synopsis: the girl soobin has wanted since forever is dating the campus resident playboy. desperate, hopeless, and out of ideas, he comes to youβa shaman who supposedly specialises in love rituals and spiritual compatibility. only problem? youβre a total fraud.
when i wake up next to you i wonder how... how did we end up here?
βΆοΈ β’αα||α|α|||| end up here β 5sos
α₯«α‘ pairing: yearner!choi soobin x scammer shaman!reader
α₯«α‘ genre/warnings: college au, romcom, coming of age, crack, e2l, spin-off, explicit language, sexual humour & crude jokes, drug use, alcohol use, manipulation/deception, emotional distress, bit of angst, pining, slow burn, jealousy, plotting against your fav freaky couple, 18+ mdni, dry humping, second-hand embarrassment, so unhinged turn your brain off
α₯«α‘ status: ongoing
α₯«α‘ wc: 12k
α₯«α‘ playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist | prequel | banner
part three | the charlatan α₯«α‘
The bar is on its last legs for the night.
Half the stools are flipped upside down on tables. The fairy lights behind the bottles are dimmed to weβre still open but weβre also not emotionally available. The speakers are playing some washed-out R&B track.
Taehyun is behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, doing that thing he does when heβs stressed and trying not to show itβcleaning the same glass with the same rag in slow, aggressive circles. The man could sandpaper guilt out of a window.
Youβre sat on a stool, elbows on the counter, whole body vibrating with rage and the kind of exhaustion that makes you want to start biting people. βSo then,β you say, voice hoarse, hands flying as you talk, βhe fucking says all that shit and of course it pissed the fuck out of me. Like who the fuck does he think he is?β
Taehyun doesnβt even look up. He just keeps polishing. βMm.β
βAnd heβs stood there with his posh little coat and his posh little mouth,β you continue, spiralling, βand heβs calling me a scammer as if I donβt already know that. As if I wake up and go, hmm, today Iβll make money out of being a shitty person, what a vibe.β
βMm,β Taehyun repeats, wiping the rim hard enough youβre surprised it doesnβt crack.
βAnd then,β you say, leaning in, lowering your voice, βhe starts with the morality speech. Like heβs some fucking patron saint of heartbreak, like he hasnβt blackmailed me into stalking someone.β
Taehyun finally glances up, deadpan. βYou did scam him first.β
βShut up,β you snap, pointing at him. βDonβt join him. Iβll set this bar on fire.β
He blinks slowly, completely unbothered. βYou canβt afford arson.β
βI canβt afford anything,β you fire back. βThatβs literally the fucking point.β
Taehyunβs mouth twitches. He reaches under the counter and slides a drink toward youβone of his low-alcohol youβre annoying but I still want you alive cocktails. Itβs pink, sweet and smells of fake fruit and coping.
βYouβre cut off after that,β he says.
βIβm not drunk,β you argue automatically, then take a sip and soften a fraction. βThis is basically juice.β
βItβs juice with consequences,β he replies.
You drink regardless, because your nervous system is currently held together by sugar and spite.
Taehyun goes back to wiping. You watch his hands for a secondβthe familiar rhythm, the way he moves like heβs done this shift a million times and still hates it every time. Youβve known him long enough to hear his moods in the way the rag scrapes glass.
βSo what,β you say, voice quieter now, βIβm just meant to take it? Iβm meant to stand there and let him look at me like Iβm scum?β
Taehyun shrugs, eyes on the bar top. βMaybe heβs just angry.β
βHeβs angry,β you echo, incredulous. βHeβs angry at me. Like I held him at gunpoint and made him crawl under a table with grapes.β
Taehyun snorts. βYou kind of did.β
βYouβre not helping,β you warn.
Taehyun holds up both hands in mock surrender, then goes back to wiping. He listens without interrupting. Itβs annoying, actually. You prefer him loudβloud Taehyun is easy to fight. Quiet Taehyun means heβs thinkingβthinking Taehyun is the worst version of Taehyun.
You keep talking anyway. Youβre too wound up to stop.
You tell him about the walk home. The fight. The way Soobinβs face looked when you finally snapped. The way your own voice went shaky, betrayed you, turned honest. The way you cried, which makes you feel physically ill to admit out loud.
ββand then I just fucking left,β you finish, staring into your drink. βI didnβt even let him respond. I just walked off andββ Your throat tightens. You clear it. βAnd I hate him.β
Taehyunβs rag pauses for half a second. He puts the glass down with too much care. He doesnβt say anything immediately. He just leans his hip against the counter and studies you with that face.
His thinking face. The one that makes you want to throw a spoon at him.
βWhat?β you say, defensive already, shoulders tensing. βWhat the fuck is that look?β
Taehyun sets the rag down. He plants one hand on the counter and leans over slightly, gaze fixed on you like heβs about to diagnose you with something incurable. βDo you like him?β he asks.
You choke.
A full, violent sputter that sends your drink launching out of your mouth in an arc of betrayalβstraight onto Taehyunβs face. Itβs instant, cinematic and disgusting.
Taehyun closes his eyes.
You stare at him, horrified.
The drink drips slowly down his cheek. He inhales through his nose. Exhales. Very calm. Very controlled. Then he reaches for a towel without saying a word and starts wiping his face with the defeated precision of a man who has made terrible choices in friendship. βYou are,β he says, voice dangerously even, βfucking revolting.β
βOh my God,β you wheeze, half laughing, half dying. βYou asked me if I like him.β
Taehyun keeps wiping. βI asked a question. You answered with assault.β
βYouβre actually insane,β you say, coughing again. βWhy would you even assume that?β
He shrugs, still drying his jaw. βItβs not like you to get this invested.β
βIβm invested because heβs a problem,β you snap. βHeβs a rich, upright problem with eyelashes and a God complex.β
Taehyunβs brows lift. βEyelashes.β
βShut up.β
He ignores you, obviously. βAlso,β he adds, voice too casual, βthis whole thing feelsβfamiliar.β
You narrow your eyes. βHuh?β
Taehyunβs gaze holds yours, steady. βMaybe itβs bringing up old memories of Mr Han.β
Your blood goes cold so fast itβs almost funny. Almost. βWhat the fuck did you just say?β you ask, voice dropping.
Taehyun doesnβt flinch. He just watches you, like he knows heβs poked something sharp and heβs doing it anyway. βIβm saying you have a tendency to chase after people who arenβt even looking at you.β
The rage that surges up is instant and irrational and bright. βWhy are you bringing that fucker up?β you spit. βWhy are you dragging that name into my night like itβs a fun little pub game?β
Taehyunβs jaw tightens. βBecause youβre doing the thing.β
βIβm not doing the thing,β you snap.
βYou are,β he says, deadpan. βYou get hooked on people who make you feel small. You try to earn them. You turn it into a project.β
Your fingers curl around your glass. The urge to hurl it at him is strong. The fact itβs mostly juice is the only thing stopping youβyou refuse to waste sugar.
βSo now Iβm a case study,β you say, voice sharp. βIβm a fucking psychology assignment. Great. Put me in your notes.β
Taehyun sighs, long-suffering. βIβm not trying to piss you off.β
βWell youβre succeeding,β you say, standing abruptly. The stool scrapes loud against the floor. βYou know what, Taehyun? Youβre so fucking annoying.β
He lifts his brows. βYouβre welcome.β
βI donβt want to see you for a good few days,β you tell him, grabbing your bag, βor itβs on sight.β
Taehyun scoffs. βOn sight? What are you going to do, hex me?β
βIβll throw a drink at you again,β you threaten.
He points at his face. βYou already did that. Twice this month.β
βThen Iβll do it with something sticky,β you fire back. βIβll do it with syrup. Iβll do it with regret.β
Taehyunβs mouth twitches, trying not to smile. He fails. βGo home.β
βGladly,β you snap, slinging your coat on. βEnjoy your morals. I hope they pay your rent.β
He watches you storm toward the door, then calls after you, quieter, βText me when youβre home.β
You flip him off without turning around.
Outside, the cold air hits you straight in the face. It sobers you a bit. Not enough to be calmβjust enough to feel everything properly. Your walk home is fast and furious, hands shoved in your pockets, brain replaying Taehyunβs stupid words over and over.
Do you like him?
As if youβd ever like someone who makes you feel poor just by standing there. As if youβd ever like someone who can look at you and think heβs better.
As if youβd everβ
You shove the thoughts away and climb the stairs to your flat, keys rattling in your hand. Your hallway smells faintly of damp and someoneβs curry. Your studio is dark and quiet when you step in. Mangy doesnβt even come to greet you. Heβs probably asleep somewhere warm, dreaming about a life where he has a different owner.
You dump your bag, kick your shoes off, and stand in your kitchen for a minute staring at nothing.
Your chest still feels tight. Your head still feels hot. You know you shouldnβt.
You do it anyway.
You roll yourself a spliff with the tired efficiency of someone whoβs done this too many times for it to be cool anymore. The paper sticks slightly because your fingers are cold. You lick it, seal it, light it, and take a drag.
The smoke hits your lungs and your shoulders loosen an inch. The room softens around the edges. Your anger goes from a sharp blade to a heavy weight.
You sit on the edge of your bed, exhale, and stare at the cracks in the ceiling. βI fucking hate everyone,β you mutter to nobody.
Mangy makes a sound from somewhere that could be a yawn or judgement. Hard to tell with him.
You take another drag.
Then the doorbell rings. Your body stiffens automatically.
For half a second, your brain goes, Taehyun. Apology. Guilt. That stupid face. Him turning up and pretending heβs not worried. You stand and pad down the hall, annoyance already loading in your chest. You yank the door open.
Instead, there he is.
Choi Soobin.
Hair neat. Coat on. Face too pretty for your shitty hallway. Eyes fixed on you with a look thatβs not polite, not soft, not hesitant.
Itβs something darker.
Your mouth goes dry. Youβre holding a half-smoked spliff between your fingers. Your hoodie is creased. Your eyes probably look glassy. You smell of weed and cheap perfume and stress.
Soobinβs gaze drops to the spliff. Then to your face. Then back to the spliff.
He inhales slowly, like heβs trying to stay calm.
You stare at him, voice wrecked and furious and stunned all at once. βWhat the fuck are you doing here?β
Choi Soobin isnβt the sort of person who turns up at someoneβs flat uninvited (he is).Β
He knocks, waits and leaves if nobody answers. He keeps his voice level. He doesnβt do drama or confrontations. He definitely isnβt the type to show up at the doorstep of the girl who scammed him with a virgin ghost and then screamed her trauma at him on a pavement.
And yet.
His guilt has been chewing him alive since the afternoon. It sat on his chest and followed him to his bedroom. Itβs been there while he ate a sad dinner he didnβt taste. Itβs been there while he replayed your face when you criedβangry, humiliated, trying to stand tall while your body betrayed you.
He told himself you deserved it. He told himself you were cruel. He told himself you were a fraud and frauds donβt get feelings. Then he remembered the way your voice cracked when you said rent. The way your hands shook when you said tuition. The way you stormed away and didnβt even let him fix it.
Now heβs here with his stomach in his throat, standing outside your door, rehearsing an apology that keeps sounding pathetic in his head.
He knocks. Once. Twice.
The door swings open hard enough that his pulse jumps, and the first thing that hits him is the smell.
Itβs not incense or candle wax. Not your usual mystic studio shit.
Itβs weedβstrong, thick, clinging to the air and his nose immediately rejects it. His face screws up before he can stop it.
Then he sees you.
You look wrecked. Like youβve been hit by life and coping badly. Your eyes are bloodshot. Pupils wide. Lips dry. Cheeks flushed. Hoodie creased. Youβre holding something between your fingers, smoke curling up from it.
You blink at him slowly, as if heβs a concept youβre trying to understand. βWhat the fuck are you doing here?β you ask, voice sluggish, the words dragging.
Soobinβs tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He didnβt rehearse this version of you. He rehearsed angry you, sharp youβnotβ¦ stoned you.
His eyebrows pull together. His voice comes out too blunt. βAre you high?β
Your eyes sharpen a fraction, offence waking up. βHow is that any of your fucking business?β
βItβsββ He stops and adjusts. He tries to sound calm. βItβs my business when youβreβl-like this.β
You snort. Itβs not friendly. βWhen Iβm like this? Listen to you.β
Soobin swallows, hands curling at his sides. He forces them open again. He came here to apologise. He did not come here to get bullied in a hallway while youβre high off your mind. He clears his throat. βI came toββ
βTo what?β you cut in. βLecture me?β
βNo.β He shakes his head once. βI came to apologise.β
Your eyes narrow. βFor what?β
Soobinβs chest tightens. The list is long. βFor what I said. For calling youββ He pauses. He hates the word. It tastes ugly. βFor calling you disgusting.β
βI donβt remember you calling me disgusting,β you say, voice flat.
βI didnβt say the word,β he admits. βIββ
βYou implied it,β you finish for him, stepping back half a pace. The movement is unsteady. You catch yourself on the doorframe. βCongratulations. Great apology.β
Soobinβs jaw tightens. βYou know what I meant.β
βI know what you meant,β you repeat, and your tone turns cold under the haze. βFuck off.β
You try to shut the door.
Soobin reacts on instinct. His foot shoots forward and blocks it. The door bumps against his boot. The sound is loud in the hallway and he immediately regrets it.
Your eyes snap up. βDid you just stop me from shutting my own door?β
Soobinβs pulse spikes. He takes his foot back half an inch, then realises that means the door will slam and heβll lose this chance, and his guilt claws up again. βIβm not here to fight,β he says quickly.
βYouβre literally fighting my door,β you snap.
Soobin presses his palm against the edge of it, careful, keeping it open without shoving. βPlease. Justβtwo minutes.β
Your stare drags over him. You look tired in the way people look when theyβve had a bad day and decided to make it worse. βTwo minutes,β you echo. βYouβre brave today.β
βIβm not brave,β he mutters. Then he adds, quieter, βI just feel bad.β
Your mouth twitches, almost amused, then it flattens again. βThatβs a you problem.β
Soobin exhales through his nose and steps inside, since his foot is already in the door and his dignity is already in pieces. He closes it behind him gently, then immediately regrets being here when the smell hits harder in the cramped hallway.
Itβs everywhere. Itβs in the walls. Itβs in your hoodie. Itβs in the air itself.
He scrunches his nose again, involuntary. βIt stinks.β
You stare. βYouβre in my flat.β
Soobinβs eyes flick around. Shoes by the door. Recycling piled. Your dead plant still dead. Your studio curtain hanging crooked in the hall. He follows you as you turn and walk toward the back room, not trusting you to not fall over. He hates that thought. He hates that heβs thinking it. He also canβt stop.
He tries again, voice softer. βI didnβt mean toββ
βShut up,β you say, stepping into the studio. You reach for the rolling tray on your table with calm efficiency, as if youβre making tea.
Soobin falters in the doorway.
Youβre rolling another spliff. You do it with practiced hands. Grinder. Paper. Filter. Sprinkle. Tap. Lick. Seal. Light.
Soobinβs brain stalls. Heβs seen weed before. Heβs heard jokes. Heβs been near mates who smoked at parties. Heβs never watched someone do it in their own home with the casual confidence of a person brushing their teeth.
His voice cracks. βYouβre making another one?β
You donβt even look up. βYeah.β
Soobin stands there, stiff, trying to decide what to do with his hands. He puts them in his pockets, takes them out, puts them back. He feels twelve. βDo you do this often?β he says.
You glance up at him, unimpressed. βDo you always ask stupid questions?β
Soobinβs jaw tightens. βYou shouldnβtββ
βOh my God,β you groan, dragging a hand down your face. βDonβt start.β
βIβm serious,β he insists, voice rising before he can stop it. βYouβreβ y-youβre doing drugs.β
You snort. βAnd youβre doing moral panic in my living room.β
βItβs not moral panic,β he says, then he hears himself and hates it. βItβs concern.β
You take a drag, hold it, then blow smoke out slowly toward the ceiling. βConcern. Cute.β
Soobinβs eyes widen at the smoke. βYouβre going to set something on fire.β
βWhat, the curtain?β you say. βGood. Itβs held up with safety pins and lies.β
Soobin stares, helpless. βThis is insane.β
You tilt your head, eyes heavy, mouth twitching. βYou came to a scammerβs flat to apologise and found out Iβm an actual person. Cry about it.β
Soobinβs face heats. He hates that youβre making him feel stupid again. He hates that youβre high and still sharper than him.
You watch his expression and smile, slow and mean. βWhat? Want one?β
Soobinβs face recoils on instinct. βNo.β
You laugh. It comes out louder than you probably mean it to. βYou look offended.β
βI am offended,β he snaps, then immediately goes stiff, shocked at his own tone. He forces his voice down. βI donβt smoke.β
βYeah,β you say, eyes dragging over him. βI can tell.β
Soobinβs teeth grind. He reaches for patience. He canβt find it. His chest is still tight with guilt and anger and something else he doesnβt want to name.
You lift the spliff again, offering it, eyebrows raised.
Soobin stares at it. Stares at you. Stares at it again. βNo,β he repeats, too loud.
You laugh again, the sound rough and delighted. βYouβre so boring.β
Soobinβs temper slips. βI am not boring.β
Soobin stands there, breathing too fastβwatching you inhale, watching you exhale, watching you act like everything is fine. He hates it. He hates that youβre laughing when heβs been spiraling all evening. He hates that his apology is stuck in his throat, waiting for you to stop being a menace for two seconds.
Then he sees the way your hand shakes slightly as you bring the spliff to your mouth. Itβs small. Itβs not dramatic. Itβs enough.
His anger shifts and his guilt sharpens. His mouth opens. βI didnβt come here toββ
You cut him off. βIf you say Iβm worried about you Iβm going to throw something at your head.β
Soobinβs jaw tightens. βWhy do you make everything difficult?β
You stare at him. βWhy do you make everything moral?β
Silence stretches.
Soobinβs eyes drop to the spliff again. His brain says no. His upbringing says no. His whole identity says no.
His body says something else. It says: do something reckless for once. Stop being the boy who behaves his way through pain. Stop standing here judging someone whose life is harder than yours.
His hand moves before he can stop it. He snatches the spliff from your fingers.
You blink, stunned. βExcuse me?β
Soobin lifts it to his mouthβfurious at himself, furious at you, furious at the world. He takes a long drag.
Itβs followed by immediate regret.
The smoke hits his throat and his lungs revolt. His chest spasms. He coughs hard, then harder, then bends forwardβcoughing until his eyes water and his face goes red.
You stare for half a second. Then you start laughing with your whole bodyβshoulders shaking, hand over your mouth, eyes crinkling as if youβve just witnessed the funniest thing on earth.
Soobin coughs again, tears in his eyes. βShut up.β
You gasp. βOh my God.β
He coughs. βStop.β
You laugh harder. βYou did that so confidently.β
Soobin straightens, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. βItβs disgusting.β
You tilt your head. βAnd yet you did it.β
He glares at you, throat burning. βI donβt know what came over me.β
You grin. βYour ego.β
He opens his mouth to argue, coughs again instead, then glares harder.
You hold your hand out. βGive it back.β
Soobin looks at the spliff, then at you. His cheeks are still red. His eyes are watery. His hair has fallen out of place. He looks human.
It makes you laugh again. Quieter now, warmer.
He hates that too. He thrusts the spliff back at you. βTeach me.β
You blink. βWhat?β
βTeach me,β he repeats, jaw tight. βHow to do it withoutβd-dying.β
You stare at him, genuinely stunned. βWhy?β
Soobinβs voice drops, rough with irritation and something else. βBecause Iβve had a horrible day, and I donβt want to feel anything for five minutes.β
You watch him for a beat. His posture is still stiff. His mouth is still tight. Heβs still trying to be in control. Heβs also standing in your studio asking a scammer to teach him how to smoke. Thatβs a new low.
You smile, slow. βSo the good boy is going off the rails.β
βIβm not a good boy,β he snaps.
You hold out the spliff again. βSit down, then.β
He hesitates, then lowers himself to the floor awkwardly, long legs folding badly. He looks offended by the concept of sitting on the floor, then he remembers where he is and shuts up.
You sit opposite him. Cross-legged and comfortable. Your home. Your mess.
Soobinβs gaze flicks around. He looks lost for a second, then he drags his focus back to the task in front of him, since tasks are easier than feelings.
You hold the spliff between your fingers and demonstrate. βYou drag it into your mouth first. You donβt inhale straight away.β
Soobin nods, watching your mouth too closely, then jerks his eyes away and stares at the floor like itβs done something interesting.
You continue, amused. βThen you inhale. Not through your mouthβthrough your lungs. If you suck it like a dick, youβll die.β
Soobinβs ears go red. βDonβt say it like that.β
βYouβre the one who wanted a lesson,β you reply.
He glares. You grin.
He takes the spliff and tries again, smaller drag this time, then inhales properly. He coughs once, controlled. Twice, less controlled. Then he forces himself to stop, blinking hard.
You watch him with mean satisfaction. βBetter.β
He wipes his eyes again. βItβs still disgusting.β
βYouβll survive,β you say. βYou survive everything with manners.β
Soobinβs mouth twitches. He takes another drag, then exhales slowly. Less coughing this time. His shoulders drop a fraction. He looks at you, surprised. βThatβsβ¦ actuallyββ
βYeah,β you cut in. βShut up. Youβre welcome.β
Soobin huffs a laugh, small and reluctant, then freezes as if laughter might break a rule.
You take the spliff back and smoke too, passing it between you, the room filling with haze and quiet. Five minutes later, youβre both sat on the floor, backs against the sofa, passing the smoke back and forth in a rhythm that feels wrong and easy at the same time.
Soobinβs voice is quieter now, slower. βThis is illegal.β
βYouβre the one who crawled under tables for grapes,β you remind him. βYour moral compass is already broken.β
He blinks at that, then a laugh slips out. He tries to swallow it. It escapes anyway.
You look at him. βThere. Thatβs you being fun.β
He glares, but itβs lazy now. βDonβt get used to it.β
You rummage under the sofa cushion and pull out a small tin.
Soobinβs eyes narrow. βWhatβs that?β
You pop it open. Gummies. βEdibles.β
Soobin stares. βAbsolutely not.β
You raise a brow. βYou just smoked.β
βThat was an accident,β he insists.
You tilt your head. βYou snatched it out of my hand.β
He opens his mouth, realises thereβs no defence, and shuts it again.
You hold a gummy up between your fingers. βThis will help you stop being on your high horse.β
Soobinβs eyes flick to it, then away. βI am not on a high horse.β
You snort. βYouβre on a high horse with a clean shirt.β
He glares. βNo.β
You hold the gummy closer. βOne.β
Soobin hesitates, jaw tight, then he takes it with two fingers, still looking offended. He puts it in his mouth and chews, slow and suspicious, as if he expects it to poison him.
You watch, pleased. βGood boy.β
Soobinβs eyes widen. βDonβt.β
You grin. βToo late.β
And for the first time since he walked into your flat, the tension in his shoulders drops properly, not from manners or restraint, but from surrender. He looks at you, eyes heavy, voice quieter. βTeach me how to not think.β
You blink.
Then you laugh, soft and real. βWrong person, sweetheart.β
Soobinβs mouth twitches at the word, then he looks away quickly, ears red again.
Choi Soobin is so high the room feels tilted.
The ceiling above him is doing a slow, lazy spin. The fairy lights in your studio blink in and out of existence as if theyβre trying to Morse-code him an apology. Even the incense smoke looks smug, curling up in perfect little spirals like itβs showing off.
He blinks. The spin continues. He blinks harder. The spin continues, but now itβs funny. A laugh punches out of himβloud, startled, almost offended by how good it feels. He clamps his hand over his mouth.
You turn your head on the floor and look at him, eyes heavy, pupils blown wide, lips parted around your own laugh. You lookβ¦ softer like thisβlike your bodyβs too tired to keep performing armour.
βWhat?β you slur, already grinning, prepared to bully him for anything.
Soobin tries to speak. His tongue feels made of wool. βTheββ he wheezes, βthe ceiling isβm-moving.β
You stare up too. Then you start laughing again, like itβs the best joke anyoneβs ever told. βItβs not the ceiling, you dickhead,β you say, sounding delighted. βItβs your brain. Your brain is lagging.β
You snort. βBabe, your brain is buffering in 4K.β
He opens his eyes again and the world does another slow swirl. He laughs harder, helpless. βStop saying things like that.β
βLike what?β
βLike babe,β he says too quickly, then realises what heβs admitted and goes rigid. βI meanβdonβt call me things.β
You grin, youβve just been handed a new weapon. βAww. Heβs shy.β
βIβm not shy,β Soobin says, automatically, because thatβs what he always says when people accuse him of anything.
You lift your head an inch, eyes glittering. βYou literally went red when I said dick earlier.β
βThat wasββ he starts, then the memory of you saying if you suck it like a dick youβll die hits him again and he chokes on another laugh. βThat was different.β
βEverything is different to you,β you mumble, flopping back down. βYouβre like aβa Victorian orphan who got adopted by a bank.β
Soobin gasps. βThatβs not evenββ
You point a finger at him without opening your eyes. βDonβt argue. You know itβs true.β
His mouth opens to defend himself and a sound fills the room insteadβmusic. Queen. Bohemian Rhapsody.
He hears the opening as if itβs coming from inside his ribs. The piano makes his stomach feel warm. The vocals slide into the air and suddenly itβs like the universe has decided to score your little criminal night with drama and flair.
He turns his head slowly. βYou put music on.β
You nod, eyes half-lidded. βYeah. Needed vibes.β
He listens for a second, then a laugh bubbles up again, ridiculous and bright. βWhy is itβwhy does it fit?β
You grin without looking at him. βBecause your life is a tragedy and mineβs a comedy and somehow weβre both in the same episode.β
That shouldnβt make sense. It makes perfect sense.
Soobin laughs again, and you laugh because heβs laughing, and then heβs laughing harder because youβre laughing. Suddenly youβre both stuck in this loop where neither of you can breathe properly and the room is spinning and the song is building, personally invested in your downfall.
βIββ Soobin wheezes, clutching his stomach. βThis isββ
βDonβt,β you gasp. βDonβt say deep shit.β
βI wasnβt going to say deep shit,β he says, offended. βI was going to say this isβstupid.β
βYouβre stupid,β you shoot back, and you sound so fond that his brain stutters.
He goes quiet for half a second, like the weed has turned his mouth off and his heart on. The ceiling keeps swirling. The song keeps climbing. The fairy lights keep flickering, probably laughing too.
He shifts slightly and his shoulder bumps yours. Itβs tiny. Barely anything.
It feels like a lot.
He stays very still after, as if movement might ruin the moment or make it worse. His body is too aware of yours. Heat, pressure, the fact that youβre right there and he can smell your shampoo under the smoke and itβs doing something stupid to his chest.
You sigh, long and heavy, and the laugh in you drains out into quiet.
Soobin thinks, Oh.
This is where feelings happen. He hates feelings. Feelings are messy. Feelings make you do things like crawl under tables and eat grapes.
You stare up at the ceiling for a while and the music fills the gaps between your breaths. Soobin lies there trying to feel normal, trying to pretend his brain isnβt wrapped in cotton.
Your voice comes out softer than before. βYou know whatβs fucked?β
He turns his head toward you. βWhat?β
You blink slowly. βYouβre the first person apart from Taehyun whoβs sat in my flat and didnβt look at me like IβmβIβmβdirt.β
Soobinβs stomach dips. βThatβs notββ he starts.
You cut in, eyes still on the ceiling. βDonβtβdonβt do the pity thing. I can smell pity. It stinks worse than weed.β
Soobin scrunches his nose on instinct, then realises youβve insulted your own weed and him at the same time and he doesnβt know what to do with that. He settles for honesty, which is rare for him when heβs panicking. βI didnβt think you were dirt,β he says quietly. βI thought you wereβ¦ terrifying.β
You laugh under your breath. βGood.β
Then your voice shifts againβless joking, moreβ¦ raw. The weed has loosened the knot that holds your throat shut. βItβs just me and my grandma,β you say.
Soobinβs brain tries to picture it. You, who swears like itβs punctuation. You, who can look someone in the eye and lie with a smile. You, who acts like you donβt need anybody.
βItβs always been just us,β you add, and your tone is casual, but Soobin can hear the weight under it. Like youβve said this sentence a thousand times to yourself so you donβt fall apart.
He stays quiet. Heβs good at quiet when he wants to be. Heβs been trained in it.
You take a breath. βMy mum died when I was little,β you say, and it lands like a stone.
Soobinβs chest tightens. βOh.β
You keep going, as if stopping would make it worse. βMy dad remarried.β
Soobin waits. His fingers curl into the carpet. He can feel the rough fibres under his nails, grounding him.
You blink, slow, like youβre watching a memory on the inside of your eyelids. βI used to think heβd come back,β you say, voice flatter now. βLikeβlike properly come back.β
Soobin swallows. He doesnβt know what to do with this. Heβs never had to hope for a parentβs love. Itβs always just been there, annoying and overbearing and inevitable.Β
Your voice continues, and the more you talk, the more his guilt sharpens.
βIn high school,β you say, βI ran away from home.β
Soobinβs head snaps toward you. βYou ran away?β
You nod slightly. βYeah. Proper ran away. Likeβpacked a bag, thought I was in some coming-of-age film, got a train and everything.β
Soobin tries to imagine youβteenage youβsmall and angry and brave enough to leave. He canβt. He can only imagine the version of you he knows now. The one who bites instead of begs.
βWhy?β he asks, and the word comes out small.
βBecause I found his address,β you say. βI thought if I showed up, heβd have toβsee me. Heβd have to remember I existed.β
Soobinβs throat tightens.
You keep staring at the ceiling, but your voice gets quieter, like youβre shrinking inside the memory. βI stood outside his door,β you say. βAnd I remember being so sure. Likeβso sure heβd open it and go, oh my God. Like heβd pull me in. Like Iβd beβ¦ his kid.β
Soobinβs eyes sting. He doesnβt know why. Weed, maybe. Or guilt.
You swallow. βHe opened the door.β
Soobin holds his breath, waiting for the part where it gets better.
It doesnβt.
βHe looked at me like I was a stranger,β you say, and thereβs no drama in your voice, just a bluntness that hurts worse than crying. βLike heβd never seen me before in his life.β
Soobinβs chest twists, hard. He wants to interrupt. He wants to say, No, surely not. He doesnβt, because youβre still talking and if he interrupts, you might stopβand he knows stopping is sometimes worse than finishing.
You let out a laugh that doesnβt sound like laughter at all. βHe had kids. Three little girls.β
Soobinβs stomach drops.
You blink again, slower. βThey were behind him. Clinging to his legs. Calling him Dad.β
Soobin stares at the ceiling, but itβs blurred now. The swirl has slowed into a sick wobble. He feels like heβs falling.
You continue, voice still steady, like youβre recounting someone elseβs life. βOne of them asked who I was.β
Soobinβs hands curl into fists.
You say the next part like youβve said it so many times in your head itβs become a line of script. βHe went, No one. Just a delivery.β
Soobinβs breath leaves him in a harsh exhale. The room goes very quiet around the song, like even Freddie Mercury is stunned.
You swallow again. βAnd I donβt know how to describe that pain,β you whisper, and itβs the first time your voice actually cracks. βLikeβw-watching him choose them. Watching him love them. Like love is something he had and justβd-didnβt spend on me.β
Soobinβs eyes burn. A tear slips out without permission. Then another. He doesnβt even realise until it reaches his temple and soaks into his hair.
He hates crying. He never cries. Crying is messy. Crying is weakness.
Heβs crying anyway.
You sniff once, then keep going, stubborn. βI remember being on the train back,β you say, βand sobbing the whole way. Ugly crying and all. People staring. I didnβt care.β
Soobin can picture it too clearlyβyour face pressed against cold glass, the city lights blurring past, you trying to hold yourself together and failing.
βAnd then I got home,β you say, βand I walked into my grandmaβs kitchen and I acted normal. I acted like nothing happened.β
Soobin wipes his face quickly with the sleeve of his hoodie, mortified at himself. He turns his head away from you so you donβt see.
βI didnβt tell her,β you say. βBecause I didnβt want to break her heart. Sheβd raised me. Sheβd already carried enough.β
Soobinβs chest aches.
You take another breath. βAfter that, I decided both my parents were dead,β you say, blunt. βMentally. Emotionally. Likeβdone.β
Soobinβs throat tightens again.
βAnd I changed my surname,β you add. βI took my grandmaβs. Because if he can pretend Iβm no one, then fine. Iβll be no one. Just not his.β
Soobinβs tears keep coming, quiet and humiliating, slipping down his face while he lies on your floor high off his mind with Queen playing in the background.
He thinks about everything he said to you. Scammer. Troubled. Deranged. Like you did this because itβs fun. Like you woke up one day and went, Iβd love to be a fraud and make money out of heartbreak.
He thinks about the way you stormed away earlier, tears on your cheeks like you hated yourself for having them.
His chest feels tight and hot and wrong. Like someone has put a hand inside it and squeezed.
He doesnβt know what reassurance you give to that kind of pain. What do you even say? Sorry your dad is a monster? Sorry life is unfair? He canβt fix it. He canβt buy a solution. He canβt even offer a decent sentence without it sounding hollow.
So he does the only thing he can do. He apologises. βIβm sorry,β he says, voice rough, and it shocks him how real it sounds. βIβmβIβm so s-sorry.β
You go quiet for a beat. Then you sit up too fast, like you canβt tolerate the weightβlike vulnerability makes your skin itch. You wipe your face aggressively with the heel of your hand, then force a laugh. βDonβt,β you say. βDonβt do that.β
βDo what?β
βBe sincere,β you mutter, sniffing. βItβs fucking weird.β
Soobin sits up too, clumsy, limbs heavy. He looks at you properly nowβyour eyes wet, your face flushed, your mouth twisting, trying to bite back the ache.
You point at his face, squinting. βAre you crying?β
Soobin freezes. His hand goes to his cheek, it comes away damp. He stares at his fingers feeling betrayed. βNo,β he says immediately, because lying is contagious apparently.
You stare. Then you start laughing again, breathy. βOh my God. The good boy is crying in the scammerβs flat. Thatβs so fuckingββ
βStop,β Soobin says, and he means it. He doesnβt want you to joke it away. He doesnβt want you to swallow it and pretend it didnβt happen.
You blink at him, caught off guard.
Soobinβs chest aches again. He doesnβt think, he just moves. He leans forward and wraps his arms around you.
You go rigid instantly. He feels itβyour shoulders locking, your breath catching, your hands hovering like you donβt know where to put them.
Soobin holds still, gentle. Not forcingβjustβ¦ there.
For a second, it feels ridiculous.
Two people high off their minds. Queen still playing. Your fairy lights flickering. Weed smoke hanging in the air. Him, the polite boy who doesnβt swear. You, the girl who swears like breathing. Hugging on a floor as if that can undo years of not being chosen.
Soobin doesnβt even know why he does it. He just knows he canβt leave you sitting with that story inside you.
You stay stiff for one heartbeat longer.
Then, slowly, you melt.
Your shoulders drop. Your head tips forward. Your arms come up and wrap around him, tight enough that he feels it in his ribs.
Soobin closes his eyes.
He feels your breath against his neck. He feels your hands gripping his hoodie, anchoring yourself. He feels the weight of you trusting him for the smallest second, and it hits him like a punch.
He thinks, hazy and helpless, I was so cruel to her. He thinks, even hazier, I donβt want to be.
You sniff, muffled against his shoulder. βThis is cringe,β you mumble.
Soobin lets out a shaky laugh into your hair. βYouβre cringe.β
βShut up,β you whisper, but you donβt move away.
He holds you anyway. Because he canβt undo the past. He canβt fix your father. He canβt un-say what he said this afternoon.
But he can do this.
He can hold you for a second in a room that smells of weed and bad decisions and let you both pretendβjust for a secondβthat being held means being chosen.
Sunlight hits your face and you immediately decide the sun is a cunt.
You squint one eye open, groan, try to roll overβand nothing happens. Your body doesnβt move. Your spine doesnβt cooperate. Your shoulder catches on the carpet. Something heavy is across you, warm and solid, pinning you down.
You blink harder.
Youβre on your living room floor. Your cheek is stuck to the carpet. Your mouth tastes of smoke and stale crisps and poor choices. Your back feels like itβs been folded in half and left there overnight. Your head throbs. Your eyelids feel glued together.
And Choi Soobin is basically wrapped around you.
His arm is slung over your waist. His leg is hooked over yours. His face is tucked near your shoulder. Heβs breathing slow, dead-asleep, peaceful in a way you hate. His hair is a mess. His clean shirt is creased. His whole good boy presentation has been dragged through the floor and left to die.
For fuckβs sake.
You lie there for a second, very still, letting your brain load the night back in.
The weed. The music. The laughing. The talking. The fact you actually told him things youβve never told anyone without turning it into a joke. Soobin sitting there listening, eyes wet, not even trying to fix it, justβbeing there. The hug that felt wrong at first, then felt too right, then felt dangerous in the way kindness always feels when youβre not used to it.
Your eyes sting. You blink fast, annoyed at yourself. βNot today,β you whisper to your own face.
You try to slide out from under him.
You manage one centimetre before his arm tightens automatically, dragging you back in. He makes a quiet sound in his sleep, a little grumble, then settles heavier against you. His hand presses flat to your stomach like heβs claiming territory.
You freeze, offended. βExcuse you.β
He doesnβt answerβheβs asleep. Heβs also apparently decided youβre a weighted blanket.
You nudge his cheek with two fingers. βSoobin.β
Nothing.
You push his shoulder gently. βChoi Soobin.β
Nothing.
You push harder. He shifts, mumbles something you canβt understand, then resettles even closer, his thigh sliding against yours.
And thatβs when you feel it. A hard press against your leg.
You go completely still. Your whole body heats up in one cruel rush, straight from face to ears to the back of your neck. Your heart stutters. Your stomach drops. Your brain starts yelling in capital letters.
You do not have the emotional stability for this at nine in the morning on a living room floor with carpet burn on your cheek.
You stare at the ceiling, blinking slowlyβas if blinking will change the situation. It doesnβt.
You try to shift again, carefullyβhoping you can escape without acknowledging it, without touching it, without causing any movement that might make it worse. Your knee slides a fraction.
The pressure follows.
Soobin makes another sleepy sound and pulls you closerβthe absolute audacity of it. His face presses into your shoulder. His arm tightens. His hips nudge forward once in his sleep, a mindless adjustment.
Your soul tries to evacuate through your scalp. βOkay,β you whisper to yourself, voice thin. βOkay. Right. Great. Brilliant. Amazing. This is what I needed.β You poke his cheek harder. βSoobin.β
He doesnβt wake.
You slap his shoulder lightly. βChoi Soobin.β
He murmurs something, unintelligible, thenβworseβhis arm tightens again, actively preventing your escape.
Your eyes widen. βNo.β You press your palm to his forehead and push firmly. βWake up.β
He grunts, annoyed, still asleep, and shifts his hips again. Itβs enough to make your whole face burn hotter.
You shove at his shoulder with more force. βChoi Soobin. Wake the fuck up.β
That does it.
His eyes shoot open, immediate panic in them, as if heβs been yanked out of a nightmare. He stares at you for half a secondβfrozen, disoriented, pupils blown, hair everywhere.
Then his gaze drops.
His whole body goes rigid. He makes a noise that is half choke, half prayer. βOh my God.β
He scrambles backward so fast he nearly trips over his own legs. He pushes himself upright, face turning red in real time, hands hovering awkwardly as if he doesnβt know what to do with them. He looks down at himself again, then back at you, then down againβhorror deepening.
He doesnβt apologise or speak. He just sits there on the carpet looking like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
You stare at him, breathless, still half pinned under embarrassment, and the first thing that comes out of your mouth is pure disbelief. βThe fucking audacity,β you say.
Soobinβs head snaps up, eyes wide. βI was asleep.β
βAnd who was grinding on me?β you shoot back. βYour ghost?β
His face goes even redder. βI wasnβtβ I didnβtββ
βYou did,β you cut in. βYour body did. Your body was doing a whole separate storyline.β
Soobin squeezes his eyes shut and slaps both hands against his face, palms covering his cheeks. βIβm so sorry.β
You sit up slowly, spine cracking, wince, then glare at him through your own humiliation. βDonβt apologise to me. Apologise to my nervous system. It has filed a complaint.β
Soobin peeks at you through his fingers, mortified. βI didnβt mean to.β
βI know,β you snap, then soften a fraction despite yourself, annoyed at your own softness. βItβs fine.β
βItβs not fine,β he whispers.
βIt is fine,β you repeat, louder, since heβs clearly committed to making it weird. βWeβre adults. People wake up withβthings. Itβs biology. It happens. We pretend it never happened. End of.β
Soobinβs ears are bright red. His eyes are fixed on the carpet now, as if making eye contact might summon lightning. He nods once, rigid.
You point toward the hall without looking away. βBathroomβs there. Sort yourself out. Then leave my flat with your dignity in whatever pieces it still exists in.β
Soobin stands up too quickly, wobbles, catches himself, then walks to the bathroom with the posture of a man attending his own funeral.
The door shuts.
You sit there on the floor for a beatβheart still hammering, face still on fire, brain still replaying the last thirty seconds with the cruelty of a teenager editing a cringe compilation. When you canβt hear him anymore, you clamp your hands over your face and press your forehead to your knees.
A muffled scream tries to come out. You swallow it. You whisper into your palms, furious and mortified, βWhat the fuck is going on?β
Mangy jumps down from the windowsill, walks over, sniffs you once, then sits with his back to you. Even your cat is disgusted.
Soobin tells himself the plan is fool-proof.
He has to tell himself that, because the alternative is admitting heβs about to walk up to Choi Yeonjun in broad daylight and weaponise spiritual nonsense with youβyou, the girl who scammed him, the girl he blackmailed, the girl whose leg he accidentally violated in his sleep.
If the plan is stupid, then heβs stupid. And he has already had enough of that for one lifetime.
He repeats it like a prayer as the two of you cut across campus together. Fool-proof. Solid. No room for chaos. No room for you freelancing in ways that get him arrested or publicly humiliated or both.
Then you open your mouth to complain about somethingβyour shoe rubbing your heel, the wind, the smell of cigarette smoke, the state of men as a speciesβand fuck lands in the middle of your sentence with the ease of breathing.
Soobinβs jaw tightens on reflex. He glances at you. βRemember the plan.β
You glance back, dead-eyed. βRemember to unclench your ass.β
He hates you. He also canβt stop the corner of his mouth twitching, which pisses him off nearly as much as Yeonjunβs face does.
Youβre walking beside him like youβve done this a hundred timesβhands shoved in your hoodie pockets, eyes scanning casually, posture loose in a way that makes you look like you donβt care. Soobin knows you care. Youβre just good at pretending you donβt. He has spent his whole life being good at pretending he does.
He keeps his gaze ahead, focused.
The smoking spot is exactly where it always isβa grim little patch of pavement behind a building where students pretend theyβre not addicted to something. Yeonjun is there, of course. Leaning against the wall like it exists for him. Cigarette between his fingers. Surrounded by his usual orbit of friends, laughter loud enough to be heard across the quad.
Of course heβs surroundedβthe man probably canβt even piss alone.
Soobin thinks about backing out for half a secondβthen he remembers your living room, your cheap carpet, the door slam, your face when you cried, the way his own guilt has been chewing through him.
He canβt back out. Not now. Not when heβs this far in. Not when youβve been dragged into this mess and heβs the one holding the leash.
You get closer and Yeonjun clocks youβSoobin first, then you. His face changes in that slow, irritating way it always does, the smirk appearing before heβs even spoken. Itβs the kind of smile that makes Soobin want to throw his degree at someone. Repeatedly.
βYo,β Yeonjun calls out, loud and casual, like theyβre mates. βSoobin, my man.β
Soobin would rather eat glass. He still steps up and bumps shoulders with Yeonjun, acting like this is normalβlike he isnβt imagining ten different ways to commit murder and hide the body. Yeonjunβs shoulder is solid, warm, too familiar for a man Soobin hates.
Yeonjun leans back, cigarette hanging from his lips, eyes flicking over Soobinβs face with a fake concern he does so well. βYou alright?β
Soobin hears your voice in his head immediatelyβDonβt apologise. Donβt be polite. Stop acting like youβre asking permission to exist. He forces his jaw to loosen. βIβm good,β he says, and it comes out steadier than he expects.
Yeonjunβs brows lift a fraction. βYou sure?β
Soobin nods once. βYeah.β
Yeonjunβs gaze shifts to you, slow and assessing. βYou good?β he asks, like heβs casually checking on a mateβs girlfriend, which is insane, since Soobin does not have a girlfriend.
Soobin has a scammer heβs currently forcing into partnership.
You donβt look away. You meet Yeonjunβs eyes with full confidence and absolutely no fear. It makes Soobinβs chest tighten in a way he refuses to examine.
Soobin remembers heβs meant to speak first. He looks Yeonjun dead in the face and says, βWeβre good, but are you good?"
Yeonjun blinks.
Soobin feels a surge of satisfaction. Itβs small and petty and he takes it anyway.
βWhat?β Yeonjun asks, laugh creeping in. βWhy wouldnβt I be good?β
Soobin gestures toward you with a stiff hand, since apparently heβs introducing you as if youβre a normal girlfriend and not a woman who once told him virgin ghosts eat grapes off the floor. βMy girlfriend here,β he says, voice too formal, βis a shaman with high spiritual energy.β
Yeonjunβs expression stalls.
Behind him, one of his mates snickers. Another mutters something under his breath that Soobin is certain is disgusting. Yeonjun doesnβt even turn. He just lifts his chin a fraction, like shut up, Iβm dealing with this.
Yeonjun glances at Soobin, then at you, then back at Soobin again. His mouth twitches. βA shaman.β
Soobin keeps his face neutral. He nods once. βYeah.β
Yeonjun takes the cigarette out of his mouth slowly. Smoke leaves him in a lazy exhale. His eyes narrow a fraction. βSince when?β
Soobin almost says since I got dumped and lost my mind. Instead he says, βRecently.β
Yeonjun turns fully to you now. βAlright then,β he says, amused, voice dripping with disbelief. βGo on. Shaman. Whatβs wrong with me?β
Soobinβs heart kicks. This is it. This is the moment.
You shift your weight, glance at Soobin once, then step closer to Yeonjun with the confidence of a woman who lies professionally. You donβt hesitate, or blush, or falter. You look Yeonjun up and down as if you can read his soul through his coat.
Soobin has seen you do that scan before. It worked on him. He remembers how easily he believed youβhow he listened, how he nodded, how he let you turn his desperation into a business transaction.
You click your tongue once.
Yeonjunβs smile falters slightly. βWhat?β
You tilt your head. βHow long have you been feeling tired?β
Yeonjun blinks again. βTired?β
βSoobin,β one of Yeonjunβs mates calls, laughing, βyour girlfriend is chatting shit.β
Soobinβs ears go hot, but he keeps his face straight. Heβs committed now. Heβs in publicβhe cannot collapse politely in front of Yeonjunβs friends.
You ignore them completely, eyes still on Yeonjun. βDonβt lie,β you say. βYouβve been feeling tired.β
Yeonjun scoffs. βEveryoneβs tired.β
βNot like this,β you reply, voice calm and deadly serious.
Soobin watches Yeonjunβs posture shift, just a fraction.
The smirk stays on his mouth. His eyes sharpen. The man is still arrogant, still playing it off, but something in him has waveredβlike youβve said a word too close to a private fear. βWhat are you on about?β Yeonjun asks, slower.
You step in closer, lowering your voice, and Soobin feels his own nerves spike at how well you can control a conversation. βYour energy is weak,β you say. βThereβs something latched.β
Yeonjunβs mates laugh louder at that.Β
Yeonjun glances over his shoulder at them, annoyed now. βShut up,β he muttersβthen he looks back at you. βLatched?β
You nod once. βA virgin ghost.β
Soobinβs stomach flips. Itβs ridiculous hearing it out loud againβitβs even more ridiculous watching it land.
Yeonjunβs face freezes for half a second. He tries to laugh and it comes out wrongβtoo sharp, too forced. βA virgin ghost?β
You tilt your head, as if youβre disappointed. βYouβve been ignoring the signs.β
βWhat signs?β Yeonjun asks, voice sharper now, impatience slipping in.
Soobin watches him carefully. Yeonjunβs friends are still laughing. Yeonjun is pretending heβs above it, but his eyes keep flicking between you and Soobin nowβchecking if this is a prank, checking if this is real, checking if heβs about to be made into a joke.
Soobin canβt believe he used to be this easy to rattle.
You keep going, unbothered. βMood swings,β you say. βRestlessness. Trouble sleeping. Irritation.β
Yeonjunβs brows knit. βThatβs just being alive.β
βNo,β you say, flat. βThatβs being followed.β
Soobin watches Yeonjunβs smirk fade into something else. His throat works. He shifts the cigarette between his fingers, then taps ash too hard. His mates are still giggling, but itβs quieter nowβeven theyβve clocked the shift.
Yeonjun looks back at Soobin, a hint of accusation in his eyes. βIs this serious?β
Soobinβs instinct is to flinch, to apologise, to soften it. He doesnβt. He nods once, firm. βYeah.β
Something about thatβSoobinβs calm, his refusal to jokeβseems to hit Yeonjun harder than your words. Yeonjun looks at you again. βSo what,β he says slowly, βyouβre saying Iβve got a ghost on me?β
You nod. βYes.β
Yeonjunβs jaw tightens. βWhy would I?β
You stare at him for a beat. βMen like you attract them.β
Soobin nearly chokes. Yeonjunβs mates lose it again, laughter bursting out, one of them actually bends over like heβs about to collapse.
Yeonjun whips his head toward them. βShut the fuck up,β he snaps, sharp enough that they do shut up, or at least try.
Soobinβs eyes widen slightly. He didnβt expect that. He didnβt expect Yeonjun to be the one to crack first.
Yeonjun turns back to you, annoyed, but the annoyance has a brittle edge now. βAlright,β he says, clipped. βFine. If Iβm haunted, what do I do?β
Soobinβs pulse spikes. He wants to look at youβhe doesnβt. He keeps his eyes on Yeonjun, because he canβt afford to look away now.
You glance down at Yeonjunβs cigarette. βPut that out.β
Yeonjun blinks. βWhy?β
βIt feeds her,β you say.
Yeonjun stares at you. His cigarette hovers in the air. His pride fights it. His mates are watching. Soobin watches too, breath held.
Yeonjun looks back at his mates, who are now smirking with that no way heβs actually going toβ energy. Then, with exaggerated annoyance, Yeonjun flicks the cigarette to the ground and stamps it out.
Soobin feels a sick little thrill. The man actually listened.
You nod once, satisfied. βGood.β
Yeonjunβs voice drops. βSo what now?β
This is the part Soobin rehearsed in his head. This is the part where Yeonjun agrees to see you privately. This is the part where the plan stops being a fantasy and becomes real.
You glance at Soobin, then back at Yeonjun. βYou need a consultation,β you say. βProper one. Private.β
Yeonjunβs brows lift. βPrivate?β
βPrivate,β you confirm. βNo mates, no noise. No distractions.β
βSo you can tell me Iβm haunted with more detail?β Yeonjun says, trying to joke again. His laugh comes out thin.
Soobin jumps in before the opening closes. βItβs free,β he says, and immediately feels ridiculous advocating for a scam again. He forces it anyway. βShe doesnβt charge my friends.β
Yeonjunβs gaze flicks to Soobinβs face. βFriends?β
Soobinβs mouth tightens. βYeah.β
You add smoothly, βI canβt let my boyfriendβs friend walk around with a virgin ghost latched onto him.β
The word boyfriend hits Soobin in the ribs. It should annoy him. It should feel wrong. It should make him recoil. Instead it slides under his skin quietly, settling there, uncomfortable and warm, like a lie heβs heard so many times itβs started to sound like a truth.
Yeonjunβs brows lift. He looks between you and Soobin again, entertainedβbut not suspicious. Itβs the same look he gives to everything, this is insane, but Iβm enjoying it. βYour boyfriend,β Yeonjun repeats, like heβs tasting it.
Soobin holds his face neutral with pure effort.
Yeonjun smirks wider, then jerks his chin at Soobin. βMy manβs pulling,β he says to absolutely no one in particular, like itβs a factual observation. Then, to you, βAlright. Fine. Private consultation. When?β
Soobinβs heart stutters.
You answer, calm. βTomorrow.β
Yeonjun tilts his head. βWhere?β
Soobin hears himself say it before he fully decides. βHer studio.β
Yeonjunβs mouth twitches. βA little shaman room?β
You glare at him. βDonβt insult my place.β
Yeonjun holds up his hands, smiling. βAlright, alright. Iβll come. Donβt curse me.β
You nod once. βGood.β
Yeonjun glances at his mates behind him, who are now staring at him with delighted disbelief. βIf you lot tell anyone about this,β he says, voice low, βIβll actually end you.β
They laugh again, but itβs nervous this timeβbecause they can tell heβs half-joking and half-not.
Yeonjun turns back to you and Soobin and gives you a slow grin. βSee you tomorrow then.β He takes a step back, then pauses like he canβt help himself. His eyes drag over you once moreβassessing, amused, a little wary now. βAnd, uhβshaman?β
βYes,β you say, flat.
He points vaguely at you like youβre a hazard sign. βYouβre fucking scary.β
You donβt blink. βI know.β
Yeonjunβs grin flashes. βGood. Keep it up.β
Then he walks back to his group, still smirking, still trying to act like this is just banterβbut Soobin watches him and sees the way he keeps touching the back of his neck like heβs suddenly aware of his own skin. The way his confidence has a crack in it now. The way he actually believed your bullshit.
Soobin stands there for a beat after Yeonjun leaves, adrenaline buzzing in his blood. He canβt believe it worked. He canβt believe Yeonjun agreed. He canβt believe you pulled that off with a straight face.
You turn to Soobin, eyes bright with your own vicious satisfaction. βHeβs going to be shitting himself all night.β
Soobinβs mouth twitches despite himself. He tries to fight it. He fails.
You nudge his shoulder as you start walking. βCome on then, boyfriend. Tomorrowβs your big day.β
Soobinβs ears go hot. He follows you anyway.
Itβs finally D-day, and your studio looks exactly how a bad decision feels.
Youβve done the bare minimum to make the place seem intentionally mystical instead of accidentally tragic. The curtain still sags over the washing machine. The fairy lights still flicker when the fridge breathes. The incense is doing that thing where it tries to cover the smell of old smoke and cheap carpet and only succeeds in making it smell of old smoke and cheap carpet with lavender.
Your folding tableβs been dragged to the centre. One leg is still shorter than the others, so it wobbles whenever you put emotional weight on it. The rice bowl sits there, smug as ever. Salt in a little dish next to it. Notebook open to a page of nonsense symbols and a doodle of Mangy flipping someone off.
Speaking of Mangyβheβs on the windowsill with his ass pointed at you, body curled into a loaf of judgement. He looks at Soobin once, blinks slowly, then looks away again as if heβs filed him under pathetic, but not my problem.
Soobin, unfortunately, is your problem. Heβs under the table, again.
Youβre not even surprised anymore. Your brain has accepted this as your lifeβyou, sitting on a chair you canβt afford to replace, while a clean, upright, morally superior man curls himself under your furniture and calls it strategy.
He insisted. Obviously. βI need to be in the room,β he said.
βYou canβt be in the room,β you said.
βI need to hear his tone,β he insisted.
βYouβll breathe too loud and give yourself away,β you replied.
He stared at you like you were the unreasonable one. βI wonβt.β
So this is the compromise: heβs under the table, hidden by a sheet youβve draped over itβone of your old bedsheets, patterned with faded moons and stars, the kind you bought when you were sixteen and thought you were mysterious instead of skint. You told him it looked ritualistic. He believed you. He always believes you when you say something with enough confidence.
Under it, heβs whispering through his teeth, furious and anxious and full of moral outrage he canβt afford. βThis is ridiculous,β he hisses.
βThis is your plan,β you whisper back, louder than you mean to. You immediately lower your voice, glaring at the cloth. βAlso, shut up. Your voice carries. Your privilege carries. Your wholeβpresence carries.β
βYou said I couldnβt be in the room,β he snaps.
βI said you couldnβt be in the room visibly,β you correct. βThereβs a difference. Youβre basically furniture right now. Expensive furniture, probably. With a dad whoβd sue me.β
He shifts under there and the table bumps your knee. The leg wobbles. Soobin swearsβquietly, but itβs still a swear, and itβs so unnatural coming from him that you nearly laugh.
βDid you just sayββ
βNo,β he cuts in. βNo, I didnβt.β
βYou did.β
βI didnβt.β
βGod,β you mutter. βSoobinβs teaching you things already, Mangy. Look. Heβs a bad influence.β
Mangy doesnβt even turn his head. He just flicks his tail once, bored of everyoneβs bullshit.
You squat by the edge of the sheet and whisper, βIf you move the table, Iβm telling Yeonjun I sensed a liar under my furniture.β
From underneath, Soobin hisses, βIβm not moving.β
The table creaks anyway.
You glare at the sheet. βThat was you.β
βIt was the table,β Soobin whispers back, offended.
βThe table is innocent,β you reply. βYouβre the one whoβs seven foot and folded into a pretzel.β
βIβm not seven foot,β he mutters.
βYouβre close enough,β you say. βFocus. Is your phone recording?β
A pause. Then, tiny and panicked: βI donβt know.β
You squeeze your eyes shut. βChoi Soobin.β
βI pressed it,β he says quickly. βI think.β
You grab the phone from under the sheet, check the screen, then shove it back. βItβs recording. Congratulations. Your descent into madness is now documented.β
βStop,β he whispers.
βYou stop,β you whisper back.Β
You stand up, smooth your hoodie down, then remember youβre wearing joggers and your concept of professionalism is mostly theatre. You take a breath and put on your calm-scary face, the one that makes people pay you instead of asking for refunds.
Your doorbell rings. You walk to the door and open it.
Choi Yeonjun stands there in a leather jacket, hair a mess in an infuriating deliberate way, hands in his pockets, mouth curved into a smirk heβs forcing.
He looks unsettled. Thatβs satisfying.
His gaze flicks past you into your hallwayβclocks the dead plant, the shoe rack, the curtain hiding the washing machine, the overall vibe of broke girl doing crimes. His smirk falters for half a beat.
You brighten your smile. βCome in, shoes off.β
He kicks them off messily and doesnβt line them upβunlike Soobin, he doesnβt care. His shoes land wherever they want. He follows you into the studio and his eyes focus on the tableβon the sheet. His brows knit. βWhatβs that?β
You step in front of it immediately, body blocking, smile fixed. βSpiritual barrier.β
Yeonjun stares at you. βThat is a bedsheet.β
βItβs a barrier,β you repeat, dead serious.
He holds your gaze for a beat, then nods slowly, as if deciding not to argue with the crazy woman who might curse his dick. βRight.β
βSit,β you say, pointing at the cushion.
He sits opposite you, posture loose, legs open, elbows on his knees. He looks comfortable in your space in a way that pisses you off on principle.
You sit down, open your notebook, and pretend youβre about to write something sacred instead of doodles of Mangy. βDo you want anything to drink?β you ask, sweetly.
He shifts, throat working. βWaterβs fine.β
You pour him water in your only clean glassβwhich is technically a mug, and set it down in front of him.
Yeonjun takes one sip, then puts it down with care.Β
You tap your pen against your notebook. βTell me what youβve been feeling.β
Yeonjunβs mouth twitches. βTired.β
βMood swings?β you add, calm.
He blinks. βI wouldnβt call itββ
βRestlessness?β you continue, not letting him talk.
βNot like you,β you reply, leaning in slightly. βNot this specific.β
Yeonjunβs fingers tap once against his knee, then stop. Heβs listening. Heβs trying to pretend he isnβt.
Under the sheet, the table is still. Soobin is doing his one useful skillβshutting the fuck up.
You press on. βHas anything changed in your relationship?β
Yeonjunβs eyes narrow. βWhat relationship?β
You stare at him. βDonβt insult me. The relationship youβre in.β
His mouth tightens. He rubs a hand over his jaw. βNo.β
βAre you happy?β you ask.
βYes,β he replies immediately.
βDo you love her?β you say, watching him closely.
Yeonjunβs answer comes out fast again. βYes.β
It lands clean. No hesitation or smirk or performance.
Your stomach dipsβnot because you care. Because itβs inconvenient. You keep going anyway, voice steady. βDo you talk to other girls?β
βNo.β
βDo you meet other girls?β
βNo.β
βDo you flirt with other girls?β
Yeonjunβs brows lift. βAre you asking if Iβm cheating?β
βIβm asking if your energy is messy,β you reply.
His mouth twitches, humourless. βMy energy is fine.β
You tap your pen. βHave you lied to her?β
Yeonjun goes quiet.
Under the sheet, something shifts. A tiny bump of wood against your shin. Soobin reacting. You pretend you didnβt feel it.
Yeonjun looks down at his hands for a moment, then back up. βYes.β
Your pulse spikes. βAbout what?β
Yeonjun exhales through his nose. His voice drops. βI told her I was someone Iβm not.β
You blink. βSomeoneβwho?β
Yeonjunβs gaze flicks away, then back, irritated that heβs admitting anything to you at all. βSomeone who knows what heβs doing and doesnβt mess things up.β
He leans back, hand rubbing his mouth. The smirk is gone now. He looksβ¦ real. He looks tired in a way you didnβt expect from someone with his reputation.
βI know what people say about me,β Yeonjun says, voice low. βI know what I look like. I know what it sounds like when I say Iβm serious.β He pauses, jaw tight. βBut I am serious with her.β
Under the sheet, the table goes still again, as if Soobin is holding his breath.
Yeonjun keeps talking, as if he canβt stop once he starts. βIβm not playing her or using her. I would never do anything behind her back. I donβt want anyone else.β He looks at you, eyes sharp. βIf youβre here to tell me Iβm a bad guy, save it. Iβm not doing that to her.β
Your plan is collapsing in slow motion.
You try one last push, stubborn. βPeople think youβre a fuckboy.β
Yeonjun scoffs. βPeople think a lot of shit.β He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice firm. βIβm not cheating. Iβve done stupid things before. Iβve let people think Iβm that guy beforeβbut Iβm not and I would shoot myself before doing anything like that to her.β
You stare at him.
The annoying part is that you believe him. Not because you want to, because he sounds like he means it. You donβt know what to do with that. Youβre not built for sincerity in your little scam room. Youβre built for panic and props and pretending.
So you do the only thing you can do when your script diesβyou end it violently. You snap your notebook shut with a loud thwack. βConsultation complete.β
Yeonjun blinks. βWhat?β
You grab a fistful of rice and throw it at his chest.
It bounces off his coat and sticks there, instantly humiliating him. Yeonjun jolts, hands half-lifting. βWhat the fuckββ
βCleansing,β you bark, grabbing the salt and flinging that too. βDonβt move.β
Yeonjun stares down at himself, then back at you, stunned. βYou justβseasoned me.β
βItβs spiritual seasoning,β you reply. βBe quiet.β
Yeonjun opens his mouth, closes it, then swallowsβeyes darting around the room as if he expects the rice to start crawling. Good. Fear does wonders.
You shove a cheap pendant into his palm. Bottle-cap adjacent. Saltwater blessed. Destiny in metal form. βWear that,β you order.
Yeonjun looks down at it. βThis is a bottle cap.β
βItβs a talisman,β you say, flat. βItβs treated.β
βTreated how?β
βDonβt ask questions you canβt afford,β you snap.
Yeonjunβs jaw tightens. He slips the pendant into his pocket anyway, fingers closing around it briefly, instinctive. Heβs rattled. He believes you. Thatβs the only important thing right now.
βHow long?β he asks, quieter.
βUntil your energy stabilises,β you say.
βThatβs not a time frame.β
βItβs spiritual,β you reply. βNow go.β
Yeonjun stands, brushing rice off his coat in quick swipes, then pauses at the door, eyes narrowing slightly at you.
βYouβre intense,β he says.
βYou were warned,β you reply.
Yeonjun huffs a laugh that dies halfway. βYeah. Fair.β
He bends and grabs his shoes, and slips them on. At the threshold he points at you with two fingers in mock salute. Yeonjun doesnβt seem suspicious at all. Heβs not hunting for lies. Heβs too busy being haunted by his own fear.
βYouβre good for Soobin,β Yeonjun adds, voice louder than he probably means it to be, βhe seems different latelyβgood different.β
You hold his gaze. βI know.β
Yeonjunβs grin flashes, then he turns and walks out. You shut the door quickly, lock it, then stand there in your hallway staring at the wood as if itβs going to answer you.
Behind you, the table creaks. The sheet shifts. Soobin crawls out from under it slowlyβface pale, hair messed, phone clutched in his hand. He doesnβt look at you straight away. He stares at his recording screen. Soobin looks up. His eyes are bright in a way you donβt like.
Β βHeββ Soobin starts, voice hoarse.
You already know.
βHe loves her,β he finishes, and it sounds like a sentence he canβt swallow.
Your chest tightens. Your stomach drops. Your whole plan dies. Because Yeonjun was meant to be the villain.
And he isnβt.
α₯«α‘ prev | next | series masterlist | main masterlist
a/n: hii bbys little early surprise for you. sorry this took so long. pls remember that your comments, reblogs and asks fuel my fingers!! much love <3
target: you know the drill!! final part dropping at either 350 notes or 05/04. want faster updates? spam me in the comments, reblogs and asks.
review your experience, thoughts, or unhinged feelings here
taglist: request by commenting on the series masterlist or here only please!
How to turn off AI-scraping from your Word documents
Microsoft Office, like many companies in recent months, has slyly turned on an βopt-outβ feature that scrapes your Word and Excel documents to train its internal AI systems. This setting is turned on by default, and you have to manually uncheck a box in order to opt out.
If you are a writer who uses MS Word to write any proprietary content (blog posts, novels, or any work you intend to protect with copyright and/or sell), youβre going to want to turn this feature off immediately.How to Turn off Wordβs AI Access To Your Content
I wonβt beat around the bush. Microsoft Office doesnβt make it easy to opt out of this new AI privacy agreement, as the feature is hidden through a series of popup menus in your settings:On a Windows computer, follow these steps to turn off βConnected Experiencesβ:
File > Options > Trust Center > Trust Center Settings > Privacy Options > Privacy Settings > Optional Connected Experiences > Uncheck box: βTurn on optional connected experiencesβ
Yes, G docs has been doing something like this for...at least a year and a half now, I believe? Last I heard there was no option to opt-out, so many writers and myself switched to LibreOffice. The most recent news I heard about Gdocs was that it has an AI that monitors docs for pornographic content, apparently?
Please reply if you have links to back up my probably outdated news. As expected, "googling" this is overwrought with Google pages praising and promoting this feature.
I am Jaafar from the besieged northern Gaza Strip, I am 24 years old. I had many dreams and ambitions, but because of the war I lost everything. I lost my dreams, my university and my job. I have nothing left. My family and I live in danger of death every day and every night. I have lost many of my friends, but I still have some hope of rebuilding my life and dreams. So please help me rebuild my life. If you cannot doate, you can convey my voice and my suffering. ππ₯Ή
Any donation you make will instill hope in my heart again. Please do not ignore
Having a healed enough nervous system so that you donβt lose yourself each time someone disregards you, dislikes you, or invalidates you is true peace. Choosing to stand in your authenticity without the urge to prove or change any opinions of you is truly powerful.
My name is Ahmed Abdul-Jawad and here's my story.
In t⦠Imadeddin Shaheen needs your support for Donate to help rebuild home &
Hello guys, I am Rana from Gaza, a university professor with a master's degree in statistics and a mother of 4 children. We lost our home due to the war, and my workplace, the Islamic University, was destroyed, as was my husband's workplace, and we became homeless and jobless. My husband and I are trying to provide a decent life for our children. Please help us. Any donation you make will help us rebuild our lives ππ
This campaign is vetted by association through @ayoosh-gaza77 (vetted). Proof under cut.
Disclaimer: I am NOT an official vetter and I did NOT vet this. That was done by the aforementioned vetted Palestinian, I'm just the messenger. I personally believe this campaign is legitimate given the evidence and encourage you to share and donate if you feel comfortable.
π βΈβΈ HELP MOHAMMAD , MONA AND THEIR FAMILY !
β κ° background κ±
Mohammad and Mona , 26 and 24 respectively , are currently going through a heart-wrenching situation as a small family of four , which includes their 5 and 6-year-old daughters Tuline and Iman. Their mother , Mona , finds it extremely difficult to bring food to the table and her children are living under the fear of those tormenting sounds of missiles everywhere. They mentioned that the border crossing is going to open in less than a week or two , which is beyond terrifying and they need your help.
β κ° resources κ±
if possible , please place your donations towards their gofundme page and help them reach their goal of β¬30k !
Fundraiser by Mohammed Gebril : Help this family to get out of Gaza
if not , re-sharing this post to those who can help would make the process faster !
also follow their blog under the handle @monamohammed3 to help them reach out their voice to the capable. there's no backing down until Palestine is free !
My name is Abi from Lincoln, NE, and I'm raising money for Khawla and her family from β¦ Abi Lass needs your support for Support Khawla's Fam
Current progress: $4,083/$20,000
Account: @family-kawla2
This campaign is for Khawla, @/mohiy-gaza 's sister (confirmation below cut). Mohiy has been vetted by 90-ghost here
Khawla and her husband are rasing funds to help them and their 3 children: Muhammad (5), Sham (3), and Ghazal (1 1/2). They need help affording food, clean water, shelter, baby supplies, and medicine to treat Muhammad's hepatitis.
The funds will help them survive and afford evacuation to a safer place, where Khawla's children will be able to live in peace and return to school. Completing their fundraiser is impossible without support from people like you. Please extend your support to Khawla's family by sharing and donating, even if all you can spare is $5. Every share and every dollar will bring them one step closer to reaching their goal and affording evacuation.
i have just heard from @mohammedshehabtt that the crossing might open soon. screenshot below:
if muhammad is right, the crossing will open soon. that means he has only a limited amount of time to raise funds and get his family to a safe place.
muhammad is only 26. he's younger than i am. it breaks my heart that this is something he has to worry about. unfortunately, it is, and he's got his family to worry about too:
mona, his wife, 24 years old
iman, 6, and toleen, 5, his daughters
his mother and father
they've lost their home in the war. they are currently displaced in deir al balah. iman and toleen have gotten sick due to the conditions in the camp they're staying in. look at these sweet girls; they don't deserve this.
they deserve a home. they deserve warmth and safety. they deserve a cozy bed to sleep in every night, and a home to decorate with star-shaped lights like they had before.
this is not merely a dream they have; it is an attainable goal.
muhammad needs to raise β¬30k total to get his family out, of which he only has β¬5257 at the time of my writing this post. i am appealing to all of you who see this post to please share it. please donate whatever you can. i know a lot of people have been feeling hopeless especially now, but please don't. there is hope. if the people of palestine have hope and faith, so should we all. and now more than ever we need to work together to help them.
so please, share and donate. whatever you can do, please do it. thank you.
Whadi is a teenager living in Gaza who suffers from alopecia. His mother was recently injured and his little cousin is sick and they all need funds for medication.
He has a very large family that includes small children and they need help to afford necessities such as winter clothing and the currently extortionate prices of food.
Donations to my PayPal are currently preferable as there are a few problems with the GoFundMe transfers at the moment but I will link both. Once I receive the money I send it to Whadi using Western Union. The family are very desperate for funds and donations are slow.
Go to paypal.me/MayaFraser732 and type in the amount. Since itβs PayPal, it's easy and secure. Donβt have a PayPal account? No worries.
https://gofund.me/02d04396
Whadi's campaign has been verified by
https://instagram.com/beesandwatermelons
and can be found at #11 on their spreadsheet
Please do all that you can to help this family that really needs it.
Our dreams have been destroyed, and we have nothing left...π
π«You're our last hope in this lifeπ«
I'm Lama from Gaza, I'm 24 years old, and my husband is Mohammad... We got married in 2022 in a house full of love and happiness. Our house was beautiful, we chose everything in it carefully... We were waiting for the end of the day to go there after a tiring day of work, but the occupation did not leave us. πππ
This house was bombed with all hatred. Here we are after the genocide. We have nothing... We lost our house, our work, and our car.ππ
We were displaced to Rafah in a tent that could not accommodate 5 people, and after the displacement from Rafah, we were displaced to Mawasi Khan Yunis again. It was a very difficult period... but now we are in Mawasi Khan Yunis in a tent that does not protect us from the cold of winter or the heat of summer.ππ
This is our tent, its floor is made of cardboard, as you can see, and I suffer from severe eczema due to the pollution of the air and the materials used, and the medicine is very expensive.ππ
Urgent: My husband needs a very necessary operation and medication. Please help my husband in order for his health to improve. He is in pain.πππ«ππ
Help us and donate to us. You are our last hope and the lifeline of this life. π«π
We need you...Donate to us and save what is left of us.πππ
Link campaign β¬οΈ β¬οΈβ¬οΈ
Iβm Lama Hourani, 24 years old, administrative assistant from Khan Younβ¦ Mohammed alresh needs your support for Helping Lama & Mohammed to
β οΈVettedβ οΈ
Lama is indeed vetted by association through @ayoosh-gaza (vet). I asked her and she confirmed that she knows Lama's husband. Proof under cu
Hi, I'm Lia & I'm (re)organizing this fundraiser for my friends the Shehabs. The⦠L J needs your support for Help Sahar & Her Family Survive
I know that many people have shared the Shehab family's old campaign, which was recently frozen by GoFundMe after raising more than β¬78K in donations. (See this post for information.)
They now have a NEW campaign, the link above, but because they had to start over, as of 11:30 GMT on 14 November 2024, they are only up to $1,005 CAD / $100,000 CAD.
Fahed (@fahedshehab-new) and Reem urgently need to get a new tent that will keep their children warm in the winter. (Their current tent will not.) The Shehabs have set a short-term goal of $5,055 CAD for this purpose. Right now, the family still needs at least $4,050 CAD (around $3,000 USD) to reach this short-term goal. (The odd amount is to make sure they can cover the transfer and bank fees.)
Thank you my friends for helping me. Please continue to donate so I can reach my goal of 5k. I need this to be able to save my children and get them to safety and live in peace. I urgently need your donations. The situation here has become very dangerous and famine is killing us. Please continue to donate.
My friends please help me reach 5k . I am only $207 away from the amount.