𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚; 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘! - ᴍᴀʟᴇ ғᴀɴ x ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴡᴇʙᴄᴏᴍɪᴄ ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗧 𝟰.𝟬
"Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song."
ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ sᴏғᴛʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪs sᴏɴɢ — ғᴜɢᴇᴇs
ORIEL woke to the low buzz of his alarm, the sound cutting cleanly through his sleep. He lay still for a second, staring at the ceiling, then exhaled and sat up.
He shuffled into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and leaned over the sink. The mirror greeted him with a familiar, carefully constructed face. Calm eyes. Relaxed mouth.
Someone who's...easy to like.
He brushed his teeth slowly, methodically, gaze never leaving his reflection.
He showered, letting the warm water run longer than necessary. When he stepped out, steam fogged the mirror, obscuring his reflection completely. For a second, he just stood there, towel draped over his shoulders, staring at the blur.
When the mirror cleared, Evander was back.
Oriel checked his phone. Schedule first. Classes, Lunch, nothing unusual. He closed it almost immediately and opened his contacts instead.
M/n.
His lips curved before he could stop them.
_________________________________________
<< | M/n L/n ♥️ | • • •
Oriel:
Good morning (๑•ᴗ•๑)♡
_________________________________________
he typed, simple and friendly, then sent it. He didn’t expect a reply so fast.
_________________________________________
<< | M/n L/n ♥️ | • • •
Oriel:
Good morning (๑•ᴗ•๑)♡
M/n:
Morning.
_________________________________________
Oriel laughed softly, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“Still cold...ouch,” he said, like that was praise.
He typed again.
_________________________________________
<< | M/n L/n ♥️ | • • •
Oriel:
Good morning (๑•ᴗ•๑)♡
M/n:
Morning.
Oriel:
Can I sit with you during lunch?
M/n:
👍
_________________________________________
That was all.
Oriel’s shoulders loosened, something warm and restless spreading through his chest.
“He replies with short words,” Oriel murmured. “Just like you.” He lifted the phone and pressed it lightly to his lips, eyes half-lidded.
For a moment, the smile lingered too long.
"Ah,” he told himself, lowering the phone. “I'm slipping.” But his thoughts were already running ahead of him, quick and eager.
"M/n liked ccats" Plenty of people liked cats. he knew that, It was normal, Ordinary.
But so does Quillan.
Once a month, he goes to the same café, just to see the cats and kittens.
"Spicy foods too, hm?" Oriel muttered, tone filled with infatuation. Quillan likes spicy food, saying that he feels the thrill that envelopes inside his mouth once the spice hits.
"Winter... Of all seasons..." Quillan adores winters; he doesn't like it for the snow that piles up. No, no...Quillan adores winter times for the sole reason that he could curl up the covers. Like an animal hibernating during winter season.
“It’s common,” he told himself. “Cats, spicy food, winter...Anyone could like those.” His reflection in the mirror tilted its head slightly, eyes sharper now.
“But all of them?” he whispered. “All at once?”
The thought sent a strange thrill through him. uneasy, electric. The smile on his face twitched, pulling tighter at the corners.
Oriel stepped closer to the mirror.
“I can’t find anything,” he said quietly, voice losing its warmth, “that isn’t you.” Something darker flickered behind his eyes.
“I wonder...” he asked his reflection.
“Do you peel your apples? Do you hate the skin?” His breath came a little faster.
“Do you stay up all night?” he continued.
“Do you bite your nails when you experience a foreign feeling?” The mask cracked, just for a second.
"Do you...act like the way Quillan does when Evander makes love with him?" His smile widened, sharp and pleased, nothing like Evander’s gentle one.
“If I learn you slowly,” Oriel murmured, voice low, almost reverent, “piece by piece…”
He straightened abruptly, smoothing his expression, forcing the warmth back into his eyes.
Evander smiled again.
“Ah...Im slipping,” he said calmly. Stare at the man in the mirror. Evander... That's right... He wasn't Evander yet...
Oriel slid the pale green contact into his left eye, blinking slowly until the color settled. Then the right. He leaned closer to the mirror, tilting his head slightly.
“…Perfect.”
The eyes looking back at him were soft, gentle. The kind people trusted instinctively.
Evander’s eyes.
He reached up, brushing his fingers through his hair. The platinum strands fell neatly into place, styled just enough to look effortless. He frowned when a darker shade peeked through near the roots.
“Tch. Already?” he muttered.
He checked the date on his phone. “Guess I'll have to dye it,” he said aloud, nodding to himself. “Sunday... Yeah, Sunday’s fine.”
Another problem easily fixed.
He dressed carefully. neutral tones, A turtle neck and a coat, paired with simple slacks. Casual, but charming. Someone who looked approachable, someone who looked like they belonged anywhere they stood.
When he finished, there was no sign of Oriel left in the mirror.
Only Evander.
Oriel stared at his reflection for a long moment.
“…You’re good enough,” he whispered. not to himself, but to the image.
“You deserve him.”
The real Oriel didn’t.
Quillan wouldn’t like someone who was too intense, too cruel, Someone who felt too much, Someone whose thoughts ran crooked and fast and never stayed where they were supposed to.
But Evander?
Evander was calm, patient, and warm.
If he was Evander, then standing beside Quillan made sense.
And M/n?
M/n deserved Evander, Not the mess underneath.
He inhaled, then exhaled slowly, the practiced smile sliding back onto his face as if it had never left. He packed his lunch neatly, sealing the container with a soft click, then filled his turquoise aqua flask with water and ice.
Outside his apartment, the hallway buzzed with quiet morning noise.
“Oh, good morning!” Mrs. Wesley greeted when she spotted him.
“Morning,” Oriel replied immediately, smiling. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep, my baby was crying all night” she laughed.
“You’re always so cheerful this early.” He chuckled lightly.
"Habit, I guess.”
Another neighbor passed by.
“Heading to school?”
“Yes, sir,” Oriel said politely.
“Have a good day.”
“You too.” They walked away, clearly pleased.
The second Oriel turned the corner, his smile vanished.
“…So noisy,” he muttered, irritation flickering across his face. His shoulders relaxed, posture slouching just a bit. something Evander would never do.
This was him.
This constant performance. this...character was exhausting,
Every word filtered.
Every expression curated.
Every reaction rehearsed.
But it worked. No one questioned Evander. No one looked past the surface.
It was all worth it.
For M/n.
For Quillan.
The campus was already busy when he arrived. Students clustered in groups, voices overlapping. Oriel checked the time and stopped near the entrance.
He leaned against a railing, pretending to scroll through his phone while his eyes tracked every face that passed. Minutes ticked by.
Until M/n emerged from the crowd, bag slung over one shoulder, eyes unfocused as if his mind was somewhere else.
Oriel’s face lit up instantly.
“M/n!” he called, lifting his hand. M/n looked up, startled for half a second before recognizing him.
“Oh. Morning.” Oriel jogged over, falling into step beside him. They walked together toward the building.
“You okay, though?” Oriel asked, glancing at him. “You seem tired.”
“I’m fine,” M/n said. “Just didn’t get enough sleep.” Oriel smiled.
“Figures. You don’t strike me as a morning person.” M/n huffed quietly.
“I’m really not.”
Just like Quillan.
Oriel nodded as if amused. They reached the classroom building.
“I’ll see you at lunch?” Oriel asked. M/n nodded.
“Yeah.” Oriel’s smile widened.
“Good. Don’t skip eating, okay?”
“I won’t,” M/n said, already sounding unconvinced. Oriel laughed softly and waved as they split paths.
“See you.”
As M/n went to his seat, Oriel lingered for a moment, expression unreadable.
He didn’t know that M/n had spent the night staring at unfinished panels. Forcing his pen to move. Trying to write Evander, without seeing Evander, without using Oriel as reference.
Trying not to rely on someone he barely knew.
A deadline loomed and his Inspiration refused to come, until exhaustion eventually won.
Oriel exhaled, adjusting his bag strap as he turned toward the professor.
"Can't wait to bave lunch with you~♡"
LUNCH came with its usual chaos. voices overlapping, chairs scraping against stone, laughter bouncing off the courtyard walls. M/n sat on the same bench he always used, lunch opened on his lap, chewing slowly while his thumb scrolled without purpose.
Meanwhile, Bonibell was staring.
She sat beside M/n, eyes darting between him and the person seated across from them. Back at M/n, then towards Oriel.
She leaned down abruptly, lowering her voice.
“Okay,” she whispered,
“why is the new kid here?” M/n glanced up at her, still chewing.
“He asked.”
“That’s it?” Bonibell’s brows shot up. He nodded.
“Yeah.” Bonibell straightened slowly and openly stared at Oriel now. Oriel, for his part, looked completely at ease, sitting straight, eating calmly, like this was routine. When he noticed her staring, he even gave a polite nod.
Bonibell blinked. Then she grinned.
“Well, damn,” she said, patting M/n on the back a little too hard.
“Look at you.” M/n frowned.
“What?”
“You’re turning into a social butterfly.”
“I’m not.” She laughed.
“You totally are. I leave you alone for one lunch, and you already replace me?”
“That’s not what’s happening.”
“Relax,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m joking.”
M/n paused, processing, then said flatly,
“…Oh.”
Bonibell giggled and turned her attention fully to Oriel.
“So,” she said brightly,
“what’s your secret? How’d you manage to befriend little ol’ M/n?” Oriel chuckled, soft and controlled.
“I just stuck around.” M/n shot him a look.
Bonibell hummed.
“He’s quiet,” she said, nudging M/n with her elbow.
“Doesn’t talk much, but he listens,” she added, pointing at him.
“A lot. That’s how he compensates.”
“I noticed,” Oriel replied easily.
He reached into his bag then, unhurried, pulling out a small extra lunchbox. He placed it between them and slid it toward M/n.
Both M/n and Bonibell stared at it.
“…What’s that?” M/n asked.
“You brought extra food?” Bonibell said.
Oriel nodded.
“Yeah, he doesn’t eat much.”
“I do eat,” M/n said, frowning.
“Barely,” Oriel replied gently.
“You need energy. Especially if you’re tired.”
Bonibell raised a brow.
“Wow. You’ve known him for, what, a day? And you’re already parenting him?”
“I’m not lecturing,” Oriel said calmly.
“Just concerned.” He opened the container.
Inside were neatly cut apple slices, orange wedges, and watermelon cubes. Bonibell’s face lit up. “Oh! Fruit!”
“You can have some too,” Oriel said, pushing it slightly toward her.
"There's plenty of fruits anyways."
“Thanks!” she said, immediately reaching in.
M/n hesitated before quietly saying,
“…Thank you.” Oriel smiled in response.
But his attention sharpened.
Bonibell grabbed an orange first, then watermelon. She didn’t touch the apples. M/n, after a brief pause, picked up an apple slice.
Oriel watched carefully.
M/n ate slowly, almost absentmindedly. When he finished the slice, he placed the peel back into the container without even looking.
Bonibell noticed and paused.
“M/n you can't just leave it there. You dont like it? ” she asked, M/n shook his head. Bonibell shrugged, then picked up the peel and ate it.
“Can’t waste food.” Oriel’s expression didn’t change.
But something inside him settled.
Ah.
He leaned back slightly, fingers lacing together, chest warm with certainty. M/n likes apples with the skin peeled off,
His gaze drifted back to M/n, who was now quietly sipping his drink, unaware of the scrutiny, unaware of the conclusion being drawn so decisively.
'You really don’t know,' Oriel thought, smile gentle. 'How perfectly you match.'
He looked down at his own lunch again, still smiling.
Ah.
M/n really is Quillan.
◦•●◉✿✿◉●•◦
They walked together once lunch ended, the crowd thinning as students drifted toward their next classes. Shoes scuffed against concrete, voices blurred into background noise, and Bonibell immediately filled the silence like she always did.
“So,” she said, swinging her bag in a lazy arc,
“are you free later? Or are you gonna do that thing where you disappear again?”
“I don’t disappear,” M/n replied. Bonibell laughed like she’d heard a joke.
“Well you disappear after school so fast that I almost thought you're flash.” She reached up and patted his head, fingers combing through his hair like it was second nature.
“Hey—” M/n frowned, swatting at her wrist.
“Stop that.” She only laughed harder and pinched his cheek, light but deliberate.
“So grumpy.”
“You’re annoying.”
“But you don’t stop me? Very honest, M/n.”
Oriel walked beside them, hands tucked neatly into his pockets, his expression calm, pleasant, unbothered at a glance. He watched Bonibell’s hand linger in M/n’s hair a second too long.
Watched how she leaned into his space without a care. Watched how M/n complained but never actually moved away from her.
They look close.
And that irritates him.
“I didn’t know you two were this comfortable,” Oriel said lightly, tone smooth enough to pass as curiosity. Bonibell glanced at him.
“Oh, I’ve known him forever. He’s basically immune to me now.”
“I’m not immune,” M/n muttered.
“I just got used to it.” Bonibell grinned triumphantly.
“Same thing. We're very close.” Oriel’s smile tightened, just barely. If someone weren’t watching him carefully, they wouldn’t notice.
Close.
He rolled the word around in his head, sour and unpleasant. Familiarity like that wasn’t earned overnight. It was built, Shared time, Shared moments, Things Oriel hadn’t been part of.
Yet.
“So,” Oriel said, smoothly cutting in before the feeling could settle too deep,
“you mentioned yesterday that you like cats.”
M/n blinked. “What about it?”
“There’s a cat café not far from campus. I thought maybe—” Bonibell gasped.
“Oh! That’s cute!” M/n's eyes lit up before he could stop them, just a little, like something warm flickering behind his gaze.
“A cat café…?” Oriel noticed immediately.
There it is.
He leaned in a fraction, voice lowering. “There’s one not far from campus, I thought maybe we could go after classes.” M/n’s expression softened, shoulders relaxing as if he were already imagining it. Then reality crept back in. The light dimmed and he looked away.
“I… can’t.” M/n mumbled, Bonibell tilted her head. “Why not?”
“I’ve got something unfinished at home,” M/n said.
“A lot, actually.” Oriel slowed his steps.
“You’re busy?”
“Yeah...”
Oriel studied him. The tired set of his shoulders. The way his fingers flexed like he was itching to hold a brush instead of a conversation.
“It might help clear your head,” Oriel said, softer. “Just for a little while.” M/n shook his head.
“I’ll just get distracted.” Then, almost carelessly, he added,
“You could ask Bonibell to go with you.”
Bonibell stiffened instantly, the easy smile slipping.
“Oh—nope. Nope. Absolutely not.” Oriel blinked.
“You don’t like cats?”
“I’m allergic!” she said quickly, waving both hands. “Like, very. Eyes swell up, nose dies, a shame since cats are very cute.” Oriel nodded slowly. Disappointment flickered across his face before he smoothed it away.
“I see...”
He looked back at M/n.
“Maybe another time, then.”
“Maybe,” M/n said. They walked in silence for a few steps. Bonibell bumped M/n’s shoulder playfully.
“Don’t stay up too late again.” M/n scoffed.
“I won’t.”
“You always do—”
“You should rest.”
The words slipped out of Oriel before he could stop himself. Both of them looked at him.
“I mean,” Oriel added quickly, smile snapping back into place,
“you look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” M/n said automatically. Bonibell hummed.
“He says that too.” Too many people saying the same things to him.
Oriel’s jaw tightened, just a little. They reached the classroom doors. Bonibell peeled off first, waving cheerfully.
“I’ll see you later!”
“Later,” M/n replied. Oriel lingered beside him for a moment longer, the hallway noise swallowing them whole.
“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Oriel said. M/n nodded.
“I alreadh said I won’t.” Oriel watched him disappear into the room.
The smile fell from his face the moment M/n turned his back. Oriel couldn't stand someone being close to M/n. It's like that one female character in the webcomic Quillan was in.
She too was clingy and much like Bonibell. Touchy and cheerful with Quillan.
Oriel needed— no, he will find a way to get closer with M/n.
More closer than Bonibell.
More closer than any one.
Until Oriel was the only one left in M/n's eyes.
THE bell rang sharp and loud, cutting through the last remnants of class like a snapped thread.
Students poured out of rooms in clusters, chatter swelling as the tension of the day finally loosened. M/n fell into step beside Bonibell without thinking, backpack slung low, shoulders heavy.
“And I’m telling you,” Bonibell was saying, voice animated as ever, “she kept commenting on everything. Like—why are my nails ‘too short,’ why is my cuticle ‘dry,’ girl, stfu and do your job.” M/n hummed in response.
“She even asked if I was sure about the color,” Bonibell continued.
“Like girl, I just spent overthinking about it for 5 hours on the color alone, of course I'm sure.”
“That’s… annoying,” M/n said after a beat.
“Right?” She scoffed.
“If I wanted commentary, I’d ask.” He nodded, eyes on the ground, weaving around passing students. Every so often he added a quiet “yeah” or “mm” or a short comment, just enough to let her know he was there and listening. Bonibell noticed, of course.
They reached the front gates when she suddenly slowed, glancing sideways at him. “Hey.” M/n looked up.
“What?”
“You wanna go to 7-Eleven with me?”
He stopped walking. “I’m busy.”
She squinted. “Busy or busy?”
“Busy,” he said. “I’ve got work.”
Bonibell groaned dramatically.
“Oh come on. Just for a bit.”
“I really can’t,” M/n replied, though his voice lacked its usual firmness. She clasped her hands together.
“I’ll treat you.”
“That’s not—”
“Slurpie,” she said quickly. He hesitated.
“And spicy Buldak.”
He pressed his lips together. Bonibell grinned, sensing victory.
“Also,” she added more gently,
“we haven’t hung out properly in a while. And you’ve been… weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“No, like—troubled weird,” she said, bumping his shoulder.
“You look like your brain’s eating itself.” M/n swallowed. His thoughts betrayed him instantly.
Panels half-finished. Dialogue rewritten over and over. His stylus hovering uselessly over the screen as he stared at Quillan and Evander, frozen in a moment that was supposed to be tender. not explicit, not intimate, it's hard enough that he couldn't draw anything and his mind reintroducing the thought of just drawing Quillan and Evander fucking and call it a day.
He usually does that if he was stuck in a script, or couldnt think of a plot for the next chapter.
Heck, his comic might as well be a smut comic for the amount of chapters that Quillan and Evander fucked each other.
But he couldn't do that, not when his fans are craving and cheering him on. Comments that amped him up or told him that his comic has potential, oh boy, it gave him a sense of pride over his work.
He bit his lip, gaze drifting away.
“…Maybe getting out would help,” Bonibell said softly. “Shake the nerves out.”
M/n exhaled. “Fine.”
Bonibell froze. “…Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, already regretting it.
“Just—don’t make it long.” She squealed, grabbing his arm and dragging him forward.
“Yes! You won’t regret it.”
“I already do,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.
They left campus together, laughter trailing behind them.
Not far behind...
Oriel stood still.
He had stopped walking the moment he heard it.
Bonibell and M/n hangingout to get food.
His fingers curled slowly at his sides.
So that’s what it took.
He replayed it in his head. Bonibell’s insistence, her teasing, the way M/n folded. The way he always folded for her. How easily she pulled him out of his careful routines, How she got what Oriel couldn’t.
His smile— No, Evander’s smile...faltered.
Cracked.
Gone.
The calm mask slipped, just enough for something sharp and ugly to bleed through.
Jealousy burned hot and immediate, crawling up his chest like a rash he couldn’t scratch.
Busy, M/n had said.
Too busy for him.
But not for her.
Oriel exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. His thoughts spiraled faster now, less controlled.
Of course she could convince him.
Of course he’d say yes to her.
She touches him whenever she wants.
He hated how familiar she was with him, Hated how she knew his tells, Hated how she could read him without trying, Hated how M/n didn’t even notice how much of himself he gave away to her.
I asked first.
The thought pulsed, irrational and loud.
I asked first.
His fingers twitched, nails biting into his palms.
It wasn’t fair.
No—he corrected himself sharply.
This wasn’t jealousy.
It couldn’t be.
He straightened, forcing his expression smooth again, carefully reconstructing the mask piece by piece. Evander’s calm, Evander’s patience, Evander’s understanding.
M/n was just stressed.
Bonibell was just a friend.
This meant nothing.
And yet, Oriel’s gaze lingered on the empty gate long after they were gone.
His chest felt tight. And somewhere beneath the denial, something dark and possessive whispered
Next time, I won’t let you say no.
THE convenience store doors slid open with a soft chime, washing them in cold air and fluorescent light.
Bonibell made a beeline for the Slurpee machine like it personally owed her money.
“Oh my god, okay,” she said, already grabbing a cup,
“so listen, my boyfriend is being insufferably cute lately.” M/n picked up a cup too, pressing the lever for blue raspberry.
“That’s… unfortunate.”
She laughed.
“No, like, we went to this new place yesterday, right? And the portions were huge. So we just—” she gestured animatedly, nearly spilling her drink, “—kept feeding each other. Like idiots.”
“That sounds… messy.”
“It was adorable,” she corrected, mock-offended.
“He even wiped sauce off my face. I almost died.”
“Tragic,” M/n said dryly, switching flavors. Bonibell bumped his shoulder with hers. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m really not.” She grinned. “Sure.”
They paid, then moved to the hot water station, opening cups of spicy noodles. The familiar scent filled the air as Bonibell poured water with practiced ease.
For a moment, M/n was quiet, like he was looking troubled.
“Hey,” Bonibell said, glancing at him.
“You okay?”
“…Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly. She blinked, surprised.
“Yeah. Shoot.” He hesitated, fingers tightening around the lid of his cup.
“Do you ever get stuck on something? Like, really stuck. Not because you don’t know how to do it, but because you don’t understand it.”
Bonibell tilted her head.
“Writing stuck? Or art stuck?”
“…Something like that,” he said, evasive. She hummed thoughtfully, setting her noodles aside.
“Okay. Go on.” M/n stared at the steam rising from his cup.
“Do you ever feel like… you’re judging something from the outside. Like you can describe it, analyze it, but you don’t actually know what it’s like to experience it.”
Bonibell’s movements slowed.
“…Yeah,” she said gently. “I have.” He swallowed.
“I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. I want to feel things I can’t grasp. It’s like trying to understand a language I don’t know how to read.” She stayed quiet, letting him talk.
“I can’t understand complex feelings,” he continued, voice low.
“Like love. I can’t reflect on it properly. I can’t make it feel… sincere, Genuine, Everything I make feels hollow.”
Bonibell stirred her noodles slowly, eyes soft.
“That sounds… troubling,” she said. M/n shrugged.
“I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. So how am I supposed to make something real?” She was quiet for a second longer, then smiled.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m gonna explain this terribly. But hear me out.” He nodded.
“Feelings,” she said, tapping her chopsticks against her cup,
“are like food.”
M/n blinked. “…Food?”
“Yeah,” she continued, unfazed.
“You can read recipes all day, You can watch cooking videos, You can even describe what a dish should taste like.”
She lifted her noodles slightly.
“But until you actually eat it? You won’t really know.” M/n watched her, intent.
“And even then,” she added,
“people taste things differently. Some people love spicy food. Some can’t stand it. Doesn’t mean something about them is wrong.”
She gestured between them.
“You don’t lack feelings, You just experience them… differently.”
He frowned.
“But what if I don’t feel them at all?” Bonibell shook her head.
“You do. You just don’t recognize them yet.”
She smiled again, softer this time.
“If you want to understand feelings, you don’t force them onto a page. You put yourself in situations where they might happen. Even if they’re confusing. Even if they’re uncomfortable.”
She nudged his cup gently.
“Like trying new food. You don’t need to name every ingredient, You just… taste it. Sit with it. See what happens.”
M/n’s grip loosened around his chopsticks.
“…What if it never makes sense?”
“Then that’s okay too,” she said without hesitation.
“Not everything needs to be translated perfectly to be real.” She met his eyes.
“Whatever you’re making, it doesn’t have to be loud or dramatic to be sincere. Sometimes sincerity is just… quiet.”
M/n looked down at his noodles, steam fogging his glasses.
“Hey,” she said, quieter.
“You know what I think?” M/n glanced at her.
“You usually don’t wait to say it.” She smiled faintly.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
He scoffed under his breath.
“That’s easy to say.”
“I know.” She stirred her noodles slowly, watching the steam rise.
“But listen. When you said it feels like trying to understand a language you can’t read? That hit.” M/n’s shoulders tensed.
“Because,” Bonibell continued,
“people assume everyone understands feelings the same way. Like it’s universal. While most of us would agree, there are some people thinks otherwise." She tapped the side of her cup. M/n stayed silent, listening.
“You’re not broken for not understanding feelings the way other people describe it,” she said gently.
“Some people feel things loud, Some feel them quietly, Some don’t feel them until way later, Some only feel them when they’re already gone. Heck, some people feel emotions through actions. There are alot of wwayto communicate without using words.” She shrugged.
“Though that doesn’t make them fake.” He frowned.
“But how am I supposed to write something I don’t feel?” Bonibell tilted her head.
“Who said you need to feel it the same way to write it honestly?” He looked up at her.
“Okay,” she said, warming to the idea.
“Back to food. You ever had a dish you didn’t like at first, but the more you ate it, the more you understood why others loved it?”
“…Yeah,” he admitted. “Spicy.” She grinned.
“I— thats you're favorite food, but sure. At first it’s just pain. But then you start noticing the broth, the flavor underneath, the balance.”
She pointed at him.
“Feelings are like that. You don’t jump straight into ‘this is love.’ Sometimes it starts as confusion or curiosity, even irritation.”
M/n’s fingers curled slightly.
“So confusion still counts?”
“Absolutely,” she said without missing a beat. “Confusion means you’re engaging. You’re tasting it, even if you don’t know what it is yet.”
She softened again.
“You don’t need to understand love to write something sincere. You just need to write what you know. wanting, hesitation, fear, comfort, attachment. Those are feelings too.”
He swallowed. “What if it still feels fake?”
Bonibell stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Then maybe it’s not fake. Maybe it’s just unfinished and the characters are still developing their feelings for each other. A build up, I would say.” She smiled at him, kind and steady.
“Not everything meaningful hits you all at once. Some things only make sense after you live through them.” M/n looked down at his noodles, steam blurring his vision.
“…What if I never get it?” Bonibell nudged his arm lightly.
“Then I’ll still be here to steal your fries and listen to you spiral.” A small breath of a laugh escaped him.
She added, softer,
“You don’t need to force yourself to feel something you don’t understand yet. Just… let yourself be where you are.” She lifted her chopsticks.
“Just let that sink in. That’s enough for today.” M/n nodded slowly.
“…Thanks,” he said again, but this time it meant more.
Bonibell smiled.
“Anytime. Now hurry up before I finish mine and start stealing yours.”
He huffed, picking up his chopsticks.
And for once, the weight in his chest didn’t feel so impossible to carry.
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