HELLO!! I’ve been pretty good! This is no doubt a strange time and everyday I still am adjusting. I’m one of those people who can easily occupy myself so though everything is shut down and there’s not much to do I’ve found myself pretty busy (even if that means scrolling through tiktok for 2 hours....). I’ve wanted to start writing again but for some reason long prompts have been intimidating me - I’ve done a lot of poetry and songs even recently. I hoping to begin some full stories though soon ;) HOW ARE YOU LOVE?!!!!!
He thumbed through the book recklessly, quickly passing over the dog-eared pages and sighing helplessly. Mark told himself that he didn’t know why he felt so frantic to get this project done. It was Friday night; he knew he had the entire weekend. He really wasn’t worried about finishing it. No, his mind was whirling for another reason. Subconsciously, he was denying how he felt and attempted to avoid confronting his emotions again. He tried to direct his energy into something productive to distract himself, which ended up being his English project.
But as he held the book in his hands and stared at the words before him, his distraction began to fail. He was reading the words, but not understanding them. All the letters and blobs of ink seemed to collide, come together at the edges, bounce off each other, and nothing registered in his head.
And then his plan collapsed altogether, because his mind replayed the concluding moments of class that day anyways.
After a long class of writer’s block something finally came to him; an idea had finally danced across his brain. He began writing frantically as the fear of this thought escaping him had presented itself and there wasn’t much time left before the dismissal bell would ring. But mid-sentence he was stopped, the thought was gone. He forgot it altogether. It wasn’t because he had a poor memory; he was just easily distracted, and something more important had taken hold of his attention.
Mark felt your eyes on the side of his face. He felt your stare. He noticed you stopped writing and out of the corner of his eye became aware of your gaze shifting to him. He fought with himself to ignore it, and act like he didn’t notice. But, truthfully, he enjoyed being the center of your thoughts for a while; he wanted to prolong that experience. The downfall of that wonderful feeling was that he couldn’t focus. He imagined you looking at him, thought about what you were thinking, and played over hypothetical situations in his head where he would turn to you and apologize, telling you what he was truly thinking. His mind was swimming far from the once relevant sentences on his page; he had drifted too far from the land and was lost completely at sea. Lost completely in the thought of you. It was funny; he appeared not to care, or not to notice, when the reality was entirely different.
He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present, back to his room with Romeo and Juliet held tightly in his grasp.
~
You walked into Darten’s class on Monday morning silently and wondered if Mark finished his section of the presentation.
You were a bit of a control freak when it came to group projects, always making sure everything is beyond perfect, but this time you did not have the slightest clue what Mark prepared. Maybe he didn’t prepare anything at all.
You saw him walk in and sit down, fumbling through a stack of index cards. You saw his mouth moving as he flipped through them. You could tell he was nervous.
‘I guess he did prepare something.’
You sat back and watched as the presentation before you commenced. You couldn’t recall what Luke and Jamie had talked about. For all you knew, the whole thing could have been in French. You spent the time somewhere else. Your mind drifted to laying on the back of your car. You swore you could feel the breeze dragging over your skin, and as you stared up you were met with a clear sky, the sun bathing what felt like the whole universe. You turned to your left to see his face, Mark’s face, and he was smiling. He was happy. He placed a hand on your cheek and looked to your mouth. You felt your stomach swirl. A light feeling had consumed you and held you hostage. You wanted to stay there. Remain in your hazy daydream. You wanted it to be real. But as Mark began to bring his face to yours, you were brought back to the classroom.
The sound of clapping filled your ears. You looked around, seeing your classmates begin to applaud as Luke and Jamie took their seats. You were confused for a moment, then utterly disappointed. You looked across at Mark, hunched over his cards.
That’s all it ever was. A daydream.
“Y/n, Mark.” Mr. Darten called out.
You looked across the room and met eyes with Mark.
Smiling softly, you nodded. ‘Maybe that would chill him out.’
You and Mark made your way to the front of the room. You stood in front of Mr. Darten’s computer and began typing, searching through his shared documents to find your presentation.
‘Sorry if this is basic Darten’
‘Found it,’ you said internally. You had named the document, and you thought it was a national treasure, ‘Wow I’m funny.’
“Y/n stop laughing at yourself and start presenting please,” Mr. Darten said, teasing you from the back of the room. He had his feet on the desk in front of him and his signature mug held tightly in his hand.
You moved next to the board, opposite of Mark. He looked flushed as he bent the index cards in his hand, trying to outlet his nerves. You noticed.
You were first to talk, so you began, “Hello guys, today we will be talking about probably the most recognized Shakespeare work, Romeo and Juliet. Our goal was not to bore you with the plot, nor revisit ideas you’ve heard every time the names Romeo and Juliet exited your mouth,” you made eye contact with Darten and raised your eyebrows as if to say, ‘told you so’.
You tapped the title slide to bring you the actual presentation. You weren’t the best public speaker, but you felt good this time. Confidence had washed over you and you spoke neatly, with clear inflection and perfect articulation. You began delivering your findings passionately, walking through thematic elements and symbols in a way you hoped was different and appealing to listeners.
You reached your last slide and stumbled on your words slightly as you remembered the boy standing next to you. He would be speaking in a few short seconds. Your content was running out, and it was time for you to pass over the stage. You clicked the next slide; it turned into a photo of a girl sitting in front of a window. There were no words, just the picture. You turned your head slightly. You had no idea what he prepared.
He glanced at the white cards in his hands, and then he tucked them into his pocket. “I chose to look at characters, and uh, how their external actions, remarks, even physical appearances correlated to what they were, uh, feeling on the inside.”
He began speaking about the photo on the screen and did so for the next seven pictures. He analyzed each photo gently, touching upon the subject’s face and aligning it with their internal thoughts and emotions. Each picture was to represent a character in the story, and it all matched elegantly. The words flowing from his mouth were colorful and potent; they filled the room in a way you’ve never experienced. Who was this boy? Since when was he so knowledgeable? Since when did he understand feelings so well?
He tapped the screen once more and two photos came up, side by side. It was a boy laying in a field, his face touched by the sun. He seemed calm and relaxed. Peace was flowing within him. Next to the first image was the same photo, but it was dark. The sky was cloudless, but absent of stars. The boy lay beneath the blank sky, and he no longer looked tranquil. Without sound or expression, a coldness was conveyed through the picture; a sadness stained the screen.
You looked at Mark as he spoke. You no longer felt like you were a part of this project, you were an observer, a member in the crowd.
“Romeo’s a very interesting character to me. Upon my initial reading I um, I was confused why he was so dramatic. He seemed fragile and conflicted. In Shakespeare’s time, men were never traditionally portrayed as weak, let alone their cause of weakness being inflicted by a woman. It was very different, and I couldn’t understand why he was so, uh, soft I guess?” Everyone laughed quietly at Mark’s word choice, and you did too. He started again, “Romeo was experiencing love and heartbreak, two things that can’t really be seen, but can be strongly felt. The only way to properly express this was to completely defy the norm and break the toxic male archetype. By showing a male acting this way, Shakespeare properly depicts the power love has on an individual.”
You weren’t sure if you were dreaming. You couldn’t tell if your brain had drifted helplessly back into your hazy daydream. Mark, who couldn’t say ‘hi’ to you now, was standing before a group of people and describing the depths of love? You shifted your weight, moving back and forth as you listened to him speak. His words were entering your ear softly, and then a string of words, so familiar to you, exited his lips.
“I mean love does make you act all strange.”
Your eyes widened and you stared at the floor in front of you. It all was coming back, the day at Sunbelt’s. Your conversation in the parking lot, the way he laughed nervously when he talked, and how the wind pushed his messy hair back. Every detail about that day came back with those words.
“Your thoughts can switch very easily. You can move from a place that feels warm and inviting, to one that feels familiar, but changed and cold, like these photos. The boy isn’t changing his location, it’s simply the time of day; the passing of time can transform a place and transform feelings. A confident boy like Romeo, faced with love and heartbreak, acts strange. He fumbles his words, he spends his days thinking of her, he can’t seem to focus because she, uh, Juliet, is uh all he sees,” he paused for a moment and you looked over, noticing his face grow red. Slowly you realized it wasn’t the book he was talking about. After recollecting his thoughts, he concluded the presentation and smiled softly.
“I mean love does make you act all strange.”
His words replayed themselves once again.
You looked back at Darten who nodded approvingly. You knew you guys killed it, but you had no clue how. Your dialogue was limited for weeks, but you guessed that Mark’s mind wasn’t as absent as it appeared. He must have been thinking about it a lot, and it showed. You were happy for him. You wanted to tell him, but you didn’t know how.
‘Holy shit, Mark. What in the hell just happened?’ you thought to yourself as you went to sit down. You sat at your desk antsy to talk to him, to ask him questions, to say sorry for being so short with him. You wanted to say so much, but you didn’t know where to start.
~
“Hey!” you shouted at Mark. You were walking to your car after class and you noticed him quite a bit ahead of you. You didn’t mean to yell, it just escaped you, impulsively.
He turned around, confused at first, but once seeing you he looked slightly surprised.
“Hey!” he called back.
You furrowed your brows as he stood frozen, “I don’t like yelling, can you come here?” Your voice grew louder as a car passed by you, concealing your words.
“What?” he shouted back.
“Mark come here!” you yelled.
He mouthed an ‘oh’ before lightly jogging towards you.
Once you two stood face to face, it became too real. All the words you had inside vanished. You felt your heartbeat quicken as you stared at his face, your ears swirling with the words from his presentation. You didn’t know why, but you were slightly out of breath, “Um, where did all that come from? Like all that you said?”
He pulled the index cards he was flipping through before and handed them to you.
You felt frustrated, “No like where in your head did all that come-?”
He interrupted, “Go to the one that says ‘last’.”
You flipped through the cards, confused as to whether he really understood what you were asking. Your eyes gazed over his messy, boyish handwriting until you saw the card he was talking about. Every card preceding it was packed with markings and covered in highlighter, but this one was almost empty. Your eyes scanned over the words slowly.
‘Talk about your feelings.’
You looked up at him. His face was serious, maybe even partially embarrassed. Mark kept his eyes fixed on the gravel. His heart was racing, you just had no idea. You opened your mouth to say something, but his voice beat your words.
“It’s what I wanted to say to you. I guess it was harder to say to your face than to the class,” he stopped and looked at you, "because uh, they think I’m talking about something fictional written on a page by some old guy, something I don’t feel for them. It’s hard when you’re looking at me. I guess I was waiting for the right time, and then the right time became an excuse because I was scared. I started to forget what I was even waiting for.”
You felt your heart burning a hole through your chest. He was only confusing to you because he was confused with himself. He was wrapped up in a feeling he didn’t know how to feel, nor how to express.
You felt words exiting your mouth; you weren’t sure who was controlling them, your brain suddenly worked separately from your body. “Your presentation was perfect. I secretly hoped it wasn’t about the book,” he laughed and looked down, “and it’s all okay. I like you Mark, even when we didn’t talk. I still liked you.”
He bit the inside of his mouth to stop from smiling, “I like you too.”
The air was still after he said it, but not in an awkward way. You both were basking in the words that still sat in the air. Words that you both waited for so long to hear. There existed some sort of comfort within all the silence, within the faded sounds of cars leaving the parking lot, within the cloudy voices of kids walking out of the school, within the small space between you and Mark.
Sunbelt’s was tiny and quaint. It sat on the corner of Roger and Maine street, right in the center of your town. Due to this, it was always busy, but not the irritating type of busy where lines spill into the road and adults get mad they haven’t gotten a table yet. It was the busy synonymous with “lively” - yeah, that’s better. It was lively, and it felt like everyone was always in a good mood.
You walked in and pushed the door open, sounding the bell placed above the frame.
“Morning Pete!”
“Hey y/n! How are you?”
“Good, good,” you looked around, “is my booth open?”
“Yep, follow me.” He picked up two menus and walked towards the back corner of the restaurant.
Pete was short, but built. He had a neatly trimmed beard to match his dark head of hair. He probably looked a lot tougher than he actually was. As Mark trailed you and Pete, listening in to your conversation, he noted the striking ink tatted up both of Pete’s arms.
“Here you go,” he spoke while placing the menus on the table, “Let me know when you guys are ready.” He gave you both a smile and walked off.
“You must come here a lot,” Mark said, adjusting his specs.
“Yeah,” you laughed, “I love breakfast food.”
Mark smiled and picked up his menu, “Me too.”
You two began to talk, your conversation moving from one subject to the next. You noticed him relax, his sentences less choppy and his face absent of the constant blush. He was finally warming up to you.
You liked to watch him while he spoke, noting moments when he grew nervous and quickly would divert eye contact, or times when he laughed loudly, throwing back his head and clapping. It made you chuckle; he was so amusing to you.
After a period of stomach growls and anticipation, Pete came back with two plates in his hand, setting both them down on your table.
“Let me know if you need anything else. Any extra drinks or sides are on me,” he smiled, patting you on the head before returning to his work.
You cut into your pancakes as Mark resumed your conversation, “So what do you think about this project?”
“Darten’s class?”
“Yeah,” he said with his mouth full of food. He wiped his lips with his hand and leaned back, waiting for your answer.
“I don’t really know,” you rested your chin on your hand, “I don’t like Shakespeare. He’s so damn dramatic.”
Marked nodded his head. He watched you furrowing your brow as you thought. He couldn’t help but smile, and you noticed.
“What? Is there something in my teeth?”
He laughed, “No.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing,” he said hurriedly, his cheeks filling in with color.
~
After finishing and paying, thanking Pete and convincing him Mark was not your boyfriend, you two headed out the door. You sat on the back of your car and patted next to you for Mark to join.
“Why do you think he was so dramatic?”
“Pete? I don’t know he was probably kidding. I’m-”
“No,” he threw his head back again in laughter, “Shakespeare you dummy.”
“Ohhh,” Mark kept laughing as you tried to speak and you punched his arm lightly, “Shut up, what are you, seven?”
“Sorry.”
You leaned back onto the car. Feeling the slightly warm surface touch your skin. You gazed up into the sky, squinting at the sun. Mark watched you.
“Hm,” you paused, “I guess… actually, I’m not too sure. What do you think?”
He leaned back next to you. Your car was on the smaller side, so your shoulders touched. As you felt his skin meet yours, even the tiniest bit, your heart quickened. You wondered if he even cared.
He did. He just hoped you couldn’t hear his pulse.
“Maybe he saw himself in Romeo.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t know, like a hopeless romantic, doomed from the start. Maybe he had a Rosaline or a Juliet.”
“You think?”
“Maybe. It would make sense, I mean love does make you act all strange.”
Hearing the word ‘love’ exit his pretty mouth made your heartbeat quicken once again. And ‘you,’ what did he mean by you? Did he mean himself? Has he been in love?
Love.
A small word. A small, one syllable word. Why when he talked about it so casually did you feel such butterflies?
“I mean love does make you act all strange.”
You quickly sat up.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” he laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t know what I meant.”
He sat up, locking eyes with you for only a moment before quickly diverting his gaze. You kept your eyes on his face. You wanted to know why he said that, why he said what he said with such conviction. You wanted to know what he’s felt, and what he feels.
He interjected the moment, “I gotta go.”
“Why?”
“I just gotta. Thanks for this. Uh, I’ll see you, uh, tomorrow.” He walked away, his attention focused on the ground. When he heard you call his name, he turned around only to wave, quickly getting in his car.
You laid back down on the car, listening as Mark’s engine revved and then pulled away. Something inside of you was hurting. You were buzzing with questions. So many ‘whys?’ and ‘whats?’ and ‘what ifs?’. The boy was a puzzle, and you just couldn’t figure him out.
~
“You’re so dumb,” he said aloud, banging the wheel with his hand.
He stared at the road, replaying the conversation in his head. Some barrier within him started to fall when he was next to you. All the emotions he kept tightly wrapped up would slowly spill, and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t ready to be vulnerable; he wasn’t prepared to face his own heart.
He met his own eyes in the mirror, “Did I give myself away?” he thought, looking back to the road.
“I mean love does make you act all strange.”
“That was so stupid of you,” he hit the wheel again, “You can’t just say that stuff.”
The sun sat heavily in the center of the sky as Mark drove back home. It was golden. The kind of golden that makes pretty eyes prettier and instantly warms your skin. It poked a hole in the clear mid-morning scene, polarizing all the blue that surrounded it. Upon exiting his car, he squinted, using his hand covering the view above him.
He slowly lowered his hand that was shading his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun. Closing his eyes tightly, he let the sun heat his face. His mind was churning; your face replaying in his mind and your voice echoing in his ears. Everything was hurting, yet he didn’t get why.
He opened his eyes and looked back at the pavement. “Stupid,” he mumbled as he unlocked his front door.
~
Over the next month you two worked together silently. Your conversations were limited to strictly Shakespeare and project details. It bored you. Ever since that morning he was different; he distanced himself and grew quiet around you. It was like the shell you worked so hard to crack had rebuilt itself, but this time it was determined not to budge.
You tried to be nice and get him to talk, but all your efforts were met with dismissal and apathy. It hurt. It burnt a hole in your heart. You felt he loathed your sole presence, yet you failed to understand why.
As you two worked, you felt yourself staring at him, wishing you could see past his raven hair and delicate spectacles. You wished you could see into his brain and into his heart. You wanted more than anything to understand him. You wished he would let you in.
~
“I pushed back presentation dates a week,” Mr. Darten began, “So next Monday we will hear from Luke and Jamie, then Mark and y/n.”
Your heart stopped for a second and you thrust your hand into the air, “Wait, if you pushed them back shouldn’t we be presenting next, next, next Monday?” You were praying he mixed up your presentation date. He must have. You two weren’t close to being done, let alone close to even holding a conversation.
“Oh, did I say ‘push back’?”
You nodded.
“I meant forward. We’re starting presentations earlier. Nice catch y/ln,” he pointed at you and made his way to his desk.
Your eyes widened.
‘Shit.’
You began to work and Mark joined you, silently, as usual.
“Hey,” you said coldly without looking up from your book.
“Hey,” he kept his eyes low too, “Uh this new deadline sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s your part going?”
“Good.”
“Oh. Okay. I should be done with mine soon.”
“Nice.”
This wasn’t like you. Your answers were sharp and cut into the helpless boy like a knife. You were just tired. As plain as that. Fed up. Confusion and agitation had completely hijacked your system. You were sick of this.
He watched you working diligently. He knew you were upset, and it was clear he was the reason. His mouth was dry, and his stomach hurt. He felt like a wimp.
‘It wasn’t even a big deal. You should’ve explained to her what happened. Why didn’t you just tell her what you meant? Why didn’t you just say, ‘hey, I like you?’’
He looked up at you as you worked, wondering if you heard his inner dialogue as loudly as he did.
The week continued the same way: slowly and wordlessly.
I hope everyone is doing okay with all the craziness in the world going on - if you aren’t you can always reach out to me
Remember my Mark Lee scenario that never got a part two..............well it’s coming. After a lot of self adjusting and refiguring our everything I dug up my draft and handed it over to get edited. And so yes - it is done ;)
You liked to watch him from afar, across the classroom napping during a lecture, vigorously taking notes, or flipping lazily through his book. You liked to watch him stand in front of the class and present, stuttering every couple of words, and watching his cheekbones bulge as he tried not to smile. It was at this time of day you found yourself walking to your literature class, staring at the back of his head as he turned into the classroom a few steps ahead of you. He took his seat in the corner and began to fish through his bag for his notebook as you walked in. Noting your presence emerge in his peripheral vision, he paused his search and slowly looked up.
As you make your way to the opposite side of the room, you could feel his dark eyes on you, and you were glad. After sitting down in your chair, you looked over and met his eyes. He smiled lightly and turned away, beginning to search again for his notebook.
“Just say ‘hi’ to me,” you mumbled under your breath. You turned your head and looked out the window.
‘Mark Lee,’ you furrowed your brows, ‘hmm’
Turning back towards him, you watched as he talked to the kid in front of him. You smiled softly as he laughed loudly and joked around with the boy. You almost inserted yourself as a third member of the conversation. You wanted to join in. You wanted him to talk to you.
‘Talk to me like that.’ you frowned and looked towards your desk, flipping open your notebook.
The class silenced themselves as your teacher, Mr. Darten, entered the room. He was young, fresh out of school, and full of passion for reading and writing. You liked him; he was a cool guy. Instead of his red mug he always had in hand, he carried a large box.
“Dude, what’s in that?” someone yelled. The class was too comfortable with him, but Mr. Darten never yelled or scolded them for their informal behavior.
Mr. Darten smiled as he spoke. “I dug this out from the storage room,” he said, placing the large box on the table in front of the class. After wiping off the tiny layer of dust he opened it and spoke again, “This marking period will be centered on William Shakespeare.”
He sat on the table next to the box and reached an arm inside. As he pulled out a Macbeth book, the class groaned. Nobody likes Shakespeare.
“Mr. Darten are you serious? The whole marking period?” a girl behind you whined.
“Yes. Your first major project will be a book analysis. You can pick any Shakespeare novel in this box. There are about three copies of each. Those who pick the same book will be partners. You guys will work together on this and in a couple weeks we’ll have presentations.”
Mr. Darten came around with the box, each kid digging around to find the right book for them. Luckily, you were first to pick.
‘I need something easy…’ you thought as you sifted through the dusty paperbacks, before pulling out a small book with a purple ripped cover.
“Ah, Romeo and Juliet. Kind of basic y/n. You better really wow me with this. No surface level stuff,” Mr. Darten laughed.
He was right. You couldn’t have picked a more basic Shakespeare novel, but you didn’t care. It was easy. You flipped through the pages while you thought about the project, completely forgetting there was another copy to the book in your hand.
“Hey y/n,” you looked up to the sound of your name and saw the book cover in a familiar boy’s grasp, “Mr. Darten said you picked this book too.”
Your eyes widened as you stared at the glossy purple page. You felt your ears heat up slightly and bit the inside of your cheek, concealing your smile - you wondered if he noticed.
‘Finally!’
“Oh, hi Mark! Uh yeah, I picked this too. I guess we’re both basic huh?” you laughed as he sat in the desk beside you.
“No, I think we just both hate Shakespeare.”
“I think you're right.” you looked at him and smiled. He chuckled lightly and quickly looked away, his face blushing gently.
You began to flip through the book calmly as the inside of you was swarmed with butterflies. Though you’d always watched him from afar, all you really wanted to do was talk to him, but you felt he never shared that desire. Little did you know how wrong you were.
As you discussed how you guys were going to tackle the book and assignment, he zoned out. Mark stared into your face as you talked, noting the birthmark on your face and the way your eyes looked when the light hit them. He watched you flip your hair and squint as you attempted to read the words ahead of you. Your voice was like peaceful music playing in the back of his brain; its notes and inflections were strong, but the words didn’t register. He was lost in your glowing abyss, a place he’d encountered from afar, but up close was overwhelming.
“Does that sound good?” you asked once finishing laying out your ideas, “Mark?”
Your voice calling his name ripped him from his trance and he jumped slightly, “Yeah,” he lied, “Sounds great.”
~
He left school clutching the glossy paperback in his hands. As his fingers flipped the old pages, he thought of you and your pretty face. His stomach was still swinging from class and the thought of working alongside you.
“Okay. You have to do a good job on this. You gotta impress her.” he said quietly as he pulled open his car door. He placed his backpack and the small book in the passenger's seat and sank down into the leather seat. Exhaling deeply, he pressed the key into the ignition.
“Alright William, help me out here” he said aloud to no one in particular, not even the writer resting peacefully underground.
~
“For the next week, begin class sitting next to your partner and start working.” Mr. Darten went on, “You don’t have to wait for me to begin class.” He then nodded his head and raised his red mug to his mouth, taking a long sip of his black coffee.
You watched as Mark picked up his bag and walked towards you, taking a seat in the empty desk beside yours. You liked the placement of your desk; it was right next to the large window out-looking the courtyard. You often got distracted, finding yourself lost in the swaying trees or trapped in the muggy air during rainy afternoons. The window let a certain type of light spill into the classroom, one that filled it fully, but never made you squint. It was warm; you liked it.
This light reached Mark’s face as you began to discuss the first part of the book. It caramelized his brown eyes and highlighted his dark hair.
“So they hate each other?” Mark asked, his eyes glued to the page ahead of him.
“No. Their families do. Romeo and Juliet don’t know each other yet.”
“Right and Romeo’s depressed about Rosaline.”
“Mhm.”
“And Juliet’s supposed to marry that Paris guy.”
“Right.”
“Well, obviously none of it’s gonna work out. It’s conveniently set up for these ‘forbidden,’” He made air quotes with his fingers, “lovers to meet. Sooo sly of you William.” Mark put the book down and looked at you to smile.
You laughed, “Mark that was lovely. Great analysis” you said mockingly.
“Thank you.” He looked down quickly after you two made eye contact, cautious not to lose himself in a daze again.
Slowly your conversation digressed from Capulets and Montagues to you and him. It was a normal conversation, something you had been waiting for. You rested your head on your hand as you two talked. You began to notice his eyes shifting, and voice faltering every couple minutes. It was almost as if he would forget what he was saying mid sentence and have to begin again. It reminded you of when he would present in front of the class, the random stutters and slight blushing.
‘Is he nervous? No. There’s no way.’
~
It was Sunday morning. The road was empty, the sky was clear, and the air was cool. You were driving in your car on the way to Sunbelts, a small breakfast bar in your town center, when you noticed a light flash on your dashboard.
Fuel Level Low
“Shit, I need gas.” you mumbled.
You started to drive in the direction towards the gas station and pulled in. Opening the car door, you stepped out and let the cool morning air hit your face. You enjoyed getting out early on Sundays; it was peaceful to have time to yourself. As you pressed the gas pump in the car you looked up, noticing two other cars join you. You watched an old man slowly get out of his vehicle and slide on his glasses as he looked at the pin pad on the gas pump. You leaned against your car before turning your head at the sight of something familiar. On the opposite side of the old man was a slim figure wearing black joggers and a loose black tee. He had on specs and his hair was a bit messy, but he looked cute.
“Mark Lee?” you said loudly. You knew it was him, it wasn’t even a question, you just wanted to startle him.
The old man placed the gas pump in his car as Mark looked up quickly. He looked panicked, but he covered it up with a smile.
“Oh, hey.” Mark said back.
“Your hair looks great,” you laughed, pulling the gas pump out of your car.
He furrowed his brows and lifted a hand to his hair, feeling it defying gravity.
“Oh my god,” he started laughing, “I didn’t even know it looked like this.”
“Wait, I’m coming over to you.” you said jumping into your car.
“Is that your girlfriend?” the old man asked Mark as you slowly pulled around the lot, intending to park next to his car.
“Oh uh, no. Hah, she’s… she’s not.” his face reddened at the question.
The old man smiled and chuckled softly, “Not yet.” He lowered himself back into his car after paying and drove off, leaving Mark with a wink and a pondering thought.
You poked your head out of the car window. “Come with me to Sunbelts.”
Mark smiled, he noticed your messy hair too and lack of makeup. He liked it. He thought you looked perfect. He wanted to tell you that, but he couldn’t, so he just stared.
“Okay, sure.”
“Follow me.”
He nodded and got into his car, placing the key in the ignition and letting it start. As you pulled out of the gas station, he followed, tapping his wheel nervously, and smiling. As he drove behind you, your voice saying his name replayed in his head, like the sweetest song he’s ever heard. Your voice elicited some response within him, one of excitement, desire, and anxiety; it made his stomach burn and heart race. It was a feeling of discomfort, but encased in joy or dipped in gold rather. The feuding feelings coexisted.
‘Mark Lee?’
There was that song again. He exhaled and smiled again. Ah, how lovely.
Hi I love ur blog! ❤️ Can I request a Mark Lee scenario thing about him being kind of like shy and awkward and you having a big crush on him and like him confessing and you being like finally god dammit!!!!
AW THANK YOU u r so sweet!!!!! And aw cute yes!!!! I can’t wait to write this 😊😊😊🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
I haven’t written in so long and I MISS IT!!! I might take a bit to finish some stories (my schedule is crazy now) but YES I would love to begin writing again. Leave me some requests!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
A/N: Here is a maybe preview of a story Im formulating (maybe). I may leave this piece alone - or I might continue it and add characters. Let me know what you guys think/want. I love you all SOSOSO much.
Her Thoughts:
I felt my face heat and my heart begin to crescendo with speed. The music was playing loudly outside the room, triumphing the voices of rowdy alcohol poisoned teenagers, though it seemed mellow to me. I felt separated from it. It was not only that though; I felt separated from reality, from the universe, often looking up at his face to fathom if I was dreaming. Maybe that’s what made it so easy. Maybe that’s what made me break and allow my body to be molded like clay, doing whatever he desired. I felt that the room was broken off from the house and floating into a void, far away from consequences, and far away from reality.
It was in those moments of intimacy old feelings had conjured up from deep within my soul. Feelings that I had tucked away for what I thought would be forever. His lone touch tore apart the box they had been so neatly folded up in and scattered them all around me. While coming face to face with emotions I thought were expelled, I also met the emotions I knew existed, the present ones. Love for another boy was floating in my heart, but this boy was nowhere to be found.
What stood before me was someone I use to love, but someone I was dangerously vulnerable to. He outstretched a hand to tempt me - and I accepted. As I was pulled into his arms I stared directly into a diverging road. Upon my arrival at this crossing, I took the wrong path. I traveled down my past and became acquainted with my history. I dwelled in the feelings which grasped me for so long and acted upon a lustful inquiry.
While we floated away into darkness my current feelings were suppressed. I only focused on his bare skin upon mine and his hands gently grazing my body. I breathed heavily as the separation of our bodies and faces grew smaller, and smaller. I wasn’t there. It wasn’t me. I was floating off into space, hurtling towards a galaxy of blackness.
The separation from reality soon extinguished itself. His room joined again with the house, the music grew louder, and the voices of teenagers sick on liquor and happiness flooded back to me. I no longer was in space, I was in his room. I was in his bed. The door opened quickly and there he entered. The other ‘he’. He being the boy whom currently my heart longed for. The one who treated me kindly, and cared about me. As I lay alongside someone who wanted action, not me, I met eyes with the boy who actually did want me. Guilt began to fill me like the alcohol running my system; I met eyes not only with him, but with reality.
Hello!! Sorry for being so inconsistent with my asks but I had the chance to finally finish and read Day Zero and BISH IT WAS AMAZING. I loved it so much and BLESS YOUR SOUL FOR GIVING IT A HAPPY ENDING. LIKE MY HEART WOULD HURT SO MUCH IF THEY NEVER FOUND EACH OTHER AGAIN. Honestly that fic was a roller rollercoaster. Like the fluff parts were so cute but some of the angst made my cry actually tears 😂. AHH I WAS INVESTED AND YOU DID AMAZING - walnut
WALNUT I MISS YOU!!!!!! School started for me and I have not been able to get on this blog for so long. EEK IM SO BUSY I HATE IT. But omg thank you so much for your kind words. (I had to give it a happy ending I was getting too sad for our homie y/n. I was like AHGGGGFF THEY NEED EACHOTHEr) Seriously it means so much to me that you enjoyed this AHHHHHH. Thank you sososoososososs much u r so kind. I HOPE YOURE DOING AMAZING!!! SENDING YOU HUGS 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
i can’t get over day zero oh my god that was a rollercoaster omg. i loved the way you built up suspense, and the angst and fragments of fluff. i think it’s the best piece of work i’ve ever read on tumblr and ill definitely come back to re-read it! 💖💖💞💓💘💕
OH MY GOD WOWOWOW THIS MEANS SO SO MUCH TO ME. My goal is to write something that will make people feel EVERY EMOTION and ENJOY IT. The fact that u r so positive about this and said you might re-read it CAN MAKE ME CRY bc I feel like I met my goal. AHHHH I’m gonna keep reaching for that every time I write bc YOU GUYS make me want to!!!!! This is so sweet and means the absolute world to me. UR SO AMAZING AND I LOV U 💖💖
ohmygosh. i just discovered ur blog and holy sHiT you’ve got some serious talent. i just finished reading “day zero” and i hhhh i cant even eXprEsS how i feel right now!! you have a beautiful way with words. i had to stop reading at some points because something so absolutely real and genuine would be written and would give me goosebumps ohmygod i am aMAZED!!! the way u write just seems so,,, real yaknow you’ve got hella talent. just wanted to let u know. have a wonderful day/night!!
WOW WOW WOW. This means so so so much to me thank you so much. Like my heart is FLUTTERING WOW. Thank you for liking my work and for your support. Like really this made me so happy I CANT EVEN EXPRESS MY GRATITUDE FOR THIS. AH U R AMAZINGLY SWEET THANK YOU SO MUCH. I’m SO happy you stumbled upon my blog ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️💖💖❤️💖❤️💖❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
HELLOOOO IVE TAKEN A LIL BREAK FROM TUMBLR BUT I DECIDED TO COME ON TODAY AND OH MY GOSH YOU POSTED THE LAST PART OF DAY ZERO AHHHHH I literally can’t wait to read it and I’ll tell you my thoughts later 🥺. But anyways how have you been? And it’s kinda funny how you named me walnut even tho ur allergic to walnuts 😂😂 - walnut
HEY WALNUT!!!! I’m so happy that u r excited to read it and IM SO EXCITED TO HEAR WHAT U THINK!!!!! AH I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!! And HAHHAHA I KNOW even though walnuts might kill me I still 💖 U WALNUT. I remember just sitting there thinking of a name and it just came in my head and I was like “that is IT”
Ohhhhhh myyyyy godddddd, i truly loved the Jisung series and im a little sad that it's finished but wow... You really did that! I was so comcerned that they were going to shoot Jisung and you wrote the tension really well! I'm really happy at the ending and Jisung's mindset. Of course stealing is wrong but you can understand why he did it and you made it so realistic. Most people don't really do these kinds of stories w jisung but I'm happy u did ! Keep up the amazing work
Wow this is beyond amazing to hear from someone. You are so so so kind thank you so so much for these words. AHHH IM SO SO SO HAPPY YOU ENJOYED THIS!!!! I HOPE YOU KNOW YOU JUST MADE MY DAY 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 MUCH MUCH LOVE THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT 💖💖💖💖💖❤️💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖💖❤️❤️
It was quiet when you woke up. It always was. Your cot was beneath the only window in the room, which allowed the sun to reach you the moment it began to emerge. Your eyes would slowly open and you’d stare at the ceiling, noting every crack in the old grey paint. Some mornings you’d wake up confused, forgetting where you were, wondering why Jisung wasn’t next to you, breathing too loudly, and holding you tightly. You just couldn’t get used to the empty space beside you.
“Good morning y/n,” your glum mood was interrupted by Rosalee. She was an older woman, probably somewhere in her mid-sixties. She was the head director of the center you resided in. Rosalee was a kind woman; her heart was warm and inviting. When she spoke her voice was smooth and gentle, like drizzling honey. She welcomed you in and tended to you as you needed it. You always appreciated everything she did for you, but you were unable to express your gratitude the way you wanted. Your sadness was overpowering, and you could only muster up the strength to respond with few words.
She sat on the edge of your bed wrapped up in a faded pink cable-knit sweater. She was a tough woman, despite her soft and delicate appearance. Rosalee had escaped the claws of Tartix at the beginning of Day Zero, losing her only two daughters during her time spent there. Once she was on her own, she founded a center for children who were alone or lost during apocalyptic times. There were a couple of branches scattered relatively close, the main facility being about two hours away on foot. The branch you were in was a small low profile building, but it was under intense security, ensuring the safety of its inhabitants.
“Some of the girls are cooking breakfast if you want to help.” She smiled and got up. She never expected anything in return from her kindness. She was one of those genuine people who need not receive a ‘thank you’ for their charitable actions. You watched her small frame move into the front room and thought about her offer. After deciding you would join them in the kitchen, you lifted yourself out of bed and pulled up the blanket, fixing it nicely.
Walking through the large room quietly, you were cautious not to disturb any of the younger kids who were still asleep. You were wearing one of Jisungs big flannels. When you first arrived Rosalee urged you to throw it out as it was covered in ash and blood. However, after seeing your emotional attachment to the old flannel she washed it and returned it to you.
“I hope he finds you.” She had said when handing over the freshly cleaned shirt.
~
You walked into the kitchen to find two of the girls around your age working. Both of them were nice, and even though you kept to yourself most of the time, you liked them. One girl, the freckled one with long red hair heard you enter and looked up.
“Y/n, hey!” said Emi.
“Hi,” you smiled lightly. Everyone at the facility understood that trauma caused by the apocalypse varied from person to person, so they never held your quiet manner against you.
You sat at the counter and began to talk, “You guys need any help?”
“No, we’re just about done. Thanks though,” the taller girl with her head shaved, Zola, replied.
You looked down and let the sound of oil popping in the pans fill your ears. The girls began talking again, occasionally asking you questions and bringing you into the conversation. It was hard to occupy yourself when your mind was stuck on him. Each passing day reminded you how alone you felt. What hurt most was the lack of closure. You didn’t even know if he was still alive. You clutched the edges of his flannel as you thought. The sadness would hit you randomly, and apparently, it decided to strike then and there.
“Y/n, you okay?” Zola sat next to you, “How long has it been today?”
“Almost two years,” you paused and rested your chin on your hand, “I don’t think he’s coming.”
“No, come on, don’t say that. He loves you and he is out there. Fate will slowly bring you two back together. Okay? Trust me. He is looking for you.”
You soon felt sorry. Zola and Emi had both went through their own set of trauma. They lost their families and had endured their own pain. They were always kind to you, even when you could not look them in the eyes to say hello. You felt embarrassed, how could you be so weak when everyone else seemed so strong? You held your breath as you felt yourself begin to cry. Reaching out her arms, Zola hugged you. Within seconds Emi came over from the sink to hug you as well.
“Thank you,” you cried, and you meant it.
~
Jisung breathed heavily as he ducked his head under the dense shrubbery.
“Which way’d you see him go?” a voice called out.
“I thought he came over here,” another replied.
He clutched his gun and the cans of food he had just stolen, closing his eyes to internally beg to no one in particular.
‘Pass. Walk past me. Pass.’
His heart was beating loudly, though not out of anxiety. He wasn’t scared anymore; he was tired. This was routine for Jisung. Today, he timed his mission poorly. Right as he was escaping from a window, arms full of goods, the family whose home he had ransacked returned home. Jisung was forced to sprint. He would never let himself get close to the arms of The Reaper. His will to survive was depended on one thing, and that was you.
“No, let’s try back over there,” the first voice called back.
Jisung exhaled deeply. Relief. They were moving away. After waiting a couple of moments, he emerged from the greenery. In the past two years, things had changed, even if only a bit. He was slightly taller and his shoulders broader. His hair was longer now, almost covering his eyes, though still black against his tanned skin. Beneath his changed physical appearance, he remained the same at heart. The biggest change was that he had a new best friend. Thievery.
Thievery slightly hardened Jisung. He knew it did. It made him selfish, forcing him to dehumanize those he was taking from. He wanted to survive. He needed to. And if stealing was the only way, he had to do it.
He began to walk to what he deemed as, ‘his base’. It was a small clearing beneath a useless bridge where he stashed his items. It was hardly a ‘home’, so he wouldn’t refer to it as such. He rarely slept there anyway. Conditions under an old bridge are commonly dark, damp, and musty, and his bridge was no exception. Usually, he’d crash wherever he found himself tired. As long as he picked a spot where he was hidden from a passerby’s view, he’d sleep in abandoned buildings, under trees, old cars...
But he refused to make a ‘home’ out of his ‘sleep spots’. They didn’t feel like ‘home’ without you.
On his way over he felt his foot kick something hard. Jisung looked down to find a tiny handheld radio. It was coated in dirt, and most likely broken. Regardless, Jisung took it. During an apocalypse, kleptomania is arguably justified. When you have nothing, you’ll take anything that might help you survive.
He placed his new items in his collection and then sat down next to one of the piles. Leaning his head back, he placed a hand on his upper thigh. After digging out the bullet with a pocket knife, the skin never healed correctly. He was left with a mangled scar, and it ached when he aggravated his leg muscle excessively. A scar. A collection of recovered skin, sprinkled with tiny nerve endings desperately trying to hide a wound. Jisung’s body was covered in scars. From the thick one on his thigh to the tiny ones etched over his hands and chest, and to the deep one that severed his heart.
Opening his eyes, he decided to check out the radio, dusting off the film of dirt. He flipped it over and examined the back.
“No batteries. Nice.” he rolled his eyes and looked around his stash. He scanned the shelves and piles until he found what he was looking for.
Unscrewing the bottom of a flashlight, he shook out two D batteries.
After reinserting the batteries into the radio, he began fumbling with the buttons. He jumped slightly at the static sound which pierced through the silence of his base, reverberating off the walls. As he flipped through the stations, he silently wondered whose hands touched the dials before his own. ‘Where are they now?’ Oh, and he wished for the painful white noise to subside.
~
“Y/n.” You were awoken to the sound of a soft whisper. Rosalee looked down at you with her kind eyes. She was wearing a backpack and a baseball cap. You noticed the tiny pieces of silver that poked out the sides of the hat, framing her face gently. She began speaking, quietly though, being cautious not to wake anyone else up, “I’m leaving for a couple days. I guess there’s an issue up at the main facility.”
“An issue at the main facility?” You sat up and rubbed your eyes, slowly comprehending her words.
“Yes. There was an external security violation,” she paused noticing you grow tense, “It’s nothing to worry about. The trespasser is non-threatening. I’m just being called over to direct what we should do with them. While I’m gone, tend to my hydrangeas please.”
“Hydrangeas? Like the flower?” You were confused, why were said plants being prioritized? If they were so important, why hadn’t you heard about them before? You waited for her to change your orders you to a more serious, grueling task, but she left it at that. Her hydrangeas.
“Yes, they’re in my office. They get very thirsty, so I’ll need you to water them and make sure they get sunlight, it can get dark in there sometimes.”
You nodded.
“Okay,” she smiled and began to walk away, “I will see you soon.”
After she exited, you laid in your bed and sifted through the information she gave you. You were staring at the ceiling as you had countless times before, but this time your mind wasn't concerned with the cracks or the old grey paint.
‘What the hell is the deal with the damn flowers?’
~
Later that day you found yourself sitting outside. Your gaze glided across the metal fence which stood tall, closing you in. It seemed odd to know that you were grounded to one side of the fence and do nothing about it. Sure, the wall of metal surrounding you was there for your safety, to keep the rest of the world on the outside. But it felt funny. The same fence lies around the Tartix base to keep the inside world in.
Leaning back slightly, you rested your back against the building. It felt cool on your skin. You closed your eyes, feeling the wind brushing against you and listened to the sound of peace. The lull of serenity.
“Oh shoot,” you exclaimed, disrupting the silence, “The flowers.” Quickly rising, you made your way inside.
The walls in the narrow hallway to Rosalee’s office were painted a shy shade of blue, appearing almost white in the faint daylight. The window at the far end of the hall was the only source of light, and if you had arrived any later you would have struggled to find your way. You soon found yourself in front of what you knew to be her office, though you’d never been inside.
“Woah. Hello Hydrangeas,” you mumbled as you assessed the room around you.
The office was small and dim. A wood table sat in the middle, paired with a chair home to a faded pink cushion. The table was stacked high with books, photographs, and papers. Turning to the wall on your left, you located a large window next to a tall bookcase. You wouldn’t have known it was a window hadn’t you moved the sheets. They were pinned up with tacks, concealing the window completely. And right in front of the window was a large light, hung over a tiny table of lively flowers.
“So this is how they get their light, huh?” you spoke aloud to yourself.
Crouching down, you observed the plants. There were four pots, each with a large bulbous plant, one pink, one white, and two sister shades of both purple and blue. In a world often depleted of color and life, seeing such vibrant colors was almost supernatural. You tilted your head as you admired them, falling in complete awe. After shaking yourself out of your wonder-struck trance, you noticed a tiny note taped to the light.
‘INSTRUCTIONS FOR MY GARDEN’
You smiled at the word ‘garden’. The table of four plants was humble, but Rosalee cared about it. It was a patch of life in a meadow of chaos. It was her garden.
~
“Be… days.”
“Huh?” Jisung quickly awoke.
Like a pair of sharp scissors slicing a clean line in a fresh piece of paper, the sound of static tore through his silent morning, waking Jisung up. Digging in his coat pocket, he pulled out the tiny radio he had recently claimed as his own. He stared at it, waiting for it to speak once more.
“Hello? You there?” The voice was that of a woman. Her sentence came through clearer this time. He could make out words and hear her tone. Something about her smooth voice alleviated his restless soul.
“He… oh?” Static again. Once a couple of minutes went by, he sighed and put the radio back into his pocket. He was still tired, and it was still early; he was going to go back to sleep.
“Yes. Yes. I’m here.” It was a man's voice this time.
Jisung jolted up and pulled the radio back out, staring at it. Why was he so eager to hear someone’s voice? Why was it so… comforting? Maybe it was the voice. Maybe it was how the silence was finally gone. Or maybe it was the reminder he wasn’t alone.
“Okay. Did you get that? I’ll… an issue at…” Jisung cringed each time the static broke in, interrupting the flow of the conversation. “I left food in the cellar. Enough for… Send one of the boys over when you’re low…”
‘Food.’ Jisung smiled excitedly. ‘Food.’
“How long?”
“A couple days. I’ll keep in touch. Over.”
“Over.”
Static.
He sat for a while, pushing the buttons on the faded black device. He longed for the sound of a voice, any voice. Loneliness swarmed him like summer gnats. Even when he tried to swat it away, it returned and lingered, hitting him in different places, driving him nuts. He longed for company, for your company.
“Hello?” It was the man's voice again, “Hello?”
Jisung closed his eyes and began listening again. ‘It’s like TV,’ he thought to himself, smiling lightly.
“Hello? I need to send someone over later for…”
“Yes?” The soothing voice returned.
“Where should I send them?”
Jisung sat up and opened his eyes. These woods were vast, but he knew them well. He pushed his hand through his hair, listening as the women drew out a road map, pointing to where her base was.
“...and have them end near full rock circle…”
“Full rock circle. I can get there,” he whispered, almost like he was replying.
Food. Base.
Jisung put the radio down and stood up. He had fallen asleep in a van he often slept in because of the close distance to his ‘stash’. He then began to move, being wary of his surroundings.
Something was stirring in Jisung. Some hate that had boiled over his time in solitude. He had lost everything; all he had had been taken and pried from his grasp. Every waking moment reiterated the pain of his existence. What he owned remained hidden in a crack of cement. It was sad. He felt pathetic.
In moments like those, he found refuge in his only pastime. The only thing that could help him escape the depreciating feeling. Thievery.
Jisung wanted to steal.
He felt like he had to.
~
It had been three days since you saw Rosalee and three days that you been caring for her tiny garden.
You were sitting at her desk, letting your body sink into her soft pink chair. Your eyes danced over the papers, book covers, and photographs. The photos in the stack at the edge of her table were faded slightly and folded at the edges, almost as if they were frequently shuffled through.
Lifting the stack, you began to flip through them. The first image depicted a tiny girl standing in front of a building. Her arms were positioned outwards, spread wide, like she was showing off the cozy-looking house and rectangular plot of soil behind her. You tilted your head, flipping to the next photo. It was the same girl, only this time taller, her hair now reaching her elbows. She stood in the same spot, smiling again, the patch of dirt now full of green sprouts. You continued to flip through the photos; most of them were of two girls, one being the girl in the first two pictures, and what you recognized to be Rosalee. Assuming they were her daughters you began to imagine Rosalee as a mother until you were met with the last photo. The unfamiliar girl was older now. Her smile was still warm, and it visibly resembled Rosalee’s. She was not accompanied by dirt, nor by stems with small buds hanging off the edge. Instead, there was a crowd of violet, blue, white, pink and every color in between.
“Hydrangeas,” you whispered.
You grabbed the first photo from the stack and placed it beside the last one. Studying the girl, you noticed how she aged slightly, though her smile remained just as lovely and radiant as it had been before. You lifted the photos up and brought them towards the window, so you could see them in the light. As you gently moved the image, and the light penetrated the picture, you noticed something scribbled on the undersides of each.
Flipping over the first one, you read the words under your breath.
‘Mommy and I planted today. I want the flowers to bloom now. She says I have to wait for it to be pretty and that good things take time. I don’t get what that means. Also, I don't like the dirt, it's not pretty. Mommy said our flowers will be pretty. She said this is our garden.’
It was written in childish print, words were misspelled and letters looped messily. For some reason, there was a lump in your throat. Slowly, you turned over the next photo and began to read again.
‘Look at our garden!!!!!! It's so pretty. Mommy is right. Good things do take time. The pink one is my favorite, Mommy says she agrees.’ You stopped reading the swirly childish print and flipped back over the photo. Grazing your finger over the tiny girls face, tears welled up in your eyes.
“Both of my daughters were taken,” you remembered Rosalee’s words pouring out from her like blood dripping from a wound. You remembered the pain in her face as she spoke and the way her voice became choppy.
The first tear slipped down your face as you stared at the girl whose heart was so happy and smile was so warm. Suddenly, you couldn’t hold back your emotions. You dropped down in front of the flowers and cried. You cried for Rosalee’s daughters and the golden future they’d never see. You cried for their garden, which had been reduced to four pots in a dark room. You cried that the evil arms of Tartix stole a mother’s beloved children. You cried that good things take time. You cried hard for your world. You clutched the photographs to your chest tightly, your vision clogging with tears.
This garden was not for Rosalee. It was for the girl who was promised a garden, a garden full of love and rich in color.
~
It was all planned out. Calculated cleanly. Organized perfectly. Jisung knew how to go about the task. He was ready to steal.
As the sky turned black, Jisung found himself stationed near the high metal fence. He felt like a creature, a beast prepared to stalk his prey. Though being conditioned to steal, there was a deep pang of worry and guilt within him. He wasn’t nervous. He was upset. Upset that Day Zero had degraded him to such filth. Once running through the plan a few more times, he decided it was time.
He climbed his way over the fence, taking out a pair of cutting pliers to cut the jagged barbed wire on top. Jisung then jumped down, landing skillfully on the balls of his feet. The dirt lightly thudded beneath him, but not loud enough to draw any attention towards the intruder.
Entering a field he wasn’t familiar with always got his adrenaline pumping. It made his thoughts race.
‘You’re the odd man out; you’re the reason the fence lay high and security holds weapons. You’re the glint in the shadows and the gentle rustle of leaves. It’s your footprint stamped in the wet dirt and it’s your fault there’s empty space where items belong. You’re a thief.’
He made his way towards the building, staying pinched to any available walls. He moved through the night swiftly, a master at traveling in the darkness.
‘Shit.’ his brain yelled loudly. Jisung stopped his movements. A figure was sitting near the building. ‘What the fuck is someone doing outside right now?’
Jisung moved his hand into his pocket, wrapping his hand around a metal grip. Not to fire. Only to scare.
He moved towards the silhouette, silencing his breath, absorbing his presence into the night. A fraction of a second later, he grabbed the person’s neck, placing the gun against their throat.
They became you, and you began to scream.
‘Fuck.’
~
The barrel was cold against your neck. Your mind began to race, and you did the one thing you could think to do.
Scream.
You yelled out for help repeatedly, kicking violently and squirming aggressively.
The air getting to you was limited. The person's arm tightened as he pressed the gun deeper into your neck. Right as you thought you would stop breathing completely, they released you, your body falling sideways. You were coughing wildly as the world around you spun.
“Y/n?” the voice was shaking and quiet. It was barely a whisper, but you heard it as clear as day. The hair on your neck stood up as your heart took off, catching up to the panting of your breath.
‘No. I’m imagining things. I must be.’
You couldn't turn around; there was something holding you back from turning around. You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t real; it wasn’t him. While you tried to rationalize your thoughts and regain your balance, you heard yelling, and the sound of a body hitting the ground.
“23! He has a number! Shoot! Now!”
‘23… 23. 23. 23. 23. 23. 23. 23. 23.’
Your body began to tremble as your mind flashed through memories. You saw him coming towards you at the door, hiding his own fear behind a rifle. You saw him holding you under the cold sky, wiping your tears. You saw him kissing you for the first time, setting fire to every part of your tired heart. You saw him promising you he’d be okay and promising you he’d come back. You heard him tell you he loved you. You began to cry and call out his name. You got up quickly, running sloppily over to the unit of guards holding guns to him.
“DON’T SHOOT!”
“Y/n stay back! He’s dangerous!”
“NO! NO! NO! JISUNG! IT’S ME! I’M HERE!” Your lungs were ablaze and your eyes were soaked. You saw him lying there on the ground, helplessly fighting for his life. The guards wouldn’t shoot with you nearby. They couldn’t.
“Y/n? Y/N?” He began resisting with an increased amount of strength. His neck vein bulging as he kicked his legs tirelessly.
Forcing your way through the wall of tall men, you thrust yourself on top of him.
“Get off of him! Immediately!” guard commanded.
They were shouting, but you didn’t hear it. The loudness of the world had smudged and blurred behind you. All you could see was his face, coated in dirt and streaked with tears.
“Holy shit. You’re here.” he breathed up at you.
“Holy shit. You almost killed me.”
You two stood up together and held each other defensively. All the guards backed away, seeing by your interactions he wasn’t a threat. You held on to Jisung tightly, keeping your face tucked into his chest. You were crying more, being hugged by him, and silently prayed that you weren’t dreaming.
He stroked your hair as complete disorder and confusion unfolded around you. Kids began pouring outside, waking up to the sound of the danger alarm. Security guards stood confused, dropping their guns to their sides. Jisung kissed your head over and over again.
You looked up at him and whispered, “Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t,” he replied. He stared down at your face and spoke softly, “God, I missed you.” He then placed a hand on your cheek and leaned down, kissing you deeply.
There was something unfathomable about the experience. Something you couldn’t explain. You felt as if you were floating over your body, watching yourself rediscover your heart. You watched as your body warmed and your mind cooled. You watched the horizon as you stood on top of the hill, tired from pushing the boulder. You watched a vibrant garden full of light grew around you. You watched it all come together because he was there.
As you slowly pulled away a picture flashed in your mind. A colorful picture with misspelled words that messily danced.
Looking up at Jisung, you saw the warm colors around him.
He wiped your tears as you smiled at him. You couldn’t wait to thank your friends for being patient with you and tell Rosalee how much you’ve truly appreciated everything she’s done.
