#relearning social skills

[wcdonaldo]

i need to find some of these fabled tgirl discord servers

#half my servers are just for checking spawns in ffxiv and organizing baldesion arsenal runs #i need people to talk to so i can relearn social skills

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits. 

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country. 

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend. 

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly. 

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank). 

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored. 

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that. 

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was. 

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment. 

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage. 

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction. 

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?” 

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks. 

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding. 

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone. 

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still. 

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him. 

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident. 

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way. 

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture. 

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you. 

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you. 

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”? 

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot. 

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly. 

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute. 

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night. 

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?” 

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically. 

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying. 

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason. 

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching. 

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding. 

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly. 

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face. 

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you. 

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text. 

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time. 

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy. 

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense. 

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement. 

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him. 

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same. 

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray. 

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes. 

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him. 

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream. 

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name? 

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers. 

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform. 

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?” 

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful. 

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything. 

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight. 

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom. 

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through. 

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do? 

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought. 

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift. 

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance. 

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage. 

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology. 

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years. 

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don���t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug. 

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache. 

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor. 

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well. 

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers. 

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten. 

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him. 

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him. 

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick. 

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses. 

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you. 

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears. 

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant. 

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder. 

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back. 

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky. 

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought. 

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster. 

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one. 

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook. 

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind. 

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you. 

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs. 

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again. 

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out. 

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you. 

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent. 

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix. 

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it. 

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow. 

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles. 

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter. 

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope. 

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that. 

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears. 

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer. 

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too. 

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers. 

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare. 

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind. 

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class. 

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel. 

But you do know, the universe responds. 

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond? 

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing. 

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation. 

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat. 

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance? 

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.  

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you. 

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

[tunglrsillyman]

in regards to last rb, Posts that made me realize i should consider into getting help

#neb talks #neb vents #ive been off and on about it since i thought it would be good enough if i just got used to talking to people again and relearn #the social skills i lost over the years but the reaction ive had over the past couple of weeks is rly rly rly making this whole 'learning #how to talk normally and make aquaintences' Difficult #***acquaintances; to a point where I dont want to be seen in public Ever Again #like i know its very much an over reaction and it shouldnt affect me as much as it has.at the same time. i dont really know what to do #like sure i could just gradually socialize with my friends and do what i have done before n isolate myself from everyone. #but idk how productive that is. idk . o|-<

[vivulapom]

traumatic brain injuries!!!

these are fun because they're very easy and also very versatile. do you want your character to have any combination of the following:

fading in and out of consciousness

intense headache/migraine

seizures

nausea and vomiting

agitation and outbursts

profound changes in personality

numbness or pain in limbs

no coordination/balance

memory loss

sleeping issues (hypersomnia, insomnia)

trouble communicating

loss of certain social skills (such as easily understanding nonverbal cues)

no self-control

combine with any other injuries to your heart's desire!!

i think tbis are especially fun during recovery---whumpee might have to relearn how to walk, how to speak, how to do basic stuff or even their hobbies (like if they're a painter), and maybe it's super frustrating because they *know* they could do this before and now they can't!!

maybe caretaker/s get super frustrated with them, especially with the hypersomnia/memory loss/profound changes in personality part, because mmm came back wrong is delicious, and whumpee just literally isn't the same person anymore

maybe whumpee gets super frustrated with themselves!! there's a lot of potential and i hope to see more of this trope :3

#whump #whumpblr #whumpee #whump tropes #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump writing

[netherworldpost]

Rules For Making Art

You can quit. If you want to quit, if you explicitly want to quit, you can. You must never forget that. It is not a negative, it is not a penalty, it is not a failure. Your life is yours to live. The amount of time spending art is yours to choose.

If you do not explicitly want to quit, you cannot. You can rest. You can rest as long as you like.

But unless you say, to your self, in a quiet moment, "I do not want to do this" then you keep going.

You can rest as long as you want.

Months. Years. Decades.

It doesn't matter. The art is there when you get back. It doesn't expire.

You're alive? It's still in you.

Skills can be relearned. All of them. New skills can be added.

You should rest.

It isn't a need, it is a demand. It is maintenance, it is itself part of the art because it is part of being alive and being alive is part of the art.

There is no penalty for slowness.

The benefits of speed are vastly outweighed by the hidden costs: wear and tear on machinery, your body, your mind. You think these are gossamar costs because they are out of sight, out of mind.

Until they are not.

There is no penalty for slowness, the benefits to speed are ephemeral and difficult to calculate, resting is not a need it is a requirement.

Your art is yours. Your life is yours. It can be big, it can be small, it can be both. It can be cheap, it can be expensive, it can range between the two.

The audience brings to the table their wants, their needs, their curiosity.

The audience does not dictate the art.

You do not dictate the audience.

This is a collaboration. Both sides are equal, artist and audience. This keeps your feet on the ground and your head in the clouds.

With fire, I recommend making art that you think should exist, but doesn't yet. That's the stuff, that's the best stuff.

Weigh the costs. Financial, social, physical, mental, spiritual, temporal. Constantly. Is this what you want? Are you following your heart? This is not a loaded question. It is spoken softly. I speak this to you as softly as I would a lover who has fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position.

If you can't make what you want, where can you reduce scope? Where can you increase time? Can you make it smaller, can you make it less elaborate? Take longer time to do it?

Can you make something else entirely?

Can you keep this idea in idea form while you work on something else?

Weigh the costs. An unrealized dream left to dust because it was too hard, too expensive, preventing you from making a realized dream, is worthless.

Make it small.

Make it simple.

Review the scope. You want to make a widget. I ask you softly, do you want to make this widget? Not something else?

Make it smaller than that.

Make it simpler than that.

Review the scope. You want to make a fidget. I ask you gently, if you pursue this path it will cost you much, would you be as satisfied if you made smaller things in greater quantity?

When you feel like quitting, ask yourself with the clarity of cold water on a hot day. Hot water on a cold day. Do you actually want to quit or do you need to rest? Are you not resting because the cost of resting feels like giving up?

There is no giving up.

Failure doesn't exist.

You either want to do this, and do.

You either want to do this, and do it simpler, smaller.

You either want to do this, and rest for awhile, so you can gather resources to do it later. Mental, physical, financial, social, spiritual.

You either want to do this, and plan alternatives, break it apart and do other things first, work up to the grand vision, rescope the grand vision, remix it, shift it around.

Or you don't.

And if you don't? If you truly don't? Then don't force it.

Live your life doing literally anything else. That's great too. Equally. The entire point of being alive is to fill up the well of your soul. There are infinite paths.

If you want to make the thing? Make the thing. Maybe it's great. Maybe it is objectively terrible. Most likely it is somewhere on that spectrum.

Did you enjoy it?

Then it was worth it.

That's literally all that matters.

Everything else is secondary.

Quality is secondary.

If you make things publicly? Quality is quaternary. Here is the order of priority. I'll spell it out. I believe this with my entire soul.

Your enjoyment

The enjoyment of your friends

The enjoyment of people who don't know who see it

The quality of the piece itself

Maybe it wins awards. Maybe it's in publications, maybe museums. I've had work win awards, be published in books, shown in museums. I have stuff you've seen if you've shopped in the grocery store in the United States sometime in the last 25 years or so. And far broader places.

That's great. Resources to keep going.

Secondary.

I love making art.

If you do, too, I hope you make art. If not, that you're resting. And if doing neither, I hope you rest until you it's art time again.

Cheers my fellows.

I hope we all make it.

[spirantization]

I'm surprised at the hate that Sokka's character arc from NATLA is receiving. To me, Sokka's development and characterization was one of the strongest adaptations the series made.

In the original ATLA, Sokka's character arc revolves around him unlearning his own misogyny. He makes pointedly sexist comments throughout the early episodes like "Leave it to a girl to screw things up!", "There's no way a bunch of girls took us down!", etc.

Sokka's comments have a strong narrative purpose: they give a platform for women in the show (Katara & Suki mostly) to refute his attitude. Katara emphasizes traditional "women's work" (cleaning, cooking, sewing, etc), which forces Sokka to confront its inherent value. Suki is able to prove to him that women can fight too and he learns to respect female warriors. It's a great character arc and it's well-executed.

It's also characterization that is in direct response to the culture and feminism of the 90s and early 00s. The representation of women in the media at that time was...oof. It was not great. One-dimensional love interests whose only purpose is being saved by the male protagonist, mostly. Female protagonists were not as common, and certainly not ones who were depicted as being able to fight, and certainly not in cartoons. Female protagonists in animation were almost exclusively princesses.

ATLA was progressive in this regard. Katara was a complex female character in a time when there were not a lot of them, in media in general but especially in animation and kid's shows. (I grew up in the 90s; there were no characters like Katara in animation on screen for me.) ATLA incorporated the zeitgeist directly into the story, which is why we have Sokka learning to overcome his sexism in his interactions with Strong Female Characters.

If you go back and watch the original cartoon now, Sokka's sexism feels a bit dated. It's a very 90s, Girl Power, "girls can fight too" style of social commentary. It doesn't match with the media landscape of today. We've got 20 years of media with female superheroes behind us. If your message is "girls can fight too!" the response for the most part is going to be "yes, we know that. And?"

So imagine you're adapting the original ATLA for a live-action remake. You want to keep Sokka's character arc intact, but you want to update it for the 2020s. So what do you do? You look at the conversations that are happening today.

The 90s were about "girls can do everything boys can do", but the 20s are over that. The conversation is more about gender: gender expression, gender roles, gender dynamics. What does is mean to be a woman? What does it mean to be a man?

Sokka's character arc in NATLA is focused on this question: What does it mean to be a man? At the beginning of the series, it's his identity as a warrior that defines him. He needs to be the warrior, the protector, the leader. He's constantly trying to reaffirm this part of his identity, and it's completely tied up in his perception of his value as a man. Instead of his interactions with Suki being about "how could girls possibly be warriors", it shifts to Sokka saying "I'm ALSO a warrior" and trying to justify that to Suki (and mostly himself).

His arc over the series is about him accepting other aspects of himself and relearning how to define his masculinity. He can still have value as man without being the greatest warrior. He can still have value as a man by using his skills as an engineer. He can still have value as a man by offering compassion and kindness to others, like the little girl with the doll & Yue in her final moments. Instead of rigidly defining himself by a specific set of gender roles & expectations, he learns how to define himself through his own strengths and qualities.

I know there are a lot of people who are upset at this change to Sokka's characterization, and the most common thing I see is that it results in changes to Katara's character and her anger in response to Sokka's comments. I think there are valid criticisms to be made about how the show handled the adaptation of Katara's character, but I won't go there with this. In terms of Sokka and his characterization, it was well-done and thematically consistent with the original. It's not an exact port, and it never needed to be. It's still a feminist arc that centres on unlearning harmful misogynistic worldviews, but the focus has shifted from external (roles of women) to internal (his role as a man). And his journey is one that people would benefit from seeing represented.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #natla #netflix avatar #atla meta #there are many criticisms to make about the adaptation but this just isn't one of them

[bunnakit]

last twilight e2 thoughts feelings etc

As always, I'm just some dude on the internet. I could be way off base with some of this but I just think it's fun to think about. Night asking Mhok to make him a cup of coffee was very interesting. Mhok is not there as a general staff, cook, etc. He's there to help Day and only Day and Night is fully capable of making himself a cup of coffee. Curious if this is a hint at Night helping himself to things intended for Day, coveting things Day has, etc. It definitely didn't feel like a throw away action.

I appreciate Porjai very, very gently reprimanding Mhok for being nosy in cleaning up Day's room. It was a bit of a misstep for Mhok and he needed to know that. It's important to let us disabled people ask for help when we need it and not assume we always need help. While the state of Day's room was very likely a concern for safety reasons and general health he should have been asked at the very least if it should or could be cleaned. It's not unlike grabbing the handles of someone's wheelchair and pushing them when they didn't ask to - You don't know what Day has a system for, you don't know what paths he's memorized, or even what obstacles he may have set up for himself intentionally to guide himself to different parts of the room. While it seems difficult for Day to ask for help it is something he's going to have to get accustomed to and he will with time, jumping in and making changes without his consent robs him of more of his already so very scarce agency he's been allowed.

Aon telling Day he needs to be patient and learn to talk to sighted people is huge. I made a post last week about my favorite thing being Day's anger and this is absolutely true, however, it can be so very easy to wallow in your grief and anger if you let yourself. It's important for Day to be angry, it's important for him to be impatient, but it's also important for him to push past those things and grow. Day needs to reevaluate his interpersonal interactions, he needs to relearn how to socialize especially without social queues from body language (something we often process subconsciously and take for granted.) All Day has now to go off of is voice inflection and his own critical thinking skills. He's going to have to be patient with people, he's going to have to adjust, and he's going to have to give Mhok a genuine chance. It's easy to isolate yourself when you're disabled, far too easy, and it's so much harder and scarier to try.

In the same vein as my first comment, the fumbled eye drops scene is so important, I loved it so much. It's Day realizing his limitations, coming to terms with them, and accepting that he needs help - he can't do everything on his own and that's okay, there are people there to help him if he just asks. And Mhok just does it. He doesn't make him feel silly or stupid or feeble, he just looks for the eye drops and hands them over. It's not A Thing, it's not anything more than just helping someone. It's easy, and it should be.

The Boob Grab sure is something. I did not know Jimmy was built like that. I'll talk more about this later.

"Living alone in a small fish tank is lonely, right?"

Oh fuck me UP. Living alone in this tiny bedroom is lonely, isn't it Day?

"Goldfish have a short memory. It can't be lonely."

Perhaps the goldfish's memory is so short because no one has ever taken the time to stick around. No one was worth remembering. And maybe the goldfish wishes he remembered some things less.

The fish is dying, suffocating in it's own filth and loneliness, suffocating from a lack of consideration and care. But suddenly the goldfish goes outside, it breathes fresh air, smells the blooming jasmine, and suddenly it doesn't feel like it's suffocating anymore. Things are a little clearer - not literally but it no longer feels like it's swimming through a miasma. (The goldfish is Day, btw.)

FUCK. ME. UP. I'm eating all of this like the delicious anniversary dinner I had tonight.

So lunch. I noticed this at the beginning of the episode but it's really driven home here. Zero accommodations have been made for Day in the span of a fucking year. There's been no safety measures made, no pathways made more accessible, and even more frustrating they've reorganized the fucking kitchen. It's like they sealed Day in a tomb and are just waiting for him to die so they can move on with business as usual. I would ask 'how is Day supposed to do anything for himself' but it's very clear no one thought of that. They all thought of him as this shambling shell of a man that couldn't possibly do basic tasks like find the soy sauce for himself, they didn't consider him even as an afterthought when rearranging everything. It shows Day's fall from grace within his own family in such a brutal way and it makes me so angry with his family.

The scene with Night and his friends is a lot. Day's anxiety is so palpable and the comments made make me wonder if Day's condition has been kept under wraps as some sort of shameful secret. I would be interested to see if there was an NDA in Mhok's contract.

And then we get Mhok's anxiety and raw fear. Mhok's worst nightmares came to fruition and he knows what hopelessness, frustration, and despair can do to a person. He knows it only takes the smallest thing to push someone into the unthinkable and he can't allow that to happen again. He failed to see it last time, failed to answer a call for help. He won't ever miss that call again.

Here's where we're going to come back to the boob grab and here's where I could be WAY FUCKING OFF BASE. I know we all love it, Jimmy boobie stress ball teehee, but there's also a moment of shock on Day's face when it happens. He's alarmed and taken aback and rightfully so because what the fuck this man is half naked in his room??? Then we come to this point where Mhok has just burst into his room while Day is naked and vulnerable and he knows Mhok has seen him. His reaction might seem harsh or impulsive but here's the tragic thing - A painful, horrible amount of caretakers in the world take advantage of their charges monetarily, sexually, or otherwise. (It's something I've personally seen happen to friends and family.)It's not the rule, but it happens enough to be notable.

It would not be difficult for Day to be taken advantage of and this is only his.. third? fourth? day with Mhok who is still very much a stranger to him. Mhok was completely justified in his reaction (and realistically should have a key for Day's room for emergencies only because God forbid Day fall in the bath or something) but Day's reaction is every bit justified as well. But I don't blame Day for his reaction because he very likely was afraid and his emotions were already so heightened from the mess with his brother, and I applaud Mhok for just leaving and leaving it at that. They both needed to calm down and Mhok leaves. He respects Day's decision, his agency, etc. He walks away from a job that could change his life.

Once again The Little Prince narrates the lives of these two perfectly. No notes, perfect, beautiful, muah.

The fucking slippers. Finally, someone has taken the time to understand. It was a simple solution to a large part of Day's frustration and pain. It has given him some of his agency back, taken away some of his fear. These stupid ugly goldfish slippers have given him so much and perhaps Mhok understands far more than Day gave him credit for because finally someone is listening to him, listening without him having to beg.

And Day going to see Mhok? That's huge. He could've asked Porjai to bring Mhok or ask him to come by but no; like The Prince he approaches the untamed fox.

And Mhok's desperation to understand. Fucking hell. He's gone above and beyond just being a caretaker and the way he says 'the way people look at us.' Because it's an us now, he wants to stand right by Day's side and shoulder this journey with him, to hold his hand and tell Day 'I'm here with you, you aren't alone.' I'm gonna chew my fucking upholstery.

This is only solidified with the addition of Big Mhok. Little Day isn't alone anymore and Big Mhok might be scary and intimidating but not for Little Day, never for Little Day. And then Day uses some of his precious ten fleeting seconds to see Mhok, to put a face to this insane, caring, brusque, ridiculous man that would live his days blindfolded just to understand someone else's perspective. Because Mhok is worth seeing.

Anyway they make me fucking insane, your honor. I don't know if I'll do this for every episode (if people like it enough, sure) but this one in particular had me feeling a lot of things.

#last twilight #last twilight the series #ltts meta #reposting bc i misspelled some names and wanted to add some comments and tweak some wording #bunn meta

[blueboyluca]

Lately I've been feeling a huge need for emotionally intelligent, empathetic and thoughtful content about dog training and care. I feel very fragile at the moment and this sort of thing, while also kind of painful in a way, has been helping me be forgiving to myself and understanding to the dogs in my life. I can't get my thoughts straight to write out anything in detail, but I can share the resources themselves.

This episode was soothing. Christina is a beautiful and gentle speaker and her insights are incredibly valuable. I appreciate her desire to stay out of the limelight, but I do wish I had regular access to her thoughts so it's a bit of a shame she doesn't do social media or anything like that.

Choice quote: "Oftentimes I want to raise my hand and be like, can we evaluate this carceral mindset? And I get looks and I think, cool, not the time, not the place. This is not the space, like, shift gears, let it go, try something else."

This post was a really useful reflection tool. I don't identify as a crossover trainer, since I never trained dogs before, but I still relate because I was raised in a punishment first society regardless of dogs. Even as someone who came to dog training committed to R+ from the outset, it still takes rewiring and relearning and reconfiguring to not default to punishment.

Choice quote: "We humans believe that anger is an appropriate response to being wronged. I agree. There is a lot in this world to be enraged about. The problem is directing that rage at dogs and other beings we control. We are encouraged to believe that dogs are morally wronging us, and that appropriate responses are anger and punishment."

I found so much value in this two-part podcast from Animal Training Academy with Michele Pouliot. She had so much wisdom about how to effectively help people and change minds. And sometimes that means being frustrated.

Choice quote: "When we start working with a dog that's never had positive reinforcement training before, you're right, what's the first thing we do? We build a reinforcement history so that dog trusts us, enjoys being around us, and as soon as we have that relationship we can ask more of them... just because a person called you and made the appointment doesn't mean you have a relationship yet... It's the same as training the dog, you have to build the history."

I'd love to find some more media like these. I've been downloading a bunch of new dog books again, but so far none of them are quite scratching the itch I've got. I wish I could read something like The Secret History of Kindness again, that was one of those rare books that had a profound impact on me.

#dogblr #dog thoughts #dog training #positive reinforcement #podcast

[swallowerofdharma]

Yashiro’s Cruel God part two

Intermission: romanticizing trauma or Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.

Most people looking at someone like Yashiro would feel deeply sorry and they would make a wish for him to find something or someone good in life. But when we start talking about healing we forget or we don’t know what trauma is. Manga can actually help us understand much better in what terms trauma really works: the word we use in several european languages comes from the Greek word for wound τραῦμα. I don’t have the same linguistics insights for the Japanese words - it would be great to have that insight if someone can provide it - but I have access to visual representations, because a number of mangaka associated traumatic events/memories with physical injuries, and the very severe ones with a lost limb, a lost eye. I have talked about this briefly here. The earliest in life or the most severe or prolonged or repeated traumatic events or experiences - the deeper the injury is registered, written in the brain. In the case of a lost limb, there isn’t much healing to do, that part of the body is forever changed, but there are other things to do: relearning how to do things in different ways according to the changes and forgetting about what you could do before or what other people can do with their limbs intact and fully functioning. Of course you can get a prosthetic, an aid, you work around the injured parts. But they ache, they give you phantom pain, they don’t grow back, and the healing is only possible in the parts that are left. Thinking about trauma like this is how we don’t romanticize it. I really think that Yoneda-san is intentionally making a point to show how difficult this process of adaptation is and also how common is for the people around Yashiro to not fully understand or care or know what can be done and what can’t be done. Only Yashiro knows himself that well, can properly determine his boundaries. First he went through a long phase of trial and error and he progressively learned to regulate his impulses quite successfully I must say, because we see that he was alone, lacking guidance, and he did end up naked in an alley, but at least he was sober and drug free. That is when Misumi came in and, although he had also his selfish motives and interests, he cared enough and offered Yashiro some guidance and most importantly conditions so that Yashiro needed to learn how to restrain himself and only indulge his sex drive more safely and more intentionally, setting new rules and adapting to a life full of other responsibilities and commitments. Remember that the premise here isn’t to assign blame or make moral judgments or excuses, but to understand how these characters grew, matured or changed or how they developed their expectations and interpretations of the world around them.

There were areas where Yashiro, as a full formed adult, still refused to be challenged, mostly because he had adapted and learned how to be self reliant, but unfortunately also because he interiorized an image of himself as someone unlovable, as a consequence of his parents’ behavior and later his unrequited feelings for Kageyama. Yashiro can absolutely find love. He fell in love twice, other people have fallen in love with him before, he doesn’t want to hurt others, he generally cares, he has gained much better social skills than those he had as a teenager, he is still an eccentric but not unreasonable or crazy. The problem is that he doesn’t know how to accept romantic love because he doesn’t recognize the feelings of being loved. The new experience is confusing, disorienting and scary, nauseating, because he lacks points of reference. He can’t go back to a foundation in love, an original self that is pure and secure and healthy, because his parents didn’t help him build it or deliberately destroyed and reshaped it with fear. Romanticism poses love as a good, natural, inevitable human thing, implies an ideal world where everyone has that pure healthy self and if pain and hardship are inevitable in life and each person is wounded, they must get to heal normally or simply by reaching back and restoring that pure and secure and healthy self as much as possible. If it was parental love/care and responsibility to offer the best condition for the self to be that way, then it will be the love/passion and commitment of a romantic partner to help healing the inevitability wounded self later in life.

I don’t think it was pure coincidence that in the same chapter you have these two different scenes not far from each other. Doumeki has been left behind and he is reminiscing about the events that brought him to this point. I am still focusing on Yashiro now, so that I haven’t properly talked about Doumeki, who has his own wounds within him, but as I mentioned last time, Doumeki experienced betrayal, especially regarding his father, after he already had a foundation in a family with a sufficient amount of care. Even if his parents weren’t especially doting or his experience was so much at odds with his sister’s experience inside the same family, he still developed normally, if not very reserved or able to express himself only through controlled physical aggression at kendo practice. We see in this memory another element, Doumeki playing normally with other boys and having fun. When the chapter goes on showing Yashiro in a flashback, we see him spying on Kurobane’s nephew on Misumi’s order. But we also see him as this uncomfortable nineteen years old who is an outsider and feels like one when confronted with normal children playing normal games.

I’d really like to write a proper analysis of the confrontation between Yashiro and Doumeki in the car in chapter 32, because I think that conversation is a very good example of two people coming from completely different places and confronting each other without reaching a solution that would work for both of them, because of lack of understanding and the extreme difficulty to communicate. We see very well here how the dynamics older/younger and realist/romantic play out. Scenes like these, where they talk, get to know each other, they are there and they were frequent even.

For now, I just want to underline another example of Yashiro looking at children with a foundation in love/safety from the outside and having to wrangle with that feeling of alienation. How can he take part in that same world as these people, how can he be part of the same world Doumeki lives in? Since he is going to meet Hirata and he doesn’t know what might happen there, his only choice is to leave Doumeki behind, but since he doesn’t obey anymore, Yashiro has to push him away and, if necessary, intentionally hurt him. Doumeki tries different strategies to stay, and Yashiro seems to relent on occasions, but when the time comes, he takes the gun and shoots.

Again a long post, and I don’t know how much I have accomplished with this. Between phone calls and my cat giving me the stinky eye because I am two minutes late to feed her, although I had mentally prepared to tackle the part about Doumeki, I recon I am going to leave this part as it is and continue the analysis later. Hope you don’t mind, I am not great at planning things out. So this is again to be continued…

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #saezuru analysis #yashiro #doumeki chikara #manga analysis #yoneda kou #eri reads saezuru #of course I have a cat

[fly-sky-high-bug-games]

I need to focus on other things, I can't really draw the siblings' dynamic I'm desperate to showcase so have it tossed down bellow

-Hornet still calls Hollow by "Knight", as they have no name and she doesn't feel like it's her place to give them one. She also refers to them in it/its or they/them pronoun, kind of switches between the two

-Hollow's way of communication is body gestures and movement. They can write but it's been too long, they are somewhat relearning how to. They write in short sentences, not because they can't or don't want to communicate, it's their current headspace of just kind of existing normally that's new to them. They also eventually develop a sort of sign language of their own that only Hornet picks up on (at the time).

-Hornet is the one who introduced them to other bugs to see how they socialize, also being forced to do the same herself. She is not doing so well lol! Hollow, while not really knowing to pick up on social ques as well, is still doing better due to still carrying the basic training of being a knight (and polite towards bugs they were meant to "keep safe and serve")

-While she feels like took a lot on herself to help Hollow adapt, it's their interaction that sort of bounce off of each other and proving to be helpful to her as well. She still has a need to be protective of them in any situation, though, taking a lot of responsibility on herself while not needed and this can have a counter effect on Hollow, making them step away from her when she acts too much like that.

-Hollow doesn't like physical contact, not because they're afraid or not trusting enough because physical contact outside of combat is foreign to them. Hornet learned this (as shown in the comic) and is mainly allowing them to make the first step if she reach out (tugging on Hornet's cape to get her attention, a soft pat on the head as a thank you that they picked up from ~someone :)~ etc.)

-Hollow is recovering and learning but they are still highly trained, fully capable of taking enemies down. What they lack is a sense of drawing the line when to stop, not dealing with enemies who aren't void construct or high skilled like the great knights. They can gravely injure or kill someone very VERY fast and Hornet has to warn and stop them for not accidentally going too far

-They use World Sense to know and see things Hornet can, so randomly they would act a little out of it as if zoning out or mediating in the middle of doing something. Hornet doesn't usually disturb them when they do but she hates when they run off somewhere without her knowing if they decide to go investigate what they 'saw'

-The enemies Hornet tries to keep a secret are these strange bounty hunter bugs that are coming after for some reason *wink*. She thinks Hollow isn't aware but they are secretly keeping an eye out for her

-Hornet learned Hollow refuses to fully sleep rest the hard way (as in she tried all sort of assurances and methods to let them know they're safe but they would act in panic so she would stop trying or insisting)

Uh, I might add more in future self reblogs if I remember more, have this for now~

#hollow knight #hornet #hollow #stagnation end tag #I use to word these stuff a lot better but now I can't lol #maybe transparent bg wasn't a good choice but what ever #I just wanted to draw something since #I haven't in days but neither could I fully focus on drawing #because I had to take care off stuff and only work on the doodle when I had a chance in between

[fetuswithfriends]

I really like how the first 5-10 hours of Disco Elysium is just so painful narrative/gameplay-wise. You are fixing all of Harry's mistakes and trying to move forward, while still failing 1/3 tasks that the game assigns you. It really nails the point that "no matter how far you fall, you always have the option to climb back up again"

.... even if the first third of the game is just constantly being told that you're a failure, you can get Harry back to his best self by the end of the game. It's kinda funny how well earning your skills and xp works with Harry relearning his Mental/Social/Dexterity/Physical traits. I guarantee that if Harry was happy and supported, he would be the best cop in Revachol (instead of being one of the best in his precinct).

#disco elysium #harry du bois #hdb #i hate/love how much i relate to this guy #its unreal

[lets-try-some-writing]

I hope to see more of your Optimus ghost au

maybe something went wrong when Optimus got sent to the real world and still had some ghostly attributes?

I meant to answer this forever ago, but alas, life is a thing. ANYWAY here it is! The continuation of this post I intended to make two eternities ago.

Previous part here.

Bad Habits

Optimus spent almost a half a vorn as nothing more than a wandering spirit. He grew accustomed to it and had exactly zero issues with his situation after a time and was rather content with himself after the emotions of mortality faded in favor of boredom. It was a dull existence, but not without its perks.

Spending so long as a ghost allowed his attachment to mortal emotions to fade to a degree. He no longer felt his emotions as strongly and instead found himself unconcerned with things, preferring instead to make commentary on it and watch from a distance. He came to enjoy being able to float wherever he desired without need for sustenance or rest after the longing passed. He was particularly fond of being able to think of a mech and transport directly to their location so he could watch and comment as he pleased.

By the time he arrived on earth to oversee Bumblebee's attempts to deal with the Decepticon influence there, and later the Fallen, he was completely at peace with his situation. It was boring, but Bee's companions were entertaining enough to keep him engaged. Then of course the other Primes dragged him from his peaceful existence and right in front of Bee and his team, wrapped him in a mortal frame once more, even going so far as the shove the Matrix in his chassis again.

It was so sudden and it hurt. He was certain that throughout the process he was screaming so loudly that if he weren't being remade, he would have damaged something. It was agony and when the work was done he could only fall to the ground limply, unable to move as he was forced to adjust to living again. Venting suddenly became a concious choice, touch and sensation were so overwhelming as to be painful, and he had no control of his field or even his basic biology. It had been too long and he had long forgotten the finer details of how to operate in a mortal body.

Bumblebee and his team were of course quick to assist, but Optimus merely flinched and groaned as they hauled him to his pedes only for him to be as clumsy as a newspark. Micronus spoke plainly, demanding Optimus end the Fallen himself and going on about how Optimus's frame was infused with the strength of all the Primes or something along those lines. He was too tired and overwhelmed to process much and so promptly passed out from sheer data overload.

When he woke he spent days slowly and rather painfully relearning the most basic of skills, ranging from walking to speaking. He could tell Bee was worried and that his team were disappointed and concerned. Optimus paid them little mind and focused himself on his task, opting not to be around the team as much as he could so as to not make a mistake. It was difficult adjusting, but he managed to fight the Fallen fairly well by relying on the Matrix to guide his steps and take partial control of his frame where he no longer had mastery.

However once the battle was over and Optimus was left without much to do, the oddities and issues that came from his almost half a vorn floating around as a ghost came to light rather quickly. The most obvious issue Optimus dealt with was the fact that he needed to be around other mecha again. He had always watched and commented on what went on around him, it was his method of coping. However now that he was living again, he quickly came to the realization that the personality he developed for himself to get by would no longer work in a social setting.

He hardly noticed at first when he would stand around, watching blankly as Bee and his team worked. He only realized how odd he must have seemed when he received fearful glances that spoke of worry for their performance in return for his staring. In those instances he often walked away without a word, regularly finding himself confused when he felt any actual strain to his movements before remembering that he was mortal once more. He also found himself not touching anything, just... standing and observing, reading over the shoulders of others instead of collecting a book by himself. The team were too unnerved to comment and so allowed the behavior and endured Optimus musings as he spoke as if no one could hear him.

Optimus wandered any and all parts of the base, uncaring of social norms and customs or even privacy. When he grew bored, he would walk the halls and enter into any room he felt like exploring, often walking straight into a wall expecting to pass through before he tried the doors instead. Bee and his team quickly learned to lock their doors at night so that Optimus wouldn't meander right on in without a care in the world. However sometimes that didn't stop him from being unnerving as he would pace up and down the halls singing songs and making all sorts of very bitter commentary.

He was not asked to do much save for rest and recover and to focus on reorienting himself. Thus Optimus continued with life as if he was still but a ghostly specter since nothing was expected of him. He watched, he wandered, and he tried in vain a great many times to transport back to Cybertron to check in on Megatron and Knockout as he would have as a spirit.

There were other things beyond his simple inability to socialize. Optimus hardly rested and when he felt any sort of strain he was always left startled and confused as to what to do. He completely forgot about fueling for nearly a week and was confused as to what was wrong with his frame before Bee handed him an energon cube looking more concerned that Optimus forgot that he needed fuel more so than his lack of fueling. Not only that, but Optimus tended to walk everywhere, never transforming and never running. He just walked without a care in the world even when there were actual issues that required speed to be seen to. He was only reminded of his alt-mode when the team yelled at him to transform when he got caught up in a fight by tailing the team.

Pain was one of those odd things he never really understood after being restored. He knew it well while he lived, but upon his restoration every wound was a stark and noticeable thing. Even the slightest trip could have him holding back a scream as pain and damage reports flooded his processors. The team didn't understand, and neither did Optimus. They stopped bringing him on missions shortly after his battle with the Fallen because of his oddities. He didn't mind much.

Optimus also just... didn't recharge. He needed it, but he wouldn't rest until he passed out cold without meaning to. He would spend days going without any recharge simply because he was unused to it and preferred being up and about so he could continue to watch. It frightened Bee and his team to find Optimus stalking silently, watching and waiting as they worked. Sometimes the Prime would sit in total silence on top of the cars in the junkyard, commenting and laughing as they trained or busied themselves. He was generally left alone due to how freaky his action were, however Optimus was startled when one outraged Sideswipe had enough of his words and addressed him where the others were too nervous to do so.

Optimus: How very disappointing.

Sideswipe: What?

Optimus: During the war even the youngest of soldiers could throw a right hook correctly. What happened to the teachings of warriors? Did it fade from the veins of Cybertron now that peace has been granted?

Sideswipe: Hey-!

Optimus: Look at that, now the youngling is upset. No self control at all. He won't last a day in an actual battlefield.

Sideswipe: I CAN HEAR YOU OPTIMUS!

Optimus: .... Apologies.

The Prime looked genuinely shocked to be addressed and that was the final nail in the coffin. Optimus stopped talking entirely and fell silent, instead continuing to hover and watch. He pulled away from everyone with a cold apathy that left the team fearful of something that wasn't there. It was during this time that the lingering aspects of Optimus's long time as a wandering ghost began to become obvious to the team.

Before they refused to ask, chalking Optimus's oddities up to him getting used to living again. But now that they looked, they could see everything.

Optimus was unusually quiet for a mech of his size, to the point where it made no sense whatsoever. It was as if the world itself refused to acknowledge he was there. Every movement was near silent, his plating hardly ever making a noise and his steps obscured by a strange calm that made it impossible to locate the Prime with hearing alone. Even his colors felt muted at times, his frame almost blending into the background because of some strange force that decided Optimus was not allowed to be noticed unless he wished for it.

It was odd, very odd, and highly concerning. Thus without any idea what to do, Bumblebee took the initiative to call upon Ratchet for aid, a call that was also answered by Megatron the moment the former warlord heard that Optimus was restored. All the while Optimus continued to watch, to wait, and observe. Silent as ever and content to remain a simple wraith, forgotten by the living and exiled from the ranks of the dead.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #bumblebee #bee team #transformers rid2015 #ghost optimus prime #yeaaaah being a ghost for so long will frag you up #how starscream manages it all the time is beyond me #I would lose my marbles

[skeletoninthemelonland]

My favorite personal little thought is he had to practically relearn how to talk after being alone all that time

I like to think that after he got out from the rubble of Fazbear Frights, he saw the sun for the first time in a while, and he socialized with someone who re-taught him the skills he lost while locked away for 30 years

Like, a kid who reminded him of Elizabeth teaching him to read and help him relearn his colors, numbers, letters, and how to write (somewhat)

THIS IS SO CUTE WHAAATTTT

#AAWWWWWW #inbox #anon #starbstalks

[steveharrington]

here’s a little list of things that happened in 2023 that i am happy about:

•got my job and moved out (this was literally all i wanted this time last year, and it happened 🤩)

•made many new friends at my new job

•decorated my apartment and made it feel like home

•gained a sense of confidence in living alone/being independent

•gained significantly better social skills i.e. answering phone calls at work all day, making small talk with coworkers, going on some first dates, etc. just generally relearning how to talk to new people after a long period of being pretty isolated socially

•surprised myself by being able to retain an overload of new info at my job, proved to myself i’m competent :)

•read a lil more! (not as much as i should have) and got a library card in new town :)

•started feeling more confident driving to new places by myself

•advocated for myself more and was more straightforward with ppl

•discovered ethel cain

•DISCOVERED SONNY ANGELS!

#2024 resolutions soon to come

[lassieposting]

Fletcher for therapy please

Oh Fletcher would do great in therapy. Like, 10/10 client good job

It'd take him several years - and probably some prompting from Ghastly, whose opinion he respects - to get him to realise he should really go, largely because he's surrounded by a social circle that isn't very open to the concept.

When we meet Fletcher, he's a hurting teenage boy who badly wants approval from a role model. And while he does eventually get some good solid advice (as well as time and empathy) from Ghastly, that's only after he splits up with Val and feels like he has nowhere else to turn. Prior to this, he actually spends several years fruitlessly trying to win that approval from Skug. Which is a problem, because Skug isn't in the market for a surrogate son. He sees Fletcher primarily as a rival for Val's attention and secondarily as a nuisance, which leads to a situation where Fletcher is consistently trying to impress him and getting knocked back. And we see that Fletch remains selfconscious about Skug's opinion of him for years after he gives up trying to bond - he makes two really obvious attempts to reestablish their relationship on an even footing and remove himself from that subordinate clinger-on role (i.e. shaking hands as adults); he clearly expresses that he's not thought of or treated as part of the team; he knows he's Mickey to Skug's Doctor and Val's Rose. He's the tin dog.

And that's the thing: from what we see of Fletcher, he's actually very introspective. When he speaks to Ghastly, he's clearly done a lot of thinking about why and how his life has ended up the way it has. And he's done that all on his own, because who's going to listen to him?

So like. He's not going to ask Skug and Val to recommend a therapist. He knows exactly how they'd react. Skug is an incredibly macho manly man - Special Forces, law enforcement, and from a time before anyone knew or acknowledged that mental health was a thing - so he's fiercely adamant that he, traumatized as he is, doesn't need therapy (ha) and he's openly dismissive of the concept to Val. He'd laugh, or take the piss, or make a shitty little comment, and Val would laugh along with him because that's what they do.

But approval from Ghastly - who's equally macho, equally manly, but far more well adjusted - gives him the confidence to start thinking about it. And then after Moira tries to kill him, he actually makes an appointment.

A lot of Fletcher's issues come down to trust and abandonment. He has no dad. His mom died on him. He's been used and undervalued by Val and Skug and the rest of the gang for years. Val cheated on him. Reflectionie died on him as well. This is a boy for whom nobody has ever stuck around long term. A boy nobody has ever prioritised. And he has to learn to work through the negative impact that has on self-worth and self-esteem, and learn to stop Yes Man-ing Valkyrie and her friends and prioritise himself. And he wants a more normal life - Lardo makes him teach for some reason, I keep him with the Monster Hunters. So that means distancing himself from his ex and the people in her circle, even though he feels like they're all he has. He knows he'll never get to have that more normal life while he's hanging out with people who seem to attract trouble in various eldritch and evil forms. He has to learn boundaries - how to make and defend them. He has to learn to stop being drawn to girls he wants to save, and start looking for partners who are as mature and invested as he is. He has to completely relearn how to relate to others.

And like. He knows he needs these skills. He wants things to get better. So he goes to his sessions, he does his homework. He comes in with theories and suggestions and ideas.

His therapist loves him. Good job, Fletcher.

#skulduggery pleasant #sp headcanons #fletcher renn

[hubristicassholefight]

Swordswoman Showdown Round 1 Part 1

Camilla Hect (The Locked Tomb) vs Peko Pekoyama (Super Dangan Ronpa 2)

(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")

Camilla art by @friendamedes, used with permisson

Propaganda below cut

Cam

trained w a rapier & knives. practical. handsome. extremely efficient and capable.; she’s my boyfriend and I love her. Please vote for cam she is my life

Gideon Nav uses one very large sword in defiance of the expectation that a cavalier should use a rapier, but Camilla Hect instead uses two. Just as much defiance of social expectation, twice as many blades. The reveal of her specific brand of swordiness is the heart of one of the book's most iconic lines: "Cam? Go loud."; In the spirit of the laconic charm of the Warden's Hand I will simply say "Camilla's competent."

She prefers two short swords but has been know to wield a rapier and other such bladder instruments; She also loves to organize spreadsheets

Go loud.

Peko

she is the ultimate swordsman. her only purpose is to cut people with sword (for her yakuza master); PEKO

I mean. Her title in-game is literally "Ultimate Swordswoman" so she's quite literally the best at swordfighting in-universe! She wields a bamboo sword most of the time but has also fought with a more "regular" sword several times.; Umm idk she's just really cool <3 I'm not great at writing propaganda lmao

She is literally called the Ultimate Swordswoman in game.

Her title is 'Ultimate Swordswoman'; Please consider: I love her

She's literally called the Ultimate Swordswoman; Member of the yakuza (Japanese mafia), wears glasses without being the token "smart/nerdy one" stereotype, likes animals

Sadly you don't see her fighting a lot, but she has the title of Ultimate Swordswoman. She also destroyed several robot bears during her execution (although she seemed to be controlled during it) and only died because she accidently hurt her crush. She also battled the Ultimate soldier and while she ultimately lost, it wasn't an easy fight. Also bodyguard for the yakuza; First seems like the stereotypical "stoic" girl, but talking to here reveals she loves Flugfeld animals and dislikes scaring them. Also sweet and very loyal. She doesn't even see herself as a person, but only a tool. Wants to relearn how to smile. Has a crush on the person she is supposed to protect, the Ultimate Yakuza, but sadly in the main story that doesn't have good ending

Has the in-universe title of Ultimate Swordswoman due to her skills. Was taken in by a yazuka family as a young child and trained with swords in order to be a bodyguard for the group’s heir, which she does extremely well.

Literally the MOST TALENTED SWORDWOMAN IN THE WORLD of her age., She is so so fucked up and traumatized <3 she sees herself as just being a tool for the yakuza heir she's a bodyguard for. Also she became a terrorist and then had her memories wiped and was still pretty morally grey after that. Then she died because she killed someone and got caught. Queen shit

#camilla hect #the locked tomb #peko pekoyama #super danganronpa 2 #danganronpa #dangan ronpa #poll #official #swordswoman showdown #round 1