You know this because the clock on the vitals monitor is directly in your line of sight, and you’ve been keeping track of the minutes while tracking the patient’s vitals- numbers ticking over in the periphery of your attention while the rest of your brain tries to keep your hands from shaking.
Fourteen hours. You’ve been on for fourteen hours. The last thing you ate was half a protein bar at six am that tasted like shit, washed down with burnt coffee from the break room pot that nobody’s cleaned since before you started this rotation. There’s a tremor in your left hand that you’ve been hiding by keeping it pressed flat against your thigh whenever you’re not actively doing something with it. The skin around your fingernails is ragged where you’ve been picking at it- a habit you thought you’d kicked in undergrad, resurrected now by the particular misery of being the stupidest person in every room you walk into for twelve weeks straight.
And Park is still ranting
It’s the sutures. It’s always the sutures, or the charting, or the way you positioned the drape, or the fact that you apparently hesitated for a quarter of a second too long before calling out a dosage. Today it’s the sutures. Something about your tension. Something about spacing. His voice has that cadence it gets when he’s not actually teaching anymore, when the correction has already been made and absorbed but he’s still going because he likes the sound of his own authority filling a room. It rolls out of him, low and unhurried, the kind of voice that doesn’t need volume because it knows no one in a thirty foot radius would dare interrupt it.
Your eyes sting. Not from crying; you’re so far past crying that the thought of it feels almost quaint, a luxury for people who slept more than three hours last night. They sting because you haven’t blinked in too long, because the fluorescents in this room have that particular institutional flicker that you can’t quite see but can absolutely feel, a faint buzzing pressure behind your orbital bones that’s been building since noon.
"- and if you’re going to work in my department, you need to understand that I’m not going to hold your hand through basic -”
“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.”
The words don’t feel like yours.
That’s the first thing. They don’t feel like something you decided to say. They feel like something that fell out of you, dislodged by exhaustion, the thing holding it in place quietly giving up. Your voice doesn’t even sound right. It’s flat, toneless, the weight of someone who genuinely, completely meant it.
The room changes.
It’s not silence- the monitors are still going, the ventilator still pushing rhythmic air through tubing, the IV pump clicking through its programmed drip rate. But the human layer of the room, the subtle living soundscape of people breathing and shifting and existing in proximity to each other... that just stops.
You feel it before you understand it. A stillness that presses against the outer edges of your awareness like a change in barometric pressure.
Then your brain catches up.
First, the echo of your own voice playing back to you on a half second delay, the consonants sharper than you expected, the fuck landing with a hard, percussive weight that seems to bounce off the tile and come back louder. Then the context: the room, the hierarchy, the badge clipped to Park’s scrubs with ATTENDING PHYSICIAN printed beneath his name. Then the realization. The simple, devastating realization of what you just did.
You are an intern.
Twenty six years old. Four months into your emergency medicine residency. You do not yet have the authority to order a meal from the cafeteria without someone double checking it. You have told a senior attending- the senior attending, the one the other attendings don’t even argue with- to shut the fuck up.
In front of people.
Your peripheral vision starts feeding you information you don’t want. Robby, to your left, has shifted his weight backward. Not a full step. Just a transfer of gravity from the balls of his feet to his heels, a subtle rocking away from you that his body chose before his conscious mind caught up. Whitaker has dropped his gaze to his hands, looking at his own fingers like he’s never seen them before, studying them with the rapt, deliberate focus. Behind you Princess has stopped writing. The pen isn’t moving. The soft scratch of ballpoint on paper that’s been a constant background noise for the last hour is just gone.
Nobody is going to save you.
The thought arrives with a nauseating clarity. There is no version of the next thirty seconds in which one of your co-interns steps forward and makes a joke to cut the tension or offers some plausible reinterpretation of what just happened. You are alone in this like a dream where you’ve shown up somewhere without clothes, exposed and and suddenly aware that every exit is very, very far away.
Your pulse is doing something it shouldn’t. You can feel it in your throat, your wrists, the soft dip behind your ears. A rapid, threadlike fluttering that you’d flag as tachycardic if it belonged to someone else. Your mouth has gone dry, tongue too thick, too present, a useless slab of muscle sitting behind your teeth with nothing helpful to contribute.
Apologize.
The word surfaces like an air bubble, wobbly and urgent.
Apologize right now. Open your mouth. Say Dr. Park, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what- say something, say literally anything, you have a medical degree, you passed boards, you are a person who is capable of organizing words into sentences that-
Your eyes lift.
You don’t decide to look at him. It’s closer to compulsion, the same instinct that makes you look toward a sound you didn’t expect, your body orienting itself toward the source of the danger before your higher brain can intervene.
Park hasn’t moved.
He’s in the same position he was in thirty seconds ago, shoulder against the supply cabinet, arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other. The posture of a man who was mid-lecture and simply… stopped. His mouth is closed. The steady, unbroken stream of correction that’s been filling this room for the better part of ten minutes has ceased completely, and in its absence his jaw is set, his lips pressed together tight, like he’s keeping something behind it.
His eyes pin you to the floor.
They’re on you. They’re only on you. Not scanning the room for the reactions of the other interns, not cutting toward the door, not doing any of the things you’d expect from a man whose authority was just challenged in front of others. He is looking at you with a fixed, undivided attention that feels less like being seen and more like being ripped apart from the inside, read down to the last molecule.
His expression is... you don’t have a word for it. His brows are level, not raised in surprise or drawn together in anger. There is no visible tension in his forehead, no flare to his nostrils, no whitening around the corners of his mouth. The set of his face is almost neutral, would pass for neutral, except for something happening in the space between his eyes and his mouth that doesn’t match. Something you keep trying to categorize and failing because it doesn’t fit any of the reactions you braced for. Not fury. Not cold professional disapproval. Not the performative disappointment of a superior preparing to make an example of you.
He looks like someone just set something down in front of him that he didn’t order but has every intention of keeping.
Your stomach drops about six inches.
It drops because you recognize that look. Not from Park, not from this context, but from somewhere older and less clinical, somewhere your hindbrain catalogued and filed away under a category you absolutely cannot be accessing right now, standing in an exam room in your scrubs with your career in a shallow grave at your feet.
The air conditioning kicks on overhead, a low mechanical shudder that moves through the vents and stirs the hem of the curtain partition to your right. Someone’s pager goes off down the hall, muffled through the closed door, two short bursts and then nothing.
Park still hasn’t said a word.
He’s watching you the way you’ve seen him watch a complicated case- that particular narrowing of focus, that quality of stillness that means the gears are turning somewhere behind his expression, that means he’s already three steps ahead and you just became the most interesting problem in the room.
His chin dips. Just barely. A fractional tilt downward that changes the angle of his gaze, sends it through his lashes instead of over them, and the difference that makes is something you feel in the backs of your knees.
Your mouth is still open. You haven’t apologized. You haven’t said anything at all. The silence has gone on long enough now to calcify into something that feels almost agreed upon, a held breath between two people who both know what just shifted and neither one has decided what to do about it yet.
Somewhere behind you, Robby clears his throat and murmurs something about checking on a patient in Bay 4. Whitaker rushes to join him. The door opens. The door closes.
Park’s mouth changes.
It’s not a smile. It’s barely even movement. Just the faintest asymmetric pull at one corner, a shift in his expression so subtle that if you weren’t staring directly at it- and you are, god help you, you absolutely are- you would have missed it entirely.
Your brain is still trying to apologize. You can feel the words piled up somewhere behind your soft palate, a traffic jam of I’m so sorry and I didn’t mean and please don’t report this, but none of them are making it to your mouth because your mouth is busy doing nothing. Your lips are parted about a centimeter. You’re breathing through them because at some point in the last forty five seconds your nose stopped being sufficient, your body rerouting to the faster intake the way it does when you’re afraid, when your hindbrain has identified a threat and started allocating resources accordingly.
The problem is that your hindbrain and your forebrain are in violent disagreement about the nature of the threat.
Your forebrain says: career. You’re thinking about your career. The program director. The evaluation that Park files at the end of this rotation. The letter in your file that will follow you to every fellowship application, every attending position, every hospital that ever Googles your name.
Your hindbrain says something much less articulable and significantly more inconvenient.
Park takes a step forward.
Not toward the door. Not toward the computer, or the supply cabinet, or any of the dozen professional destinations that would make this a normal post lecture movement of a senior physician continuing with his day.
Toward you.
It’s one step. A single, unhurried shift of weight that puts him maybe three feet closer than he was, which means he’s now close enough that you can see the specific weave of his scrub top, the way the fabric pulls differently across his shoulders than it does across the plane of his chest, the slow and even rise of his breathing. He’s not winded. He’s not tense. His respiratory rate hasn’t changed at all, and you hate yourself for noticing that, hate yourself for the clinical part of your brain that’s catches that like he’s a patient instead of the man who holds your professional future in his hands and is currently standing close enough that you can see the flecks of amber in his irises that the fluorescents keep catching.
The room feels like it’s shrinking. Not metaphorically; you know it’s not actually shrinking, you’re not psychotic, you haven’t lost your grip on the material dimensions of an eight-by-twelve exam room, but something about the air quality has changed. It feels thicker. Closer. Like the ventilation system decided to shut down at the exact worst moment, leaving you to breathe the same recycled air that he’s breathing, the same molecules passing back and forth between you in a loop that feels more intimate than it has any right to.
Princess leaves.
You don’t see her go, but you hear it, the soft lick of the door latch, the brief rush of hallway noise that floods in through the gap and then seals shut again, the retreating squeak of shoes on linoleum fading into the mid distance. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t make an excuse. She just left, which means she either read the room and decided she wanted no part of it, or she read the room and decided you needed no audience for whatever is about to happen to you.
You’re alone with him.
The realization seeps in, cold and slow, like water filling a basement. It rises around your ankles first, the awareness that the door is closed, that the hallway noise is gone, that the only breathing you can hear besides your own is his. Then it’s at your knees, your waist, your chest, and by the time it reaches your throat you understand with a complete, full body certainty that whatever is happening right now is not what you thought was happening thirty seconds ago.
Park tilts his head.
It’s a small movement. The kind a dog makes when it hears a frequency it can’t quite identify: curious, alert, the whole body orienting around a single point of interest. But there’s nothing canine about the way he’s looking at you. Dogs tilt their heads because they’re confused. Park tilts his head because he’s decided something and he wants to see you from a slightly different angle while he enjoys it.
“Fourteen hours,” he says.
His voice is different. You can’t identify what changed. The pitch is the same, the register is the same, the vowels still carry that particular unhurried precision that makes everything he says sound like a bastard. But there’s a texture to it that wasn’t there during the lecture. Something underneath the words, packed into the consonants, something that makes the back of your neck prickle the way it does when you walk into your apartment and feel certain someone else was just in it.
You swallow. You feel your throat click with the effort. “What?”
“Fourteen hours on your feet. Four months into the hardest rotation of your first year. Running on what, coffee and adrenaline? Maybe some spite.” He pauses. His gaze moves down your face in increments. Your forehead. The bridge of your nose. Your mouth. He stays on your mouth for a beat that lasts about a half second longer than clinical assessment would require. “And that’s what comes out.”
You can’t tell if it’s a question.
Your hands are shaking again. You gave up pressing them against your thighs sometime in the last minute and now they’re just hanging at your sides, trembling faintly in a way that you’re desperately hoping he can’t see but almost certainly can because Park doesn’t miss things. That’s the whole problem with him. That’s always been the whole problem with him. He catches the suture tension that’s off by a degree, the half second hesitation, the pulse that’s running eight beats faster than it should. He is a man who is professionally trained to notice the things your body does before you’re aware of them, and right now your body is doing several things you’d prefer to remain unaware of.
“Dr. Park-” you start, and his expression shifts.
Shifts. Not changes. There’s a difference. A change would be readable. A change would give you something to work with, anger you could apologize to, disappointment you could grovel through, cold professionalism you could match with your own until the moment passed and you could go have a cardiac event in the supply closet like a normal person with dignity. But this isn’t a change. It’s a shift, tectonic and internal, something rearranging behind the surface that you can only detect by its effects on the landscape of his face.
His eyes narrow, lids dropping maybe a millimeter, just enough to change the structure of his gaze, and the look that comes through that narrower aperture is... focused isn’t the right word. Focused implies effort. This is something past focus. Something that has settled into its attention the way a thing settles into still water, disturbing nothing, displacing everything.
He looks at you like he’s already taken you apart and is now considering the order in which he’d like to do it again.
His tongue touches the inside of his lower lip. You see the movement through the skin, a brief, subtle pressure that reshapes his mouth for less than a second before it’s gone. It’s nothing. It’s a unconscious gesture, a self soothing tic, the kind of thing people do a hundred times a day without thinking.
It doesn’t look unconscious.
“Dr. Park, I’m- ”
“Don’t.”
One word. Quiet. Not sharp, not cutting, not delivered with the clipped authority he uses on the floor when a resident is about to make a mistake. This is softer than that. Lower. It comes from somewhere deeper in his chest, and the sound of it lands at the base of your spine and sits there, warm and heavy and refusing to move.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, and then he smiles.
It’s barely a smile. It wouldn’t register as one in a photograph, wouldn’t survive the flattening of a two dimensional image. You’d need to be standing exactly where you’re standing, this close, in this light, in this airless little room to catch the way the corner of his mouth lifts. To see the way it pulls something taut across the planes of his face, reshapes the hollows beneath his cheekbones, turns the set of his jaw from something authoritative into something predatory.
It is, you realize with a clarity that goes all the way to the marrow, the expression of a man who has been waiting for something he’s very much looking forward to ruining.
The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
It doesn’t need to. His eyes are doing something far worse- they’re warm. Not kind warm. Not reassuring warm. Warm the way a hand on the back of your neck is warm right before the fingers tighten. Warm the way a voice goes warm when it drops into the register it only uses behind closed doors. There is a heat in the way he’s looking at you that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with appetite, and it is so profoundly, catastrophically different from anything you prepared for when you walked into this hospital fourteen hours ago that your brain simply stops trying to process it and hands the reins to something older and less rational.
Your body knows what this is.
Your body has known since his chin dipped, since the first pull of his mouth, since he hasn't stopped looking at you. Your body has been screaming the answer at your prefrontal cortex for the better part of two minutes and your prefrontal cortex has been politely declining the call because accepting it would require you to reconcile the clinical reality of your attending physician with the man who is currently looking at you like he intends to take his time.
Park reaches past you.
His arm extends to your right, his hand landing flat on the counter behind you, and for one vertiginous, blood loud second you think he’s reaching for you, caging you in, and every nerve ending you have lights up simultaneously. But he’s not. His fingers close around the chart Princess was writing in before all of this happened: your chart, your patient, the one with the sutures he was critiquing when you decided to set fire to your entire professional trajectory.
He picks it up. He looks at it. He looks back at you.
“Fix your tension,” he says. Same low register. Same impossible warmth. “Then come find me.”
He holds the chart out between you.
You take it. Your fingers brush his. The contact lasts less than a second, barely qualifies as touch, just the drag of his knuckle against the pad of your index finger as the chart changes hands. He doesn’t pull away quickly. He lets the contact happen, lets it register, lets you feel exactly how steady his hands are compared to yours.
Then he turns and walks to the door, and you watch him go because you can’t do anything else, because every voluntary muscle in your body has been temporarily requisitioned by the part of your brain that’s still processing the afterimage of his smile.
He pauses with his hand on the door. Half turns. Looks back at you over his shoulder with an expression you’ll be replaying at two in the morning for reasons you refuse to examine.
“And intern?”
You can’t speak. You manage something- a breath, a sound, a squeak, something that exists in the neighborhood of acknowledgment.
The warmth in his eyes sharpens into something with an edge, something that gleams.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “You’re going to need it.”
The door closes behind him.
You stand there, chart in your hands, pulse in your teeth, the ghost of his knuckle still burning along the length of your finger.
The ventilator cycles. The IV pump clicks. Down the hall, someone pages radiology.
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synopsis: You felt comfortable where you were. A well paying job and a group hangout scheduled every week(or at least you guys tried to). You were used to this routine and the occasional errand or two. You honestly preferred it that way, busy and packed. But somewhere along the line, you felt him ripping into the seams of your soul, pushing past the readily available facade and drinking your raw self from a glass straw.
Five times you shouldered something for someone, and the one time you ended up on his shoulder.
word count: 9.4k
notes, warnings: best friend seungcheol x reader, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, non idol au, Seungcheol and reader are the same age, cast is around mid twenties, corporatevibes with possible inaccuracies, alcohol consumption, eldest daughter coded reader, hyper independent reader who also needs to learn how to say no, 5+1 trope ish. Reader plays badminton, some jargon, slight angst, rom com vibes at times. (At least i tried </3) theres some texting, CRINGR attempt at humor… seventeen, twice, eunha(gfriend/viviz) and hyeri(girl’s day) members make cameos, reader lowkey don’t listen to seungcheol, THEY FIGHT AND ARGUE…. BUT MAKE UP (kinda), CURSE WORDS. Important, this is fictional and does not express reality about the actual members of seventeen
authors note: yall.. guess im back to writing. english is not my first language, so apologies in advance for awkward running sentences and any grammatical errors. I based this off of the song master of none by beach house bc i LAUV the song. Also the header was made very last minute, so apologies for that as well. Enjoy reading and reblogs and likes are never compulsory, but always appreciated :DDD
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October 🍻
Eventually, you grew tired. It was getting rather late, with rain pouring outside in sheets across the window planes of the barbecue place. The lady handling the orders looked on with a fond, tired smile, and you couldn’t help shooting her a mirrored expression mid-laugh. You were standing, arms entwined with Soonyoung as you poured a warm shot down your own throat. The liquid felt sharp, and your belly was going to explode, but you laughed anyway, encouraged by your friends giggling along to your tipsy antics. Soonyoung, on the other hand, was red-faced, staring at you with teary eyes as he struggled to push the glass rim onto his pouted lips.
“Give,” you said with a sideways smirk, already imagining him landing on maybe Hansol’s (Jun’s, maybe too?) couch and sleeping in until the late morning, hungover. You swooped his glass and stared blankly at the ceiling as you gulped his share of the punishment and put on an indifferent face, as everyone across the table cheered you on. Your stomach felt stupidly acidic, and you sat down with a victorious smile, slightly clenching your fist, playing it up for your onlookers. The game continued. Your mind stayed fixated on the game, occasionally coming up with funny quips aimed at the punishment takers. You felt relatively tired. But being around your friends added this feeling of relief, which you looked forward to every Friday. This week, it was the barbecue restaurant near your house, so you knew you’d have to walk a few of them back to your place. It wasn’t a big deal anyway.
You guys stayed for another hour, until Soonyoung's stomach felt rather unwell (courtesy the Bacardi shots- or as Mingyu would call them: Barcardi), and Hyeri was so drunk that you guys called it a night. After settling the bill and the drunken mishaps outside the restaurant, you held onto Hyeri’s waist, her head on your shoulder as you walked her back to your place. Unfortunately, Soonyoung's red face seemed to be turning rather green, and Seungcheol offered to help him back to your place, an offer you gladly took.
The walk was silent. Occasionally, Soonyoung would hiccup, and you’d swivel your head back in worry, only to see Seungcheol already looking at you, pensively. You couldn't exactly decipher this specific look. After spending years together across high school, university, and now work, this was a new expression to you. You took your time to watch him every single time you looked back; his face never changing. Your head was beginning to feel a bit heavy, but as you entered your apartment and began unlacing Hyeri’s work shoes, you already felt Seungcheol's steps ahead, resting Soonyoung on your couch. He went into your room, grabbed the spare blanket, and covered his sleepy friend. You made it in and helped Hyeri in your bed, using your makeup wipes to swipe at her lip tint, now smudged with drool.
Walking into your living room, you felt a storm behind your head. A tight band quenched your cranium with full pressure. Seungcheol was sitting on the floor, knees drawn into his chest as he stared outside your glass sliding door, into the cool night.
You smiled, tired, and sat next to him. Soonyoung lightly snored behind the two of you, and he slid a glass of water across the coffee table, towards you.
You drank sloppily, rested your head on his shoulder, and started groaning. Maybe to annoy him, maybe to lean on him for a bit. It was rare that you did, but you felt your shoulders finally lowering after seizing them up for most of the night.
“Why’d you do it?” He gruffly asked.
You hummed, eyes closed. “What did I do, Cheol?”
“Drink Soonie’s punishment shot. You know you didn’t have to, right?” he said, rather dejected as his hand makes its way to your temple, softly pressing into the flesh with a tender touch.
Wordlessly, you nodded against him, feeling slight relief as the pain disappeared in waves.
“I know, but I wanted to.”
He said something, a bit unclear, and the next thing you knew, it was morning, you’re somehow in your room, and Hyeri had her leg wrapped around your waist, who snored softly through her open mouth (which you gently pressed shut).
Oh. And it was your floor, Soonyoung woke up on, actually.
December 📁
Wonwoo didn't ask for help often. In fact, the last time he asked for help was in high school when he fell ill and asked for your notes on the one class he missed, which was why when he asked if anyone could fetch him his presentation notes that he left at the dining table of some random restaurant fifteen minutes away from your office, you felt almost compelled to accept it. But of course, not before playfully teasing him in the group chat for a good thirty seconds before asking the location of said restaurant.
Your phone buzzed as Wonwoo called you immediately after your last message.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he whispered.
”I know, I know, I kind of expect a lobster meal for this sacrifice. I'm giving up the only forty-five minutes I get for lunch to be your delivery man,” you snorted out, your two hands on the steering wheel as you waited at the red light. He hummed thoughtfully, and your car rumbled alongside him.
ETA, six minutes to Madam Kong’s Stew and Drinks, your navigation system relayed.
“I have my presentation in about twenty-five minutes, and you know I would be so down to get the files myself if it weren’t for Manager Park breathing down my neck. I don't even know how I snagged a bathroom break to call you.” He frustratedly muttered.
Traffic fell forward, lights turned green. You hummed. “I’ll call you when I’m near your office, see you in a bit!” Your car was sealed in silence as his voice cut off.
Your phone buzzed. Buzzed a bit more on the passenger seat, then fell silent. You didn’t really notice, watching the mundane rhythm of cars as you eventually pulled up to the parking lot of the quaint establishment where warm wafts of broth brought you through the doors. The menu was plastered on the wall as a tired-looking uncle smiled at you from behind the register.
“Hello, Uncle, I’m here to collect some papers my friend left behind today.” You smiled politely, giving him your kindest smile as you pulled your coat away from your neck, feeling the warmth of the food warming you up as well.
“Ah, the young gentleman called in ahead and did mention that someone would be arriving to collect them.” He answered, disappearing into the small room behind him, leaving you to stare at the menu, withering pictures of bowls of noodles, rice bowls, and a wide variety of side dishes burning into your eyes.
Your stomach would’ve growled if it weren’t for the growing urgency to finish your task and return to your own office and start your own meeting with the rest of your staff members. Your mouth silently salivated at the picture of the warm broth with thick, knife-cut noodles drizzled with sesame oil, glowing and bouncy with specks of sesame seeds — crunchy, delightful, and a warm burst of umami in the cold December winds.
Your stomach finally grumbled, and you wondered if you could squeeze in a quick meal while waiting. Wonwoo’s body in a random bathroom cubicle, whispering into his phone flashed behind your eyes. Then an image of your staff members chattering while waiting for you, the head of the table empty. You quickly shook your head and grabbed the file folder the uncle passed on, now back to manning the register.
Checking your phone, disregarding the unread notifications, you only saw about 25 minutes left on your lunch break and sped off to Wonwoo’s office, who grabbed the file from your hand, got out of your car, bowing 90 degrees as you waved him off and wished him a productive meeting. Now, you have your own meeting to get back to.
The drive back was anxiety-ridden. You were hungry and had a meeting with your members, with a presentation that you’ve been preparing for a while now. You can still imagine the warm steam the broth emitted, and instantly regret thinking back to the restaurant.
Coming out of the seminar room, you feel a sense of achievement as the head of your department, applause still being heard from inside the glass-encased room. The meeting itself lasted no longer than forty minutes. You still felt an empty pit in your stomach and headed into your office, where an insulated bag was kept neatly on your work desk.
Receipt:
Madam Kong’s Stew and Drinks:
Order for: Choi, Seungcheol
Register: Pi, Cheolin
1x hot broth knife cut noodles
2x electrolyte drinks
1x service side dishes
1x sesame oil packet
total price : XXXXX XXX
It was messily hatched out, with your signature pen, which was now capped up in your pen holder. You would be confused if it weren’t for the notifications on your phone that were finally addressed.
corporate bros
Queen Hyeri (corporate): lunch today is so ahh bro I don’t get paid enough
jihyo: dont u work for the food sector…
wonwoo (corporate): GUYS if anyone is free i left a file at a restaurant and i would totally go to get it but my manager is being kind of mean rn </3
junhui (more corporate): im so sorry woo, im otw to pick up my boss from the airport so i wont be able to get there in time D:
wonwoo (corporate): nono its chill dw :D
you: LMAOOO skill issue
you: won isn't your meeting TODAY ?
wonwoo (corporate) : do u HATE me 💔
you: yes. jk im on break anyways, send the location let me see if i can help
wonwoo: [location] did u know that youre the only person ever.
you: i think i can make it(?)
new!
mr choi (corporate): @ you dont u also have a meeting at 1???
mr choi (corporate): im nearby, ill get it
mr choi (corporate): im otw, see u wonwoo
mr choi (corporate)
new!
mr choi (corporate): the uncle told me a very pretty lady already picked up the file soooo
mr choi (corporate): so im assuming u didn’t eat lunch so i got u something from the restaurant. hope your meeting went well :)
you: life saver. Thank u so much cheol </3
you: wait did u end up eating :( im so sorry i didnt read the message or update, I ended up wasting your time.
mr choi (corporate): i ate at the restaurant after I realized you already left TT dont worry about it
you: also lmk the price don’t think i didnt notice you scratching the price off
mr choi (corporate): no eat ur noodles
you: >:(
mr choi (corporate): enjoy and eat slowly.
transaction! user YOU sent user CHOI SEUNGCHEOL 30,000 WON.
transaction! user CHOI SEUNGCHEOL sent user YOU 30,000 WON.
you: :(
mr choi (corporate): :)
March 🏸
badminton lozers
boo: ok guys uhm so eunha got injured during practice so we lowkey are pulling out of mixed doubles competition unfortunately, but feel free to come anyways to watch the other players
hannie: do you guys not have any subs?
boo: I looked around and there are some people, but we haven’t practiced our synergy yet so subbing this last minute might just be risky
boo: I would ask @ you but ik she’ll be exhausted after work on Thursday
you: im DOWN
you: victory is ours btw
boo: are you sure? you have work on Friday
you: we played in hs for three years is this all u think of me 💔
boo: okay but we HAVE to practice
you: see u at court soon LOZER
boo: thank you a lot, @ you - eunha and me 😼
jisoo hong: eunha and i*
boo has left badminton lozers
Practice went well. The weight of the racket resting on your palm wasn’t new. The smell of the rubber lingering on your hands after a successful smash was satisfying, only second to the sound of the shuttlecock butt landing on the opposite court. Feeling that nostalgic rush in your body, you and Seungkwan click your racket shafts together, relishing in the victory. Your practice match went well, leading to a score of 21-16, a five-point lead, leaving Eunha squealing from the benches, nestling her ankle. She watched on, offering you occasional pointers that you implemented almost immediately.
It was a Sunday, your first free Sunday in a while after having dinners, lunches, luncheons, brunches, and other variations with clients, urging them patiently to make their decisions regarding future projects. You felt your shoulders ache, and a satisfying burn in your calves, but nothing could beat the smile Eunha and Seungkwan gave you as you wiped off the sweat from your brows.
Plans for dinner were being made. Eunha offered a cold noodle place nearby, Seungkwan insisted on a tofu restaurant closer to prove a point. You laughed at the two players bickering and unfortunately declined their request, having sweat stick onto you and desperately requiring a shower at your home and a hearty dinner on your two-seater couch.
“We can’t thank you enough for this. We know this isn’t really that serious of a competition, but we were really looking forward to competing and at least snagging a trophy.” Eunha said earnestly, looking up at you, her eyes turning the mood suddenly somber, as even Seungkwan nodded along solemnly.
With your right hand, you squeezed Seungkwan’s cheek and with your left, you leaned down to pat Eunha’s head, feeling the need to reassure your two juniors. They had come a long way. While you and Seungkwan carried your badminton team to great heights, you had to graduate, leaving Seungkwan behind with his new partner for mixed doubles, Eunha. Although you didn’t play as regularly as them, you kept up once every few weeks, joking with them in casual friendly matches.
“Don’t thank me yet,” you muttered, coolly, “wait until I win.” You even looked away into the distance for dramatic effect, trying to lighten the slightly tense mood, feeling uneasy.
“oh that was CRINGE,” Seungkwan interrupted almost immediately, “and what do you mean by ‘I’? We’re playing doubles, what is she on about!” His rambling continued on as you packed your kit and walked outside into the cool evening (not before messing up Eunha and Seungkwan’s hair affectionately in departing). The sun was setting, and you couldn’t help but stop to take a picture of the purple hues of the sky.
Sitting in your car, you made the lonely ride back home.
-
You were not lonely.
Seungcheol was washing carrots at your sink, the sound of his light humming causing you to smack his arm as you walked into your own apartment, to the smell of a rich scent bubbling in the air. His shoes were neatly placed outside your door, despite you telling him multiple times to keep them in the shoe rack right next to your door. He always denied, mumbling something about a quick exit and entry, and something about how he didn’t exactly like the guy who lived next door. His coat (and his maroon tie) was hanging from your own coat rack, where you left your badminton bag.
You shuffled behind him to see what he was making, in your own kitchen, with your own ingredients, with your own utensils, with your rice already boiling in your rice cooker in its own corner of your apartment.
“Carrot and mushroom stir-fry,” He said, not bothering to even look back at you as you took off your socks behind him. Waddling to your room, you arranged yourself into a shower and came out with a bounce in your step.
His humming continued as you prepared two bowls of rice, spoons, forks, chopsticks, while you plated bean sprouts, spinach, and eggs out of your fridge into sharing bowls.
He placed the frying pan between you two as conversation bubbled from you.
“Then I dived for the net shot, which i’m not gonna lie, was dumb given the fact that my knee did end up on the floor, alongside my whole body,” you mentioned, pausing, as you scooped mushrooms onto your bowl of rice, “but kwan and I won 21-16 so you know we’re gonna be mvps.”
He nodded along stupidly, staring at you with concern, then asked, “And what did you have for lunch, Miss MVP?”
“Brunch with that one marketing manager, who, by the way, is still waiting for confirmation papers from your department,” you reminded him.
“They’re ready to be delivered off, I just need to find time to drive all the way to the Gangnam Branch,” Seungcheol pouted. He paused, like he had some sudden epiphany, then pushed his spoon on the table.
“Why did you even join that badminton thing, when you know you’re going to be busy? You don’t always have to have your plate filled, and I think you also know that,” he sighed, “I get that you and Seungkwan have a history of playing together, but I know how you get when you have a task in front of you, especially if it means helping our friends. It’s okay to take it at your own pace and just say no.”
He rubbed his hands together as he formulated his sentence, waiting for your reaction as you listened intently, chewing carrots in the meanwhile.
You straightened your posture methodically, paused, and replied as best as you could.
‘Cus I wanted to. I know I don’t have much leisure time, but joining this badminton thing means a lot to both Seungkwan and Eunha; it was only obvious that I would help where I could,” you justified, “plus, I know what I’m doing,” you trailed off. It was often where you and Seungcheol offered insight and advice to one another, and it was obvious when he was overly worried about your well-being, but you couldn’t seem to push the slight frown on your brow when you saw his own shoulders rising and his face turning tense in front of you.
“Even your justification, it relies on the happiness of Seungkwan and Eunha. Now, I don’t blame you for thinking about our friends, but don’t do it at your expense,” he gruffly muttered. “Your body is tense at your own house. Hell, you even got injured. I know you know you can handle your own affairs, but rest. I’m not trying to fight, but if you end up sick and injured, I can’t help but question you.” He sternly stated.
With every word he uttered, you couldn't help but sink into your seat a little. He’s questioning you?
You wanted to reply with your own smart retort, but it all died down when you saw him eyeing your shoulders, the way your neck strained, and the way your calves were slightly swaying under the table. You felt like a child being berated all over again.
He picked up his spoon and pushed a bit of rice into his mouth. The silence disappeared, and only his chewing was audible. You just blinked on, consuming his words as delicately as you could.
“Why are you even here? to lecture me?” You childishly challenge, trying to muster the courage to spin the overbearing conversation into your regular banter.
His face was pointed at his now half-empty bowl, and he busied himself by placing spinach into your half full-bowl, “Josh told me you said yes to Seungkwan today, and that your practice would finish up by six. And also that you’ve been preparing for a week already. Just knew you’d be too tired to cook,” some carrots, on top of the spinach next, “I won’t tell you what to do, but if you seem so compelled to play, you better eat up and win.”
-
Seungkwan was still in the bathroom. He left his bag with indigestion pills on the fifth row of the bleachers.
Your next match starts in four minutes.
You made your way to court three.
Two players were there, rallying with one another.
The one referee was waiting, tapping their foot as you walked closer to them.
boo: I’m so sorry.
boo: I'm still stuck in the bathroom. Those melons that Chan gave me rly messed me up
boo: idk if ill be out in time
boo: u might js have to forfeit our match
you: okok its okay. I’ll tell the person in charge , stay strong soldier.
You read his message again and again.
The first match had been easy; you breezed by with 21-13 and then a devastating 21-9, when, during the break, Chan offered Seungkwan some melons he picked.
Now, you were walking onto the court with your racket, feeling the confused looks of your friends on your back, as you alone made your way forward. Eyeing your opponents, you felt intimidated. They glanced at you, sizing you up. You felt small.
“My teammate and I are going to be-”
“Substituting a member out for the next match.”
You looked to your left and saw Seungcheol spinning your spare racket, testing its fit and weight.
The match was coming to an end, with this third set especially leaving you out of breath. 21-19, 24-22 (you guys won the second one. Jeonghan had to be escorted off the bleachers for a breather during this specific match), and now here.
Seungcheol was burning through his energy supply, Seungkwan’s jersey especially tight around his biceps as he flexed hard, shuttlecock landing between your opponent’s feet.
19 all.
Just two more. Two more.
You feigned a net but placed it high in the back court, leading to a shot that you followed with another smash. Countered. Smashed. Netted.
20-19, matchpoint.
You glanced at Seungcheol as you made your (hopefully) last service. Your opponent was mid-center. Flick, reflex, hesitation, and line.
21-19. Victory.
(Somewhere in the background, you could see Seungkwan shooting you both a meek thumbs up.) (and Jihyo and Mingyu screaming with their raw chests.)
You looked at the ceiling, bright lights, pride, and lactic acid all accumulated in your shoulders.
Without a second to waste, you grabbed Seungcheol’s shoulders and shook them with glory, smiling with your mouth agape. He held your cheeks and looked at you.
“We won!” He said, voice shaking as you pulled him into an impromptu hug.
“We won.” You mirrored.
You and Seungkwan continued on and ended up snagging silver. Not bad for the annual neighborhood competition. (None of you guys lived in Seungkwan’s neighborhood.
After the podium pictures were taken, Seungcheol and you ended up conversing near the vending machines outside. You hadn’t talked to him much in the past four days, still feeling a bit hurt after his questioning at your apartment, but you felt grateful that he cared enough to cook you a meal, then forced you to watch him wash the dishes, wipe the table down as you bugged him to help. It was an awkward situation, feeling like you had to walk on eggshells around a dear friend who had always taken care of you, even when you clarified that you didn’t need it.
You pressed coins in, and two electrolyte drinks clanged against the metal of the opening flaps. He opened one and handed it to you, and you felt yourself still as the warm evening sun seeped onto the two of you. It wasn’t the brush of your hands against his, but the sun that warmed you, of course.
“I’m sorry,” you started, “I know you were only worried that night, and I kinda just brushed you off. Have been brushing you off for a while now. I’m sorry you also found out from Joshua. Didn’t think it was that important.”
“It’s okay. I know how you get over them. I’m like that too.” He got closer, and his hair fell over his eyes. Was it just you, or was his voice getting deeper? “Anything relating to you is going to be important to me, Miss MVP.”
“Just, care for yourself more.” He added, thoughtfully, “I’m also sorry. You just came back from a tiring day, and I questioned you like a crazy boyfriend in your own home.” You paused and looked at him as the sun dipped further into the horizon. You cleared your throat, warming at his words (just ever so slightly).
You sucked in some air. He stepped back to fan himself. Courtesy to the sun, of course.
“I don’t know how we ended up winning that one,” he said after a while.
You snorted. Took another sip, then: “You’re Choi Seungcheol, our batch’s crazy, competitive, corporate boy.”
He was Choi Seungcheol, your batch’s crazy, competitive, corporate boy, who’d been in love with you since almost(?) forever, as well.
June 🧸
Hot summer days beat down hard. Sweat beaded on your back, leaving you in thinner work-appropriate blouses; forgotten were the professional coats on the rack of your office. The group seemed to try to meet as often as possible, but with summer at its peak, a lot of your colleagues, and (unfortunately) friends were out of the country, snapping pictures in the most unreal locations.
The same couldn’t be said for you, and a few other friends, who included Hyeri, Jihoon, and Seungcheol. As head of department, you couldn’t help but accept the leave applications your team members sent in your way, which left you with only a few junior members who hadn’t gripped onto work as well, leaving you absolutely flooded with paperwork.
You absolutely couldn’t do this anymore. After the third week in a row doing overtime, you left your desk at an unusual hour, standing up too fast and feeling your legs turning into jelly almost immediately. Pins and needles felt weird.
You drove in silence. It was a bit weird. Thinking about it, you did it a lot. Driving back to an empty house, deciding on destinations in silence. Solitude wasn’t bad, and you never truly felt alone, thanks to your large group of friends, all with different hobbies and habits that you could form different combinations for differing occasions. It wasn’t that bad when you thought about it. You got along with everyone just well enough to warrant a group hangout without feeling awkward or left out. That was enough to keep you going. For now, at least.
You pressed the button of your apartment complex’s elevator and waited for the high-pitched ding to announce its arrival. It didn’t come.
cheol
you: just got off of work and u won’t believe my frickin chungus life rn
cheol: wtf it’s like 10 y did u just finish work
cheol: what happened
you: long story BUT my apartment elevator is BROCKEN
cheol: 😂😂😂😂😂😂
you: u have NOTHINF to be laughing about . Now im about to be tired AND hungry 😂💔😂💔😂
you: at least no work tmr 😎
You put your phone down after complaining to your number one supporter. Looking at the stairs, you begrudgingly made your way up the seven floors.
The first four floors weren’t that bad, but with the stuffy, humid air entering and exiting you, your breath puffed up, and you felt yourself sweating excessively.
fifth, done.
Sixth, and you came across an apartment unit, with its door wide open, allowing the wind from the hall to make its entrance freely, while allowing the light to illuminate you briefly. Looking up, you realised it was a granny you occasionally saw at the complex garden feeding the stray cats.
Following your line of sight, you saw bags and bags full of teddy bears lining her apartment. You heard her voice humming softly from inside.
“Granny, why are you awake so late?” You knocked on her open door.
“Ah! Pretty young lady from upstairs!” She shifted and walked meekly past the bags of teddy bears, greeting you at the door.
“Oh! Before I forget, the elevator isn’t exactly working, so please only go down if it’s necessary. I already contacted the building manager, but I’m not sure how long they’ll take.” You tiredly informed her.
“Oh, you poor thing. Come inside, have some water.” She offered with her frail voice. Water actually sounded delightful.
She prepared a glass of barley tea with ice. After waking up in her living room, you sat on the floor and felt the ice melt instantaneously. Her living room was burning up, and now that you looked closely, her forehead was sweating a concerning amount.
“Granny, your house is extremely hot. It’s very dangerous! What if you got a heat stroke at night?” You chided her with worry. You were still curious about the teddy bears filling her house.
“Ah, don’t worry about an old lady like me. The heat caused some pipes in my conditioning system to overheat, so they’re gone for repair.” She caught you eyeing the teddies, and continued with a smile, “Nowadays, they say doing handwork is good for the brain and body. I saw it somewhere on the news! So I found a part-time job to sew the eyes on 150 teddy bears.”
“But granny, it’s really a tedious job, are you able to get by comfortably?”
“You’d be right to ask, actually. I have them due tomorrow, but I still have about 50 left, so I thought I’d finish them all throughout the night.” She explained.
You paused. No way were you going to leave her alone like this on a hot summer night, with plenty of work to do.
“I have an idea, Granny. I’ll be right back.”
-
And that’s how you, Seungcheol, found you on the sixth floor, showered and changed out of your work outfit, on the floor of Granny Hans apartment, sewing black buttons onto eyeless teddies.
You had received a call from Seungcheol about two minutes ago, while you were a good five teddies in, when you suddenly jumped when you felt your phone vibrate.
“I’m in your house, where are you?”
“Why are you — actually, forget that, you being here is perfect. Come down to unit 603, I need your help with something.”
Now, with you and Seungcheol working together, the teddies were receiving their vision at a much faster rate, and an idle conversation took place between you and him as Granny Han made herself busy in the kitchen.
“What is your Portable Air conditioner doing here?” Seungcheol had asked with the sewing needle between his teeth, “How are you going to sleep tonight?”
Thread pulled from your hand, “Granny’s has no air conditioning for a while, I’m planning on lending it to her until her system gets fixed.” The needle pierced through the button’s hole. “I’ve been sleeping in my living room for the past few days anyway.”
“Why?”
“I’d been missing my alarm for work. Sleeping in the living room causes me to be uncomfortable enough to wake up straight away.”
“Are you STUPID?” He looks a bit feral as you finish the last teddy, and he grabs the needle from your fingers.
Granny Han thankfully interrupts your conversation by placing two bowls of rice and bowls of soup between you and Seungcheol.
“I made you work into the night; the least I can do is treat you to a meal, especially knowing that you just came back from work.”
How we love you, Granny Han.
-
It’s almost 1 am when you and Seungcheol finally make it back to your apartment.
“Go to your room,” He insisted as you removed your slippers from the shoe rack.
“Cheol, just go back home.”
“I’m crashing over tonight, and I WILL be taking your couch. You have no choice but to sleep in your own room.”
“Let’s just hang out for a bit before I crash for the night,” you offer, ignoring his insistence.
You look, and he opens your freezer and appears with two ice-creams.
“Aw, is that why you came over tonight?”
“That — and a few other things.”
You left it at that.
You tried his, and he tried yours. It didn’t make much difference since he was eating the same thing as you, but stealing a bite from his made you feel extra mischievous. He pretended to huff, roll his eyes in annoyance, and whine about the theft, but you noticed the way his hand holding the ice cream was angled towards you when he paused, almost egging you on to try.
He took a big bite, leaving your ice cream with barely any left, leaving you silent, as he cackled thunderously about his own antics.
thud thud thud!
came from below!
You were proud to be an amazing upstairs neighbor, so hearing this was a crack to your pride. You smacked his bicep, urging him to quiet down, and when that didn’t work, you slapped your palm against his mouth that still continuing to giggle.
“Grow up, will you?”
August 🪵
Your weekends were often still packed, and you preferred it that way. At least you thought you did. Better to pack your free time with whatever work-related garbage you could think of. That was until Seokmin disturbed (affectionately) your plans of working throughout the weekend.
family ❤️🔥
seokmin: guys minghao and I were planning on going camping next saturday, somewhere near Inje. Who’s coming raise ur hand. 🙋♂️
you are typing…
Almost everyone was able to make it to the camping trip (aside from Eunha and Soonyoung, who had personal businesses to attend to), and when tasks were getting decided, it was an obvious choice to be the designated driver, alongside Jun, Jihyo, Seungkwan, and Seokmin. This left about three people per car, including the driver. You decided you liked to drive, to have something to focus on.
As Seokmin had all the bookings handled, all that was needed was the food and other necessities required for the weekend. Seungcheol had offered to be in your car, alongside a sleep-deprived Minghao, who stated that you would provide the quiet needed to nap the approximate three hours to Inje (not because your car had extra space and padding in the back seat). You and Seungcheol decided that he’d drive on the way back, so that the workload would be fair. You didn’t mind and were looking forward to sleeping on the way back.
It was decided that passengers would meet up at the designated driver's house at 6AM, and you’d depart once everyone was there. Your car was ready, you’d prepared simple sandwiches for Seungcheol and Minghao, and coffee satchels (in case they felt hungry down the road), and all the extra materials you’d prepared were loaded in your car the previous night, and all you were waiting for were the arrivals of your two friends. Your trunk also included extra pillows, pots, pans, matches, first aid kits, water canteens, water filters, portable showers — almost anything you’d need in the wilderness.
Minghao was the first to arrive. He greeted you with a sleepy hug and asked you how you slept (well enough, you’d replied, and he nodded), and then he decided that the backseat was perfect. He dropped his own backpack in the trunk of your car as you waited in the parking lot. Your group chat was active at this odd hour, seeing selfies of your friends already on the way, and some stopping over for breakfast.
Seungcheol arrived just as you were about to give him a quick call. His eyes looked swollen from sleep, and he was yawning as he settled down in the front seat next to you.
“Ready for departure?” You asked, looking at Minghao through the front-mirror, and once you heard an affirmative from both of your passengers, you stepped on the accelerator and left for the sunny, warm woods.
-
“I’m hungry,” Seungcheol pouted once you’d entered the highway. You looked to your right and watched him as he scrolled on his phone, his voice almost quiet as he silently patted his own stomach. You shook your head at his antics and asked Minghao to bring some sandwiches out from the bento you’d left in the backseat next to him. Minghao helped himself to the tomato egg sandwich and passed on the bento to Seungcheol’s lap. Your car smelled a bit delicious, you would say.
“When did you even have the time to make this?” Seungcheol mumbled between bites, “When did you even sleep?” He uttered under his breath.
“What he said,” Minghao affirmed from behind you both.
“Firstly, my precious Minghao, my precious Seungcheol,” (you heard Seungcheol physically gulp at your words), “chew before you speak. I can’t perform heimlich while driving,” you paused, “I woke up at five, and slept early last night. Maybe ten?” You thought out loud.
Both remained silent after receiving your message.
A while later, Seungcheol pointed his half-eaten sandwich at you, and you begrudgingly took a bite. Your stomach felt a bit funny. It was because this one had cucumbers. Not because his fingers brushed your cheek as you bit into the bread. It was the cucumber.
-
You stretched and let out a deep groan once you left your car. It took Minghao locking you in your own car to stop you from helping them unpack your trunk. You were caught off guard when you saw that it was a very fancy campsite, and your portable showers and matches would be going unused this time round. As you switched your slippers for some running shoes, you caught Seungcheol’s eyes as he carried a box of pots and pans with his right arm, and his left carrying your sleeping bag. It was at this moment that you felt relaxed (this was a little far-fetched — your shoulders were incredibly tense from driving) and could fully focus on the way he looked at ease, and shot you a quick derpy smile, one you exchanged for a cheeky, toothy smile. He carried your belongings carefully into the preset tents, where eight tents were set in the clearing in a circle, with a large gravel centre where chairs, mats, and a mini kitchen station were set up.
You and Hyeri were planning on rooming together, while Seungcheol and Jeonghan were going to be rooming together. As the area was being set up for use, a group of almost seventeen people unpacking from cars to the clearing, you helped around where you could (if you were allowed to, that was). You offered to help stock the ramen packets in the mini cabinet, only to be shooed by Mingyu, claiming that driving wore you out. You were carrying the extra chairs Nayeon brought when Jihoon quite literally tore them out of your hands. You even offered to re-park Seungkwan’s car and had successfully grabbed his keys when Seungcheol snatched them and neatly parallel parked in under 39 seconds with one hand on the steering wheel, right in front of your eyes. Your chest felt itchy as you watched on.
This left you, Jihyo, Jun, Seungkwan, and Seokmin doing measly jobs, like zipping up the tents so that flies wouldn’t enter them, offering water to the rest who were almost done, wandering aimlessly, or just sleeping (this was Jihyo). You were a bit restless and, in all honesty, didn’t like just sitting in silence. It was almost 12, and you were sure you weren’t the only one feeling famished. With the sun rising and reaching its peak, the clearing wasn’t offering much coverage to your (now) sweating bodies. The sweltering autumn heat would only get worse with the hunger.
When all was done and set up, you all rested in a circle outside your tents in the gravel clearing, and plans for lunch were quickly made. Your pots and pans were quickly put to use, and hot water turned to ramen broth. Sides of meat were grilled, and pre-packed sides were quickly emptied. You opted for chewing fast, huffing your meal in a matter of seconds. Seungcheol watched on in disapproval, and he tried to push more soup into your bowl, but you pulled away with a tongue out in mockery. It was fun to pull his leg, especially when he was trying to make life easier for you. You set yourself up and quickly washed your dishes.
Seungcheeol didn’t know how to feel. He watched as you washed, posture slightly frigid, working the suds on the cutlery, and grabbing Chan’s plate before he could interfere and made work of washing his too. He just wanted you to rest, enjoy the getaway for what it was. He just wanted to sit by your side for a bit longer, nag on you for a bit before feeding you a spoonful of anything at this point. It seemed that every moment you got had to be shared with the others, or with you burying yourself in tasks so you could avoid your own thoughts. He knew from a young age that you were the responsible type: you carried medicine almost everywhere, often carried extra toothbrushes, woke up early, left work last, and helped your juniors with tutoring during high school (and University). He was sure that if you could, you would be doing almost everyone’s work. He knew you did it out of care for others, but at what point did you lose the light in your eyes? He couldn’t help but watch on as you once again let yourself work on a day that was supposed to be yours as much as everybody else’s. He couldn’t help but be antsy for the rest of the day, up to the evening, when a bonfire marshmallow evening was planned.
-
The bonfire required wood logs to be cut into thin strips, enough for the flames to consume into the late night. Joshua brought his trusty camping axe and was off in a corner doing his own thing, which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the evening to darken by the minute.
You were listening to the mundane conversation between friends. Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Hansol had gone to the reception to rent some extra fans for the night and some extra lamps. The conversation had gone idle at some point, and feeling bored, you carried your phone onto Joshua’s side and used the flashlight on your phone to help him out.
“Thank you, your majesty, for your kind sacrifice,” he said as you used your flashlight to brighten his work surface. The rhythmic sounds of the axe falling onto the logs were rather nice, with the sounds of the insects and beetles buzzing in the distance.
He was grunting, with the lungs of an elderly lumberjack, when curiosity got hold of you.
“Hey, wanna switch real quick? I wanna try it too,” You asked, and he gave you a nod before exchanging spots.
The axe was small, and you made quick work of it as Joshua illuminated the rest of the bundle of logs.
On the other side of your clearing, Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Hanson had returned from their expedition with their loot of the day.
Seungcheol wanted to hand you the heat patches he picked up at the reception, but he couldn’t catch your eye, not until he noticed you chopping wood in the distance as Joshua laughed on.
He didn’t understand why, but it was at this moment that he felt the frustration of a few months build up as he walked on towards where you were giggling with Joshua.
-
“Why can’t you just sit down for a while?” He had immediately asked, when you slammed down the axe for the nth time, breaking a log into three.
In all honesty, Seungcheol heard the aggression in his own tone. He seldom spoke to anyone in this way, especially you, but seeing you run around, washing dishes on your own day off, seemed to just anger him more.
“Oh, you’re back, it’s nothing, I just wanted to have a try, and Josh let me.” Obviously, you heard the anger in his voice. You tried to bite your tongue, keep the conversation chill, and explain the situation. You knew Seungcheol got extra protective about you helping out more than you needed to, but what could you do? You understood, but how much more could you understand? “We were just finishing up as-”
“Yeah, I can see that, but don’t you get tired after doing shit all day? You’ve been up since five and drove us idiots, around, then you washed everyone’s fucking dishes. Now you can’t sit still for a few hours and have to cut down some stupid logs. I can’t understand you sometimes. Almost 15 years of friendship, and I can’t seem to understand if you’re just a fucking control freak who has to do everyone’s job, or if you just need to have things done your way. If you didn’t know, this is also your day off.”
His voice seemed to grow louder with every word as Joshua tried to usher him down. Seungcheol’s hands were clenched in fists as he grew frustrated and looked into the sky. He just couldn’t understand why you just couldn’t sit down. Enjoy a beer with him or two, laugh along, sleep in late, and be irresponsible.
You watched on as he ranted at you. You couldn’t quite believe his words, his aggression, and where exactly it was rooted, and the reasons for his sudden anger. The ax seemed a bit heavier in your palm as you felt the world sinking on you. Even Mingyu and Wonwoo’s conversation from the clearing seemed to shut up.
“Is that what you really think of me? A control freak?” You snorted as you felt your eyes burning, “You must think I’m insane if I’m just going to listen to you say all this bullshit. I don’t know if this is your misplaced anger for some other stuff, but I really don’t understand what crawled up your ass. I don’t know if you’ve been listening to me, Seungcheol, but I CHOSE to drive. I chose to wash the dishes, and if you listened to me just earlier, I was the one who asked Joshua to let me try. I understand you want me to rest, but I can’t help it if this is how I do it. Gosh, you can be so fucking annoying.”
He was about to retort, but you quickly shut the conversation down by resting Joshua’s axe on the wooden stump and walked off to the sink to wash your hands.
“Apologies for that, guys. I think I’ll be sleeping a bit early tonight. Don’t really feel up for it tonight.” You waved warmly at the concerned looks your friends gave you as you unzipped your tent.
Right before you could close the flap, in the distance, you saw Jeonghan making his way towards Joshua and Seungcheol.
-
Later, when Hyeri turned her face towards you, she patted your cheek.
“You’re not ok,” she said to herself, mostly.
“Do you also,” you sucked in some air, “think I’m some sort of control freak?”
“I don’t, and Seungcheol was stupid for that, insanely. Jeonghan almost ripped him a new one earlier, and I think he was too tired of watching you get tired.” She paused and got up, quickly, grabbing something from her bags. “He told me to give you these, by the way,” and offered you some heat patches for muscle pain.
You looked at them silently. “I don’t understand him.”
“That’s what you think.” She whispered, “I think he needs to get his shit together and learn to just confess. I think you should also. Just blasting you out in front of all of us and insulting you was stupid, but I get what he was trying to say, in some way i suppose.”
You looked at her, in mock betrayal.
“Let me finish before you silence me in the woods,” she cleared her throat, “I think he tends to hover around you a lot, and it’s because he cares for you. He loves you. The way he expressed it tonight was wrong, and I think that’s a conversation for the two of you to have, but I think calling him annoying would also be incorrect. He’s always been there for you, and so have you.” She chose her next words carefully before continuing.
“This is not me defending him, by the way. Jihyo quite literally had to hold back earlier. We love you a lot. We love you in ways that can’t be expressed, and so does he, just not only platonically. Maybe it’s been building up in his head for a while, just seeing you in this almost fanatic work state.”
“I don’t know what to say to him, or how to fix this.”
“You guys will figure it out, give it a good night’s rest.”
-
Breakfast was a quick affair of sandwiches, cereal, porridge, yoghurt, and coffee. It was spent in silence. Jun offered you some of his milk, which you gulped half of, before handing it back to him. You appreciated it. The love they gave you, in the form of a cup of milk, or in the form of a bowl of porridge, passed your way.
When it was time to go, you found Seungcheol and Minghao already waiting at your car.
You felt a bit unsure, almost expecting Seungcheol to join, maybe Jeonghan, in his car, but seeing his face, neutral next to Minghao’s faint smile, was not as bad as you thought it was going to be.
-
“I’m sorry. I wanna seriously apologize for my words yesterday. I called you a control freak, which was totally wrong.”
The area was silent. Minghao was in the bathroom of the rest stop, and you and Seungcheol were leaning against your car, windows open to let it all air out.
You hummed, hearing him and nodding as you looked off into the parking lot.
“It was wrong of me to bombard you and interrupt you and make it sound like you were doing something wrong. I know I said I didn’t understand you, but I really do. The way I expressed my care, sorry, I think it wasn’t care last night, especially with everyone there, was extremely demeaning to you and our friendship. I know you’re tired too, and yet you still do above and beyond, and I just crashed out on you. That was really shitty of me, and I wanted to apologize. You don’t have to forgive me at all. I just wanted to say my piece.”
“I wanna say sorry too. I called you annoying, and I know you just wanted me to chill. I don’t forgive you. Not yet, at least. I know we don’t usually argue for long, but I feel like maybe there was some honesty in between the stuff that was said last night.”
He cleared his throat, and the silence was uncomfortable for a bit, until you spoke up.
“What was your whole point? Your agenda, because I for the life of me can’t exactly figure out why you were acting that way. Sure, some of it was general care for an old friend, but what exactly was it that caused you to go batshit crazy on me?”
He hesitated for a bit. You didn’t want to see his face at the moment.
“I wanted to share a meal with you. In silence, maybe you would speak, or maybe I would, but I wanted to have this, for us, which we haven’t had in a while. I know, looking back, it was a bit stupid, but I just wanted you to relax, and maybe we could have some time alone, together.”
“Seungcheol, the whole group was pretty much there. How could we even be alone?” You turned to look at him, questioning his logic a bit. You went silent when you realized he was already facing you.
You had realized early on that Choi Seungcheol could keep a poker face. It came in handy when you guys worked on projects together and had to face tricky CEOs and their ever-obedient assistants. You realised he held his composure when your friends’ drunk antics got on his nerves. He even held his happiness for his promotion when he found out his co-worker hadn’t been chosen. He did that a lot, now that you stop to think about it.
But never really with you. Maybe it was the way his eyes shone clearly, and though they had never exactly dulled in front of you, you were happy to see them with clarity in front of you, even though the current situation between the two of you had now been shaken. Maybe it would help if you also took a step forward and were clear with him.
Your phone chimed against your pocket, bringing the conversation to a brief standstill.
new!
minghao: u love birds figure it out. I left with jun. love u guys tho pls don’t k word me
You stepped forward into the car, this time taking the initiative to sit in the passenger seat.
“Get in, Cheol. Minghao already escaped with Jun.
let’s get you that meal you promised.”
October 🍻 (all over again)
September had been great, had been new. You’d taken three days off to go strawberry picking, Solo-restauranting and joining a dance workshop. Seungcheol had initially been disappointed when you declined his offer for brunch on Saturday, but had been very excited to hear that you’d be driving off to Sokcho for their strawberries. September was restful and productive. But this one is about October.
Another Friday night arrived. Soonyoung was again to your left, and Seungcheol, always your right-hand man. This time, you also agreed that you drank too much, your rock paper scissor game had officially tanked, and as you looked at the circle of friends playing games, you couldn’t help but giggle. Your shoulders were lax, and you were humming to yourself. It was a good night indeed.
Eventually, it was you and Seungkwan who were the losers of another round of Red Ginseng. Seungkwan and you exchanged playful banter until you ultimately offered to take his shot as a punishment — the ultimate sacrifice. The clock was nearing one in the early morning, and your friends looked concerned. Perhaps even your shot would prove too much.
As you picked up the shot glass and pulled it to your lips, you felt it being gently pried away.
Clang,
Clang!
Two consecutive clangs of the now-empty shot glasses slammed down on the aged wooden table.
The whole friend group watched silently as Seungcheol burned through the two punishment shots, yours and Seungkwan’s together one after the other.
Oohs and Ahhs all erupted across the table, with Joshua muttering a gentleman, and Mingyu howling and hooting.
“That’s enough for tonight, guys,” Seungcheol said, victorious and giddy from all the chatter.
-
Your walk was rather rigid, and you felt as if your drawl was no longer as it used to be. You had no control of your limbs, yet you recognized the path home as you saw the elevator of your apartment complex inch closer and closer. You also inhaled the fragrance of charcoal, the deep foliage, and a burnt citrus: you were on Seungcheol’s back.
Occasionally, you would ask him for piggyback rides when you were having a bad day, and he would almost always drive to your dorms with two cones of the same ice cream, pushing you to try to steal a bite while he would steal a glance.
Now, you were in your living room, head dead on his lap. His fingers tapped your shoulders in an uneven rhythm, surprising you gently as you stared at the balcony where occasional stars twinkled back at the two of you ambiguously.
“Who handled the payment for dinner?” you had asked. Tap.
“I did. Don’t worry. I paid for yours too.” He had answered. Tap.
“Who took Soonyoung home?” You had asked. Tap.
“He didn’t drink tonight.” He’d answered.
“Who took me home?” Tap.
“I did,” Tap.
“Who’s gonna take you home?”
“Taxi.” He slurred. Tap.
“Stay,”
“Okay.”
tbc ˎˊ˗
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thank you for reading everyone, the love has been absolutely insane. im relatively new to Tumblr so seeing this much love, reblogs and comments were insane. thank you so much! and I hope you enjoyed reading. likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated but never compulsory :3
hi!! maybe jax x fem!reader fic where reader got in the digital circus when ribbit and kaufmo were still there (it doesnt need to take place right when they appeared) and reader is almost like jax except that jax hides his feelings with humour while reader hides her feelings with anger/being mean and pushing ppl away (similiar to jax LOL) i cant take any more kind reader i need some hurt/comfort
ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ
tadc jax x reader
takes place shortly after jax joins the circus, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), no beta we die like caine
word count: ~13138 (uhhhh whoops)
synopsis: something about you feels off lately.
jax would really prefer not to care.
Everyone realized the camping adventure had gone wrong somewhere around the third time the forest path looped back to the same stupid log.
Jax knew this because Kaufmo had carved a miserable little face into the bark the first time they passed it. Mostly out of boredom, probably. By now, the expression felt less like a joke and more like a warning.
Kaufmo stopped in front of it, hands settling on his hips while he stared down at his own carving. “Okay. That is definitely my work.”
Ribbit leaned closer to inspect the log, her expression flat. “It looks like you.”
Kaufmo turned toward her. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” she replied, a smug grin stretching across her face.
A few feet ahead of them, Ragatha stood with Caine’s brightly colored trail map unfolded in both hands. She turned it sideways, then upside down, like the paths might start making sense if she approached them from a different angle. The map was covered in cheerful illustrations of pine trees, campfires, and smiling woodland creatures, none of which matched the actual forest around them. According to the map, they should have reached the campsite twenty minutes ago.
According to the forest, they had apparently offended it personally.
“Well,” Ragatha guessed, trying very hard to sound optimistic. “Maybe we’re just taking the scenic route?”
Jax leaned back against the nearest tree, eyeing the log. “The scenic route past Kaufmo’s sad little tree portrait?”
“It’s not sad,” Kaufmo argued.
Jax tilted his head. “It has your face on it.”
Kaufmo frowned at the carving. “Wow. Okay. I’m hearing a lot of judgment from someone who hasn’t contributed artistically to this survival effort.”
Before Jax could answer, Caine’s voice boomed cheerfully from somewhere above them.
“Splendid progress, campers!” Heads tipped up automatically. Caine hovered between two branches with Bubble floating beside him, both of them wearing tiny scout uniforms. Bubble’s sash was covered entirely in badges that appeared to be different pictures of himself.
Caine clasped his hands together. “Remember, the wilderness is not simply a place, but a state of mind! And occasionally, a mildly disorienting maze with educational properties!”
Ribbit squinted up at him. “You said this was a team-building exercise.”
Kinger looked down at the mushroom. After a moment, he slowly lowered it. “It was persuasive.”
Jax snorted and leaned more heavily against the tree behind him. The trunk creaked beneath his shoulder with something that sounded suspiciously irritated. He straightened fast, throwing a quick look over his shoulder.
“…great,” he muttered. “Hostile forestry.”
The only person who didn’t seem amused, even slightly, was you.
You stood apart from the rest of the group, near the edge of the path, while you stared into the fake forest ahead of them. Something about your expression had shifted over the past hour. Not annoyed, exactly. Everyone was annoyed. Even Ragatha’s smile had started to fray around the edges.
This was different.
Jax had learned that much about you by now, mostly against his will.
You had been in the circus longer than him. Nobody ever said it outright, but people acted weird whenever time was mentioned around you. Everyone was careful, in a way Jax found immediately intriguing because careful usually meant interesting.
He had pieced together enough over the months to know you were one of the older arrivals. Not Kinger old, obviously. Nobody was Kinger old. But old enough that sometimes you said things nobody else seemed to understand. References to places, people, old adventures that made conversations stall before moving on again. Even Ragatha occasionally looked lost. Then somebody would change the subject, and everybody would move on like it hadn’t happened.
Which was stupid, in Jax’s opinion.
You were not fragile. You were mean.
Not even in the fun way most of the time, which was disappointing. Jax appreciated a little cruelty when it had style. Yours did, occasionally. Most of the time, it just felt sharp in all the wrong places.
You had not been like that when he arrived. That was the annoying part.
For about a week, you had been almost bearable.
You showed him where things were without making it weird, you warned him which doors Caine forgot to stabilize. You told him, very seriously, never to trust the left hallway after midnight, then laughed when he spent the next three nights checking over his shoulder. You were sarcastic, but strangely patient in a way that had made Kaufmo grin a little easier whenever you stuck around.
Then, almost overnight, you stopped. Jax still couldn’t figure out what exactly went wrong.
One day, you were sitting beside Ribbit during breakfast, stealing pieces off Kaufmo’s plate while insulting his taste in syrup. The next, you were at the far end of the table, silent enough that the space around you seemed intentional.
Six months later, you still looked at Jax like he had personally ruined the weather.
A sudden rustle came from the bushes.
Ribbit turned first at the sound, shoulders tensing. “Please tell me that’s not another animal.”
Kaufmo looked genuinely offended. “Okay, in my defense, I didn’t know raccoons could unzip tents.”
Ribbit stopped walking. “It locked you outside.”
“It made eye contact while it did it.”
Another rustle came from the bushes behind them, followed by a small masked face poking through the leaves. The raccoon stared at the group for a moment, wearing Kaufmo’s hat and what looked suspiciously like Ragatha’s emergency whistle around its neck.
Ragatha inhaled slowly. “Oh, come on.”
The raccoon raised one tiny paw and blew the whistle directly in her face.
Chaos broke out immediately.
Kaufmo lunged for his hat. Ribbit grabbed the back of his collar before he could trip over a tree root. Ragatha made a distressed noise and reached for the trail mix bag right as two more raccoons dropped from the branches above her. Kinger shouted something about a hostile kingdom. From somewhere above, Bubble laughed so hard he briefly turned inside out.
Jax stayed exactly where he was, mostly because the whole thing was funnier from a distance.
One of the raccoons made a grab for the food.
You intercepted it before anybody else could react, snatching the bag before the animal could drag it into the bushes.
The raccoon hissed at you.
You stared down at it. “Do not start with me.”
For one strange second, the animal seemed to consider that.
Then it backed away.
Kaufmo blinked toward you, still halfway caught in Ribbit’s grip. “That…that was actually kind of terrifying.”
You barely glanced up from checking the supply bag. “Thanks, Kauf’.”
Kaufmo frowned. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Then work on your delivery,” you teased, already tossing the bag back toward Ragatha.
Ribbit’s expression softened. Jax found himself oddly reluctant to look away.
There. That was the version of you he remembered.
You stepped toward Kaufmo, eyes narrowing at the mess of rope tangled around his arm from when he had nearly chased the raccoon into the brush.
“Hold still,” you said.
Kaufmo glanced down at himself. “...I think I’ve become one with the campsite.”
“You’ve become a liability.”
“That too.”
You moved closer and started working the knot loose with quick, impatient fingers. Kaufmo stood unusually still while you untangled him, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and something quieter. Ribbit watched from beside him, less guarded than she had looked all afternoon.
Jax noticed that too. He hated that he noticed.
“You know,” Jax called from near the tree, “if you’re takin’ requests, I’d like to be rescued from this whole adventure.”
You didn’t look at him. “You’d have to be useful first.”
“Ouch.” Jax pressed a hand to his chest. “And here I thought we were bonding.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Common problem for me, apparently.”
That earned him the smallest huff from you. Not a laugh, not really, but close enough that Jax caught himself watching your mouth before he could stop.
Annoying.
You freed Kaufmo’s arm and stepped back just as quickly, like you had only realized after the fact that you had been standing close to anyone. The change was subtle. Most of them probably missed it. Your face closed off as you turned toward the trail.
“We need to stop following the map,” you deflected.
Ragatha looked up from where she was trying to reorganize the supplies. “But…Caine said the map was part of the challenge?”
“Caine also said the tents were emotionally supportive.”
One of the tents behind them gave a wet, miserable wheeze before collapsing in on itself.
Ribbit stared at it. “That one just gave up.”
“Relatable,” Jax grinned.
You ignored him and pointed down the left path. “The loop keeps resetting when we take the marked trail. We go off-path.”
Kaufmo raised a hand. “Question. Is off-path where the knife squirrels live?”
“Raccoons,” Ribbit corrected.
Kaufmo nodded gravely. “They’re evolving.”
Ragatha glanced between the trees, clearly uneasy. “Are we sure leaving the trail is a good idea?”
“No,” you replied. “But standing here waiting for the forest to fix itself sounds worse.”
Kaufmo’s smile faltered before the joke returned to his face.
“Well,” Kaufmo concurred, clapping his hands once. “Off-path it is. Love a terrible plan with confidence.”
For a while, the terrible plan worked.
The forest thickened around them as they moved between trees that were almost convincing if nobody looked too closely.
The bark repeated in patterned strips, and the moss glowed faintly whenever someone stepped near it. Birds chirped the same three-note song from different directions until Ribbit threatened to start throwing rocks. Above them, the fake sky remained cheerful and bright, completely indifferent to the fact that everyone below it was damp, hungry, and tired of being educated through inconvenience.
Jax kept to the back, mostly because it offered the best view of everyone else struggling. Kaufmo nearly wiped out on a root system every five minutes, while Kinger kept falling behind to inspect plants that may or may not have been talking to him. Somehow, Ragatha still tried maintaining morale through all of it.
You stayed near the front, moving with tense purpose while everyone followed.
That should not have interested him. It did anyway.
You were good at this, in the irritating way people were good at things they pretended not to care about. At one point, you caught Ribbit by the back of her sleeve before she stepped into a patch of glittering mud that hissed when disturbed.
Kaufmo somehow ended up with a canteen in his hands before he even asked for one.
“You look like a dehydrated sock,” you remarked when he thanked you.
Every decent thing you did came wrapped in something unpleasant. Jax understood that more than he wanted to.
By the time they finally reached Caine’s designated campsite, everyone looked about two wrong comments away from violence.
The campsite sat in a clearing surrounded by tall, evenly spaced trees. A cheerful wooden sign read CAMP WONDER-WHATEVER in red letters that kept rearranging themselves when nobody watched. There was a firepit in the center, several logs arranged in a circle, and enough camping supplies stacked nearby to suggest Caine had never actually seen anyone camp before.
Ragatha crouched near the supplies, lifting a metal pot with a frown. “Why do we have six ladles and no matches?”
Caine popped into existence above the firepit. “Resourcefulness!”
You shut your eyes briefly before Caine had even finished talking, and Jax found himself oddly unsurprised.
“Campers must prepare their own dinner, construct shelter, and share one meaningful lesson they learned about friendship before nightfall!” Caine announced, spinning his cane as fireworks burst from nowhere. “Failure to complete all three tasks may result in mild penalties.”
Ribbit looked up sharply. “Define…mild?”
A bear roared somewhere in the distance. Caine smiled wider. “Motivational consequences!”
Then he vanished.
For about five seconds, nobody moved.
Then everyone started talking at once.
Kaufmo headed for the food while Ragatha tried redirecting everyone toward the firepit. Ribbit was still muttering about the suspiciously amplified bear, and Kinger had somehow become fascinated by the ladles.
Jax sat on one of the logs and decided not to help.
You stood in the middle of it all, jaw tight enough that Jax expected yelling.
Instead, you started organizing.
“Kaufmo, stop touching things before they bite you,” you said. “Ribbit, tents. Ragatha, there’s a switch under the firepit.”
Kinger turned one of the ladles thoughtfully in his hands.
You paused.
“Kinger, no.”
Kinger lowered the ladle carefully. “That seems premature.”
A second later, blue flames burst to life from the firepit.
Ragatha let out a small breath. “Oh. Good eye.”
“It was obvious,” you mumbled.
“Hidden under a rock,” Jax pointed out.
You looked over at him for the first time in several minutes. “And somehow I still found it before you.”
Kaufmo laughed under his breath.
Jax tilted his head. “You always this charmin’ in the wilderness?”
“Only when I’m trapped in it with idiots.”
“Aw,” Jax said. “You think about me in groups.”
Something moved at the corner of your mouth before you looked away again.
Jax found himself watching as you redirected Kaufmo away from a suspiciously twitching cooler, irritation written plainly across your face.
The artificial sunset cut through the trees, spilling gold across the clearing in a way that made the whole scene look a lot warmer than it felt. For a moment, with Kaufmo complaining nearby and Ragatha crouched beside the fire, Jax could almost picture how you might have fit among them once.
The thought sat strangely with him, irritating enough that he looked away before he could think too hard about it.
The peace lasted maybe ten minutes. Then dinner started falling apart.
By the time Ragatha finally got half the food arranged near the fire, Kaufmo had somehow dropped an entire pack of buns into a stream that had not been there five minutes ago.
You stared after them without moving.
Kaufmo lifted one hand slowly. “In my defense—”
“Don’t.” The word came out sharper than expected.
Kaufmo lowered his hand, and everyone stayed quiet. Ragatha took a cautious step closer.
Ragatha hesitated before trying again. “Kinger mentioned you used to like stuff like this. Campfires and cooking and…” Her expression softened, uncertain around the edges. “All of it. With the others.”
Jax saw the change instantly. Whatever had briefly eased in your expression disappeared.
Ragatha seemed to realize she had stepped somewhere wrong a second too late. “I just thought maybe it’d be nice,” she said quickly. “Since you used to—”
“Stop.” Your voice stayed quiet, which somehow made it worse.
Ragatha froze. “I was only trying to help.”
You laughed once under your breath, humorless.
“Help?” you echoed. “Right. Because waiting around for everybody else to mess it up has gone great so far.”
Ragatha lowered her hands slowly. “That’s not fair.”
Your attention dropped toward the fire before lifting again.
“You think bringing people up fixes anything?” you asked, voice lower now. “You weren’t there.”
The clearing went quiet. Ragatha opened her mouth, then stopped.
Something unreadable crossed your face before hardening again.
“I’m serious, Ragatha. Go sew something. Rearrange a shelf. Whatever it is you do when you’re trying to feel useful.”
Nobody moved.
Kaufmo stared hard at the ground. Ribbit looked like she wanted to say something and thought better of it.
Jax felt his own expression flatten.
That was the part that landed wrong. Not because you were being cruel. You were cruel all the time.
But because for half a second, right before the words came out, something in your expression had looked less angry than trapped.
Your hand closed around the nearest camping mug before anyone could say anything else. It struck the rocks beside the firepit with a crack loud enough to make Kinger flinch.
You stared at it briefly after it shattered.
“Enjoy dinner.”
Before anyone could respond, you had already turned, disappearing into the trees.
The hallway felt quieter after the adventure ended.
Quiet enough to notice, anyway. Bubble was still yelling somewhere farther down the hall, insisting he deserved emotional compensation for “repeated camper disrespect,” and somewhere overhead, Caine narrated some unrelated catastrophe with the enthusiasm of somebody who had never once experienced consequences.
But still, it felt quieter.
The six of them stood scattered across the main hall, carrying the kind of exhaustion only Caine’s adventures could manufacture.
Kaufmo scrubbed both hands down his face. “Okay,” he groaned after a second. “That officially sucked.”
Ribbit brushed confetti from one sleeve. “You almost died for bread.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You chased floating buns into a moving stream.”
Kaufmo hesitated. “In hindsight, sure.”
That got the corner of Ragatha’s mouth to twitch, though it faded quickly. Her attention switched down the hallway instead.
Toward where you had disappeared. Jax noticed before he meant to.
Kaufmo exhaled quietly and shoved his hands into his pockets. “She’ll cool off.”
The words came too easily. Practiced.
Ribbit followed the glance, expression harder to read. “…hopefully,” she muttered.
Ragatha pulled at the edge of her sleeve. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“C’mon, don’t say that, Rag,” Kaufmo responded.
“I know, I just…” Her voice trailed off. Nobody finished the thought for her.
Jax leaned one shoulder against the wall, eyes moving between them.
“Well,” he said eventually, because the silence had started to itch, “good to know we all just let each other storm off into dramatic lighting now.”
Ribbit looked at him flatly.
“She just needs to clear her head,” Kaufmo insisted, quieter this time.
Nobody bothered to disagree.
Breakfast the next morning felt even faker than usual.
Bright syrup shimmered unnaturally beneath the circus lighting, and all of the fruit had a strong synthetic scent. Toast steamed politely in perfect rows like it had unionized.
Jax hated it on principle.
Kaufmo arrived late, dark circles sitting heavy beneath his eyes, and started loading food onto a tray before even sitting down.
Kinger sat at the end of the table, staring suspiciously into a bowl of cereal.
“The milk keeps changing opinions,” he informed no one.
Jax leaned farther back in his chair, ignoring Kinger as he watched Kaufmo add toast, fruit, and what looked like an aggressively over-sweet cup of coffee onto a plate.
Ribbit scanned the table. “Did Caine do bacon today?”
Kaufmo jerked his chin toward the other side of the table. “Think so.”
She reached across the table. Jax moved his plate away immediately.
“What do you think you’re doin’?”
Ribbit ignored him completely and plucked the last strip of crispy bacon from his plate.
Jax stared.
“…seriously?”
“She likes crispy.” The words came absentmindedly, like Ribbit had not realized she said them out loud until after.
Kaufmo nodded once, already adding it to the tray.
Jax frowned. “You people are weird.”
“Thanks,” Ribbit said.
“No, I mean weird weird.”
Kaufmo finally glanced up. “That narrows it down exactly zero.”
Across the table, a chair scraped softly against the floor. “We should take it up,” Ribbit said, already standing.
Without much discussion, the tray ended up in Kaufmo’s hands.
Jax watched them head toward the hallway.
Then, because minding his own business had never once improved his life, he followed.
Neither of them questioned it.
Kaufmo balanced the tray carefully while Ribbit walked a few steps ahead, checking over one shoulder when the coffee sloshed too close to the edge.
“If she throws this at me,” Kaufmo muttered after adjusting the plate for what felt like the fourth time, “I’m blaming both of you idiots.”
“You chose to bring it,” Ribbit laughed.
“You stole bacon off Jax’s plate.”
“A necessary sacrifice.”
Jax crossed his arms. “Nobody asked me.”
“You survived,” Kaufmo elbowed him.
“Emotionally?” Jax asked. “Still debatable.” Ribbit made a quiet sound that might have been amusement.
The hallway stretched longer than Jax remembered.
At first the doors looked familiar enough, brightly colored icons stamped across each one. Closer to the dining hall, most belonged to the people he actually knew. The farther back they went, the stranger things got.
Faces disappeared first, giving way to blank mannequin heads, smooth and expressionless beneath polished glass. Then even those changed. Characters Jax didn’t recognize stared back from the doors instead, bright designs buried beneath thick red X’s painted across their faces.
More unsettling somehow, Ribbit passed them without slowing, while Kaufmo only adjusted the tray higher against his chest and kept walking like none of it deserved attention anymore.
Jax found himself looking back once anyway.
“Okay,” he started after a second, pointing at one of the crossed-out faces. “What’s with the horror hallway?”
Kaufmo shrugged lazily. “You ask a lotta questions before lunch.”
“And yet somehow you avoid answerin’ every single one.”
That earned him a tired snort.
By the time Kaufmo finally slowed, the hallway had settled into silence.
Your room sat near the end beside Kinger’s, tucked between faces Jax didn’t recognize anymore than the others. The bright red X’s painted across the doors on either side made yours stand out.
Kaufmo hesitated briefly before knocking twice.
“Breakfast,” he called after a second, voice lighter than yesterday deserved. “Before Ribbit starts stealing from your plate again.”
Ribbit crossed her arms, shaking her head. “One time.”
Silence.
Kaufmo adjusted the tray against one arm. “Coffee, too. Extra sugar and creamer, just the way you like it.”
Jax waited for the inevitable insult through the door, maybe something sharp enough to bounce back into the hallway.
Nothing came.
Ribbit crouched first, lowering the tray carefully to the floor. The movement displaced the fork slightly before she straightened it out of habit.
“She’s ignoring us,” she muttered.
“Maybe she’s asleep,” Kaufmo said, though he sounded unconvinced. “She sleeps when she’s upset.”
Kaufmo lingered near the door. “Used to, anyway.”
Jax waited for somebody to get annoyed.
For Kaufmo to knock again. For Ribbit to mutter something sharp under her breath.
Instead, Ribbit turned toward the hallway and Kaufmo followed after one last glance at the tray.
Jax frowned.
“She’ll take it eventually,” Kaufmo stated, motioning for Jax to follow.
Jax looked between them. “Okay. Seriously. What the hell is this?”
Ribbit and Kaufmo exchanged a look.
“Not here,” Ribbit said finally.
Kaufmo jerked his head toward the hallway behind them. “C’mon.”
Jax fell into step beside them with an exaggerated sigh. “Love when everybody starts actin’ mysterious.”
“You’d complain if we told you to mind your business,” Ribbit replied.
“I’m complainin’ now.”
“Yeah, but now you’re moving while you do it,” Kaufmo joked.
The walk back felt shorter. Maybe because Jax wasn’t paying attention this time.
Kaufmo stopped a few doors down and pushed his room open without ceremony.
Jax wandered in after Ribbit automatically, already familiar with the uneven mess of the place. Kaufmo’s room had a habit of becoming wherever the three of them ended up after dinner, after adventures, after boredom got too loud.
Nothing about the room had really changed.
Bright blankets sat thrown unevenly across furniture, shelves crowded with random circus junk and half-finished gags Jax vaguely remembered helping create. Props leaned against walls in ways that probably violated several imaginary safety codes. Mugs lingered near the desk long past the point they should have vanished, abandoned there because nobody cared enough to move them.
A camera sat near the edge of a cluttered table beside scattered photographs and mismatched frames. He had probably seen it before. Just never really noticed.
Ribbit dropped automatically into a familiar spot near the bed while Kaufmo drifted toward the desk, already pulling open a drawer.
Jax watched him. “Okay,” he said slowly. “You two are bein’ weird weird.”
Kaufmo lingered with one hand still inside the drawer. Something uncertain crossed briefly over Ribbit’s face before she leaned back against the bed.
“You gonna tell him,” she asked, “or keep pretending this is normal?”
“...I was thinking about easing into it.”
Jax frowned. “Into what?”
Kaufmo pulled something from the drawer and shut it with his hip. A thick photo album, edges worn soft from use.
Nobody rushed to speak. Ribbit leaned back against the bed while Kaufmo turned the album once between his hands, thumb lingering against the worn edge.
Jax shifted where he stood. “You gonna explain why this suddenly feels like an intervention?”
Kaufmo’s mouth twitched faintly before the expression disappeared. “You’re the one who wanted answers.”
“Didn’t think the answer involved arts and crafts.”
Ribbit finally reached over and flipped the cover open before Kaufmo could argue.
The first photograph made Jax pause.
You sat on the floor between Kaufmo and Ribbit, turned halfway toward whoever had taken the picture with the distracted look of somebody interrupted mid-sentence. Kaufmo seemed seconds away from laughing at something outside the frame while Ribbit sat close enough that one shoulder brushed yours, annoyance softened by something warmer.
Jax frowned. “…that’s you?”
The question slipped out, directed at nobody in particular and strange enough that he almost corrected himself.
Kaufmo kept his eyes on the photograph. “Yeah.”
Jax studied the picture again. Nothing about you had changed, really. Same face. Same vaguely irritated relationship with existence. Still, the photograph felt unfamiliar in a way Jax could not place. Maybe it was how easy you seemed there, shoulder brushing Ribbit’s while your arm rested loosely around Kaufmo, as if closeness had once come naturally.
Ribbit turned the page.
A beach stretched across the photograph, the water blue to qualify as real and the shoreline crowded with ridiculous details Jax suspected Caine had found funny. Palm trees leaned at impossible angles near the edge of the frame while something inflatable floated in the distance with an expression Jax found mildly threatening.
You stood ankle-deep in the water beside Kaufmo, soaked enough that somebody had clearly started something stupid. The two of you grinned openly at the camera. Farther back, Ribbit held a striped umbrella, looking deeply unimpressed with the entire concept of sunlight.
Jax stared at the photograph longer than intended.
“She actually did adventures?”
Kaufmo snorted softly. The next page turned before Jax could ask anything else.
This photograph sat crooked in the plastic sleeve, edges softened from being handled too often.
A grassy hill stretched beneath an open night sky, blankets thrown unevenly across the ground.
Nobody seemed aware of the camera.
Kinger sat near the middle in an embarrassingly fuzzy sweater. Beside him sat another chess-piece figure, similar enough in shape that the resemblance felt intentional.
One of your arms rested loosely around the stranger’s shoulders while your head leaned there easily. Kinger’s hand lingered lightly against your back like it belonged there.
The three of you leaned together, nobody seemingly aware that the moment had been captured at all.
Jax said nothing.
The version of you in the photograph barely matched the person who had snapped at Ragatha the night before.
Finally, he broke the silence, pointing toward the unfamiliar figure.
“Who’s that?”
Ribbit followed the gesture. “Queenie,” she answered.
“Caine took it,” Kaufmo added, thumb brushing against the edge of the sleeve. “Apparently spying counts as friendship where he’s concerned.”
A quieter breath left him. “She hated this one for a while.”
“Why?”
Kaufmo fell silent. Ribbit held briefly at the edge of the page before letting go.
Neither dared to answer.
A second later, Kaufmo closed the album.
Jax stared at him. “Oh, c’mon.”
Kaufmo leaned back against the bedframe and avoided looking at either of them. “You asked."
“I asked why.”
“...it’s not really a one-answer kinda thing.” Ribbit mumbled.
“Okay, then maybe start with literally anything.”
Kaufmo tipped his head back briefly. “She wasn’t always like this,” he said.
Ribbit traced once at the edge of the blanket. “Not even a little.”
Jax looked between them. Nobody continued.
Kaufmo sat with the album resting shut across his lap while Ribbit picked absently at the blanket.
“...that explains exactly nothing.”
Kaufmo let out a tired breath that might have been laughter on a better day. “Yeah.”
Jax frowned harder. “So what happened?”
Ribbit answered before Kaufmo could. “Something went wrong,” she muttered, gaze still lowered. “One of Caine’s adventures, a long time ago. He thought he was helping and it just sort of…” her fingers twisted once against the blanket. “Got bad.”
Kaufmo turned toward her. “Rib.”
Ribbit went quiet.
“Got bad how?”
Neither of them answered. Kaufmo rubbed once at the back of his neck before exhaling quietly.
“Jax,” he leaned back against the bedframe with a sigh that sounded older than he usually let himself, “it’s not my story to tell.”
That irritated Jax.
The photographs still sat fresh in his head. You laughing on a beach. You asleep against somebody’s shoulder. You, somehow, seeming like the kind of person who stayed in rooms instead of finding reasons to leave them.
None of it lined up.
“Fine,” he muttered, pushing himself upright. “Be weird and cryptic, see if I care.”
Kaufmo snorted at that. “You definitely care.”
“...Wrong.”
Ribbit finally spoke. “You’re pacing.”
Jax stopped moving long enough to notice. “I’m explorin’.”
Kaufmo barked out the loudest laugh yet. “Sure you are.”
Jax rolled his eyes hard enough to count as exercise and headed for the door before either of them could decide to get insightful.
He wandered without much direction at first, hands shoved into his pockets while Caine rambled somewhere overhead about “surprise recreational whimsy.” Bubble yelled something back that sounded legally threatening.
The older end of the hallway found him again before he really thought about it.
Your door stood exactly where he remembered.
The tray still sat outside the door, coffee cooling untouched beside toast and fruit no one had bothered with.
Jax slowed.
The bacon was gone.
Jax spent the rest of the morning pretending he had better things to do.
Mostly, this meant wandering the circus without direction and thinking longer than he cared to admit about bacon.
Which was probably why he almost missed the fact that somebody had redecorated the main hall.
Balloons hovered near the ceiling in colors Jax instinctively distrusted. Glitter littered the floor for no obvious reason, and somewhere near the entrance a cardboard sign informed him he had apparently entered a TEAMWORK ZONE, which felt menacing.
The banner overhead made things worse:
WELCOME TO THE TRUST TUNNEL OF INTERPERSONAL HARMONY™
By the time Jax wandered closer, everyone else looked like they had been there awhile.
Ragatha already looked worried, which honestly felt fair.
She stood near an aggressively cheerful balloon arch while Kaufmo leaned against the wall beside her, arms crossed. Ribbit had apparently given up early and settled onto the floor instead, staring up at the banner overhead with an expression that suggested she disliked where any of this was headed.
Kinger stood near the wall, studying a cardboard standee with narrowed eyes.
“I feel like he’s waiting for me to go first.”
Jax lifted his head toward the ceiling automatically.
“Caine,” he called out, “...what did you do?”
“THANK YOU FOR ASKING!”
Caine appeared upside down directly above him, close enough that Jax nearly stumbled backward into a balloon display. Bubble floated beside him in a tiny referee shirt, whistle already hanging from his jagged teeth.
“Today,” Caine announced, spinning upright with theatrical enthusiasm, “you lucky contestants will participate in a thrilling interpersonal exercise involving trust, cooperation, emotional honesty, and proximity!”
Jax groaned.
“That sounds threatening.”
“Nonsense!” Caine replied. “The Trust Tunnel of Interpersonal Harmony™ is a carefully engineered collaborative labyrinth designed to strengthen emotional bonds through teamwork!”
Kaufmo rubbed at his face. “See, the problem is somehow that explanation made me feel worse.”
“Aw, c’mon.” Jax nudged his shoulder lightly. “Best case scenario, we get paired together and spend the whole thing bein’ unbearable.”
Kaufmo shook his head once, grinning. “You say that like we aren’t already.”
“Partners,” Caine continued brightly, cane sweeping through the air as confetti burst from nowhere, “have been selected personally by your wonderful ringmaster, ME! Certain participants have…demonstrated a troubling reluctance toward collaborative growth.” His smile widened. Slowly.
Jax followed the look around the room.
“…where’s grumpy?”
Kaufmo and Ribbit exchanged a look. “Didn’t come out,” Kaufmo muttered.
“Again,” Ribbit added.
Caine’s expression brightened with sudden purpose.
“NOT TO WORRY!”
He snapped his fingers.
You appeared beside Jax fast enough that coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug in your hand.
You only stood there, eyes widened. Then you looked toward Caine with the kind of calm that usually arrived seconds before violence.
“…did you just teleport me out of bed?”
“TRANSPORTATION!” Caine corrected cheerfully.
Jax watched from beside you.
Exhaustion sat differently on you today, your clothes rumpled, expression flattened beneath what looked suspiciously like genuine irritation instead of the usual, sharpened version.
Then he noticed what sat pinched between your fingers. Jax tilted his head.
“…is that my bacon.”
Your eyes narrowed immediately. “You gonna cry about it?”
“Depends,” Jax replied. “How attached are you to your kneecaps?”
Kaufmo glanced between the two of you, expression already drifting toward concern. “Okay, cool. Great start.”
Ribbit pushed herself upright from the floor. “I give it ten minutes before somebody gets shoved into a wall.”
“Five,” Kaufmo corrected.
“You people say things about me like I’m not standing here.”
“You were in bed thirty seconds ago,” Ribbit replied. “Emotionally, we’re still adjusting.”
Your eyes moved toward her once before returning to Caine. “What exactly…is this?”
Caine clasped both hands together, visibly delighted to have regained control of the conversation.
“A marvelous collaborative labyrinth!” he announced. “A whimsical maze of emotional growth, teamwork, and interpersonal trust! Participants will remain with their assigned partner while navigating increasingly enriching obstacles designed to strengthen your emotional connection!”
Jax frowned immediately.
“…you keep sayin’ emotional connection like that’s supposed to help.”
“Partners must also remain within one friendship unit of each other at all times,” Caine continued, pointing his cane toward the banner overhead. “Failure to cooperate may result in temporary rerouting, environmental instability, or mild consequences!”
“…what the hell is a friendship unit?” Jax probed.
“Approximately two feet!” Caine replied cheerfully. “One, for optimal bonding.”
Somewhere near the wall, Kinger straightened. “I don’t like when consequences are mysterious.”
“Nobody does,” Ragatha muttered.
Caine spun once in place, somehow producing cue cards from nowhere.
Kaufmo looked almost alarmed. “No offense, Rag, but I think we panic differently.”
“Ribbit and Kinger!” Ribbit looked up slowly.
“…huh.”
Kinger brightened. “Boy, we’re not very good at this, are we?”
“And finally…” Caine turned with theatrical delight.
Jax already felt dread creeping in. Your expression suggested homicide.
“Jax and our delightfully participation-resistant friend!”
The whole room fell silent. Kaufmo took a moment to shut his eyes. Ribbit looked toward the ceiling. “Wow.”
You stared at Caine. Then at Jax.
Then back at Caine.
“…no.”
“Aw,” Jax tilted his head toward you. “C’mon, dollface. Try to contain your excitement.”
“I would genuinely rather walk into traffic.”
“Lucky for you,” Caine interrupted, “the maze will not permit separation!”
You glared, your expression flattening further. “You cannot seriously think this is a good idea.”
Ribbit sounded almost thoughtful.“No, this actually has potential.”
Kaufmo looked mildly alarmed already. “I’m just saying, statistically, somebody’s getting threatened before we hit the entrance.”
“Threatened?” Jax tilted his head. “Kinda rude.”
You looked toward him slowly. “You’ve been here five minutes and somehow made yourself everybody’s problem.”
“Damn. You rehearse that one?”
“Try harder.”
Ragatha clasped her hands together, gaze flicking toward Caine. “Could we maybe hear the rules before everybody starts arguing?”
“A wonderful suggestion, my bombastic, blossoming buttercup!” Caine spread his arms wide.
Reality tore open beside him in a bright burst of color.
The portal hovered several feet above the floor, glowing edges crackling around a sunlit entrance that looked suspiciously cheerful for something already making Jax nervous. Beyond it stretched twisting hedges, oversized flowers, and pathways folding in impossible directions beneath a sky far too blue to be trustworthy.
Jax raised a brow.
“…still sounds threatening.”
“Partners who cooperate may discover shortcuts, rewards, and enriching interpersonal experiences,” Caine explained with excitement, gesturing grandly toward the portal. “Partners who resist cooperation may encounter rerouting, instability, or motivational consequences.”
You stared toward the opening with visible concern.
“Temporary discomfort!” Caine announced. “Marvelous for growth!”
Jax stepped closer before catching himself near what was probably the invisible limit. “Relax, dollface,” he replied. “It’s only a few hours. Try not to miss me when it’s over.”
Your attention slid toward him. “You say that like it ends.”
Kaufmo pointed once between the two of you. “See? This is exactly what I meant by potential.”
Ribbit dragged a hand across her face. “We’re doomed.”
Caine clapped his hands together, delighted with himself. “Wonderful!” he announced. “Please proceed toward interpersonal enrichment!”
Nobody moved. Bubble blew the whistle hanging from his mouth. “MOVE IT MAGGOTS!”
Ragatha startled. Kaufmo muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer while Ribbit rose from the floor with the exhausted acceptance of somebody who had already decided resistance was pointless.
Kinger, somehow, looked encouraged.
“Well,” he said carefully, “I suppose if worst comes to worst… we could always try not thinking about it.”
Nobody acknowledged that.
One by one, everyone made their way toward the portal. Ragatha disappeared through first after a hesitant glance toward Kaufmo, who followed close behind, already mildly overwhelmed by responsibility. Ribbit walked beside Kinger.
You stayed exactly where you were.
Coffee still sat in your hand. The half-finished strip of bacon had disappeared at some point, though he had no idea when. You stood facing the portal with the same flat expression you had worn since Caine dragged you out of bed, posture drawn tight.
Caine tilted in midair.
“…friendo?”
“No.”
“But the maze!”
“Still no.”
“The collaborative growth!”
“Especially no.”
Jax stepped closer to you. “You know,” he said, tipping his head toward the portal, “this is startin’ to feel personal.”
“You should feel lucky I’m only ignoring you.”
“Aw. There’s the attitude.”
Before either of you could say anything else, a glowing line flickered suddenly into existence between your feet.
Bright lettering hovered in the air: 1.7 FT
“…okay, that feels invasive.” Jax chuckled.
You took one step backward. The number flashed red.
Somewhere inside the portal, something mechanical groaned loud enough to shake the floor beneath them.
Caine lifted one finger.
“Corrective rerouting begins in three!”
Your head lifted sharply. “You’re joking.”
“Two!”
Jax closed the distance without thinking. The number flickered green again.
Then your expression flattened further. “Move.”
“Can’t,” Jax taunted you easily. “Friendship law.”
Somewhere inside the portal, Kaufmo’s voice carried faintly back toward the hall. “Uh…guys?”
A low mechanical sound rolled through the maze beyond.
“Okay, no, seriously, the walls are moving.”
The floor gave beneath the two of you before either of you had time to react.
Caine clapped overhead, laughing maniacally while the floor lurched. Jax barely had time to catch the look on your face before the portal swallowed both of you whole.
Landing hurt less than expected.
That alone felt suspicious.
By the time Jax pushed himself upright, the maze had decided to look welcoming in the most menacing way possible. Sunlight spilled across towering hedges that curved around twisting stone paths, all the while uncannily large flowers swayed to a nonexistent breeze.
Somewhere farther ahead came Kaufmo’s voice. “WHY DOES IT KEEP ASKING HOW I FEEL?”
Ragatha answered something too distant to make out.
You stood close to Jax.
Closer than either of you probably wanted. The glowing number hovered quietly between you: 1.8 FT
You looked once at the number before meeting his eyes again. “Don’t.”
He raised a brow. “Didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
A path curved ahead beneath signs that only made the whole thing worse:
COMMUNICATE OPENLY
TRUST YOUR PARTNER
SHARE A VULNERABILITY
Jax hated every single one.
“Hypothetically,” he started, brushing dust from his sleeve, “if we fake our deaths, you think he notices?”
Before you had time to respond, the hedge beside you rattled violently. A hidden pathway slid open and confetti burst all over you.
WELCOME, PARTNERS!
Silence settled for all of half a second before you turned and headed the opposite way.
The glowing number flashed red.
Stone vanished beneath your feet fast enough to make you stumble back, the edge of the path dropping into empty space where solid ground had been a second earlier. Jax moved fast enough to catch your wrist just as the maze corrected itself, and the number flickered green again.
Up close, coffee still clung faintly to your sleeve, exhaustion sitting heavier on you than it had yesterday. Your attention dropped toward where he still held your wrist.
“I was fine.”
“Sure,” he replied. “You almost ate concrete, but sure.” Before he could say anything else, the flowers around the two of you burst open again.
Confetti launched directly into his face.
EMOTIONAL ENGAGEMENT DETECTED!
You pulled your arm free, stepping as far away as the glowing number allowed. “Right,” you muttered, staring past him. “Not doing that.”
The maze groaned around the two of you as the hedges folded apart, revealing a wider path that curved toward an enormous painted sign.
The sign rotated once before stopping, painted letters rearranging themselves with an overly cheerful pop:
LEVEL ONE: MIRROR MAZE
Jax stared at it as the entrance opened with a metallic scrape, revealing a narrow corridor lined wall to wall with mirrors. It looked normal for about two seconds. Then one reflection smiled too late.
You stared, too. “Great,” you said. “That one has your timing.”
“Rude.”
A mechanical voice chimed overhead before you could answer.
PLEASE SHARE ONE POSITIVE OBSERVATION ABOUT EACH OTHER TO BEGIN.
The nearest mirror had enough time to fog impatiently as the two of you stood silent.
Jax gave in first. “Fine. You have decent taste in stolen breakfast.”
“...you’re easier to tolerate when you stop talking.”
The mirrors lit up green.
POSITIVE OBSERVATIONS ACCEPTED.
Jax’s eyes widened. “That counted?”
“Don’t question good luck.”
The maze opened ahead.
For a while, the mirror maze was mostly annoying. The walls copied the two of you from far too many angles, stretching movements a second too long or catching expressions neither of you had truly made. Every time you drifted more than two feet away, the mirrors slid inward until Jax had to step closer again. You looked increasingly unimpressed with the entire experience.
“Move slower,” you snapped after the third wrong turn.
Jax laughed at you. “You say that like I’m sprintin’.”
“You walk like you’re trying to get lost on purpose.”
“That hurts. I’m naturally difficult.”
“You’re naturally a problem.”
“See, now that one felt personal.”
You angled around another mirror before pausing when three more identical hallways appeared.
“...I hate this maze,” you muttered, rubbing at your temple.
“Aw,” Jax replied. “Thought we were havin’ fun.”
“You walked into your own reflection twice.”
“It had a smug face.”
“Yeah, because it was you.”
The mirrors flashed pink. The two of you froze.
“…okay. What was that?”
“I don’t know,” you replied, “and I’m not interested in finding out.”
A door opened at the end of the corridor with a cheerful chime neither of you trusted. For once, the maze seemed satisfied enough to stop interfering and let the two of you leave.
LEVEL TWO waited on the other side.
The path ahead had traded polished mirrors for rows of tall corn stalks that stretched far above both of you, rustling beneath a sky gone artificially yellow near the horizon. The air smelled fake and sweet, and somewhere deep in the maze, something crunched beneath its own weight.
Jax went completely still.
You looked from the corn to him. Then back again.
“…seriously?” you probed.
Jax glared over at you. “What?”
“You’re making a face.”
“I don’t make faces,” he argued.
“You absolutely make faces,” you replied.
He checked the corn again, and this time, something deeper in the rows to rustle loud enough to sound intentional.
Jax nearly jumped. “…I just think it looks stupid,” he muttered.
“You’re scared of corn,” you said, voice tipping upward just enough to sound halfway between accusation and realization.
“…don’t say it like that,” he groaned.
Jax tried to look bored, which worked for maybe one second before the corn nearest to him bent inward with a dry scrape. He stepped back on instinct, shoulder knocking against yours. The glowing number between you pulsed green.
You looked at him.
Jax kept staring ahead, lifting one hand to point toward the maze. “Lead the way.”
Your brows drew together. “That bad, huh?”
“You wanted me useful. I’m delegating.”
“That’s not useful.”
“It is to me.”
The corn rustled again. Jax flinched.
For a second, you stood there staring between him and the corn.
Then, with visible irritation, you lifted the coffee mug and hurled it somewhere into the stalks.
A distant crash followed.
“…feel better?”
“Marginally.”
The stalks ahead moved apart to reveal a scarecrow half-swallowed by corn. Its head turned to glare at the two of you.
Jax shoved himself behind you.
“...just close your eyes,” you reluctantly instructed.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then stare at the corn and have a crisis. I don’t care.”
He lasted maybe three more seconds. Then he shut his eyes. “Tell anyone,” he warned, “and I’m making this everybody’s problem.”
“You already do that. Walk,” you replied, reaching for his wrist. You could feel his glare, even behind closed eyes.
“If this ends badly,” he warned, “I’m blamin’ you.”
“Shocking.”
The glowing number dipped lower: 0.7 FT. OPTIMAL
Your fingers closed lightly around his wrist as you started forward. The contact should have been nothing. It was barely anything. Still, Jax followed the pull of your hand through the corn maze, eyes squeezed shut, listening to your footsteps and the occasional rustle of stalks brushing too close.
You were annoyingly good at it.
That was the frustrating part.
You counted turns under your breath, corrected him when he drifted too far left, and yanked him back once before he walked straight into a fence that had absolutely not been there earlier.
Jax kept his eyes shut. Mostly. He tried to crack an eye open once, saw a wall of corn leaning toward him, and immediately closed it again.
You noticed. “Pathetic.”
“Cruel thing to say to a man in distress.”
“Did you just call yourself a man?”
“...Focus on the maze.”
Your laugh barely counted, but it was there. It slipped out before you could swallow it down, quick and disbelieving, and Jax hated the little jolt of satisfaction it gave him.
The corn thinned ahead.
A wooden arch waited at the exit, covered in painted sunflowers with faces that turned to watch as the two of you approached. Jax opened his eyes only when you let go of his sleeve.
The absence of your hand registered faster than he liked.
You put as much distance between the two of you as possible, expression closing again before he could comment. The arch glowed green overhead:
LEVEL TWO COMPLETE.
Jax panned from the sign to you. “See? Great team.”
“All you did was close your eyes and complain.”
“Still counts.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah, but you’re startin’ to sound less mad about it.”
That was the wrong thing to say. He knew it as soon as the words left his mouth.
Your expression did not change much, but your shoulder tightened. The small ease from the corn maze vanished in an instant, as if the maze had reached out and taken it. Your attention moved past him, toward the final path, where hedges were folding open with a slow, heavy sound.
Jax almost made another joke. He thought better of it.
The last sign rose from the ground ahead.
LEVEL THREE: EXIT INTERVIEW
The words sat there innocently for half a second before smaller text appeared beneath them:
ANSWER TOGETHER.
Your face went blank.
Jax read the sign again, disliking the way the air had changed. The final stretch appeared shorter than the others, just a straight path between two walls of hedges toward a bright red exit door at the end. Halfway down the path stood a pedestal with a large button on top.
It felt too easy.
Caine’s voice rang out through the maze, cheerful and distant.
“Final level, partners! Simply answer one meaningful question, press the button together, and proceed proudly toward victory!”
Jax glanced at the exit. “That’s it?”
The hedge beside the pedestal bloomed open, revealing words carved into the wood beneath the button:
WHAT MAKES YOUR PARTNER SAFE?
The silence that followed landed differently. You went quiet beside Jax.
He paused at the question, then turned to look at you. “That’s stupid.”
“Then answer it.”
“Why me?”
“You love hearing yourself talk,” you rolled your eyes.
“Wow. Mean.”
He should have made a joke. He had several ready. Something about your anger issues. Something about the fact that he had not shoved you into a wall yet. Something simple enough to make the maze accept it and let both of you move on.
Instead, he thought of the breakfast tray outside your door. The bacon gone. The photo album in Kaufmo’s room.
Your hand clutching his in the corn maze.
“...you don’t ditch people.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, unpolished.
Jax hated them immediately. You glared at him so fast he almost regretted saying anything at all.
The hedges stirred quietly around the two of you.
“That’s not an answer,” you said after a second.
“Sounded like one.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jax shrugged one shoulder, already irritated with where this was going. “I know what I’ve seen.”
“You’ve seen nothing.”
The maze gave another low tremor beneath your feet. Ahead, the exit still waited at the end of the path, bright and stupidly close like the whole thing was still winnable if one of you would just stop talking.
Jax knew that.
He kept going anyway.
“Kaufmo does somethin’ stupid, you fix it. Ribbit nearly walks into disaster, suddenly you’re there. Kinger gets two seconds away from eating something cursed, and suddenly you’re watching him like it’s your job.”
“Stop.”
“You dragged everybody through that nightmare forest yesterday.”
Your expression hardened. “I said stop.”
Jax hesitated. Then, because apparently today had become dedicated to making bad decisions, he continued.
“You always make sure everybody else gets back first.”
The hedges pressed inward hard enough to make the exit feel farther away, stone shifting beneath the two of you with an uneven groan that pulled at the edges of the path.
Jax thought about the sound you had made back in the corn maze. Small enough that it had almost slipped past him, gone before either of you had really acknowledged it.
This laugh landed differently.
Short. Sharp.
“You think that means something?”
Jax hesitated.
You met his eyes then, the careful distance that had settled back over your expression after the corn maze beginning to slip.
“You think noticing one thing means you figured me out?”
“I didn’t say that.”
The counter flashed red as you stepped back.
The maze reacted with an uneven shudder, the path lurching unevenly while the hedges folded inward and apart all at once, stone groaning beneath both of you in a way the earlier levels never had.
Jax moved first, hand lifting. “Hey.”
You pulled back before he could reach you.
Suddenly, the maze had completely transformed around the two of you. Not hedges. A hallway, with doors. Faces crossed out in thick red lines.
Then, Jax blinked, and the maze corrected itself so quickly he almost convinced himself he had imagined it.
The exit still waited at the end of the path, bright red and stupidly cheerful beneath a sign that continued glowing:
FINAL STEP!
Caine’s voice rang overhead, eerily cheerful. “Partners must complete the final level together!”
Jax took another step forward, slower this time.
“You always look around before you leave a room.” The words arrived strangely certain. Jax wasn’t even sure where they had come from. He only knew they felt true.
The maze went completely still.
You said nothing, shoulders drawing tighter.
“That’s not—I wasn’t—”
You shook your head once. “...no.” The word barely carried.
The path dropped out from beneath the two of you.
Stone jerked violently beneath both of you, throwing the exit sideways while the hedges folded inward with a grinding sound sharp enough to scrape against the inside of his skull. Somewhere overhead, the bright yellow sky fractured into static.
“Participant incompatibility detected!” a robotic voice chirped. “Fantastic effort!”
Jax caught himself against the nearest hedge before it gave away beneath his hand.
The counter flashed red so brightly it hurt to look at.
Across from him, your balance caught and slipped every time the floor jerked beneath you, breathing uneven enough now that he found himself listening for it.
“Wait—”
For one sharp second, the world broke apart: corn where hedges should have been, mirrors flashing overhead, hallways and doors and crossed out faces stretching as far as the eye could see.
Static swallowed the edges before the world corrected itself. A sharp snap echoed somewhere above, the sound cutting through everything.
Suddenly, the circus returned all at once, confetti bursting overhead.
“And in THIRD PLACE!” Caine announced, entirely too cheerful.
Kinger stood near the center of the hall holding what appeared to be a first-place ribbon made entirely of plastic insects while Ribbit stared at it like she regretted everything.
“We did very well,” Kinger informed no one in particular. “Apparently knowledge of agricultural insect populations is valuable.”
Across the room, Kaufmo sat slumped against the floor while Ragatha offered him what was probably a participation sticker.
Jax barely registered any of it. You had already started moving.
Your breathing sounded wrong.
One of your hands was pressed hard against your arm while the other caught against the wall as you passed, footing uneven enough to stumble as you walked.
Ragatha took a careful step forward.
“Hey—”
“...please.” You did not look at her.
Jax caught something that sounded dangerously close to a swallowed breath before you disappeared down the hallway.
Or maybe a sniffle. He could not tell.
The room went quiet after you disappeared.
Even Caine stopped talking.
Kaufmo still watched the hallway, even after you disappeared. Beside him, Ribbit had gone strangely still, fingers loosening around the ridiculous plastic insects Kinger had apparently won until they slipped from her hands.
“…oh,” Kinger whispered quietly.
Nobody moved.
Not toward the hallway. Not after you.
Kaufmo only forced an awkward smile while Ribbit stood beside him, posture gone tight in a way Jax had learned meant bad news.
Something turned low in Jax’s stomach.
Because none of this felt surprising.
Not to them.
Jax lasted maybe twenty minutes.
He made one lap around the circus. Pretended to care about whatever disaster Caine had turned the dining hall into. Listened to Bubble threaten legal retaliation against a vending machine for reasons nobody explained. At one point, he stood in front of a wall for a full minute thinking very seriously about absolutely nothing.
Unfortunately, thinking about nothing naturally evolved into thinking about you.
Your stumble in the hallway, the way your breathing had sounded.
That quiet little “please.”
Annoying.
By the time he found Ragatha, she had somehow acquired a step stool and was fixing one of the paper decorations Caine had left hanging crooked near the theater entrance.
Or pretending to. She had been staring at the same streamer for at least a couple minutes.
Jax crept up behind her. “You know that thing’s still ugly, right?”
Ragatha startled hard enough to nearly drop the tape dispenser. “Oh!” She steadied herself quickly. “You scared me.”
“Should I start jinglin’ bells before I walk into rooms?” He grinned.
Something softer crossed her face before she looked back toward the decoration.
“…you okay?”
Jax’s smile dropped. “What’s with everybody askin’ me that?”
Ragatha adjusted the streamer once. “You’ve been weirdly quiet.”
“That your professional opinion?”
“Yeah, actually.”
Jax rolled his eyes, shoving both hands into his pockets.
“…okay. Hypothetically.”
Ragatha turned.
Jax already regretted this.
“If somebody completely loses it in a maze because you accidentally say one thing—”
Something shifted across Ragatha’s face. “Oh.”
There it was again. He wasn’t going to let it slide this time. “No. Stop doin’ that.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing.”
“What thing?”
“The weird face!”
Despite herself, Ragatha laughed softly. “You mean concern?”
“No, I mean everybody suddenly actin’ like they know somethin’ I don’t.”
The laughter faded.
Ragatha set the tape dispenser in her lap.
“...So, you talked to Kaufmo and Ribbit.”
Not a question.
“Yeah, well, apparently everybody in this place decided mystery’s a personality trait.”
Her mouth pulled slightly to one side. “They weren’t trying to be difficult.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The paper streamer slipped loose again overhead. Neither of them bothered fixing it.
“…look,” Jax clenched his jaw, already annoyed he had to say it. “Something’s wrong.”
Ragatha’s voice came out weaker than usual. “Yeah, it…started before you got here.” She adjusted the tape dispenser once, then gave up on the streamer entirely and stepped down from the stool. “There had already been a lot of abstractions by then.”
“Yeah, okay. I know people abstract.”
“People they knew,” Ragatha continued, ignoring his banter. “People the rest of us didn’t.”
She paused, choosing her words more carefully.
“I guess after enough time…people stop bringing them up as much. You hear stories sometimes. Somebody who stole fruit at breakfast. Somebody who hated card games.” She smiled faintly before it disappeared again. “But after a while… people move on. You stop talking about them as much. Then not really at all.”
Ragatha exhaled. “And eventually it feels like they just…” her voice caught in her throat, “like they were never here.”
The hallway had gone quiet.
Jax thought about the photo album. The weird details you always seemed to know.
The feeling that you had walked into the circus already carrying history nobody else could see.
“She remembered what the rest of us didn’t,” Ragatha continued. “Not stories. People.”
Jax crossed his arms.
“…okay.” The word came slower this time. “What does that have to do with the maze?”
Ragatha seemed to weigh the words before answering. “Not the maze…an adventure, the one you skipped.”
“…what?”
“It was only your first week, and you were having a hard time adjusting…you stayed in your room. Kinger skipped too.”
Her hands folded together.
“Things had been rough. Everybody was upset, morale was bad, and I think Caine got worried, or well…as close to worried as Caine gets. He’s not always very good at understanding when something’s wrong, or what to do with it once he does.”
Jax disliked where this was going.
“He thought maybe something familiar would help,” Ragatha continued. “Something comforting.”
Whatever came next seemed harder to say.
“So he built an adventure around old faces.”
“...what?”
“He reuses NPC code all the time,” her voice lowered. “Models, personalities, little habits. We didn’t think anything of it at first. It just felt like another weird Caine adventure.”
She turned the tape dispenser once between her hands. “But she kept stopping. She’d just… freeze. She’d stare at somebody and go quiet. Correct little things.” Ragatha rubbed lightly at one arm. “Stuff nobody else understood.”
“You mean—”
“The abstracted people,” Ragatha clarified. “Or pieces of them, maybe.”
Jax stayed still against the wall.
“Kaufmo, Ribbit, and I had no idea who we were looking at,” she continued. “Most of them abstracted before we ever got here. Most of them…” Her expression tightened. “I don’t even think I knew their names…but she did.”
Ragatha went quiet for a moment before continuing.
“We thought something was wrong.”
“With her?” Jax asked.
Guilt flickered across her face.
“…yeah. I mean, we were worried. She kept freaking out and none of us understood why. I’d never seen her like that before.”
Jax stayed quiet.
Because suddenly the maze felt different.
The hallway, the crossed-out faces. The way you had looked at him.
“Afterward,” Ragatha sighed, “things changed. She just…got harder to be around, I guess.”
Jax frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She stopped sitting with us as much.” Ragatha shrugged. “If she did, she usually left early. Conversations got shorter.” She hesitated only long enough to rethink the phrasing. “Everything felt sharper after that.”
Jax looked over.
“…sharper?”
“She got irritated easier. And, she became quieter, which somehow felt worse.” A weak laugh slipped out, gone almost immediately. “You kind of stopped knowing what version of her you were gonna get.”
The humor disappeared.
“She still showed up,” Ragatha said. “It just stopped feeling like she was really there with us.”
She paused before continuing. “Kinger figured it out later.”
That got Jax’s attention. “What?”
“I didn’t know what else to do, so I went to him,” Ragatha admitted. “She wouldn’t talk to me, Kaufmo and Ribbit were worried, and I just…I didn’t understand what had happened. So I tried explaining it. I told him about the adventure, the NPCs, everything.”
Her voice lowered.
“And Kinger just…went really still.”
“Like normal Kinger still or weird Kinger still?”
“Weird,” Ragatha replied. “He started asking questions. ‘What did they look like?’ ‘What were they saying?’”
She stopped there for a second.
“And then…he told me everything. He said Caine must’ve copied them somehow. Their models, mostly, and maybe a few habits, but that was it. Just enough to convince you at first glance if you knew them.”
Ragatha grimaced.
“She’d recognize somebody immediately and go over to them, and at first you’d think maybe…” Ragatha stopped herself, expression tightening. “But they’d just smile and start talking about whatever Caine had programmed them to talk about.”
Ragatha lifted a hand to rub at her shoulder.
“She kept trying anyway. Correcting things, asking questions. Trying to explain why something was wrong, and none of us understood what she meant because to us it just looked like she was getting upset at NPCs.”
Her mouth twisted faintly. “I remember one of them asking if she wanted help finding treasure or something right after she’d been crying. She looked at him like something in her had just…” Ragatha exhaled once, frustration creeping into her voice. “I don’t know. Shut off. I think that’s when I finally understood why she changed.”
Her voice softened. “Imagine being the only person in the room who remembers someone enough to know they’re wrong.”
She looked at him properly then. “And nobody believes you.”
Neither of them said anything.
The crooked streamer overhead slipped loose again.
Ragatha noticed this time. She climbed back onto the stool, pressing one side of the decoration flat against the wall with far more focus than necessary.
“I don’t think she ever really forgave Caine for it,” she admitted after a moment. “Or herself, honestly.”
“…herself?”
“I think she hated that it got to her,” Ragatha admitted. “Like she felt stupid for caring when nobody else even remembered them anymore.”
The tape caught crooked.
She peeled it back off.
“And after a while…” Ragatha exhaled softly. “I think everybody just stopped asking.”
The words stayed with him longer than they should have. Something about that sat wrong. Wrong enough that Jax pushed himself upright.
“...Jax?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Don’t make a thing outta it.”
Something soft crossed her face. “You should probably go check on her.”
He rolled his eyes so hard it almost counted as effort.
“Wow. That’s a weird thing to say out loud.”
But he was already walking. Halfway down the hallway, he heard Ragatha call after him.
“Hey?”
Jax stopped.
“If she tells you to leave…maybe don’t.”
He glanced back and stared at her for a moment. Then looked away first.
“…yeah. Whatever.”
He kept walking anyway.
Jax was already past Kinger’s door when he realized he had absolutely no plan.
Which felt irritating, because plans implied effort and effort implied this suddenly mattered more than he wanted it to.
You had snapped at him before. Yelled, ignored him, threatened violence in at least three increasingly creative ways. None of that technically counted as unusual.
Still.
Fragments of you kept replaying wrong in his head. The breathing, the shaking hands. That small, strained please.
By the time he reached your door, irritation had settled somewhere unpleasantly close to concern, which felt manipulative, honestly.
The hallway remained stubbornly quiet.
Jax stood there longer than he meant to before finally digging through the ring of keys in his pocket with an exaggerated sort of annoyance, like inconveniencing himself somehow made this less embarrassing.
The lock clicked open easily.
The room beyond caught him off guard. Not because it looked sad. Sad would have made sense.
Instead, the whole thing felt soft in a way the circus rarely allowed itself to be.
The circus rarely bothered with softness without turning it into some kind of joke, but this was clearly an exception. Blankets layered unevenly across a couch near the far wall, thick enough to disappear into, spilling halfway onto a fur rug. Pillows crowded corners without any real order to them, oversized and worn at the edges in ways that suggested use rather than decoration. Warm light softened everything into shades of cream and pale gold while gauzy fabric hung loose near the ceiling, shifting faintly every time the artificial breeze from somewhere unseen caught it.
The window overlooked the digital lake.
Rain tapped quietly against the glass despite the sky remaining clear, sunset frozen across still water with the sort of careful perfection that immediately gave Caine’s work away. The kind of view somebody built after deciding comfort probably looked like rain and sunsets and quiet water, never really stopping to question whether any of those things belonged together.
Flowers crowded a shelf near the window, some fresh, some not. A few drooped where they sat forgotten in cloudy water nobody had changed.
Sticky notes lingered in stranger places, tucked near shelves and half-hidden against the edge of a side table:
REMEMBER BREAKFAST.
CHECK THE LOCK.
ASK KINGER ABOUT—
One near the window had been crossed through hard enough to wrinkle the paper beneath it.
Several picture frames rested facedown beside a stack of books. Another sat turned carefully toward the wall, hidden beneath folded fabric.
The room should have felt comforting. Instead, it carried the strange feeling of something built to survive inside.
Soft enough to hide in.
Jax shut the door behind him without meaning to. The sound pulled movement from somewhere beneath the blankets.
“Oh my god.” Your voice came rough around the edges.
He looked over.
You sat folded into the far corner of the couch beneath an unreasonable number of blankets, expression flattening almost immediately once recognition settled in.
Neither of you said anything.
Your gaze moved once toward the door. Then toward the keys still hanging loose from his hand.
“…you broke into my room?”
Jax lifted the ring slightly. “Breakin’ implies effort.”
Your expression somehow flattened further.
The silence afterward stretched.
You looked tired in a way he had not really noticed earlier, irritation sitting heavier now with no one else around to absorb it. The sharpness still existed, but dulled strangely at the edges beneath exhaustion.
A mug sat abandoned near the couch, cold coffee gathered at the bottom.
“You gonna stand there,” you muttered eventually, voice scraped thinner than usual, “or are you planning to leave?”
He gestured vaguely. “It feels…” He gestured toward the blankets, the flowers, the aggressively peaceful fake sunset outside. “Like Caine trapped somebody inside a scented candle.”
Your attention shifted toward the window. “So?”
“So,” Jax replied, leaning one shoulder against the closed door, “for somebody actin’ all terrifying lately, this is kinda pathetic.”
Your expression stayed frustratingly flat.
Your fingers gathered absently against the blanket. “You done?” you asked.
The room settled around the question.
Somewhere outside, rain continued tapping softly against fake glass, distant thunder rolling on a loop that sounded suspiciously prerecorded.
One of the sticky notes near the lamp had curled halfway loose.
DON’T FORGET—
The rest had been torn off.
“You always live like this?”
Your attention lifted slowly. “Like what?”
“All…” His gaze moved across the room again. “This.”
“...it helps.”
The couch sat close enough to the window that pale light caught unevenly against the blankets gathered around you. Even from here, it looked easy to disappear into.
With the vague irritation of somebody inconveniencing himself on purpose, Jax pushed away from the door.
“What are you doing?” you tensed.
“Relax.” He dropped onto the opposite end of the couch. “You looked one bad day away from hauntin’ the place.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Neither does this room.”
Your attention dropped again. Outside, thunder rolled softly through the fake sky.
“…you looked bad earlier.”
You laughed once, tired enough to sound brittle. “Wow.”
Jax frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.” Your fingers tightened briefly against the blanket before loosening again. “Didn’t know you cared.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“You kinda did.”
He clicked his tongue once, already irritated with how badly this had gone. “You looked like hell, alright? Happy?”
The joke landed crueler than intended.
Your mouth pulled slightly at one corner before disappearing again.
Silence stretched between opposite ends of the couch, thin enough that even the soft hum of the room started feeling louder.
Then, for the first time all night, you turned to meet his gaze.
“You don’t have to do this.”
Jax looked over. “Do what?”
“This.” Your hand moved vaguely between the two of you. “Pretend.”
Something about that landed wrong. Maybe because you sounded tired instead of sharp.
Maybe because for the first time since he’d met you, you sounded like you actually believed it.
He leaned back harder into the couch.
“Oh, here we go.”
Still, his attention snagged again despite himself. Your hands had twisted the blanket into itself somewhere between the conversation and now, fabric gathered tight enough between your fingers to wrinkle.
“You gonna stop doin’ that?”
“Doing what?”
He reached over, catching lightly at the edge of the blanket where it had bunched between your hands.
“That…looks uncomfortable.”
You went quiet after that. Your hand stayed where he had loosened the blanket, fingers no longer twisting quite so tightly into the fabric. The space between both ends of the couch felt smaller now.
“You really suck at this,” you muttered eventually.
Jax let out a deep exhale. “Yeah, well.”
His hand remained where it had ended up against the blanket pooled loosely in your lap, closer now than either of you acknowledged.
“…clearly.”
Your shoulder brushed his a moment later.
Maybe accidental.
Maybe not.
Neither of you moved.
“You can stop, y’know.”
“Stop what?”
“This.” Your hand moved vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever weird…guilt thing this is.”
He raised a brow. “That’s annoyingly specific.”
“I’m serious.” You pulled the blanket slightly closer again, fingers catching in the fabric. “I’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t be.” His voice came out rougher than intended. Jax looked away.
“…I just…didn’t really wanna leave you alone.”
Silence stretched. Your shoulder stayed where it had bumped lightly against his. Close enough now that he could feel warmth through too many layers of blanket.
“You really suck at this,” you repeated, quieter now.
“Yeah, okay, you mentioned that already.” He looked back at you again, only to catch you staring.
Something small and tired slipped out of you, closer to a full laugh this time. It disappeared quickly.
“…quit lookin’ at me like that.” Jax mumbled.
“Like what?”
His hand fidgeted awkwardly, fingers brushing lightly against your sleeve near your wrist. “You keep lookin’ like you’re about to…” He stopped, whatever joke had been sitting there disappearing before trying again.
“…I dunno.”
His next words abandoned him somewhere between the look on your face and the sudden, embarrassing awareness that the couch had gotten a lot smaller.
The movement surprised you as much as it surprised him.
One second he was trying very hard not to say something stupid. The next he was kissing you.
Messy enough to almost count as impulse, but warm and strangely careful. You kissed him back, not for very long but just enough to make it real. Jax pulled away first, barely moving an inch. The smugness that usually lived somewhere behind his expression seemed to have misplaced itself entirely.
“Oh.” His voice came out soft, his hand still resting uselessly against the blanket gathered in your lap.
You stood so quickly the couch shifted beneath both of you.
“...No.” Your hands found your head briefly before falling again, pacing already carrying you halfway across the room. “No…no, no, no. Absolutely not.” The words came faster now, sharpness returning. “This isn’t—” You stopped yourself hard enough to swallow the rest. “No.”
Jax pushed himself upright more slowly.
“…okay.”
You laughed once, voice thin and wrong. The sound disappeared almost immediately as you turned toward the window, then away from it again before really stopping anywhere at all.
“This doesn’t matter,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “This isn’t a thing.”
“Little offensive.”
“Jax.”
That got him to stop. You had stopped pacing without him noticing, now standing near the window with one hand gripping your neck like a vise.
You started pacing again.
A blanket still dragged unevenly around one shoulder where you had forgotten to let it fall.
“I can’t do this,” you muttered. “Not now. Not—”
Your hand pressed against your forehead.
“Okay.” Jax glanced toward the door, then back at you. He had not quite settled on what he was supposed to do here. “You’re doin’ the scary thing again.”
The silence afterward stretched awkwardly.
“…bad wording.”
You didn’t look at him. Your hand caught briefly against the edge of the side table before balling into a fist.
“Get out.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“No, you’re just—”
“GET OUT.”
Jax stayed where he was.
Long enough that the sound of rain against fake glass suddenly felt louder than it had just a minute ago.
“…fine.”
He moved toward the door slowly, pausing once like maybe something smarter might still arrive at the last second.
It didn’t.
“You better not do any weird dramatic circus nonsense,” he raised his voice, hand catching against the doorknob. “I’m serious.”
You didn’t answer. That bothered him more than it probably should have.
The door opened with a quiet click.
Jax hesitated again.
You were still looking out the window.
“…don’t make me come back in here.”
The door pulled shut behind him, stopping just short of closed. Barely an inch.
Rain kept going outside, thunder rolling softly overhead. For a while, you just stood there, the blanket still sitting unevenly against the couch where Jax had left it, half-slipped toward the floor.
The air felt wrong somehow, hot in a way that pressed too heavily against your skin, too close, like the room had quietly shrunk around you while you weren’t paying attention.
Your hand grabbed at the edge of the side table hard enough to rattle one of the overturned picture frames.
You set it upright without thinking and paused. You didn’t recognize the face.
The wrongness of it settled instantly. You should have.
The thought slipped sideways before you could hold onto it. Fake thunder crackled from outside.
This was all wrong. You pressed both hands hard against your temples. Breathing had become too fast, too shallow. The room seemed to tilt around the edges. Outside, the view flickered, only briefly. The sunset warped strangely across the water before correcting itself.
Your fist slammed hard against the window, the sound cracking violently through the room. Glass scattered across the floor, inward. Rain disappeared mid-sound. The lake tore sideways where your hand had gone through.
Not a window. A screen.
Static burst violently across fractured color while the audio stuttered overhead, thunder distorting into a warped, metallic sound. The sunset collapsed into bright distortion.
Something sharp and awful twisted low in your chest.
Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong—
You stumbled backward hard enough to knock against the couch.
Somewhere in the hallway outside, the door remained open just enough to let pale light spill through the crack.
Dinner should have been louder.
Kaufmo usually complained about something. Ribbit argued with somebody. Ragatha filled silences before they really settled. Even Kinger quietly explaining something nobody had asked about would have counted for something.
Instead, the room sat strangely empty.
Cold plates lingered untouched beneath lights that suddenly felt too bright. Somewhere overhead, one of Caine’s instrumental tracks played through the speakers, all bright brass and carousel nonsense in a room suddenly too quiet for it.
Jax’s attention drifted toward the empty seat at the end of the table before he clicked his tongue and turned back toward the door.
Something about the dorm hallway felt off before he had even fully stepped into it.
When he turned the corner, everyone was already there, gathered strangely still beneath flickering color.
Ragatha stood off to one side, arms folded tightly enough to wrinkle fabric beneath her hands. Ribbit lingered beside her, unusually quiet. Even Kaufmo had gone still.
Kinger stood closest to your door.
The door remained cracked open barely an inch, colored light pulsing unevenly through the gap while distorted sound drifted into the hall, something sharp and scratchy buried beneath rain and breaking thunder.
Static.
By the time anybody spoke, Jax had already crossed half the hallway.
“…Jax.”
Kinger did not look away from the door. For once, his voice sounded frighteningly clear. “I wouldn’t.”
Jax rolled his eyes. “Oh, cool. Great. Everybody’s bein’ weird now.” He took another step.
Kaufmo stood abruptly. “…don’t.”
No joke. No grin. Nothing.
Only then did Jax realize nobody had tried opening the door.
gator tillman ୨ৎ soulmate au ୨ৎ childhood friends to lovers, angst
part one - the tie that binds | part two - give me cause
summary: roy tillman is determined to settle the terms of marriage by any means possible. you and gator both know that you can only delay it for so long, yet the hole only seems to dig itself deeper with each misunderstanding.
“Do you want to explain to me why Gator Tillman keeps calling the house phone, asking for you? Doesn’t he have your cell?” Your mother questioned as she continued to clean up from dinner. You lingered in the kitchen, disinterested in going out yet not wanting to retreat to your room for the night.
You answered with a shrug, which did not amuse your mother. She pressed further, “So you two are friends again?”
“I don’t want to talk about Gator,” You ran a hand over your face, taking a deep breath, “I don’t feel like talking to him, and he knows that.”
Reaching for the kitchen towel, your mother dried her hands while giving you a look of gentle concern, “Then will you at least explain why your father and I received an invitation to join Roy for lunch after church on Sunday?”
Your tightened clenched at the sudden news. Here she was, pin-pointing this mess on you, like it was a fault you had caused. You couldn’t bite your tongue, you couldn’t take blame that was not yours. Your tone was clipped as you hit her with the question that had been circling in your mind, “Why didn’t you tell me that Gator Tillman was my soulmate?”
Finally, you spared her a look again, and she seemed slightly stunned. Maybe she had thought the revelation would never come. Maybe she’d thought you'd lose interest in the trivial pursuit of such a defining thing and unknowingly save yourself.
She rubbed her palms across her jean-clad thighs, “I— You were both toddlers when it happened. It was inappropriate for Linda and I to force the match so early—”
“You had no intention in setting that match,” You were quick to hurl another accusation, “You knew for nearly my whole life that I was tied to the Tillmans—”
“Yes, I did. And I saw how Roy broke down my best friend, how he sucked the joy out of Linda because of his archaic way of life,” She snapped back after finding her footing, “Forgive me for not wanting to lose my daughter the same way.”
— — —
There was no stopping Roy Tillman once he had his mind set on something. Gator was to become a real man, according to his father’s orders. As a boy, Gator had imagined what it would have been like to be loved by a girl like you, or just you. He couldn’t recall what the difference between those two things was. But he hated that the reality had twisted the childish fantasy into another command from his father.
It had been two weeks, and Gator hadn’t heard from you since the diner incident. But he knew that your parents had been in communication with his father. The process of planning the engagement felt impersonal, and it was, as Roy had removed him from any planning. Apparently, the Sheriff would be meeting with your father privately, as your mother refused to attend anything without you present, and you had refused to be anywhere Gator was.
So far, it was shaping out to be an elopement rather than a wedding—something quick and hushed, like a dirty secret and an exchange of property. But Gator didn’t like how that thought left a bitter ache in his mouth.
While your parents were out of the house for the night, Gator had parked on your street just two houses down so that he might catch a glimpse of you through the window or while taking out the trash. He knew better than to be out so late in his truck. But you wouldn’t talk to him, and the uncertainty of the arrangements was driving him to the brink of madness. His father told him that he needed to assert himself. Roy had told him that you were acting out of turn for a future wife. Yet the nagging ache in his chest told him differently.
Because you were the one thing Gator never had any control over, not as children and not now. His father might whoop him if he knew Gator’s whereabouts, yet another hit from his father seemed like a dull ache compared to the silence from you. He knew this was an act of desperation, that his father (and maybe even you) would look down on him for the extreme attempt, yet Dignity had never met Gator Tillman.
He stood outside your front door, hyping himself up to knock. It was just you. He’d been right in the spot a hundred times before. Why the fuck would he be nervous now? He raised his fist to knock, only for the front door to swing open.
There you were, dressed in pajamas and a trash bag in hand. It was clear from the sour expression on your face that you weren’t too keen to find Gator waiting for you on the porch.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” You snarked, and it irked something in Gator. You used to talk so sweetly to him, not like he was some bothersome pet.
Instead of his usual snark, he swallowed his pride, brow set as his dark hazel eyes traced down your silhouette, “I’m just coming to check on you—”
“Or coming to kidnap me? Come and take your ‘rightful property’,” You scoffed, hardly giving him a chance to explain himself before you brushed past him, “Whatever.”
As your feet pattered down the front porch steps and around the side of the house, Gator pursued, “Now why the hell you gotta say shit like that? Putting words in my mouth?”
You opened the lid of the garbage can and hurled the trash bag inside. If you were a lesser woman, you might have considered throwing it at his head instead, “Isn’t that the Tillman way? Least that’s what your daddy says each time he calls—”
“I told him not to,” Gator butt in, “I keep telling him to stop bothering, that he isn’t helping.”
“No, he’s making my position in your life abundantly clear. And I suppose you’ll be just as faithful to me as your father was to your mother,” Your words were intended to strike deep; to hurt Gator before he could hurt you, “Because he knocked her up with you, expected her to smile and submit, and then fucked other women while she was pregnant and during her recovery. Does that sound like a strong, respectable husband to you, Gator? Is that the model you want to follow and force upon me?”
Gator’s jaw tightened. His cheeks and ears were red with frustration, and if he was cruel like his father, he might’ve struck you on the spot for talking out of turn. Yet your words were nothing but the truth that Gator had always known, but never accepted. Something small and childish inside him wanted to hold on to the flicker of hope that his mother’s absence wasn’t because she walked out on them, and that your soulmate was bound to you out of love.
“You think I would do that to you?” Gator’s voice cracked, and shit, he hadn’t intended to sound so broken up.
Your eyes searched his for a fracture in the act. In front of you was the sad little boy on the church playground, not the prized son of Roy Tillman.
“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise,” You stated matter-of-factly, “And your daddy paints a clear picture of expectation.”
Gator shifted in place, his focus falling to the gravel of your driveway. His hands settled on his hips, “What he say?”
“Like you don’t know,” You huffed, deciding that you were done entertaining him for the night. You moved to pass him, only for Gator to grab your elbow. It wasn’t forceful or ill-intended, just a firm halt.
“He don’t tell me everything,” Gator admitted, his head dipping closer to yours, “So what did he say?”
Your lips pursed as you mulled over the words you’d been hearing through the landline phone, how Roy made the marriage sound like an exchange of property, rather than something sacred. Gator’s eyes fixated on your mouth, observing as your tongue darted out to wet your lips.
“He said…” You started, taking a deep breath, “That there would be a small wedding on the ranch, an elopement really. Just us, him, my folks, and a preacher. Enough to make it official and keep it quiet. That I would come to live on the Tillman ranch, learn how to be a dutiful wife from Karen during the day, and satisfy you after a long day of work. Does that sound… like a life I want, Gator?”
He knew that he should’ve explained himself better. That his response was too elusive to his father’s intentions. But he floundered for the words, and instead dug the hole deeper.
“You wouldn’t have to work another day in your life,” Gator tried to assuage, “I’d provide for you.”
Your face fell, and the pit in your stomach seemed as if it would create a permanent home there. You tugged your arm from his grip and darted up the front porch again. Gator was once again forced to follow.
“shit, please, just listen to me,” He called after you, boots thudding up the wood, “I ain’t done talking to you!”
“Well, I’m done hearing it! Go home, Gator,” You snapped as you entered through the front door, swiftly shutting and deadbolting it before he could attempt to follow inside.
You could hear Gator calling out to you from the front porch, begging you just to come back out and listen. But this time, his words held no threat or promise of violence. You didn’t know if that should assure or intimidate you. It took him another fifteen minutes before he left the house, silence now permeating through the walls again.
Gator stalked back to his truck, defeat yoking his shoulders. He climbed back in but did not start the vehicle, because he had no intention of driving home. For the remainder of the night, Gator watched over your street. He watched your parents return home and your neighbor step outside for a midnight cigarette. He examined the license plate of each vehicle that dared to pass down your street. Because he wasn’t there to stalk you so that he could explain himself, he was there to protect you from whatever men his father would send to retrieve the future addition to the Tillman family.
a/n: each part i add to this au keeps getting longer and it's supposed to be a drabble fic... what can i say? also... just gonna confirm for @keer-y that there will be a part four
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There's a hand on their shoulder, squeezing gently, massaging the tense, aching muscles, but they can't give in, they can't, they can't–
They're restrained and in so much pain, it would be so easy to–
They have to remember where that hand had been mere moments earlier. They have to remember that that hand continued in fingers wrapping around the handle, the handle ending in a blade, and the blade ended somewhere inside their body.
When it was ripped out, they felt like a piece of them was torn out with it. The only connection remaining between them and their missing piece was loosely tied red ribbons flowing freely from the wound.
They had to remember they hated that hand. They had to–
It gave another reassuring squeeze. It's okay, it would be much easier if they could just slip away. Hide from the pain and misery of the present.
Still they fought the restraints and the looming shadows around them, writhed against the ropes holding them in place.
"It's okay, just give in, there's no shame in that," a voice whispered in their ear, the breath against their skin was too hot, their captor was too close, yet it sounded like they were miles away.
They tried to buck up and gain enough momentum for their head to connect with their captor's body where it hurt them most, but they found no purchase on the ground or against the restraints.
Another hand joined the first, massaging both of their shoulders, kneading out the tension they wanted oh so desperately to keep to themself.
"Shh, it's okay, you can let go now," the voice insisted, "You don't have to fight me," it continued in their other ear making them flinch.
"Find your peace, it's okay."
The fingers dug deeper into the muscle, sending a horrifyingly pleasurable shiver down their spine.
It was so confusing, to tremble from the freezing cold of their injury and from the warmth of the captor behind them at the same time.
They kept on bucking up and twisting to get away, because how could they not?
you told yourself you'd never fall in love with ren amamiya, who labelled as a 'dangerous criminal' when he first transferred over to shujin high, but with how things were going—you werent even sure if you could keep that promise to yourself, how foolish.
the way he speaks to you in a soft tone, how he conducts himself around you by acting silly, even his stupid glasses made his smug face look cute and innocent! it wasnt even your fault you felt this way, it was that idiotic charm of his that ( for some reason ) he has.
or gained.
you swear he randomly just became charming one day.
well even so... the only good thing about him is his cute cat, right? although, morgana always meows nonstop sometimes when you came over to his 'house' ( could you really call it that if he lived in an attic inside a cafe? ). i mean it feels like he can understand you two sometimes with how he paws at either you or ren, clearly displeased when either say hes adorable.
but nevertheless, forming a small crush on him wont matter anyway! you could probably forget about it and keep the friendship the same. if you dont confess.
although, valentines day was coming up. maybe you could discreetly slip a love letter into his locker or desk drawer and avoid him forever after?
so you wrote, and wrote... and wrote—all in many different ways to convey your feelings about him, alas being in vain in the end; opting to seal your failed attempts deep within your rooms cabinet, almost flowing out of a cute-patterned box.
you tried your hardest! maybe it was better to keep them in your heart rather than potentially having those same thoughts break it.
As soon as Riley wasn’t fit for service Simon adopted her, he couldn’t stomach the idea of his beloved K-9 going to someone else.
Just because she had retired doesn’t mean he did, he still had work. The only difference was now, whenever he didn’t have to be on base or deployed, he came home.
He still, however, had to be away for long periods of time. Hence, it didn’t take him long to find a dog sitter. You’re self employed, work from home and pet sit on the side - you’re absolutely perfect - and Riley loves you from the first meet.
By now, nearly a year of frequently caring for Riley when Simon wasn’t home, you’d found a rhythm - managing to become Simon’s only friend outside of the military.
You’d come over the night before he left, have a takeaway with him, chat over crappy TV, and he’d leave while you were still asleep in the guest bed. In all honestly it was quickly becoming YOUR room - Simon never had other guests and you left enough of your things there - in case of late notice calls.
Simon loved Riley more than anything, and he took her care very seriously, no matter if he was going away for a night or a month he would leave a credit card and her insurance details. Just in case.
You never thought anything would happen to Riley, she was perfectly fit and extremely well behaved, which is why it was such a shock to find yourself speeding to the emergency vets at 3am.
The last thing Simon expected was a phone call at 6am - he knew the time zones and he knew you should be asleep - only used to a few daily photos of Riley and text updates.
His plans of an early run before a briefing were out the window as soon as he heard you sniffle into the phone. “Sorry to- to bother you..”
The voice that responds is firm, almost ordering. “What’s the matter?”
“Is there any way y-you can come home early..?”
By now he’s stood up, free hand clenched into a fist as his head fills with possibilities. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.. I.. I woke up to Riley whining and I thought she was just having a bad dream but then she started shaking and yelping-“ You barely finish your sentence, choking words out between sobs, before he responds.
“I’m on my way.” He hangs up and heads straight to Price’s office, ready to pull any string to get home within 24 hours.
When he arrives back in England, only 6 hours later thanks to a favour Price owed him, he pays the ridiculous fee to get a taxi from the airport directly to the vets.
The door shakes on its hinges as he stops in, he doesn’t have a chance to look for you before you’re crashing into his chest. He jolts and stiffens for a moment before embracing you as you shake with sobs.
As worried as he currently is he also knows how scared you must also be. You’d grown extremely close with his dog over the last year, not to mention how sensitive he knows you are - having seen your eyes fill over sad TV adverts before.
Once you’re both settled in seats in the corner he makes you explain everything. “I was asleep and I woke up to whining, I thought she was just dreaming but I went to check anyways. I started stroking her to try and cheer her up or something when she just started-“ He watches your eyes fill again.
“She just started shaking- not like shivering like.. really really shaking and she wouldn’t get up or anything and she was yelping and-“ You cough out a sob and he stops you - partly not wanting you to be upset and partly not wanting to hear about his dog in pain.
Your face finds his shoulder and he hugs you, providing you both the comfort you need. “They won’t even tell me anything.. they just rushed her away..” That’s all he needs to hear to be on his feet and demanding some sort of information from any staff he can find.
You watch in silent amazement as the same people who had completely ignored you scrambled to find answers for him.
As soon as you heard the word poison you were out of your seat and stumbling over to Simon, wanting to know what happened. His arm finds your back to steady you but his eyes never leave the veterinary nurse with the grim look on her face.
The nurse quietly explained the fact that Riley had experienced a seizure, caused by a toxin found in her system. “From the symptoms we assume it came from some kind of common rat poison.”
Whilst Simon was wracking his brain for where she might’ve gotten it you’re asking the important questions. “Is it serious? Will she be okay? What’s going to happen now?”
