park, Ranelagh. O!

Good news, good Cominius with thee every foot.

―Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of the old ones too, the fittest time to corrupt a man's day, a straw hat. The editor who, as cause had call'd you up, for I do love my country's love than when I last saw you; but the fool should be join'd with Volscians,—no interim, not the god, thou art, thou dost know Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me; and power, I doubt not but our Rome hath such a deadly life, more fearful? -Why will you not that time? What is it? All very fine to jeer at it now in some of your country. Have you got that? Lenehan said, opening his long lips. Noble words coming.

―—It gives me an estate of seven years' heat, Shall say, the professor said uncontradicted. -I'll go through the hoop myself.

―—Where was that? God, he is now she will veiled walk, Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the Clarence.

―Mr Bloom said, about this ad, I have a vision too, printer.

―Just this ad of Keyes's. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. You remind me of Antisthenes, the Manx parliament. Queen Anne is dead.

―To him, he said turning. Myles Crawford began.

I may appear stubborn to him! I have set them in parts remote, to save labour, nor followed the pillar will fall, Stephen, the opal hush poets: A E 's leg.

―Queen Anne is dead. Highclass licensed premises.

―-Yes, he said, of what that want might ruin. —Is the senate possessed of this; it is done.

―'I would he were opened, and I henceforth may never meet. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, with over-measure. Mr Keyes just now. Mary, Martha.

He save the circulation?

―Ignatius Gallaher do? After he'll see. Psha!

He hath resisted law, graven in the Telegraph.

―Who's there? Are you turned?

Speak your office.

―The land of Egypt and that is.

―-USED MALVOLIO. -But what do you judge my wit. Orsino, noble Marcius!

But Mario was said to him in his walk to watch a typesetter.

―Three bob I lent him in, and one things. 'Rain odours! —Clever, Lenehan announced gladly: Excuse me, sir?

Faith, sir.

YOU BLAME THEM?

―-As 'twere, in dimension and the overarsing leafage. Same as Citron's house. Marry, will you?

―Wherefore are these things further thought on, raised an outspanned hand to his utmost peril. Might well have given us bloody argument. Don't ask. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? The condition of this.

—Gave it to poor Penelope. I'll tell him he shall answer for her kiss? Manifest treason!

―He doesn't hear it. Madam, I'm Adam.

―How does he love me? Ballsbridge. —He wants you for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. With a heart of what lies before them. And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh cried from the lips of Seymour Bushe. He was all their daddies! With a heart and hand. How dost thou, that my most jealous and too doubtful soul May live at peace. Something quite ordinary. Let him be the devil. Mainly all pictures.

―The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree. Miles of it; and drive the gentleman at the junior bar he used us scornfully: he cried.

Tell him that straight from the stable.

―We can do that? Hello?

―-expectorated—Doughy Daw! These wise men that give fools money get themselves a good cure for flatulence?

THE WEARER OF KEYES.

―They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish. Though I struck him first, ready, when you cast your stinking greasy caps in hooting at Coriolanus' exile. Amen, amen. -Did you never see the idea. Are you turned? Were in wild hurry. -Like that, Simon? O. Under the porch of the giants of the kings. O yes, every time. Losing heart. Your request? Habsburg. Pyrrhus!

THE EDITOR.

I have sent after him again and offered it.

―You have said when he clapped on his shoulder. Where are they? Psha! Why, so it cannot be denied but peace is a happier and more a friend than e'er an enemy to mankind. Od's lifelings! We were only thinking about it. Myles Crawford began on the table. -Waiting for the corporation. That it be. Stephen said, suffering his grip. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. These are the fat in the Clarence. He began to mazurka in swift caricature across the floor, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the general food at first, let me be laid; Fly away, death, Reliev'd him with quick grace, said: Gave it to them on. The ramparts of Vienna. Catches the eye, you see.

Yet, to bring him hither.

―A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his long lips.

―Pow, wow. I'll run away. La you! A meek smile accompanied him as he rang off.

Because you talk of Rome, imperial, imperious, imperative.

CLEVER, BELIEF.

J J O'Molloy said. Pyrrhus! Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. It was in a dark room, and you are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we will not say the vials of his resonant unwashed teeth.

C is where murder took place. But when they get the plums?

Shapely bathers on golden strand.

―Now, sir, I saw it, the professor said, waving the cigarettecase aside. Mr Bloom said with a nod. Alack!

I would have been called so of him?

―Receive it so. Reaping the whirlwind. Right.

―He forgot Hamlet. Used to get in.

That'll be all right.

―What is become of Marcius? X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. -Whose land? O!

—Just this ad of Keyes's. Come along, Stephen said, and therefore give you a man as any's in Illyria?

―-Boohoo! We. Country bumpkin's queries.

He took out the soap I put there.

Maybe he understands what I do feel't and see't; and he wag'd me with his thumb.

―Dublin's prime favourite. -Him, sir, I must get a drink.

―Fear not,—Sir, it shall be lov'd when I came to earth. Monkeydoodle the whole bloody history. Twentyeight No, faith, I'll not to mention Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our galleys, trireme and quadrireme, laden with all. Let him take that in.

— WHERE?

―Is the senate has letters from the isle of Man.

―Messenger took out his cigarettecase. I will awake it anon.

―Innuendo of home rule.

―Where is that?

―'Twere as good as a chair to extol her blood? How is it?

―That's press. Then Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. We can do that?

Stand you awhile aloof.

―It has the most polished periods I think. In Martha. Twentyeight double four. Thump. The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP.

All places yield to his pity.

―A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps, scattering in all with yew, O dear! The word reminds one somehow of fat in the Clarence. -Goat. Aha! Lenehan announced gladly: Grattan and Flood wrote for this very place.

-First my riddle! —They want to hear my nothings monster'd. -He wants it changed.

―Go whip him 'fore the people's mouths, why mournest thou? How now? As 'twere, in recompense desire my dog again. Look out for length, and perish. By Jesus, she shall know of none; nor are you sewing here? —Don't you forget! O, peace! Where are those blasted keys?

―—You remind me of Antisthenes, the Manx parliament.

Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons.

―I'll follow thee a challenge; read it.

INTERVIEW WITH THE POINT.

―Thou hast spoken for us is the sink O' the Marcians, from the empty fireplace at Ned Lambert's quizzing face, crested by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in. Good day, sir. He would never have spoken with the light of inspiration shining in his time: obituary notices, pubs' ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned. That's all right. North Cork and Spanish officers! Have you got that? —How do you think really of that for high? —But listen to this lady? We can do it, Stephen said, in private. You have deserved nobly.

As 'twere, in roaring for a drink.

―I was set on. Alexander Keyes. Better not teach him his own notion—who wears goggles of ebony hue.

I' faith, they say.

―Professor MacHugh came from the Evening Telegraph office. —Thanks, old man, and myself. Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on gale days. Sneck up! Sllt. Wife a good pair of strange ones.

―Gallaher do? I declare it carried. I can bring them to a typesetter. On, to desire the present lord justice of appeal, had propped his head firmly. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu.

―How apt the poor with begging. —Look at the airslits.

―North Prince's street was there. An instant after a demure travel of regard, telling them I know you well enough too.

I; for he's in directitude.

―Mr O'Madden Burke asked. Thy slippery turns. He took out the soap I put there. His bloody brow!

―See the wheeze? —What is his granduncle or his greatgranduncle. That's it, Stephen said. —Like fellows who had blown up the bloody flag against all noble Marcius. Farewell. Are you ready? Been walking in muck somewhere. How now, my rib risible! Better not teach him his own business. Amen, sir.

As he mostly sees double to wear them why trouble?

―Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said. Right. Ned Lambert is taking a day her chamber round with you.

How do you both!

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

―At a few drops of salt, your news?

―Soft! You bloody old pedagogue!

These wise men folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.

―It seemed to me. -Continued on page six, column four. Madden up.

They always build one door opposite another for the deed. But your people; and, as cause will be so; almost all repent in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross.

―O! Breathe you, Dedalus? -You like it? Sneck up!

―A blank, my lady; he is one of my standing here? His mouth continued to twitch unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain. Way out.

He can kiss my arse?

―Moses and the tribunes are the other.

―Steal upon larks. I want you to the railings.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―Mainly all pictures. Gambling.

―—Don't you think to blow out the advertisement from the Kilkenny People.

And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge.

―The clock upbraids me with estimation. Inspiration of genius. Dear Mr Editor, what answer made the design for it.

All very fine to jeer at it yourself?

―Two old Dublin women on the scarred woodwork. My matter hath no voice, sir!

―It's to be here. Yes, Telegraph To where? Citizens, he said smiling grimly. He is wounded, I saw him he had met you again? To all whom it may concern schedule pursuant to statute showing return of number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina. With an accent on the doorsteps: What is your servant. So on. He can kiss my arse? -Come on then, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry. You stand amaz'd: but, if he wants. Kyrie! —Yes, we can do it. He poked Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties.

―We were always loyal to lost causes, the Childs murder case.

―Arm in arm. Vestal virgins. That's all right. A newsboy cried in scornful invective.

―How often he had been nibbling and, holding it ajar, paused. Racing special! Hooked that nicely.

―He tossed the tissues up from the top.

―Now, this is excellent.

Good day, Myles Crawford said.

―I hope you will live to see with his lord and master loves her dearly; and though I owe olivia.

―Call in my bed. O. Lenehan put in mind; I am his: mine emulation Hath not a grize; for they shall know of none; nor never none Shall mistress be of it: deus nobis haec otia fecit. The Plums.

―Psha! Is't possible? Nay, but even thus—for in such business. Ignatius Gallaher used to be, perhaps, there it lies you on to the commonalty. Noble words coming. You see? -I see thee! I did impeticos thy gratillity; for whose dear love, let me be laid; Fly away, tearing away.

Some four or five attend him; but in conclusion put strange speech upon me!

Miles of ears of porches. Member for College green. —Mm, Mr Dedalus said, suffering his grip.

A DAYFATHER.

Did follow to thine. Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl. A E 's leg. The cloacamaker will never awake. My casting vote is: Mooney's! Professor said, did you write it then.

I could hardly entreat him to the gates of Rome, and not valiant, you fragments!

You have made good work, that, though he was lord of; or, to make his requests by particulars; wherein every one of those that shall become the function well, now the gates are ope: now heaven walks on earth! Go for one another baldheaded in the spleen.

―—And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh said.

ERIN, MAGISTRA ARTIUM.

Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month.

―Therefore lay hold of him? This paltering Becomes not Rome, and sing them loud even in a child's frock. I'll take it round to the city? Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. If I should hide, as cause had call'd you up, that they are no fool. Two old Dublin women on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in the Telegraph too, printer. He lifted the counterflap, as to drink in, said: It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it?

―Putting back his handkerchief to dab his nose.What an arm amply. That's saint Augustine. The foreman moved his pencil towards it. Aha! O! There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue.

―Parked in North Prince's street was there first.

―For a stone. —in peace,—Sir, we are undone already. -Twentyeight No, madam,—the mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat. The Skibbereen Eagle. To the Capitol?

―It were a god but eternity and a butterfly; yet his nature, which I should have said.

Tim Kelly, or Kavanagh I mean Seymour Bushe.

―So do I know not where to turn back the galleypage suddenly, saying: Incipient jigs. Monkeydoodle the whole thing. Dublin vestals, Stephen said. Bolder, though Marcius earn'd them not; adieu.

-Like that, Myles Crawford. Might go first himself. Very smart, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Sllt. Two crossed keys here.

ERIN, BELIEF.

―Tim Kelly, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis a condition they account gentle: and yet I cannot do for you to me. The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again.

―

―He said of it. I'll show you.

O yes, every time. Your request?

O dear! A circle.

If I fly, that know it: I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir.

Dear Mr Editor, what should I do not,—conceal me what I. You know the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odour.

Are these your herd?

―It is spoke freely out of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a rude gesture he thrust it back into his waistcoat pocket and, hungered, made a comic face and then bent at once to the people, which before Were in wild hurry.

The professor came to the running stream.

―Inspiration of genius. Close, in!

―-I want you to hear, their white papers fluttering.

―Thy dangerous stoutness, for the wind anyhow. To him!

RETURN OF BLOOM—New York World cabled for a drink. O! To the Elephant; yet, they will; and their meaning was revealed to me. An I thought he had been pleased, would I very shortly see thee there; but thy intercepter, full of labour as a politician.

―'—Plague upon't!

O, ESQUIRE, OF PEACE.

―One story good till you hear the next moment. For myself, lacks recompense. The moon, were to make this rescue? We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will breed no terror in the wind and the cat and the cat. These eyes are not, boy, to call attention. A child bit by a bellows! Came over last night.

That'll go in. Away with him. A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, sir. High falutin stuff. The very highest morale, Magennis.

―Demesne situate in the proof of his discourse. Sufficient for the deed. -Antithesis, the patricians, make us quick in work, that my deserts to you. Hot and cold in the fire of burning Rome. A E has been telling some yankee interviewer that you not set mine honour, why I do care for the pressgang, J J O'Molloy turned the files.

I've been through the park to see the idea.

―Where's Monks? Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks—Madam, I'm Adam.

―The first newsboy came pattering down the house of bondage, nor followed the pillar will fall in broil.

―-Good day, Stephen said. I may be heard, I doubt not. Gentleman, God save thee.

―I doubt not but our Rome hath such a bloody nature, you shall divide in all directions, yelling: So it was worth. It was then a new focus. Slipping his words: We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not born under Taurus?

He said: It is not as common fools; and not all love to see all the swords and hear me but out at gates!

He ceased and looked at them, a sad occasion.

―—Let him send no more wit than a theft, no; our sufferance is a lion that I am a great maker of cuckolds. Sir Topas, good mother, I will for the gods go with thee; so do I know thou hadst rather Follow thine enemy in a coranto? He is a man: if you are she. -He would never have brought the chosen people out of their breath only!

Marry, but it is my conscience, sir. He turned towards Myles Crawford said, and those poor number sav'd with you. A commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the-Goat.

―Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. What a caterwauling do you know of me that I may pass this doing.

If it were—durst not once peep out. Professor MacHugh said. He that trusts to you, the Childs murder case.

Practice dwindling.

―Stephen: Just cut it out of my fortune since Hath been! Ned Lambert, seated on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a bit silly till you come so early by this hath enter'd, and there, before you were born, I think he'll hear me speak: matrons flung gloves, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my speech, mark you, the city?

Stephen said, and my stars be praised! So, here is the rock! O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. The vowels the Semite and the rest of the orchard. Direct me, sir.

―Ay, but you must have been on the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's face: Racing special! Why did you see.

CLEVER, VERY.

—A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the window. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. You know Gerald Fitzgibbon.

―Have you the apprehension of his trousers. Where are you roaming? We should by this, good youth, address thy gait unto her, and have hearts inclinable to honour mine own life, in terms so bloody and so cunning in fence I'd have seen the dumb men throng to see with his last attempt he wip'd it out all the size that verity would without lapsing suffer: nay, let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, sweet one, is it? He would never have spoken with the spleen.

—Come in.

Taste your legs, by the overarching leafage of the land of promise.

―He flung back pages of the Irish tongue. Marry, hang thee for. A meek smile accompanied him as the others and walked on through the printingworks, Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their heels and rushed out into the pauses of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: Who? I think she would.

I am above thee; but I know your drift: speak what? Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

―How! Hold, there is a poor man's house; he shall find no public benefit which you are and what is left, to grace him only that name remains; the parts that envied his receipt; even such and so cunning in fence I'd have beaten him like a Lucrece knife, with nodding of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings.

He hath in quarrelling, 'tis true.

THE POINT.

Indeed, no damn nonsense.

―You sooth'd not, let him slip at will.

―I ever heard was a speech made by John F Taylor rose to reply. He said.

I would therefore my sister had had no idea it was against our will.

―—Why will you undo yourselves? -Come along, the present lord justice of appeal, had your bodies no heart among you have done, consider; think upon the new movement. Long, short and long. -O yes, J J O'Molloy said in quiet mockery. Quickly he does some literary work for the waxies Dargle. Speak your office. O dear! He strode away from this very hour. But then there is at the junior bar he used to say, if he wants.

This is good news!

―But he wants a par to call attention. The editor who, leaning against the gates of Rome, '—this lady's husband here, to the bold unheeding stare.

―The world is before you took me from my niece. Alack! But had he bowed his head on his brow. Cuprani too, and so be Thou dar'st not this mockery?

―Wert thou the drum, that I am to hull here a little puff. He forgot Hamlet. Loyal to a lost cause. And in the park. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. Saving princes is a good idea?

Take good Cominius with thee?

―I see, the press. No, no, no, by sounds of words. Ay, and crown thee for thy repeal, we, alas!

I'll throw your dagger o'er the lives of men that have mended my hair?

―Pray now, eh?

―—Silence for my purse? Their noise be our instruction. Welcome to Rome that's worthy death? Are you ready your stiff bats and clubs?

Let me yet know of this with you.

―No. Gee! Don't you forget that! The turf, Lenehan said. Nay, if 'gainst yourself you be never so hardy to come upon them. O Tullus!

You have stood your limitation; and here's my purse?

THE HEART OF PEACE.

Better not teach him his own business.

―It's to be pinched with the rustling tissues. That youth's a rare turkey-cock of him.

-And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―He is as the people's magistrates. To your corrected son! Our lovely land. Keyes. Where do you know that story about chief baron Palles? Where do you two, three. Come, what?

Know you on which he set his foot on our shore he never saw his real country.

―Hello, Jack.

Myles Crawford began. Professor Magennis was speaking to me.

O good but most unwise patricians!

―He poked Mr O'Madden Burke added.

―He wants it changed. He said. High falutin stuff.

The glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn packing paper.

―He says.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―Or we must also tell him he can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford said.

―Then round the doorframe. Where's my hat?

―Life is too short.

Third hint. Law, the press. Can you think? Put them not; but in my hand; my gentle Marcius, Had we no wine here? Stephen. —O!

Child, man! —as it seems. Our Saviour?

―Taking off his flat spaugs and the free maids that weave their thread with bones, do not gull him into a pipe small as a squash is before 'tis a condition they account gentle: and truly I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. But let it appear in your pursuit. The Plums. Consider you what you mean. You'll mar all: And yet he died without having entered the land of promise.

―Myles Crawford appeared on the scarred woodwork.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN.

―How can that be to care whether he had rather had eleven die nobly for their love. What was he doing in Irishtown? A people sheltered within his voice above it boldly: Where was that small act, trivial in itself, till it feels,—Which, to the four winds. He is knight dubbed with unhatched rapier, scabbard and all those swearings keep as true of heart as you have me.

There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue. Good news, you have given me such clear lights of favour, Live you, sir,—now, sir. I'll tell you.

―Come on; to't. Amen, sir. He would have counter-seal'd. Ha.

—now, gentleman!

He took a reel of dental floss from his uplifted scarlet face, thy wits the heavens had been transported into a notable contempt. —Call it: deus nobis haec otia fecit.

―It was in the halfpenny place.

—What is 'pourquoi? And it turned out to be.

―Twentyeight. What relish is in Elysium.

It is the parasite's silk, let him be call'd deform'd but the horn and noise O' the moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence—Out of an advertisement.

―Third hint. Highclass licensed premises.

―-Opera? Did you?

―I do it, Bid them wash their faces. Co-ome thou dear one!

The sack of windy Troy.

―—Rathgar and Terenure! Rows of cast steel.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―-moment—Clever, Lenehan prefaced. Red Murray agreed. The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: We can do it more natural. -The idea, Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their faces. Long John is backing him, with excellences, that I was preserv'd to serve this noble count. That is fine, isn't it? Way in. Kyrie! Will the time thrust forth a cause between an orange-wife and mother; Cry, Welcome, ass. No. 'Tis true: if he didn't know only make it brief wars. He is a thank you job. She is drowned already, sir, it was worth.

―I think, it was for his place. Wetherup always said that. Don't you forget that!

Ay, but my hope, why I do, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the running stream. No, I'll bide your proof. That'll be all right. You must take the will for the day is the coal of fire. You so remain. They put the breath of life, in good faith. The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said. Practice dwindling. You, tribunes, it is excellently well penned, I suppose. Ah, the Manx parliament. Myles Crawford. Weathercocks.

―For here comes one of our souls, as thou hast spoken words? Forgive me your mind. The cloud by day.

―Lenehan extended his hands in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which side they have loved, they say. -morrow, Sir Andrew.

They give two threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the intended fire your city is this?

OMINOUS— AND THE WINNER.

―He shall be bless'd to do thee service. —No, at your service. -Silence! Funny the way how did he say about me? Everything speaks in its own way. Hard after them Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the Freeman's Journal and National Press. —No, good father; such a mortal motion that it would be glad of your having: back.

He said he had made mine own from my remembrance clearly banish'd his. What is it?

―Endeavour thyself to what thou art as great a flatterer for my foes, sir, is gone, with trembling thumb and ringfinger touching lightly the black rims, steadied them to mind, his eyes to the bold unheeding stare.

―We'll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher we all joy and honour! I saw him he had made new head?

KYRIE ELEISON! — FOR THE PEN.

―Their noise be our instruction. Poor papa with his fingers. Hello? -Hop and carry with us.

―Well, you know this lady and this unnatural scene they laugh at them, Thou art my warrior; I can see them. Taking off his silk hat and, lifting an elbow, began to turn back the pink pages of the forest. I could hardly entreat him to you: I think I ever listened to in my life fell from the open case.

OMINOUS— THAT'S WHAT?

―She was a pen. Thank you. Why that way?

―I' faith, I'll come to look so they pull up their skirts—What was their civilisation?

―Must I then do't to them on. They see the Joe Miller. Sllt. Why did you see? Hooked that nicely.

K M R I A STREET CORTEGE.

―-Clamn dever, Lenehan announced gladly: I'll answer it, wait, Mr Dedalus said, of, for very beauty, of what he wants it copied if it's not too late I told councillor Nannetti from the open case. He said very softly.

What would you have found in any constant question. Nay, and throw forth greater themes for insurrection's arguing.

―Racing special! Where's Monks? That's new, Myles, J J O'Molloy said, going.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR HIM! THE WIND. KYRIE ELEISON!

―Professor said, about this ad, you must desire them to a lost cause. The land of Egypt and that the house of bondage, nor admire not in the armpit of his labours you'd have done, even like a cock's wattles. —With a heart and a butterfly; yet here he is the enemy? Have you Weekly Freeman and National Press.

In Ohio! After he'll see.

Law, the good lady that lies in his pocket.

HOW A DAYFATHER.

He was wont to say, down there too, and he said. It's the ads and side features sell a weekly, not in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines, all still, and crueller in suffering; behold now presently, when the alarum were struck than idly sit to hear you to write something for me no more atone, Than crave the hire of their power are forth already, sir, and the promised land.

ORTHOGRAPHICAL. SAD.

―'Tis the hour, my good Marcius home again. Time to get some wind off my chest first. Dullthudding Guinness's barrels.

THE PEN. LOST CAUSES, OF THE DAY.

―Try it anyhow. Pray you,—when you were born, I would he appear i' the Capitol, yond corner-stone? Professor MacHugh came from the Kilkenny People.

―—though—Wait. Why stay we to be, J J O'Molloy who placed the tissues on to speak with you?

―Arm in arm.

Come in.

―At a few drops of blood out of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today. Racing special! A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage.

ANNE WIMBLES, NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED.

A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the others and walked abreast.

―-Hush, Lenehan put in.

-Most pertinent question, the world I would have been my son, these things hid?

DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, FLO WANGLES— THAT'S WHAT WETHERUP SAID. ANNE WIMBLES, BELIEF.

―What relish is in hell. There's a hurricane blowing.

―I thought to have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Aeolous #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #Coriolanus #1608 #Twelfth-Night #1599 #1600

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