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4kunikuzushii · 2 months ago

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THE FLAT NEXT DOOR | OP81

an: @iimplicitt started drawing a firefighter oscar and next thing i knew, i was writing this story. it's so dear to me, firefighter!oscar you mean so much to me. also ive written something similar to this called sunflower syndrome (i dont think ive posted) which i can post, its next door neighbours and shes a single mum as well, its completed just never been posted lol - lemme know if you want it

summary: a firefighter with a soft heart & no idea what he’s doing with his life. a single mum who gave up everything for a tiny pair of shoes. a six-year-old matchmaker with a butterfly painted on her cheek. and the slow, aching kind of love that feels like coming home.

wc: 14.1k

Oscar hadn’t planned on becoming a firefighter. In fact, he hadn’t really planned on anything. Life, so far, had been a series of decisions made more out of avoidance than ambition. Moving to England from Australia at fifteen had felt like starting over in the middle of a film, he’d missed the beginning and had no idea what the plot was meant to be. His accent had softened over the years, but the disorientation never quite left.

By the time he finished school, uni felt like a trap more than an opportunity. He wasn’t academic, not really. His girlfriend back then had big dreams and a UCAS application filled out before the rest of them even figured out their predicted grades. She wanted him to come with her. Scotland, maybe, or Manchester, but he couldn’t pretend to want something just to stay close. Long distance sounded like a slow death, and he was already tired of pretending to care about futures he couldn’t picture. They broke up in late spring, somewhere between the last exam and prom. He barely remembered the conversation now, only the strange mix of guilt and relief afterwards.

The fire service had been a suggestion from someone he barely knew, his mate’s older brother or a careers advisor he met once. The idea stuck, though. It felt solid, practical. So he moved to a town just outside London, somewhere not too fast but not too sleepy either. Now, in his mid-twenties, he still wasn’t sure it was what he wanted, but it was something. A job, a flat, a rhythm.

The flat was part of a red-bricked terrace that hadn’t aged gracefully but wore its wear with a sort of tired charm. Peeling paint on the railings, a communal garden mostly made of grass that didn’t grow right, and neighbours you recognised before you knew their names.

For a while it was quiet on his floor until his neighbour moved in not long after he did, though they didn’t speak properly for months, he always saw her. She was quiet, but not unfriendly. Always rushing, school runs, shopping bags, the sort of tired that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from doing everything yourself. She had a daughter, six years old and full of questions, the kind who shouted hello from the doorstep and thought Oscar was a superhero just because he had boots by the door and came home smelling faintly of smoke.

He didn’t know much about her. She kept to herself, didn’t bring people round, and handled things with a quiet efficiency that made Oscar feel both impressed and slightly in the way. He saw her most often on Sunday mornings, pyjama bottoms tucked into socks, mug in hand while she coaxed the little one into her coat. He wondered, sometimes, if she had ever had a plan, or if she, like him, had simply found herself in a life that looked like it belonged to someone else.

The town had a softness to it in the early mornings, before the cars filled the roads and the high street buzzed with prams and pensioners. The air still held a trace of mist, clinging to hedgerows and the slate roofs that lined the close. Oscar liked this time of day, even if he wasn’t a morning person by nature. There was a quiet permission in the hush, like the world was still deciding what kind of day it wanted to be.

His flat smelled faintly of laundry detergent and burnt toast. He tugged on his jacket, the navy fire service one with the embroidered badge half-unpicked from where it had snagged last month. His boots were by the door, laces loose from habit. The station wasn’t far, a ten-minute walk if he didn’t stop for a coffee or get caught by someone with too many questions.

He swung the door open and nearly collided with her.

“Sorry—” they said at the same time, both stepping back, the awkward shuffle of neighbours not expecting to meet in the narrow shared walkway.

She was crouched beside Aurelia, zipping up a purple puffer coat that was already streaked with breakfast. Her hair fell forward as she glanced up at him, blinking through the unexpected encounter.

Oscar straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t see you there.”

“That’s alright,” she said, standing up. Her voice was warm, light, with the kind of casual tiredness that didn’t sound like complaining.

Aurelia grinned up at him, gap-toothed. “Are you going to fight fires today?”

He chuckled, crouching a little to her level. “If they start, yeah. Hopefully not too many, though. I’ve just cleaned my helmet.”

She giggled at that, and her mum gave him a grateful sort of smile, small, quick, like she wasn’t used to people being gentle with them.

Oscar stood again, unsure what else to say. The kind of silence that stretched just a second too long settled between them.

“School run?” he asked, just to fill it.

“Yeah. She’s already tried to convince me she’s sick twice.”

“I am sick,” Aurelia insisted. “Sick of spelling tests.”

That made her mum laugh, the kind of laugh that sounded like it didn’t come often enough.

Oscar smiled, then pointed toward the road. “I’d better get going before Zak starts calling. My boss has the patience of a gnat.”

She nodded. “Alright. Have a good shift.”

He hesitated for half a beat. “You too. I mean—have a good school run. And day. And… everything.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You too, firefighter.”

As he walked down the path, he heard Aurelia whisper, “Mummy, I think he’s cool.”

He grinned all the way to the station.

The station smelled of instant coffee, damp gear, and the faint chemical tang of smoke that never really washed out. Oscar pushed through the side entrance, nodding at the watch crew already gathered in the mess room. The TV was on mute, rolling through the morning headlines, and someone had burned toast again, the fire alarm had a nasty habit of reacting more to that than actual emergencies.

He dumped his bag in his locker and shrugged off his jacket, already feeling the dry warmth of the place settling into his bones. There was a comfort to the station, rough around the edges, but reliable. It reminded him of the school changing rooms back in Melbourne: paint chipped from too many boots, the faint echo of shouts in the corridor, the shared understanding that none of it was glamorous, but it was theirs.

“Morning, mate,” came a voice from across the room.

Oscar looked up to see Andrea, one of the senior firefighters on his watch, cradling a mug with World’s Okayest Firefighter printed in peeling letters. He had salt and pepper hair, always grumbling about overtime, and somehow managed to be everyone’s uncle without trying.

“Morning,” Oscar replied, reaching for the kettle. “Anything going on?”

“Not yet. Callout at half three, car in a ditch near the A-road, but that’s about it. Oh, Zak wants a word when you’ve got a sec.”

Oscar groaned quietly. “Do I need to be nervous?”

Andrea grinned. “Always.”

He found Zak in his office, chewing on a pen lid and frowning at a stack of paper that looked older than both of them. He waved Oscar in without looking up.

“You busy this weekend?” Zak asked, without preamble.

Oscar blinked. “Uh, not really. Why?”

Zak finally looked up. “We’ve been asked to send someone to this community thing at Chestnut Grove Primary. Little safety talk, couple of demos, let the kids have a go with the hoses, all that, see the truck.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Chestnut Grove? The one down the road”

“Yeah. Saturday morning. Council’s pushing the whole community engagement thing again. You up for it?”

He could’ve said no. He wasn’t the best with big groups, especially ones full of excitable children and clipboard-wielding parents. But something about the name clicked in his head, a flicker of memory. Hadn’t he seen little Aurelia in a forest green uniform?

“I’ll go,” he said, surprising even himself.

Zak blinked. “Right. Well. That was easy. Cheers.”

He left the office feeling oddly restless. Community events weren’t usually his thing, too many people, too many eyes. But he figured it was just one morning. How bad could it be?

Back in the mess, Andrea glanced up from the paper. “You’ve got that face on.”

“What face?”

“The one where you’ve agreed to something and immediately regretted it.”

Oscar shrugged, pouring himself a coffee that tasted vaguely of plastic and burnt hopes. “Just volunteered for the school event.”

Andrea gave a low whistle. “Brave man. Good luck dodging flying juice cartons.”

Oscar smiled to himself, thinking of Aurelia’s grin that morning, the way she’d looked up at him like he was some kind of action figure come to life. If nothing else, maybe it would be nice to see some children think he was a hero he 100% wasn’t.

It was one of those spring mornings where the sun tried its best, but the chill hadn’t quite loosened its grip yet. The air was sharp, fresh with that faint green smell of grass and new leaves, and the sky had that washed-out blue that promised warmth later, maybe.

Oscar parked the spare appliance near the edge of the school field, just where the tarmac gave way to a patch of uneven grass. The truck was technically out of use, something to do with the hydraulics, Zak had said, but it looked the part and that’s what mattered. He unfolded the little step ladder and opened up a few side panels to make it look more interactive. A pop-up banner flapped in the wind beside him, showing a smiling child in a tiny fire helmet with the slogan Be Cool, Stay Safe in cheerful red letters.

The fair itself was already in full swing: bunting strung between gazebo poles, the smell of frying onions from a burger van, and a trail of small children darting between stalls clutching glittery cupcakes and face paint flyers. Oscar had been given a little corner to himself on the edge of the field, which suited him fine. He liked watching the buzz of it all from a slight distance, present, but not in the thick of things.

He was in full kit except for the heavy jacket and helmet, both left hanging neatly inside the cab. Just his white fire service shirt rolled up at the forearms, and the braces of his overalls snug over his shoulders. He leaned against the side of the truck, hands in his pockets, the breeze tugging gently at the hem of his shirt.

A few curious kids had wandered over already. Two boys who’d wanted to climb inside the cab and press every button, a shy little girl who’d asked if he had ever rescued a cat from a tree, while he hadn’t, he said yes, and a boy who only cared about the siren.

Oscar found himself smiling more than he expected. There was something easy about it. Maybe it was the way kids didn’t expect anything except enthusiasm and the occasional high five. Maybe it was the way parents hovered a few feet away, grateful for five minutes of peace while someone else answered the never-ending questions.

He took a sip from his coffee flask, just as he heard the unmistakable patter of small feet sprinting across grass.

“Neighbour firefighter!”

He turned, and there she was, Aurelia, bounding across the field with a neon butterfly painted across one cheek and a balloon animal in one hand. Her plimsolls were slightly muddy and her coat was half unzipped.

Oscar laughed, straightening up. “Oh, I know you!”

She skidded to a stop in front of him, breathless with excitement. “Mummy said we might see you but I didn’t really think you’d be here!”

“Well, I don’t lie about fire engines,” he said, crouching down to her level. “That’s a very serious thing.”

She grinned, already peering into the open side of the truck. “Can I go in?”

“Course you can—but hang on a sec, where’s—?”

And then he saw her. Walking at a slower pace across the grass, hands deep in her coat pockets, eyes already on him. The breeze lifted the edge of her scarf, and her hair glinted slightly in the sun. She looked different here, more relaxed somehow, out of the usual early morning rush and into something softer.

“Hi,” she said, when she reached him. “Looks like you’ve got an assistant now.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling, “bit short for the uniform, but she’s got enthusiasm.”

Aurelia had already clambered halfway up the step ladder, peeking into the cab with the confidence of someone who fully expected to be given the keys. Her balloon animal was now tucked under one arm like a sidekick.

Her mum laughed, folding her arms loosely as she watched. “She’s been bouncing off the walls since breakfast. I think she thought she’d get to drive it.”

Oscar grinned. “Could probably teach her. Might be more focused than some of the lads at the station.”

She gave him a look, one of those amused half-smiles he was starting to recognise, a little dry, a little warm. “You here all day?”

“No, just the morning. Couple of hours, bit of leafleting, bit of ‘don’t play with matches’ chat. Then I get to drag all this lot back to the station and pretend it never happened.”

“Well,” she said, glancing toward Aurelia now balancing with one foot on the step and the other poised mid-air, “you’re already a highlight. She’s going to talk about this for weeks.”

Oscar watched Aurelia for a beat, her complete absorption in twiddling the dials on the dashboard, and then turned back to her mum, catching the moment her eyes dipped.

Just for a second.

A quick flicker downward, over the rolled sleeves, the broad line of his shoulders beneath the white shirt, the dark straps of his overalls snug against his chest.

He smirked. “Careful, you’re staring.”

Her eyes snapped up, sharp and just slightly horrified. “I am not.”

“You are. It’s alright. Happens all the time,” he said, leaning casually back against the truck, utterly insufferable now.

She scoffed, but her ears had gone pink. “No! I just think it’s a nice shirt. Very crisp. Good cotton, probably.”

Oscar chuckled, folding his arms. “I’ll let the fire service know. Get one sent out to you.”

“Oh, good,” she said dryly. “Nothing says flattering like free uniform merch.”

Aurelia’s voice rang out before he could reply. “Mummy! Come look at the back bit! There’s hoses!”

She gave him a look that said this isn’t over, then stepped past him to help Aurelia down. Oscar caught a whiff of her perfume as she moved, something light and clean, like citrus and soap, and tried not to look too pleased with himself.

He crouched again beside the little girl. “Want to hold the thermal imaging camera?”

Aurelia gasped like he’d offered her a crown. “Can I?”

“Course you can. Let me just grab it.”

While he disappeared momentarily into the side compartment, her mum looked after him, one eyebrow raised, like she was still debating whether to be annoyed or amused. Maybe both.

When he returned, holding the chunky bit of kit with both hands, he caught her smirking to herself.

“What?” he said, passing the camera to Aurelia.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly. “Just admiring the shirt again.”

Oscar grinned. “Thought so.”

And if he stood a little straighter for the rest of the morning, well, no one could blame him, really.

By midday, the fair was starting to wind down. The bouncy castle had deflated into a sad, crumpled mess, and a few stalls were already packing away jars of pick ’n’ mix and rain-speckled flyers. The sun had climbed properly now, still not warm, but bright enough to squint against.

Oscar stood by the truck, arms folded loosely, watching as Aurelia gave the thermal imaging camera a final, dramatic sweep across the grass, pretending to detect imaginary fires. Her mum hovered a few steps behind, rummaging in her bag, trying to locate a missing glove.

He caught her voice, half-muffled by the breeze. “Alright, Rels, we’ve got to go soon. Last bus is at twelve and I’m not chasing it again.”

Oscar straightened a little. She was looking at her watch, already slipping back into that quiet, slightly hurried rhythm he recognised from mornings in the shared walkway.

He pushed off from the side of the truck and wandered over, deliberately soft-footed across the grass. He stopped just behind her.

“Boo.”

She jumped about a foot in the air and turned, hand instinctively going to her chest. “God, don’t do that!”

He grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

She exhaled sharply, trying not to smile. “You’re a menace.”

Oscar nodded toward the road beyond the fence. “You’re heading off?”

She gave a small nod, still a little breathless. “Yeah. Got to catch the bus before it disappears into the void. It’s only once an hour out here.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, hands back in his pockets now. “Let me give you a lift.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’ve got to drive the truck back to the station anyway, and Aurelia’ll love it. And I brought my car in this morning, first time in ages, I was running late, so I can just take you both home after.”

She stared at him, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. I mean, that’s kind of you. I don’t want to, um…”

“Inconvenience me?” he finished, one brow raised. “You wouldn’t be. It’s just a lift.”

She hesitated, glancing at Aurelia, who was now poking at the truck’s steering wheel with something close to reverence. “We don’t usually talk this much.”

Oscar gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Thought I’d change that.”

She looked like she might say no, just on instinct, like she didn’t want to be a bother, but the words never quite came. Instead, she sighed and gave him a resigned sort of look.

“Fine. But only because Aurelia will probably combust if you offer.”

Oscar turned to the little girl, crouching again beside her with mock seriousness.

“Hey, Aurelia,” he said, “want to ride in the fire truck?”

Her eyes went wide. “What? Really?”

“Really,” he said, gesturing grandly toward the cab. “I need a co-pilot.”

She shrieked in delight and immediately threw herself at her mum, already halfway into the truck in her head. “Mummy, mummy, we’re going in the fire engine!”

Her mum shook her head with a quiet laugh, murmuring as she passed Oscar, “You’re going to regret this.”

But he was still smiling, already opening the cab door, like he doubted that very much.

Once he checked that everything was back in place, Oscar jogged over to the headteacher, a harried-looking man in a tweed jacket with a clipboard under one arm, who, thankfully, tended right to it and began talking to the stall holders.

When he turned back, he found Aurelia had already jumped in and her mother was right behind her attempting to get up herself. He came up behind her quietly, hand brushing gently around her waist as she shifted her weight.

“Easy,” he said near her ear, low and careful. “Didn’t want to startle you again.”

She tensed slightly, then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something else. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

He tightened his hands around her waist and hopped her up into her seat then stood on the ledge. “Right then, Aurelia you’ll have to sit on your mum’s lap,” he told her, lifting her up onto her mother’s lap. “I haven’t got a booster seat, and I reckon you’d get swallowed up by that seatbelt on your own.”

“Okay!” Aurelia chirped, already clambering in. She nestled against her mum, legs swinging slightly, her face bright with excitement.

“Hold still a sec,” Oscar said, reaching in to pull the seatbelt across both of them. His arm brushed hers as he clicked it in, and when their eyes met briefly, he gave her a look that was pure cheek.

“Safe and sound.”

She raised a brow. “You enjoy this far too much.”

“I really do,” he grinned.

He stepped back, shut the door with a solid thunk, and jogged round to the driver’s side. Once inside, he leaned over and handed Aurelia a chunky black handset.

“Alright, Firefighter Aurelia,” he said, reaching for the cab’s radio. “We’ve got a very important mission.”

He pressed the button and spoke into it in his best dramatic voice. “Control, this is Unit Seventeen. We've received reports of a rogue ice cream van, repeat, rogue ice cream van, causing mayhem in the residential zone. Suspect is armed with sprinkles. Requesting permission to pursue.”

Aurelia squealed with laughter and clutched the handset like it was made of gold. Her mum shook her head, but Oscar caught the smile she was trying not to show as he flicked the ignition.

The old appliance groaned slightly as it rolled off the grass and onto the gravel path. The gate swung open ahead of them, and they bumped gently onto the road.

The drive was short, fifteen minutes or so, but it was quiet, in a good way. Aurelia made soft siren noises under her breath the whole time, practically vibrating in place, and her mum kept a steady hand around her middle to stop her launching herself at every passing tree or pigeon.

When they finally pulled into the station yard, the engine still humming beneath them, Oscar spotted Lando through the open shutters. He was parked in a camp chair just inside the bay, arms folded, head tipped back, fast asleep with a half-eaten bag of crisps in his lap.

Oscar flicked his gaze up to Aurelia, then caught her mum’s eye.

“Wanna wake up Sleeping Beauty?”

Aurelia’s face lit up. “Can I? Really?”

“Go on then,” he said, reaching up to the dash. “Just one burst, yeah?”

She bounced in her seat as he tapped the siren switch. The wail screamed to life, echoing through the yard. Lando nearly fell out of his chair, crisps flying in every direction.

Oscar killed the siren after two seconds, laughing as Lando stood up blinking, dazed and scandalised.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Lando shouted, wiping crumbs off his shirt.

Oscar stuck his head out the window. “Community engagement, mate.”

Aurelia was giggling so hard she nearly dropped her balloon animal.

Her mum shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re going to get sacked.”

Oscar smirked. “Not unless he grasses.”

He parked the truck, turned off the engine, and helped them both down one at a time.

As he pulled up, he looked at her sideways. “Worth it?”

She gave him a wry look. “You’re completely ridiculous.”

He grinned. “And yet, look at the smile on your daughter’s face”

She didn’t respond straight away, just looked at him, that same half-smile playing at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes yet. Not because she wasn’t happy, but because she wasn’t used to all this. The ease of it. The way he fit so seamlessly into an afternoon that wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a spring fair and a sugar crash.

Aurelia, oblivious to the grown-up moment passing quietly over her head, was already tugging at her mum’s hand.

“Mum! Look! Look, it’s like Fireman Sam! The pole! Can we slide down it? Can we?”

Oscar chuckled and crouched beside her. “You’ve got a good eye, Aurelia. That’s the real thing. Only the grown-ups are allowed on it though, bit dangerous, that one.”

She pouted, considering the injustice, then lit up again. “When I’m a grown-up, I’m going to work here with you.”

“Deal,” he said, offering her a pinky. “You’ll be the best firefighter in the place.”

She pinky-swore with great ceremony, and then launched into an intense interrogation about hoses, helmets, and whether or not he’d ever saved a dinosaur (he hadn’t, but he’d chased a very angry goose once, which she seemed to find acceptable).

Eventually, the sugar high began to dip and she slumped a little, thumb sneaking toward her mouth before her mum gently steered her hand away. Oscar caught the silent exchange and didn’t say anything, just gestured toward the far end of the garage.

“Car’s parked out the back. You ready?”

Her mum nodded, brushing a stray curl off Aurelia’s forehead. “Yeah. Let’s go before she falls asleep standing up.”

Oscar got changed out of his gear and wore just a hoodie and a pair of shorts as the girls walked to his car. They bundled into his car, Oscar making a show of unlocking the door like it was a limo and she was royalty, and within five minutes, they were on the road again, the fire truck a quiet memory behind them.

Aurelia was asleep before they turned onto their street.

Her head lolled against her mum’s arm, soft snores escaping in little puffs. Her butterfly face paint had mostly faded, a faint smudge of pink and glitter under one eye.

Oscar pulled into the car park behind the flats and cut the engine. The stillness after the hum of the engine felt sudden, like stepping into a moment that didn’t quite belong to the day.

She shifted carefully, not waking Aurelia, and glanced over at him.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “For all of that. You didn’t have to.”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes still on the dashboard for a moment before he looked at her.

“I know,” he said. “That’s kind of the point.”

They got out quietly, and he came round to open the door for her, taking Aurelia gently from her arms and settling her against his shoulder without fuss. She stirred but didn’t wake, hand fisting into the fabric of his shirt as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

They climbed the stairs together, slow and careful, her just a step ahead as they reached their landing. She unlocked her door quietly, reaching out to take her daughter back.

Oscar passed her over gently. “She’s heavier than she looks.”

“She’s all legs,” she whispered, smoothing Aurelia’s hair.

He nodded, hands slipping back into his hoodie pockets. For a second, neither of them moved.

The corridor was still. Just the hum of an old light overhead and the faint smell of fabric softener from someone’s laundry down the hall.

“I should… put her down,” she said, but her voice didn’t carry much urgency.

He looked at her then, really looked at her. “This was nice,” he said. “Spending time. With you.”

She held his gaze, surprised by how much that simple truth settled somewhere deep in her chest.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment, soft and honest. “It was.”

Neither of them quite knew what to say next. But it didn’t feel awkward, just quiet. Comfortable.

Then she smiled, just a little, and nodded toward her door.

“See you tomorrow, neighbour.”

He smiled back, stepping slowly away.

“Sweet dreams, Aurelia,” he said, softly, before turning and heading for his own door, the warmth of the moment still clinging to the edges of him.

And behind her closed door, she stood for a beat longer than she needed to, heart ticking just a little louder than usual.

A couple of days had passed, and the brightness of the spring fair had faded into a more typical grey sort of morning. The kind that didn’t quite rain, but threatened to at any moment. Oscar was shrugging into his station fleece, keys already in hand, when he stepped out into the corridor and nearly tripped over something on the doormat.

He blinked down at the small tupperware tub sitting neatly against his door, like it had been placed there with great care.

Inside, through the foggy plastic lid, he could just about make out a few slightly lopsided fairy cakes, frosting a bit wonky, a generous scattering of rainbow sprinkles on top. They weren’t shop bought. Not a chance. They had that unmistakable homemade charm, the kind that didn’t care about appearances but would taste better than anything in a bakery.

Tucked underneath the corner of the lid was a small card, folded over like a secret note passed in class. His name was scrawled across the front in purple felt-tip, the letters slightly uneven.

He crouched down, picked it up, and flipped the card open.

Dear Mr Oscar,

Thank you for letting me drive the fire truck. You are the best firefighter in the world. I made you fairy cakes. Mummy helped but I did the mixing.

Love from,

Aurelie (age six and a HALF)

Oscar stared at the note for a long moment, a smile spreading slowly, unstoppably across his face.

He glanced at their door, tempted to knock, but it was early, and quiet behind the wood. Probably the usual hushed breakfast rush in there, uniforms, pony tails and cereal on the floor. He didn’t want to interrupt. Not yet.

So he tucked the card into his jacket pocket and examined the container, before heading off down the stairs with the kind of ridiculous warmth in his chest that made even a dreary Tuesday feel a little golden around the edges.

By the time Oscar got home, it was well past eight. His shift had overrun, as they often did, from a small domestic fire to someone’s car keys that were stuck in the car. He was knackered, hungry, and somehow still smiling like an idiot every time he glanced at the now empty cake tub in his hands.

He’d saved one. The best one, in his opinion. A bit sunken in the middle, heavy on the sprinkles, the icing smudged at the side like someone small had licked their thumb and tried to fix it. It was tucked into a bit of kitchen roll in the pocket of his coat.

The corridor light flickered as he climbed the stairs, his boots quiet on the worn carpet. Their doors faced each other, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure if he was about to come off charming or really quite tragic.

But then he knocked.

Soft, just enough to be heard over whatever bedtime might sound like on the other side.

A pause. Then the click of the latch, and she opened the door just a crack before widening it when she saw him. She looked cosy, oversized hoodie, hair up, bare feet. The kind of comfort people didn’t wear unless they felt safe at home.

“Hi,” she said, surprised but not in a bad way. “Everything alright?”

Oscar held up the empty container like a peace offering. “Official return of government property. Wouldn’t want to be accused of fairy cake theft.”

She smiled, hand resting on the doorframe. “Did she really give you those?”

“Left them on my doormat. Full note and everything. Genuinely the highlight of my week.”

“She was very serious about it,” she said, laughing gently. “Kept asking if I thought you’d know they were from her. I told her you’d probably figure it out from the purple pen.”

“There was a lot of purple,” he nodded solemnly. “It was a full forensic giveaway.”

She laughed properly then, a hand over her mouth, and the sound curled around his ribs like a warm drink.

“I, um…” he shifted a little, suddenly aware of his own nerves, “I saved one. If she wants it back.”

She raised a brow. “You saved one?”

He held up his hands. “For sentiment, not greed.”

“Mm-hm,” she said, amused. “Well, she’s out like a light. Crashed in the middle of Matilda. Completely missed the part where Miss Trunchbull throws a child across the playground.”

“Shame. That’s the best bit.”

They stood there for a second longer than was casual, silence stretching warm between them.

Then, soft as anything, she said, “You want to come in?”

Oscar blinked. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “If it’s not weird.”

She stepped aside to let him pass. “It’s a little bit weird,” she said honestly, then smiled. “But not bad-weird.”

He slipped inside, brushing past her in the doorway, and something about the quiet of the flat, the low lamplight, the faint scent of strawberry shampoo in the air, it made him feel like he was somewhere he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

She shut the door behind them, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like just the neighbour with a fire truck.

He felt like someone she wanted to keep close.

The flat was warm in a lived-in sort of way. Not spotless, but comfortable. A couple of cushions on the floor, a half-folded blanket draped across the back of the sofa, a mug left forgotten on the coffee table with a teabag still inside. It felt like somewhere someone lived, not just existed.

Oscar stood a little awkwardly in the middle of the room at first, unsure whether to perch or hover. She motioned towards the sofa, already heading into the kitchen.

“Put the telly on if you want. I’ve got, like, two channels that work properly and one that just plays antiques shows.”

He chuckled, watching her disappear round the corner. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He heard the clink of mugs and the whirr of the kettle. The sofa gave slightly under him when he sat, still warm where she’d been earlier, and he glanced around, a framed photo on the side, probably her and her daughter at the beach. Wind-swept hair, noses sun-pink, a proper grin on Aurelia’s face. That same grin she’d worn all day at the spring fair.

She came back in with two mugs, one hand curled round each handle.

“I wasn’t sure how you take it, so it’s builder’s,” she said, offering him one. “Strong enough to put hairs on your chest.”

He took it with both hands, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into his fingers. “I’ll risk it.”

They sat, not far, not quite close, but comfortably between. The telly was on in the background, some low-budget crime drama no one was really watching. The soft light pooled across her legs where she’d folded them under her, and the sleeve of her jumper kept slipping over her knuckles as she held her tea.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, nodding at the mug, then motioning towards the kitchen. “And for the cakes. And the note. That really made my day.”

She smiled, eyes soft. “She loves you, you know. Keeps calling you our firefighter.”

“Our?” He raised a brow, teasing. “Possessive, that.”

“Well,” she said, drawing out the word. “You did give her a lift in an actual fire engine. Might’ve set the bar a bit high.”

“Bugger,” he muttered playfully. “Should’ve started with something less exciting. Bin lorry, maybe.”

They both laughed, a quiet, comfortable sound. The kind that filled the little flat without echoing, like it belonged there.

There was a lull then, not awkward, just gentle. She reached down to pull the blanket from the floor and tossed one end over his legs without a word, settling the other across her own.

He blinked down at it, then looked at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sharing blankets now, are we?”

She didn’t even look at him. “You’re the one who looked cold.”

“Right. Humanitarian effort. Got it.”

He sipped his tea to hide the grin, eyes on the telly though he couldn’t have said what was happening. Every so often, her knee brushed his. Not enough to make a thing of, but enough to notice.

Eventually, she said, quiet enough that he almost missed it, “It’s nice. Having you here.”

He turned to her then, properly, softly. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

The telly droned on. Outside, the wind rustled the trees. Inside, two mugs slowly cooled on the table, and two people who hadn’t meant to mean anything to each other found themselves sitting shoulder to shoulder beneath a blanket, realising maybe they did.

It had been just over a week since that quiet evening on the sofa, and things had shifted in the sort of way you only noticed once it had already happened. There hadn’t been any grand declarations, no big talk, no labels. Just little things.

Oscar now offered her a lift any time he saw her out shopping, even if she only had a single bag. He’d insist it was on his way, even when it clearly wasn’t. He started carrying her parcels up without being asked, shoulder-barging the stairwell door open with a grin and a “Special delivery!” like it was no big deal. He always handed them over with one hand and a joke but his eyes always lingered just a beat too long. She didn’t seem to mind.

She didn’t say no to him, either.

It wasn’t just about her, though. He was clearly soft on Aurelia too, somehow managing that delicate balance between fun and dependable, chaos and calm. He never tried too hard, never made her feel like a chore. Just… showed up. It mattered.

So when he spotted the two of them coming back from school one afternoon, something in his chest twisted.

Aurelia wasn’t bouncing the way she usually did. Her hand was tucked tightly into her mum’s coat, and her face was blotchy in that telltale just-finished-crying sort of way. She wasn’t sobbing now, but she wasn’t smiling either.

Oscar frowned, stepping out of his doorway just as they reached the landing. “Alright?” he asked gently, eyes flicking between the two.

She gave him a small, weary look, and then crouched to Aurelia’s level. “Go on, love. Go get changed into your pyjamas, yeah? I’ll be in in a minute.”

Aurelia nodded mutely, her little lip still trembling, and padded through the front door. It clicked softly shut behind her.

Oscar stayed quiet for a beat. Then, low and careful, “What happened?”

She let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall, arms folded. “It’s nothing big. At least, not to anyone else. But to her…”

He waited.

She glanced down at the floor. “It’s bring your dad to school day tomorrow. They’re doing some assembly thing. A lot of the kids’ dads have these big jobs —marine biologist, police, pilot, someone even works at a zoo. And obviously she doesn’t have anyone. She asked if she could take her god father, but he’s away, and my brother’s not really around.”

Oscar’s brows pulled together slightly, the picture forming. He could feel the weight of it even now, the pressure that sort of thing put on a kid. Everyone else parading a parent around like a badge of honour. And her? Just trying to smile through it.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a lot for her to carry.”

“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet. “She didn’t say anything about it until just now. Said she didn’t want to upset me.” She scoffed lightly at herself, blinking fast. “She’s six, for God’s sake. She shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

Oscar’s gaze dropped to the floor, then lifted slowly to meet hers. “Why don’t I go?”

She blinked. “What?”

“To the school. For the thing. I mean.” he shrugged, awkward now, eyes flicking away “If she wants me to. I’m technically a firefighter. That’s still cool, right?”

She stared at him.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “I’ve got the day off. And I’ve got the uniform. Not the proper helmet, that’s locked up, but I could bring the jacket. Talk about smoke alarms and what happens if you leave your toast in too long.”

“You’d really do that?”

Oscar looked at her properly now, really looked, and all the gentle affection in him softened his voice. “Yeah. If it’ll help. I’d do a lot for her. And you.”

Her lips parted like she might say something, but nothing came out straightaway. Instead, she just nodded, slowly, almost like she didn’t quite trust her voice yet.

“I’ll ask her,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But thank you, Oscar.”

He gave a half-shrug, like it was nothing, but his heart was thudding behind his ribs.

“Tell her I expect a very professional introduction,” he said, backing away toward his flat, trying to keep it light.

And just before he stepped inside, she called after him, voice soft but sure.

“She’ll be over the moon.”

He didn’t say anything back.

He just smiled.

And his whole chest felt full.

Oscar had never had stage fright in his life. He’d once crawled through a burning pub roof, half convinced it was going to come down on his head, and hadn’t flinched. But standing outside the Year Two classroom, fiddling with the zip on his fire service fleece while a sea of tiny faces peered through the glass?

Yeah. That did it.

Aurelia stood proudly beside him, hand firmly in his, like she was escorting a VIP. “Don’t be nervous,” she whispered with complete sincerity. “You’re the best one.”

That undid him a bit.

The door opened and a teacher with a rainbow lanyard and a kind smile welcomed them in. Oscar ducked slightly out of habit, as though the ceiling might lower to match the size of the furniture. The classroom was bright and chaotic in the way only a primary room could be. Walls plastered with glittery artwork, phonics charts, paper bunting with all the kid’s faces and a corner reading nook with two bean bags that had seen better days.

Aurelia immediately tugged him by the hand to the back wall. “These are mine,” she said, pointing to a messy collage of tissue-paper flowers, a painted hedgehog, and a bright crayon rainbow. “And that’s my favourite one.”

He leaned in, smiling, and then paused. Nestled in the middle of the display, in a wonky black felt-tip frame, was a drawing of three stick figures.

One tall with brown hair and blue scribbles on his shoulders. One with long lines of hair and a dress in Aurelia’s favourite shade of pink. And one, small and neat, holding both of their hands.

His throat did something strange.

Aurelia tapped it with pride. “That’s you,” she said. “That’s me. And that’s Mummy.”

He blinked. Swallowed. “Right.”

No one had ever drawn him before. Not like that. Not part of something. Not holding hands.

She didn’t notice his pause, already rifling through a drawer of coloured pencils, humming quietly. The rest of the class buzzed around them, but in that little corner, time felt like it had narrowed.

“We’re allowed to make a new picture for home if we want,” she said. “I’m going to do one for Mummy.”

He crouched beside her, watching her draw two wonky hearts and a triangle house with smoke coming from the chimney.

“Can I help?”

She nodded and handed him a green pencil.

He added a little tree with apples. Then, below the drawing, in his slanted, firefighter has to fill forms handwriting, he wrote carefully:

Mummy is the prettiest of them all.

Aurelia giggled and pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I think mummy is going to love that.”

He smiled at her, warm and full. “I hope so.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of picture books, wide-eyed questions from excitable children, and a slightly panicked moment when one kid asked how many people he'd "seen explode."

But through it all, it was Aurelia's face he kept coming back to. The way she looked at him with pride, like she’d brought in something precious to share. The way she whispered his name to her friends, like she was letting them in on a secret. The way she slid her hand into his without even looking, like it was just the natural place for it to be.

And maybe the strangest bit?

It felt like home.

After the school visit, Oscar hadn’t quite been ready to say goodbye. Not yet. So when Aurelia mentioned, rather loudly and unsubtly, that she fancied an ice cream, he’d raised a brow in her mum’s direction and said, “Well, I suppose it is practically summer…”

She didn’t protest.

So they ended up walking to the corner shop, Aurelia skipping ahead with a swirl cone in one hand and rainbow sprinkles already melting down her fingers. He paid for the lot, obviously, brushing off any protests with a lazy, “Call it my speaker’s fee.”

When they got back, Aurelia darted inside first, cone long gone and hands sticky, only to stop dead in the kitchen.

“Mummy! Look!”

Aurelia pulled out the paper from her book bag with sticky hands, but her mum took it delicately, like it was something rare. Her eyes softened as she read the words beneath the sketch. Then, without a word, she reached for a magnet and pinned it to the fridge, pride of place, just above the shopping list.

Oscar watched from the doorway, the weight of something quiet settling in his chest. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

That night, just before he was about to settle in for a late dinner and a bit of telly, there was a soft knock at his door.

He opened it to find her standing there in joggers and an oversized hoodie, a small container in her hands.

“I made this,” she said. “It’s not much. Just lasagne. But it’s a thank you. For today.”

His lips curled into a slow, lopsided smile. “I see where Aurelia gets it from.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. He took the container from her, their fingers brushing for a second too long, and the air between them shifted—just slightly, but enough to notice.

They stood in the corridor for a moment. It was quiet. Still. A pause between heartbeats.

Then, softly, almost shyly, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He froze, just for a second. Her lips were warm, gentle. She was already pulling back, the beginnings of an embarrassed smile forming as she started to turn away.

But he caught her.

“Wait.”

His hand came up, firm but tender, fingers tilting her chin towards him. His thumb brushed her cheek, and then—

He kissed her.

Not tentative. Not uncertain.

He kissed her like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. Because he had.

She gasped just a little and then melted into him, her hands sliding up into the front of his hoodie, bunching in the fabric like she needed something to hold onto. And when she let out the tiniest, breathy moan against his mouth, he smiled into the kiss, cocky and utterly undone all at once.

“Alright there?” he murmured against her lips, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

She was breathless. “It’s been a while.”

His eyes softened, thumb still stroking along her jaw. “Worth the wait, though.”

She nodded.

And neither of them moved. Not for a long while.

Just them. Just warmth. Just… something that felt very, very real.

They stood there for a while, neither of them quite ready to let go.

Eventually, she nudged her nose against his cheek and whispered, “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

He blinked at her, lips still curved from the kiss. “Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She led him back into her flat, closing the door softly behind them. The hallway light cast a warm, golden glow over the walls, and the familiar smell of home. He followed her into the living room, everything dim and quiet. Aurelia’s newer drawings were still scattered across the coffee table. A soft throw had been kicked half off the sofa.

She turned to him, suddenly sheepish, running a hand through her hair. “I feel like I’m at uni, sneaking someone in,” she said with a small laugh.

He grinned. “I never went.”

She tilted her head, surprised. “Me neither.”

He looked at her for a second, then nodded towards the closed door down the hall. The one with a glittery star-shaped sticker on it.

“That why?”

She glanced back at the door. Something shifted behind her eyes. A quiet sadness, old but not forgotten.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I was supposed to. Got in and everything. Nottingham. English Lit. But I was nineteen and stupid and thought I was in love.”

She walked over to the sofa, sat down, and he followed. Their knees brushed. She stared at her hands for a moment before continuing.

“Didn’t know I was pregnant until I’d already turned down the offer. Was going to reapply the next year. But then she happened. And everything got really real, really fast.”

He didn’t say anything. Just listened, his body angled towards her, giving her the space and the safety.

“Her dad left when she was four months old,” she said, with a small, almost apologetic shrug. “Just sort of disappeared. Too young, too overwhelmed, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.”

He was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His voice was gentle.

“Of course it matters.”

She gave him a tired smile. “Not in the way people expect it to. I’m not bitter. I’m just tired sometimes. It’s a lot. But then she does something like draw me with a crown and a sparkly dress and labels it Queen of Mummies and I forget everything else.”

Oscar looked at her for a long moment. Then, softly, “You’re incredible, you know.”

She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “I’m tired and a bit moody and have approximately seventeen loads of laundry waiting, but thanks.”

He reached out, his hand brushing gently over hers. “I meant it.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft and a little glassy in the low light.

There was a pause, weightless but full of something.

“You’re not sneaking me in,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re letting me in.”

And that, God, that did something to her.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he tucked her in without thinking, arms coming round her like they’d always belonged there.

They sat there like that. Still. Quiet. Her fingers tracing absent-minded shapes on his forearm. The world outside fell away, no alarms, no homework, no long nights of dishes and lost socks.

Just this. Just him. Just her.

And the hum of something beginning to bloom.

It had been about a month since that first kiss in the corridor.

Oscar still had his own place, but he spent two, sometimes three, nights a week at hers now. It wasn't official, they hadn’t talked about labels, but the toothbrush beside hers in the bathroom said enough. So did the way he’d taken to calling her flat home without thinking, or how Aurelia would lean sleepily against his leg in the mornings while she waited for her eggs to finish cooking.

They had a rhythm now, dysfunctional but quiet and real.

He’d learnt how not to wake Aurelia when he rolled in late, how to turn the key in the lock with just the right amount of pressure and not let the hinge on the bathroom door creak when he showered after a night shift. She, in turn, had mastered the morning shuffle. Tiptoeing around the flat while he slept off the early hours, even closing cupboard doors with that soft, deliberate touch only mothers and night nurses seemed to perfect.

Some mornings, if his shift ended early and she had a bit more time, she’d curl back into bed beside him for a half hour. No words. Just warm limbs tangled together under the duvet while the outside world waited.

It was gentle, it was something he’d never thought he’d get, something he’d never thought he’d deserve.

That night, though, the fire station ws quiet and all he could think about was home. He was half slumped in one of the chairs in the rec room, sipping lukewarm tea from a chipped mug and watching some repeat quiz show on mute. It was just him, Lando, and two of the more senior lads, all of them looking somewhere between exhausted and wired.

Then the alarm started blaring.

The tone was different, lower, more urgent. Not a false alarm or a test. Not a bin fire or a smoke detector in a student flat.

Oscar was already on his feet before Control came through the speaker.

“House fire reported, scratch that, pub fire, multiple reports of visible flames, location. The Fox and Hound, Chapel Lane.”

That made him pause. The Fox and Hound was a big one. Old building. Thatched roof. Always busy on weekdays and visible from his little flat.

It was 2am.

“Let’s go!” Andrea shouted, already moving. Oscar hauled his gear on, the straps familiar and fast now. His thoughts flicked to her, to Aurelia, how they were safe at home but bound to wake up to the sound of sirens. He tucked it away. Couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about anything but getting there.

The engine roared to life, tyres heavy on wet tarmac. Blue lights bounced across empty roads and shuttered shopfronts. No one spoke. Lando checked the comms, while Oscar stared out the front window, jaw tight.

As they got closer, they could already see the glow. Not just smoke, flames. Licking skyward in bright, vicious tongues.

He felt it then. That buzz in his blood. Not fear, exactly, something sharper. Something colder.

They pulled up just outside the pub. Heat rushed at them as soon as the doors opened. People were gathered at a safe distance, coats over pyjamas, phones in hand, eyes wide.

Oscar jumped down, helmet secure, heart thudding.

“All right,” came the voice in his earpiece, “we’ve got reports of staff inside, one maybe trapped, two might’ve made it out the back.”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Which floor?”

“Upstairs flat. Left side.”

And just like that, they moved. Through the smoke, through the roar and the crack and the chaos.

He didn’t think of her again until they were inside. But when he did, it was like armour.

She’s waiting. You get out. You go home.

The heat hit him like a wall.

By the time Oscar got inside, the fire had already taken hold of the bar. Bottles of spirits cracked and burst like fireworks, sending shards and fuel across the floor. The wood panelling burned fast—too fast. There was a reason fire crews hated pub jobs. Alcohol and timber made for a nasty combination.

His mask filtered the worst of the smoke, but visibility was poor. He ducked low, sweeping the hose with one hand while shouting into the crackling dark, “Fire and Rescue! Anyone inside?”

There was no reply, just the moaning groan of the ceiling starting to go.

They cleared the ground floor quickly. A member of staff had managed to stumble out the back, coughing and panicked, mumbling about another one unaccounted for.

Oscar was halfway out, half a breath from turning back, when he caught sight of the stairs through the smoke.

Stairs.

He froze, then turned back to Control. “This place has rooms. It’s an inn.”

There was a pause in his earpiece.

“Confirmed. It’s a pub with letting rooms. Upstairs. Go careful.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He ran.

The heat intensified as he climbed. Fire moved like a living thing, chewing through floorboards, plaster, lives. The smoke was blacker here, thicker, laced with that acrid sting of burning plastic and varnish.

He moved fast, sweeping left and right. Doors half-open. Sheets scorched. The moan of fire too close.

And then he heard it.

A sob.

Small. Choked. From the far room, left corner.

He found her curled up on a narrow bed, knees hugged to her chest, cheeks streaked with soot and tears. Couldn’t have been more than eight. Long brown hair stuck to her face, and she was shaking.

“Mum?” she whimpered.

Oscar’s breath caught.

For half a second, she wasn’t a stranger. She was Aurelia. She was his little one. In a different place, a different time, but just as small. Just as scared.

He didn’t hesitate. Ripped off his oxygen mask and crouched down beside her, voice steady.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay. I’m here to help. We’re getting out of here, alright?”

She nodded, hiccupping sobs now. He wrapped her in his jacket, pulled her close, and hoisted her into his arms.

“Close your eyes for me, alright? Tight. Don’t look.”

She did.

The flames were close now. He felt the blistering heat crawling up the corridor behind them as he turned, shielding her with his body.

The ceiling above the stairwell was starting to sag. There wasn’t time to think. Only move.

He bolted.

Smoke seared his lungs. His mask hung useless at his hip. He pressed her tighter to his chest, ducked as a beam groaned and crashed just behind him, sparks flying past his shoulders.

The front exit was blocked. Too hot.

He spotted a smashed window in the corridor off the landing—low enough. Maybe.

He didn’t think, just acted.

He lunged for it, twisted his body to take the brunt, and threw his arm over her head as he pushed through.

Glass scraped his back. A cry tore from his throat, but he held her steady.

And then—

Air.

Cool, blessed air.

He stumbled out onto the pavement, coughing, the girl still cradled tight against him.

A medic ran forward and took her. She was sobbing, but alive. Alive.

Oscar slumped to his knees, gasping.

Lando was beside him in seconds. “Mate—what the hell?!”

Oscar waved him off, catching his breath, throat burning.

“She was in there. A kid.” He looked up. “Could’ve been her, Lan.”

Lando didn’t need to ask who her was.

It took another hour to put the fire out completely. They lost the roof, and two rooms, but no lives. None.

Oscar sat on the pavement long after the hoses went still, his turnout gear soaked through, back bleeding, lungs scorched, but he was upright.

He couldn’t stop seeing the girl’s face.

Couldn’t stop seeing Aurelia in it.

By the time they got back to the station, Oscar was soaked through with sweat and soot. His shirt stuck to the grazes along his back, stiff with smoke. His hands trembled when he took his gloves off.

The station was quieter than usual. No jokes. No kettle boiling. No telly. Just that heavy silence that follows the worst kind of shout.

Zak caught his eye as he stepped down from the truck.

“You’re done for the night, Piastri,” Zak said quietly, hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Oscar.”

Oscar opened his mouth to argue, to say he was fine, standard procedure, but the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t fine. He didn’t feel anything close to fine.

So he nodded. Wordless. Stripped off his gear and shoved it in the drying room. Pulled a hoodie from his locker and walked out of the doors with the smell of burny wood still clinging to his hair.

The cab ride home was a blur. He didn’t remember much except asking the driver to leave him on the corner, needing the walk to clear his head.

But it didn’t help.

Because all he could see was her. That little girl, curled up in the bed, sobbing for her mum. The one he carried out. The one who had Aurelia’s eyes.

He didn’t even realise his key had missed the lock twice until the door opposite his flat opened.

And then she was there.

She took one look at him and moved without thinking. “Oh my God—Oscar—”

He barely got the door open before she crossed the hallway, hands on his chest, eyes scanning him like she needed to count all his fingers and toes just to believe he was still whole.

“I heard there was a fire. We could see it from here, someone said it was your station that went out and—” Her voice cracked as she clung to his hoodie. “You didn’t answer your phone so I assumed you’d gone but—”

He didn’t mean to. But his arms went round her like instinct, and his voice finally gave out as he buried his face into the side of her neck.

“I need to see her.”

She didn’t ask who. She just nodded.

He stepped inside her flat and moved straight to the bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, the way it always was. Soft light from her nightlight spilled onto the hallway carpet.

Aurelia was fast asleep, curled on her side, clutching that stuffed bunny she never went to bed without.

Oscar watched her chest rise and fall. Just breathing.

Just alive.

And that was all it took.

His knees buckled slightly, hand braced on the doorframe, and tears spilled hot down his cheeks. She was there in an instant, arms around his waist, and he didn’t try to stop it.

He wept quietly, forehead resting against hers, chest heaving as every unspoken terror bled out of him.

She reached up and cupped his face gently. “Come on,” she said softly, “let me take care of you, yeah?”

He didn’t argue.

She led him by the hand to the bathroom, flicked the light on low, and turned the tap to fill the bath.

Without a word, she reached for the hem of his hoodie, and he let her lift it over his head. Her fingers brushed the grazes on his back, and she exhaled, not quite a gasp, but almost.

He looked down at himself. Soot-stained, battered, worn thin.

She didn’t say anything. Just tugged his joggers off gently, like she was handling something fragile.

When he was bare before her, she stepped closer, pressed a kiss to his sternum, and wrapped her arms around his middle.

He pressed his nose into her hair, breathing her in. Clean. Warm. Real.

“You’re home,” she whispered.

“I thought she was going to die,” he choked. “She was crying for her mum. She was—she looked just like—”

“I know,” she murmured, and her hand found his. “You saved her.”

She helped him into the bath, then climbed in behind him, still in her top having discarded her leggings, gathering him close like he was the one who needed holding now. And maybe he was.

No more sirens. No more shouting. No fear.

Just soft water. Warmth. Her.

Home.

The steam had fogged up the mirror, and the water had gone lukewarm by the time she pulled the plug. Neither of them moved for a moment. Limbs heavy, breath slow, her arms still wrapped around him from behind. His back rested against her chest, and her cheek was pressed to the crown of his head.

Eventually, she stirred first, nudging his shoulder gently.

“Come on,” she whispered, voice hushed like she didn’t want to wake the world. “Let’s get you dry.”

He let her guide him up, hands loose in hers. She reached for a towel and wrapped it round his waist, then took another and ran it through his hair, careful and slow like she was unravelling the knots of the day with each movement. His eyes stayed on hers the whole time, soft and unreadable. She dried herself as he put some clothes on, watching him as he slipped on the pyjamas he left yesterday, while she opted for a pair of shorts and a tank top.

She led him into her bedroom with nothing but the quiet creak of floorboards between them. Her hand rested on the small of his back, grounding him.

When she turned to face him, he didn’t speak. He just looked at her like she was something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

“Lie down,” she said softly.

He did, not like it was an order, more like a suggestion he’d been waiting for. He lay back against the pillows, hair damp, skin warm. He looked younger in the low light. Unarmoured. All soft edges and tired eyes.

She climbed in beside him and straddled his hips, in the vest and shorts she’d pulled on a second ago. Her fingers ghosted over the scrapes on his shoulder, her brow creasing.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live.”

“Still.” She leaned down, brushed her lips over one graze like it deserved an apology. “You gave too much of yourself tonight.”

He let out a slow breath, hands resting on her thighs. “Didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

“I know.” She kissed another spot. Then another. “But you don’t always have to carry everything alone, you know.”

He swallowed, his throat tight. “I don’t know how to do this slowly,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not with you. Not after tonight.”

She leaned forward until her forehead rested against his. “It doesn’t have to be slow,” she murmured, lips brushing his. “It just has to be soft.”

And it was.

No rush. No fumbling. Just touch, and breath, and the quietest kind of yes in every movement.

His fingers curled around her hip, grounding himself, and when he kissed her back it was like he needed her to know. I’m here. I’m yours. I came home to you.

She smiled at him, the warmest smile he’d ever seen.

It wasn’t fireworks or declarations.

Just warmth.

Home.

She kissed him again, this time slower. Deeper. Her fingers slid into his damp hair, anchoring him to her, and his hand found the curve of her hip again, drawing her in without thought.

The air between them felt thick with warmth, not heat, like the moment before a storm breaks, all hush and anticipation. There was no rush in it. No fumbling. Just the steady build of something that had been waiting in the quiet between them for weeks.

She shifted a little, her legs bracketing his, the hem of her vest brushing the tops of his thighs. His hands slid up, tracing her shape like he was learning it by heart. The small of her back, the line of her waist, the softness of her ribs. She leaned down, her breath warm against his cheek.

“Is this alright?” she asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his nose along hers. “More than alright.”

She kissed him again, deeper this time, and he responded with a soft noise at the back of his throat, his hands gripping a little tighter, his body rising to meet hers. Their movements found a rhythm, gentle, reverent. He helped her lift her vest, pulling it slowly over her head, and she let it fall to the floor beside the bed. There was no embarrassment in her. No hesitation. Just trust, and something else, something fragile and burning beneath the surface.

He sat up, mouth brushing her collarbone, then lower, until she gasped, not from surprise, but from the quiet ache of being seen. Wanted. He pressed kisses down her chest, hands steady on her waist, as if every part of her mattered. Like she wasn’t just something beautiful, but something sacred.

Her fingers found the waistband of his joggers and tugged them down with a quiet smile. “I think you’re overdressed.”

He huffed a laugh against her neck. “Been saying that about you for weeks.”

When they came together it wasn’t fireworks. It was warmth, and weight, and breath. Her hand slid into his, fingers laced tightly, like she needed the grounding. He moved slowly, gently, his forehead resting against hers, his free hand stroking up the length of her spine in time with the soft rhythm between them.

Neither of them spoke, not because there was nothing to say, but because everything important was already there, in the way their bodies met, and parted, and met again. In the way she whispered his name like it meant something. In the way he held her like she was the only safe thing left in the world.

And when it was over, when her body relaxed against his, and his arms came around her like instinct, they stayed there, skin to skin, tangled in sweat-damp sheets and the quiet hum of something that felt a lot like love.

He brushed his fingers through her hair, soft and absent.

She pressed a kiss to the side of his throat, her voice barely more than a breath.

“I’ve never had this,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got it now.”

And she did.

The flat was filled with the kind of early morning stillness that only came after a long night. The light outside hadn’t quite brightened, but it wasn’t dark either, that muted, silvery sort of grey that hinted at a day gently waking up.

Oscar stirred first, arms curled around her, legs tangled in the duvet. Her head was on his chest, one of her hands tucked beneath his shirt like it belonged there, like it always had. He blinked slowly, heart still steady in the after-glow of everything, and let the moment stretch.

No alarms. No radios crackling to life.

Just breath. Just her.

Then came the familiar shuffle of small feet padding across the hallway, a door creaking ever so slightly, the rustle of a blanket being dragged along the floor.

Aurelia.

He felt her tense slightly against him, just a flicker, the instinct of a mum on alert, but she didn’t move to untangle herself from him. Instead, she sighed, soft and sleepy, and whispered, “She’ll come to the kitchen first.”

Sure enough, a cupboard door opened with a tiny clatter. A pause. Then the quiet clink of a cereal bowl.

He smiled. “She does this every time, doesn’t she?”

“She thinks she’s sneaky.”

“Is she?”

“Not even slightly.”

He laughed gently and kissed her hairline before slipping out of bed. He pulled on his joggers and one of her hoodies that hung by the door, the sleeves a little short on him, then padded into the kitchen.

Aurelia looked up from the kitchen table, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes went wide for a second, not surprised, just curious, and then her face broke into a grin.

“You slept over again.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly a bit shy. “Yeah. That alright?”

She nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re in mummy’s hoodie.”

Oscar laughed. “I am. D’you reckon it suits me?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Yeah. But your sleeves are funny.”

Just then, her mum appeared in the doorway behind him, wrapped in one of his T-shirts, hair tousled, still sleepy-eyed.

Aurelia beamed.

Oscar glanced back at her, and something in his chest pulled, that same quiet tug he’d felt last month, in the classroom, staring at a child’s drawing of a life he hadn’t known he’d wanted until he saw it sketched out in crayon.

The three of them. A little sun in the corner. Lopsided hearts.

She came up behind him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, a soft morning kind of kiss, and brushed past to the kettle.

Aurelia watched them both, spoon hanging from her mouth. Then, very simply, she said,

“You should just live here now.”

They both looked at her.

She shrugged. “You always make mummy smile.”

Oscar blinked, caught a little off guard. He looked over at her, the woman who’d somehow become the best part of his days, and saw the faint blush creeping up her neck.

“We’re working on it,” she said gently, reaching to ruffle her daughter’s hair.

And maybe they were.

They didn’t have a grand plan, or timelines, or promises inked in stone, but they had something. And in typical child nature, after dropping a bomb like that, Aurelia left her bowl and moved onto drawing.

Oscar was mid grabbing the butter from the fridge when his phone started to buzz with a FaceTime call.

He frowned at the screen, then smiled. “It’s my mum.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You gonna answer?”

“Suppose I’ve got to now,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and tapping the green button.

His mum’s face filled the screen, tanned and bright-eyed, her hair swept back, sunshine spilling in behind her through the windows of her kitchen in Melbourne.

“Oh! Look who it is!” she grinned. “Took you long enough to answer. I was starting to think you’d moved to the moon.”

Oscar chuckled. “No, still Earth-side.”

She narrowed her eyes, playful. “That is not your flat, Oscar Jack. I know your tiles. Is this Lando’s place?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but just then, Aurelia let out a small triumphant cheer as she held up her finished drawing. “Look, Oscar, it’s us in the fire engine again!”

His mum’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that’s not Lando either.”

Oscar looked down at the floor for a moment, then gave a sheepish smile.

“Right,” he said, shifting a little. “So… bit of a life update.”

He turned the phone round gently, showing his mum the cosy kitchen, the mess of crayons, the fireman sticker Aurelia had slapped onto the fridge, and finally, her.

She smiled warmly, caught off guard for just a second by being the centre of attention, but not pulling away. She gave a small wave. “Hi.”

Oscar cleared his throat, a little hoarse with nerves. “Mum… meet the woman who’s kept me sane the last couple of months.”

His mum blinked, a beat of silence, and then she smiled so wide it softened every line in her face.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Now that makes sense.”

He laughed, a quiet, breathless sort of sound, and she leaned into his shoulder slightly, her hand resting on the table beside his. Aurelia had already resumed drawing, now completely absorbed in adding stars to the day sky.

His mum nodded, still smiling. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is,” he said, before he could even think to stop himself.

There was no panic in it, no need to explain further. Just truth, warm and steady between them all.

“You look happy, love,” his mum said at last. “Properly happy.”

He glanced sideways, saw the way she was looking at him, like he’d finally landed somewhere soft.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I am.”

Just as he was about to speak up again, Aurelia called his name demanding his immediate attention, and to Oscar, she deserved immediate attention so he left the phone on the island with her and wandered off into the living room to see what she needed.

“So,” his mum said, leaning her chin on her hand, “you’re the one that’s brought my son back to life huh.”

She laughed softly, brushing a crumb from the table. “I don’t know about that. He’s done plenty of the heavy lifting.”

His mum tilted her head. “You’ve got no idea, have you?”

She looked up, brow furrowed just slightly.

“That boy,” his mum said, with the fondness she recognised as a parent, “has always been kind. But I haven’t heard him sound like that in years. Like there’s a little bit of sunshine in his voice again.” Her eyes stung, just a little, but she kept her smile. “He makes it easy to be kind to him.” “I’m glad he’s got you,” she said, voice quieter now. “And I’m glad he’s got her too. It seems your little one is a bundle of magic.”

She nodded, looking toward the living room where they were both laughing. “She’s my whole world.”

There was a pause, and then Oscar’s mum said, not unkindly, “Must’ve been hard. Doing this all on your own.” “It was,” she admitted, honest without bitterness. “Still is, some days. But it’s better now. Easier, with him.”

His mum’s smile turned into something a little misty. “Well. If he’s half as good to you as he was to his little cousins back home, you’re in very safe hands.”

“I think I am,” she said, quietly.

Oscar’s voice called from down the hallway then, something about star stickers and him being promoted to co-pilot of the living room space rocket, and they both laughed.

“I should go help him survive his new role,” she said, pushing her chair back.

Oscar’s mum smiled. “Tell him I said he’d better ring again soon. And you, look after each other, yeah?”

“We will.”

And as she ended the call and stood, walking towards the warm sound of her two favourite voices down the hall, she realised it had been a long time since things felt this much like home.

Seven months had passed, and life had woven itself into something steady, soft edges and everyday joy.

Oscar had sold his flat back in April, after a lot of faffing and a surprisingly emotional trip through storage boxes. Now, all his belongings lived here, in the flat that had once felt like hers and hers alone, but now smelled like them. His mugs were in her cupboards, her shoes were tangled up with his by the door, and there were three toothbrushes in the bathroom, hers, Aurelia’s, and his. One day, quietly, it had stopped feeling like he was staying over, and started feeling like home.

They had routines now. Quiet ones. Aurelia would burst into the bedroom at seven on the dot if it was his day off. On early mornings, he’d creep in at six, just off a night shift, and she’d leave the landing light on for him like a lighthouse. He knew how she took her tea, and she’d learnt not to make noise until he’d actually had some of it. He made dinner most nights, unless she’d had a good day at work and was feeling ambitious.

It was simple. Not perfect, not glossy, not always easy. But it was theirs. And it was good.

This morning, the flat was busy with the chaos of first-day-back energy. Year Three. New backpack. New lunchbox. New plaited hairstyle that had taken them two goes to get right.

Aurelia had been buzzing from the moment she opened her eyes.

“Am I late? Is it time? I’m going to forget cursive. I bet I’ve forgotten cursive!”

“You can write better than most adults, you’ll be fine,” Oscar said, dropping a kiss to her forehead as she wriggled into her shoes.

Her mum gave her one last once-over by the door, brushing a bit of fluff off her shoulder. “You look beautiful, baby.”

Oscar grinned. “You look cool. Very Year Three.”

She beamed. “I’m going to boss Year Three.”

He dropped her off that morning, gave her a high five at the gates, and watched her disappear into the swarm of backpacks and bright socks and morning yawns.

But it was that afternoon that stopped him still.

He’d offered to do pick-up. Thought it’d be a nice surprise. He stood by the railings, hands in his jacket pockets, feeling strangely nervous in a sea of parents and buggies and scooters.

Then she came running out of the gates.

Pointed straight at him.

And with the biggest grin, shouted, “My dad is here to pick me up!”

Oscar froze.

The word rang out in his head like a church bell. Like something he wasn’t quite supposed to hear.

Dad.

His chest tightened. Not with panic. Not with fear. But something much bigger. Something messier.

She ran straight into his arms and he lifted her with a small laugh, though it came out shaky. She chattered the whole way home, about spelling tests and Miss Price’s new earrings and how someone brought in a tarantula, but he barely caught any of it.

Because one word had wrapped itself around his ribcage.

Later, once she was tucked up on the sofa with a biscuit and the telly on low, he stepped into the kitchen, where she was rinsing mugs by the sink.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little quieter than usual.

She turned, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Hey, you alright?”

He just looked at her for a moment. His eyes were glassy.

“She called me her dad.”

She paused. Slowly put the towel down.

“I went to pick her up and she saw me and said it. My dad is here to pick me up. Just like that.”

He let out a shaky breath, a small, astonished sort of laugh. “I thought I was going to cry right there in the playground like an idiot.”

Her heart clenched. She stepped toward him, and he pulled her in like a lifeline.

“She meant it, didn’t she?” he whispered into her hair.

“She did,” she said softly. “She really, really did.”

That night, after the dishes had been done and the flat had settled into its usual hush, Oscar found himself stood in the doorway to Aurelia’s room.

She was half asleep already, the telly's low hum from the living room barely audible through her door. She stirred slightly, sensing him, blinking one eye open.

“Hey,” she mumbled.

He stepped in, crouched beside her bed. “Just checking in on you.”

“You always do,” she said sleepily, reaching for his hand.

He smiled. “Habit now.”

She squeezed his fingers. “You’re the best one, you know. I’m really glad you’re mine.”

Oscar swallowed. “I’m really glad I’m yours too, pickle.”

She wriggled a bit, yawning into her blanket. “Love you, Oscar.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Love you more.”

And in the quiet of that room, with the soft rise and fall of her breathing, he stayed just a minute longer, heart full in a way he never thought it could be.

Over the years, things changed. For the better and never the worst.

They got married in a small ceremony at the register office, all low-fuss and laughter and Aurelia dropping petals like she was queen of the world. He wore his uniform jacket, she wore a soft blue dress that matched her eyes, and Aurelia insisted on holding both their hands the whole way through the vows.

He officially adopted her not long after that. There was paperwork, a hearing, signatures, all formal, all necessary, but what he remembered most was the moment she looked up at him, fidgeting with the sleeve of her cardigan, and said, “Can I have the same name as you?”

He cried. Fully. In public. No shame.

“You sure?” he’d asked, voice thick.

She nodded with a smile that could’ve split the sky. “I want to be the same as you.”

After that, life kept growing. Gently, beautifully.

They hadn’t planned on having another child. Not because they didn’t want to, more that they’d built a home already, and it felt enough. But life, as ever, had other plans. It happened one quiet spring, and when she told him, he’d gone very still and said, “Are you serious?” and when she nodded, he sank to his knees with his arms round her middle like she was something holy.

That pregnancy was nothing like the first. It wasn’t fraught with fear or pain or the weight of being alone. This time, she had someone holding her hair back when the sickness kicked in. Someone who learnt how to make the weird toast she liked at four in the morning. Someone who ran baths and rubbed her back and whispered “you’ve got this” against her skin when she needed it most.

He took proper paternity leave too, remembering how he told Zak, “Don’t give me grief, Zak, it’s the law”, and when he finally did go back to work, he did it dragging himself out of bed with bags under his eyes, a half-eaten banana in one hand and a tiny sock stuck to the back of his uniform trousers.

But he was happy.

Proper, head-to-toe, bone deep happy.

Oscar, who used to dread going back to his childhood home, now booked flights to Australia every year like clockwork. Family trips, beach towels, squabbles over carry-ons, and Aurelia teaching her little brother how to build sandcastles while their mum took pictures and Oscar applied suncream with the seriousness of a soldier preparing for war.

And when he looked back, years later, in the slow quiet of a Sunday morning, coffee in hand and the flat filled with life, he sometimes thought of the school fair. Of the day he met her. Of balloon animals, and face paint, and one very small girl yelling “Neighbour firefighter!”

And he’d smile, every single time.

Because somehow, against all the odds, it had been the beginning of everything.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine

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4kunikuzushii · 2 months ago

Text

✩ please, stay 💬

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

cw: angst, like a lot more than normal, cyber bullying, eventual fluff

wc: 8.6k words

an: clubbed 2 reqs together, thank u anons 😘😘 also this hasn’t been proofread sorry okay it’s 1:33 am

The Shanghai paddock buzzed with energy on Thursday, the air slightly heavy with the morning mist and the promise of a competitive weekend. Oscar, despite running on fumes and four hours of sleep, had his game face on as he stepped out of the McLaren hospitality alongside Lando and Y/N.

His grip on the McLaren media backpack bag was tight, jaw clenched as they approached the long line of journalists eagerly waiting behind the barrier ropes.

He hated media day. Especially after a bad weekend. But he knew the drill: keep it professional, answer the tough questions, and spin it positively. His thoughts were partly with Y/N, who was chatting with one of the engineers. She always grounded him, even in the chaos of a race weekend.

Her hand in his was the only part of the morning that felt even remotely tolerable. The cameras clicked around them, media whispering and murmuring as they passed. Y/N didn’t particularly dislike the attention, but she certainly didn’t enjoy being under the spotlight all the time. She and Oscar had always kept their relationship mostly private. A few photos on social media here and there. A quick kiss after a good race. A hug when emotions were high. That was it.

She had insisted on coming to China with him. Not just because she missed him, but because she had seen the way he carried the weight of Melbourne.

Back home, after finishing ninth, Oscar had come back to the garage a shadow of himself. She remembered how he had sat on the edge of the couch, still in his racing suit, staring at nothing. She had knelt in front of him, placing her hands gently on his knees, and waited until his eyes finally met hers.

“I messed it up,” he had said in a voice so quiet it barely counted as speech.

“You didn’t,” she had replied softly. “You did everything you could. It was just one of those races.”

He had shaken his head, shoulders tight with frustration. “It was my home race. I wanted to do better. For the fans. For the team. For me.”

“For me too?” She asked with a small, teasing smile, hoping to soften him.

That finally cracked something in him. A tired, crooked smile appeared as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “Especially for you.”

She had held him then, arms wrapped tight around his neck, and whispered over and over again that one race did not define him. That no matter what happened on the track, she was proud. Always proud.

It was that moment that convinced her. He wasn’t going to carry that weight to China alone. She booked the flights the same night, packed her bags, and told him she’d be by his side the entire weekend.

Now, in Shanghai, she kept to the background as he peeled away to join Lando for media day. She stayed behind in hospitality, chatting with a few friends on the team, hoping to keep things light. But as always, the world outside was not so kind.

🪻🪻🪻

The first few interviews were easy enough, with questions about Shanghai’s new surface, expectations for the weekend, and how the car would be during FP1 tomorrow. He was hitting autopilot responses now. But then came a smug, grinning reporter from a lesser-known tabloid outlet, known more for drama than actual journalism.

“Piastri,” the man said, microphone up. “Tough result in Melbourne. 9th place at home. That must’ve stung.”

Oscar nodded politely. “Yeah, not the result we were aiming for. We had the pace but just couldn’t convert it on the day. But that’s racing.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow and then added, “You think… maybe distractions had something to do with it?”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t respond right away.

“I mean, your girlfriend flew in, right?” The man continued, voice oily with insinuation. “She’s been showing up more and more lately. Some fans are starting to think it’s not helping. Maybe taking your focus off the job.”

Oscar’s jaw flexed. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

The reporter chuckled. “I’m just saying, she’s a pretty thing to look at. Sure. But is she worth all the bad results?”

For a second, everything froze.

Oscar’s mouth tightened. His eyes darkened like storm clouds, and the calm, media-trained exterior shattered.

“Excuse me?” He snapped, stepping slightly forward.

The reporter held up his mic again, clearly fishing for a reaction. “I mean, pretty girls at the track are never great for drivers trying to keep their head in the game—”

“Say that again,” Oscar interrupted, voice low and sharp. Lando instinctively stepped to the side, sensing where this was going. A few other drivers nearby turned their heads.

“You’re implying that because my girlfriend came to support me at my home race, I underperformed?” Oscar’s tone was controlled, but there was fire under it now.

The reporter started to speak, but Oscar cut him off. “Let me tell you something—Y/N has been nothing but supportive since the day I met her. She knows this sport. She respects it. And she respects me. She’s not a distraction; she’s a damn anchor when I need one.

He was properly heated now, stepping forward again, voice raised enough that a couple of PR people from the team began edging closer, unsure if they needed to intervene.

“She came halfway across the world to be there for me, and you’ve got the audacity to sit there and suggest that her presence is a problem?” Oscar shook his head, scoffing bitterly. “Maybe if you spent more time reporting on racing and less time gossiping like a tabloid, you'd know what you're talking about.”

The reporter, clearly not expecting that level of pushback, looked momentarily stunned. Oscar gave him a last disgusted look before backing off.

“We’re done here,” he said curtly and handed the microphone back to the media coordinator. “Get someone with actual respect for the sport next time.”

As he stalked off toward the garage, Lando caught up beside him, raising an eyebrow. “Well, remind me never to insult Y/N.”

Oscar didn’t reply immediately, but his jaw was still tight.

“That guy was out of line,” Lando added more seriously. “Good on you for saying something.”

Oscar sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just tired of it. She doesn’t deserve that kind of crap. Not from fans, not from the media.”

Back in hospitality, word of the confrontation was already making the rounds. When Y/N heard about it from a comms intern, her stomach sank a little. But she wasn’t surprised. She knew Oscar; he didn’t explode often, but when he did, it was always for a reason.

🪻🪻🪻

Y/N could hear Oscar’s voice rising, defending her, angry now, but her mind had already spiralled. The rest of the world faded. The murmuring voices blurred. She couldn’t even process what Oscar was saying back. All she could think was, Oh my god… what if he’s right? What if I’m hurting his career just by being here?

By the time Oscar ended the interview, storming off in a fury, she had already turned around and started walking. Fast. Her vision blurred as she walked blindly past the garages, past staff and crew and mechanics, not even registering when someone from McLaren called her name. Her steps quickened, heart hammering in her ears.

She needed to get away. Now.

The hotel room was dim and quiet when she finally stumbled in. She barely managed to close the door behind her before her knees gave out and she collapsed onto the edge of the bed. Her hands were shaking. Her thoughts came in waves, harsh and cruel and unforgiving.

What if they were right?

She had seen the tweets. Read the comments. “She’s just a distraction.” “Why does she need to travel with him all the time?” “He was better off before she started showing up every weekend.” She had brushed them off, of course. Told herself the internet didn’t matter.

But hearing it out loud, from an actual reporter, in front of other journalists, other drivers, it was different.

She curled in on herself, tugging her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. Her mind raced with memories of Melbourne, how she had been there in the paddock, how she had hugged him after the race, and how she’d posted a photo of them with a soft caption trying to cheer him up. Had that made it worse? Had she taken the spotlight off him, even for a second?

Her heart cracked.

You’re just a pretty thing to look at. But are you worth all the bad results?

The words echoed like poison in her skull.

Tears spilt down her cheeks before she could stop them. She sat there in silence, sobbing into her sleeves, her breaths turning uneven and shaky. Guilt and shame wrapped around her like a storm.

What if she really was a liability? What if her presence made the team doubt Oscar’s focus? What if sponsors noticed? What if it snowballed into something bigger?

She didn’t want to be the reason he struggled.

She had come to China to support him, not to become a talking point or to become blame.

Biting down on her trembling lip, she reached for her phone with unsteady fingers and unlocked it. The screen was full of unread notifications, mentions, news alerts, and a few messages from McLaren people probably wondering where she went. She ignored them all.

Her fingers hovered over Oscar’s name in her contacts. She wanted to call him. She wanted him to tell her the reporter was wrong, that none of this was her fault.

But some cruel voice inside her whispered, And what if he doesn’t? What if part of him thinks the same thing and just won’t say it?

She dropped the phone onto the bed and curled into herself again, face buried in the pillow now, muffling her cries.

She felt like she was drowning in doubt.

Was she really right for someone like Oscar?

Or was she just the pretty girl in the background, taking up space in a place she didn’t belong?

The tears didn’t stop for a long time.

🪻🪻🪻

Media day wrapped later than expected.

The sun had started to dip over the Shanghai skyline, casting long shadows across the paddock. Oscar’s jaw still ached from how tightly he had been clenching it. Every step away from that interview felt heavier than the last. He’d done his duties. Answered the rest of the questions. Forced a few half-hearted smiles. But all he could think about was Y/N.

She hadn’t been in the crowd when he walked off. Not in hospitality either. He scanned the usual corners she liked to hang around, by the coffee machine and near the engineers' table, curled up in a chair scrolling through strategy sheets for fun. But she was nowhere.

“Hey,” he asked one of the McLaren comms managers. “Have you seen Y/N?”

The woman blinked. “She was near the media pen for a while. But… I think she left.”

“Left?” His stomach twisted.

“Yeah. I think she went back to the hotel. She looked pretty upset.”

Oscar didn’t wait for anything else.

He was already moving, phone in his hand, unanswered texts lined up on the screen, the car waiting at the paddock exit. His chest was burning, not from exhaustion anymore, but from fear.

The hotel room door was unlocked. That was the first sign something was wrong.

Oscar stepped in quietly, scanning the space. The lights were dimmed, curtains pulled tight, the air still and heavy. His heart sank the moment he saw her by the closet.

Y/N stood barefoot in one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, her hair pulled back messily, suitcase open on the bed. Her hands moved quickly, folding clothes with frantic precision, like the act of packing fast enough might drown out everything else.

“Y/N?” he said softly.

She flinched like she hadn’t heard him come in. Then she straightened slowly, her back still turned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I’m going home,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar’s blood ran cold. “What? Why?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper on her bag. “Because I need to. This… us… It’s not working.”

Oscar's heart dropped into his stomach. “What are you talking about?” he repeated, louder this time. “Y/N, where the hell is this coming from? You’ve been fine all week—this morning, we were—don’t do this.”

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, eyes on her hands.

“No. No, you don’t get to just decide that. Not like this. Not without an explanation.”

She paused. Swallowed hard.

And then, her eyes lifted to meet his.

“I cheated on you.”

Oscar’s body went still.

For a moment, there was no air in the room. No noise. Just the hum of electricity and the thunderous sound of his heart slamming into his ribs.

“What?” His voice came out like a rasp.

“I cheated,” she said again, more firmly this time. “A few weeks ago. When you were in the factory and I was—”

“Stop.” His voice cracked. “Don’t say it again.”

She dropped her gaze, lips pressed tightly together.

Oscar stepped back like he’d been shoved. His throat burnt. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she said quietly.

“You are,” he snapped. “You’re lying to my face. I know you. And I know that’s not true.”

Her eyes flickered, pain breaking through her careful mask for a second.

“You’re trying to push me away,” he said, voice rising. “You think if you hurt me enough, I’ll let you go without a fight.”

Her silence told him everything.

He exhaled sharply, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Jesus, Y/N. Why would you do that? Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s easier this way!” she yelled suddenly, her voice strained and desperate. “It’s easier if you hate me! If you think I’m the villain, maybe you won’t come after me. Maybe you’ll move on and forget I ever—”

“Ever what?” Oscar shot back, his voice cracking.

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

She turned around then, and the sight of her face knocked the wind out of him. Her eyes were red, lashes damp, cheeks splotchy. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after me,” she said quietly.

“Y/N—”

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “I shouldn’t have come. I thought I was helping, but I’m not. And today proved that.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yes, it did!” she cried suddenly, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she’d bottled up. “I heard what that reporter said. I heard it all, Oscar. I was standing right there. And you—God, you shouldn’t have had to defend me like that. You shouldn’t have to fight people on my behalf when you have enough pressure on your shoulders.”

Oscar’s chest tightened. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

“But that’s the problem,” she whispered, turning away again. “You’re too good to me. Too loyal. And one day it’s going to cost you.”

“No,” he said, his voice sharper now, cracking at the edges. “No, you don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to stand here and tell me that being with you is some kind of liability. I don’t care what people say.”

“You should!” she shouted, shoving clothes harder into her bag. “You should care! Because they’re right! You’ve worked your whole life for this career, and I am just— I am just some girl who showed up and started taking up space in your world.”

Oscar’s eyes flashed. “You are not just some girl, Y/N.”

She exhaled harshly, dragging her hands through her hair in frustration. “I am the thing people point to when things go wrong for no reason. I am the excuse they reach for when you don’t get the result you deserve. I didn’t come here to make your life harder. I came here because I love you and I wanted to support you. But maybe that was a mistake.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Oscar’s voice was low, angry, barely under control. “You think this is about results? You think I’d trade you for a few extra points on a race weekend?”

“You should!” she snapped. “Because this is your dream, Oscar. This is what you’ve fought for your whole life. I will not be the reason you lose it.”

His voice broke as he stepped closer. “You’re not. Y/N, please. You’re not any of those things.”

She shook her head, blinking hard as her tears began to fall again. “You’ve worked your whole life for this. You’ve sacrificed so much. I can’t be the reason you lose any of it.”

Oscar stood in front of her now, chest rising and falling fast. His hands shook as he cupped her face, forcing her eyes to meet his.

“You are the only person in my life worth fighting for,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “Do you understand that? You—you—are the reason I get through the shit days. The reason I don’t spiral. The reason I feel something when everything else gets too heavy. You ground me. You make me better. Not worse.”

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, her hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt.

“I don’t want to be the reason you fall apart,” she whispered.

“You never have been,” he said. “Not once.”

“Goddamn it, Y/N,” he whispered, tears now burning in his eyes too. “You’re not the thing pulling me down. You’re the only thing keeping me standing.”

She was crying openly now, fists clenched around the handle of the suitcase, shoulders shaking. “I love you, Oscar. But I have to do this.”

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “You don’t. Please don’t.”

“It’s the truth.”

“God,” he muttered, tears forming fast now, stinging his eyes. “I would’ve done anything for you. I have done everything for you. And now you’re standing here, lying to my face just so you can walk away and feel better about it?”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. But I can’t be the reason your career goes down. I can’t be the weight that drags you under.”

“You were never the weight,” he snapped, tears slipping free. “You were the only fucking thing keeping me afloat.”

She stood there, trembling, her face crumpling.

“I love you,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “That’s why I have to go.”

“Bullshit,” he spat, breath catching in his chest. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t leave.”

“I have to,” she said, backing toward the door, eyes spilling over. “Goodbye, Oscar.”

“Don’t,” he pleaded, barely able to breathe now. “Don’t do this. Please.”

But she was already pulling the door open.

And as it shut behind her, Oscar stood there in the middle of the room, gasping for air, eyes burning, heart breaking, feeling like the one thing that made everything else worth it had just been ripped away and taken the light with her.

The click of the latch was the loudest sound Oscar had ever heard.

🪻🪻🪻

The room was silent, but Oscar's thoughts were anything but. He hadn’t moved since the door shut.

Y/N’s scent still lingered in the air. Her hair tie was still on the bed. The mug she drank tea from that morning was still sitting on the nightstand. And the echo of her words—“I cheated on you”—still rang in his head like a cruel joke.

Because she hadn’t.

He knew she hadn’t. He saw right through it, and still, she left anyway. She meant to leave. And what hurt most wasn’t that she’d lied to his face. It was that she’d been hurting and never said a word.

He dropped down heavily onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. He tried to retrace it. The last few weeks. The looks she gave him. The way she clutched his hand after Melbourne, like she didn’t want to let go. The way she smiled for the cameras but looked tired when they were alone.

Why hadn’t he seen it?

Why hadn’t he asked?

Guilt crawled up his spine, sharp and bitter.

He reached for his phone, absently opening Instagram. Her profile was still there, untouched. He tapped on her most recent photo—one of them together in the paddock a few weeks ago, laughing under the sun.

The comments were brutal.

“She’s so fake.”

“Oscar needs to focus on racing and not on his little girlfriend.”

“No wonder he’s underperforming.”

“She’s just using him for the clout fame.”

He sat there, reading them all, his stomach twisting. He scrolled further, then switched apps. Searched for her name on Twitter.

And that’s when the true weight of it hit him.

Clips. Edits. Threads. Memes. Tweets with tens of thousands of likes tearing her apart for being “a distraction”. People joking that every time she was in the paddock, Oscar qualified worse. People dissecting her outfits and her facial expressions, accusing her of being cold, calculating, and selfish.

One tweet read, “Y/N is singlehandedly ruining his career and smiling through it. What a bitch.”

Oscar felt sick.

He checked TikTok. Searched her name again.

More videos. More hate. People filming her in the paddock, zooming in on her while overlaying sad or ominous music. One video had the caption: “Oscar’s downfall has a name, and it starts with Y.”

And she had never shown him any of it.

Not one word. Not one complaint.

She’d stood next to him, smiled beside him, held his hand and told him he’d be okay, and all the while, the internet was ripping her apart, and she kept her pain buried deep so he wouldn’t have to carry it.

His vision blurred with tears.

She hadn’t left him because she didn’t love him. She’d left because she loved him too much. Because she thought she was protecting him.

Oscar tossed the phone on the bed and ran a hand through his hair, his breath shallow and sharp.

God, he should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve noticed the way she flinched when cameras lingered too long. The way she shrank whenever a reporter turned to her. The way she smiled less and less as the weeks passed.

She had been drowning in hate, and instead of reaching for him, she dove under and let herself sink just so he wouldn’t have to tread water with her.

He rubbed at his face furiously.

He would’ve fought every single one of them. Every nameless troll. Every cruel headline. Every ignorant fan who dared call the person he loved a burden.

But she never let him.

She left instead.

Because in her mind, that was love. Sacrifice.

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room, fists clenched. His heart was screaming. He didn’t know where she’d gone or what she was doing. But he knew she was out there, alone, scared, and convinced she had to carry this pain by herself.

And he hated that. Hated that he’d let her walk out thinking she was a problem he had to escape instead of the person he wanted to build everything around.

He pulled out his phone again, opened his contacts, thumb hovering over her name.

His chest ached.

And then, he texted her:

"I saw everything. I'm so sorry. Please talk to me. Please don’t go through this alone."

No response.

But he knew her. And he would wait.

Oscar sat in the corner of his hotel room, laptop open, his hands trembling over the keyboard.

He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t even tried. Not after seeing the mess online. Not after watching the love of his life walk away believing she was the villain in a story she didn’t even write.

So he typed.

Over and over again, deleting and rewriting a single statement that had started to form in his head the moment he saw the hate Y/N had been hiding from him:

“To the people who claim to support me and still think it’s okay to attack someone I love, know this: your words have consequences. I’ve seen the comments, the videos, and the baseless accusations. And I’ve seen the damage they’ve caused. Y/N has done nothing but love and support me, quietly, without asking for anything in return. If my performance is affected, it’s not because of her. It’s because I’m human, and watching someone you care about get torn apart by strangers is enough to break anyone. If you really support me, then respect the people I care about. If you can’t do that, then you’re not my fan. Full stop.”

He stared at the blinking cursor, breathing hard, teeth clenched. It still didn’t feel like enough. Nothing he wrote could undo the hurt, but silence was worse.

He was done staying silent.

Just as he was about to send the draft to his PR manager, there was a knock on the door.

It was Kate from McLaren PR, flanked by two members of the communications team, phones and folders in hand.

“Oscar”, Kate began, her tone cautious, “we got your email. About the statement.”

He stood up. “Yeah. And?”

She glanced at the others and took a breath. “We appreciate how you feel. But we think it’s best not to make it public right now. There’s a risk of blowing things up even more.”

Oscar blinked. “You think protecting her is going to blow things up?”

Kate raised her hands gently. “I’m not saying that. But the best course is usually to keep things private. Address it internally, quietly. Focus on your racing. Let the noise die down on its own.”

Oscar laughed, but there was no humour in it, just disbelief. “Right. So I let them keep ripping her apart until she disappears from their radar. Is that the plan?”

“We just don’t think you should feed the trolls—”

“No. No. You don’t get to tell me to stay quiet while the girl I love gets blamed for things she had nothing to do with,” Oscar snapped. “She’s not even here anymore. She left because of all of this.”

Kate tried to keep her voice level. “Oscar, we understand this is emotional for you—”

“I’m not doing interviews,” he interrupted. “Not a single media session. No press conferences, no post-qualifying chats, nothing. And if that gets me a grid penalty or a fine, so be it.”

There was a stunned silence in the room.

Kate’s brows shot up. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” Oscar said, his voice tight with fury and heartbreak. “Until I see actual action taken against the online abuse she’s been getting, until I see the team speak up, or the FIA, or someone with power do something, I’m not giving them any more of me. They don’t get my words while she’s out there hurting alone.”

But Oscar didn’t care. He was done playing the quiet good guy if it meant watching the person he loved be torn apart just to keep the peace.

After they left, murmuring worriedly amongst themselves, Oscar slumped back into the chair and picked up his phone.

Still no response.

He tried texting again.

“Please, just tell me where you are. I’ll come to you. I’ll explain everything. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Nothing.

He called.

It rang once, twice, then went to voicemail.

He didn’t even know if she was reading his messages anymore.

So he tried again.

“I don’t care what the internet says. I don’t care what anyone says. I love you. And I will spend every second proving that, even if you never answer me. Just please know that I see it now. I see what you went through. I see you. I’m so, so sorry.”

Still nothing.

He set the phone down and let his head fall into his hands. Tears pooled in his eyes again. But this time, they didn’t fall. They just sat there, heavy and burning.

🪻🪻🪻

Friday passed in a blur.

Saturday felt like sleepwalking through a storm.

Oscar arrived at the paddock with his usual focus, but there was a visible shift in him in a way that unsettled everyone around him. He was dressed, prepared, and laser-focused during practice, but the moment the sessions ended, he walked straight past the line of waiting reporters, sunglasses shielding his red-rimmed eyes, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

“Post-practice interview?” his comms officer asked, gently tapping his arm.

“No.”

“Just a quick—”

“I said no.”

There was no room for discussion.

The PR team exchanged looks but said nothing. He hadn’t smiled once since Thursday. Hadn’t done any of the casual social media content. No behind-the-scenes videos, no paddock walk interviews, no pre-FP2 banter with Lando, nothing. The usual lightness was gone, and in its place was a man quietly raging.

The media noticed. And fast.

Tweets began popping up.

“Oscar Piastri walks past all media today. First driver to skip all PR appearances post-practice. Something’s definitely up.”

“McLaren’s PR team looks stressed. Oscar isn’t playing ball this weekend.”

“Confirmed: Oscar Piastri has refused all media obligations until online abuse is addressed.”

Clips surfaced of Oscar walking past reporters without a glance, ignoring shouts of his name, even brushing past a camera lens with a muttered, “Not until someone says something that matters.” The story caught fire.

And Y/N saw it all.

She hadn’t meant to. She’d deleted Twitter, muted her name on Instagram, and logged out of TikTok. But social media was a machine, and she was still part of the algorithm.

She opened YouTube to watch a movie and instead saw her name in the recommended videos.

“Oscar Piastri Breaks Silence—Defends Girlfriend Amid Hate.”

“Piastri REFUSES PR Until Y/N Is Protected.”

“McLaren’s Own Aussie Declines Interviews Till Girlfriend Is Defended.”

At first, her chest tightened. She thought he’d moved on. That maybe he was angry, resentful. That maybe he hated her.

But he wasn’t running away from her.

He was fighting for her.

Despite everything she had said, despite the hurt she had tried to cause, despite the lie she forced herself to tell just to get him to let her go, he wasn’t letting go.

Not even a little.

She sat on the edge of her bed in the dim hotel room, the screen lighting up her face as she watched the clip again: Oscar pushing a reporter’s mic aside after FP2 with the words, “There are more important things than lap times right now.”

Y/N’s chest cracked open.

Tears welled up as she pulled her knees to her chest. She had tried so hard to protect him by leaving, but he was out there choosing her anyway, day after day, even when she wasn’t there to see it.

She couldn’t give up on him. Not now. Not ever.

Even if the whole world was against her, even if every comment section roared with hate, even if the paddock stared at her like she didn’t belong, she would walk back in.

Because he was the love of her life.

And he was still standing in the fire for her.

She opened her phone. Hands trembling.

Pulled up his messages.

She had read every one.

“I saw everything. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me. Please don’t go through this alone.” “I don’t care what the internet says. I don’t care what anyone says. I love you.” “I’ll spend every second proving that, even if you never answer me.”

She inhaled shakily and booked her second ticket to Shanghai in a week.

🪻🪻🪻

Saturday afternoon in Shanghai was a blur of roaring engines and tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

The paddock was alive with energy. Mechanics scrambled. Engineers barked numbers into radios. Fans screamed from the stands. Cameras panned from car to car, trying to capture the pulse of a qualifying session that felt like it carried more emotional weight than any race before.

And yet, for Y/N, none of that registered.

She was sprinting.

From the second the wheels of her flight hit the tarmac, she hadn’t stopped moving. The car that picked her up from the airport barely had time to stop before she jumped out in front of the Hilton. Her heart pounded as she took the elevator up to his floor, rehearsing her apology a hundred times.

But when she knocked, no one answered.

She knocked again. Nothing.

Her voice cracked when she asked the concierge if Oscar was still in the building. “No, ma’am,” the man replied. “He left for the circuit an hour ago. Qualifying’s today, right?”

Of course. She had lost track of the weekend entirely. Her hands shook as she thanked him, bolted back outside, and rushed into a car headed straight for the track.

Security tried to stop her at the paddock gate until one of the McLaren hospitality staff recognised her and waved her through. The look on their face said everything. Everyone had seen what was going on. Everyone had watched Oscar shut the world out since the moment she left.

Her chest squeezed.

She asked where he was, and someone told her qualifying had just started.

She wasn’t allowed in the garage. So she waited.

Hospitality was quiet. Muted voices in the corner. No one approached her. She sat at the edge of the room, fingers tangled in the sleeves of her jumper, eyes glued to the monitor showing live timing.

Q1. Q2. Q3.

And then— P1. Oscar Piastri. Shanghai Grand Prix. On pole. His first pole.

The hospitality tent let out a quiet cheer. A few mechanics clapped in the distance. But Oscar wasn’t on camera celebrating. He didn’t even do the typical radio whoop. Just a quiet “Copy”. That was it.

Then came the announcement.

Oscar Piastri had refused to attend the post-qualifying press conference. Again.

Y/N stood up slowly, heart hammering. She asked where he’d gone.

Someone told her they’d seen him heading toward the driver’s rooms.

And she didn’t wait.

She walked through the narrow halls of the paddock, past the bustle and the noise, until she reached the McLaren motorhome and found the familiar door.

She hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed it open.

What she saw made her heart crack clean in two.

Oscar was sitting on the floor, still in his race suit, his back pressed to the wall and his knees drawn up. His helmet was lying nearby, forgotten. His phone was in his hand, screen dim, her contact still open. He looked so small, so tired, so heartbreakingly alone. His head was bowed low and his shoulders sagged, like he had been holding in a world of weight with no one to help carry it.

Y/N stepped inside without saying a word.

The moment he sensed someone there, Oscar lifted his head. His eyes met hers.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Then Oscar dropped the phone like it burnt him, pushed up off the floor with shaking arms, and crossed the room in three long strides before pulling her into him like his life depended on it.

Y/N collided with his chest, her arms wrapping around him so tightly it hurt.

He buried his face in her shoulder, and the dam inside him finally broke. His body trembled with the weight of everything he’d been holding back. She felt his tears hot against her skin, his fingers digging into the back of her shirt like he was terrified she’d disappear again.

Her arms flew around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as her face pressed into his shoulder. He was shaking. She could feel it in his grip, in the way his breath hitched against her ear, and in the warmth of the tears that began to fall against her skin.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh my god, you’re really here.”

“I’m here,” she said back, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. I never should have left. I thought I was doing the right thing; I thought if I left, the noise would stop and you could focus. But all I did was hurt you.”

He pulled back just enough to see her face, his hands cradling her cheeks with the softest touch, like he was scared she might vanish again if he let go.

“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care what people say or what they think. I don’t care about pole or points or interviews. None of it means anything without you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she nodded, pressing her forehead against his. “I saw the way you were fighting for me. Even when I wasn’t there. You didn’t give up on me.”

“I never will,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You’re not a distraction. You’re my peace. You’re the reason I can even do this.”

“I love you,” she said, the words slipping out like a breath of truth she had been holding in for far too long.

His eyes shone. “I love you too. So much.”

And there, in the quiet of the driver’s room, with the rest of the world still reeling from the news of his pole position, Oscar’s gaze dropped to her lips, flicked back to her eyes, and his breath hitched. A soft, broken sound escaped his throat, part relief, part desperation, and before she could say another word, he kissed her.

He surged forward, crashing his mouth onto hers with a force that startled them both. It wasn’t neat or perfect. It was messy and aching and full of pain and love and the unbearable weight of the days they had spent apart. His hands slid from her cheeks to the back of her neck, holding her like he didn’t trust the universe not to rip her away again.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, tears mixing with the intensity of it as she clutched him tighter. She felt his entire body pressing against hers, like he needed every part of him to touch every part of her just to believe this wasn’t another dream or memory.

Her back hit the wall behind her, and he didn’t let up. His mouth moved against hers with bruising desperation, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the chance to. His hands were in her hair now, tangled and shaking, his body practically folding over hers.

She kissed him back just as hard, just as desperately, her hands roaming from his chest to his shoulders to his face, not knowing where to hold him because she wanted to hold him everywhere at once. Her tears slipped down her cheeks and into their kiss, and she tasted his too.

He broke away only for a second, breathing heavily, their foreheads touching again.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked. “I thought I’d never get to touch you like this again.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping a tear from under his eye. “I was so scared… But I’m here now. I’m not leaving you again, Oscar. I promise.”

He kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense, his hands cradling her like she was fragile and precious and the most important thing in the world.

“You’re it for me,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re everything. Don’t you ever, ever try to protect me by walking away again. I don’t need protection. I need you.”

She nodded through the tears, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it nearly hurt. “I love you”, she said between kisses, “so much.”

And with that, he kissed her again, sealing the words with every ounce of love he had left in him.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

“I’m not going anywhere again,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said with a tiny smile. “Because I think I’ve cried enough for one lifetime.”

She laughed through her tears, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Same.”

🪻🪻🪻

The morning light poured into the room gently, golden and warm against the chilled air of the hotel suite. But inside the bed, tangled in a sea of white sheets and each other, the world felt like it had narrowed down to just the two of them.

Oscar lay on his back, eyes still heavy with sleep, his hair an adorable mess from the way Y/N had run her fingers through it all night. She was draped across him, head resting against his chest, her bare legs tangled with his under the covers. Her fingers were moving lazily across his skin, mapping out the contours of his face like she needed to memorise every inch all over again.

“Your nose is kind of weird,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over it.

Oscar cracked one eye open. “Wow. And here I was thinking this was a tender moment.”

She giggled, trailing her fingertip down to his lips, then his jaw, then his chin. “Tender and honest.”

“Alright, critic,” he mumbled sleepily, tugging her hand away and kissing her knuckles softly. “I’ll remember that next time you ask if your eyeliner's even.”

She laughed again and nestled into his chest, only to shiver slightly. “Ugh. Why is it so cold in here?”

Oscar’s lips curled into a lazy grin as he pulled her flush against him. “Maybe next time you’ll agree to sleep in something. You know, like actual clothes.”

She scoffed. “Please. You’re the one who looked at me like a deer in headlights when I wore a shirt.”

He chuckled, voice still heavy with sleep. “Yeah, because you were wearing my shirt and nothing else and then climbed on top of me like you had a mission.”

“I did have a mission,” she said smugly, pressing a kiss just below his jaw. “And I succeeded.”

Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face as she giggled against his neck. “You’re killing me.”

“And you’re very lucky I’m cold,” she whispered, wrapping herself tighter around him, “because otherwise I’d be all the way over there and not pressed up against your very warm, very touchable body.”

“Touchable, huh?” He murmured, sliding a hand down her back. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She smirked against his skin. “Don’t act like you’re not obsessed.”

“Guilty,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut again as she trailed a finger lazily down his chest.

Then, without warning, she reached up and gave his nipple a playful pinch.

Oscar yelped, his whole body jerking. “Oi! What the hell?!”

Y/N burst out laughing, completely unbothered as she tucked her face back into the crook of his neck. “Sorry, sorry! You were being too smug. I had to bring you back down.”

He rolled them over without warning, pinning her underneath him as she squealed, her laughter still echoing through the room. “You wanna play that game, huh?” he asked, smirking down at her. “Because I can be very annoying when provoked.”

“Is that what you call it?” she shot back, grinning. “Because I call it foreplay.”

Oscar groaned, flopping on top of her dramatically as she shrieked, still giggling. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“But I’m your worst,” she whispered, turning her head to kiss him softly.

He melted into the kiss instantly, one hand curling around the back of her neck, the other resting on her waist. When they pulled apart, he just looked at her, like he couldn’t believe she was real, that she had come back, and that she was still his.

“I could stay like this all day,” he said quietly.

“You would,” she teased. “But you’ve got a race to win, Mr Pole Sitter.”

He groaned, burying his face in her neck again. “Can’t I just skip it and make you warm the bed all morning?”

“As tempting as that sounds, the world needs to see that stupidly fast car of yours. And your stupidly good hair.”

Oscar lifted his head just enough to give her a crooked grin. “So you admit the hair’s good?”

“I admit nothing,” she said, smirking.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then the corner of her mouth, pulling her closer as if needing to confirm all over again that she was really there.

“I thought I dreamed you came back,” he mumbled against her hair. “I kept waking up last night just to make sure you were still here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, brushing her thumb along his cheek. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Oscar let out a quiet, relieved chuckle, nuzzling into her palm before reluctantly rolling onto his back. He stretched one arm out and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, squinting at the screen as it lit up.

There were dozens of notifications.

But one in particular made him freeze.

He blinked, then sat up straighter. “Y/N”, he said, nudging her slightly and turning the screen to her. “Look.”

It was a post from McLaren’s official account, timestamped just thirty minutes ago. The bolded headline read: Statement Regarding Online Abuse Directed Toward Oscar Piastri and Y/N.

He opened it, and they both read in silence.

McLaren Racing stands firmly against any form of online harassment or abuse directed at our drivers, their families, and their partners. Y/N has always been a respected and loved member of our extended team, both professionally and personally. We condemn the recent wave of harmful messages and baseless accusations circulating online. The wellbeing of our people is our top priority. We appreciate the support of fans who continue to champion respect, empathy, and kindness in motorsport and beyond. Let’s remember: behind every helmet, and behind every headline, there are human beings. Let’s treat them that way.

— McLaren Racing

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she read it again, her fingers tightening around Oscar’s.

“They… they didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, her eyes glassy with emotion.

Oscar looked at her, his voice tender but firm. “Yes, they did. And they should’ve sooner.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

There were thousands of replies, and for once, most of them were kind. Fans thanking the team. Others apologising for turning a blind eye. Even some of the more critical accounts had gone quiet.

“Finally”, Oscar said, locking his phone. “Finally someone said it.”

He turned to her again, cradling her jaw with one hand. “I fought because I had to. Because you didn’t deserve any of what they said. And I’ll keep fighting, okay? But now, I think we can breathe a little.”

Y/N nodded, resting her forehead against his. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be beside you. Through all of it.”

Oscar smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Then you’d better get dressed. Because I think I owe the media a few words.”

She pulled back in surprise. “You’re actually going to talk to them?”

He smirked, flopping dramatically back onto the pillows. “Yeah. I figured pole position deserves a few minutes of glory, right?”

She laughed, tackling him gently and peppering his face with kisses. “That, and maybe you just want to show them that I’m still here.”

He grinned, once again flipping her onto the mattress and hovering over her. “Damn right.”

Y/N walked beside him, the pair of them a striking duo as they made their way through the paddock. Heads turned, some in admiration, some in curiosity, but neither of them paid any attention. They didn’t need to. For once, it was easy to tune everything else out.

Oscar glanced sideways, eyes flicking to her face like he couldn’t help it. “Are you sure you’re ready for the chaos again?”

She smiled, fingers tightening around his. “I can take the heat. Especially if I’m standing next to you.”

He grinned that soft, boyish smile she loved so much. “You’re the best.”

“I’m aware,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

They reached the McLaren garage, and the pre-race buzz was well underway. Mechanics in orange overalls darted around, tyres were being rolled out, and engineers fine-tuned last-minute settings. But in the middle of all the madness, Oscar turned to her, now in his race suit, helmet under his arm.

“Come here,” he murmured, tugging her gently into him. “For good luck.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then his forehead, then tapped a kiss on the side of his helmet as he slid it on. “You’ve got this, Piastri. Show them what you’re made of.”

He was smiling under the visor now, even as his engineer motioned for him to head to the car. “Catch you on the other side, pretty girl.”

She laughed. “Only if you win.”

Oscar slid into the car with a renewed sense of focus, but it wasn’t just adrenaline. It was her. She was back. She believed in him. And that meant everything.

The race was chaos for everyone behind Oscar. Somehow everything that went down managed to embolden him in an unexplainable way, holding onto P1 like his life depended on it. And when he crossed the finish line, taking the win in Shanghai, his radio exploded with cheers.

“OSCAR PIASTRI. YOU ARE A THREE-TIME RACE WINNER!”

He didn’t even respond to the engineers shouting in his ear. He was already unstrapping the belts, already climbing out of the car in Parc Fermé. The second his feet hit the ground, he tore off the helmet and balaclava, his eyes scanning past the cameras and team crew.

And there she was.

Y/N stood just behind the barrier, wide-eyed, the hugest smile on her face, barely believing it. He didn’t hesitate. Sprinting like nothing else mattered, he reached the barrier, his arms already outstretched.

The marshal barely got a word in before he leaned over, wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly over the metal railing. She gasped, clinging to him as he spun her around in pure joy, the orange of his race suit standing out like fire in the crowd.

“You did it!” She squealed, breathless with laughter and tears.

“No, we did,” Oscar said into her hair, burying his face in her shoulder. “You came back. And everything finally fell into place.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

And then he kissed her, full of every ounce of adrenaline, relief, and love that had built up for weeks. The paddock erupted. The cameras went wild. But Oscar didn’t care. He kissed her like the world was watching, and he wanted them to.

“You’re not going anywhere again,” he said against her lips, voice still shaky from emotion. “I mean it. You’re mine.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, her fingers curling into the back of his suit. “I’m yours.”

Soon after, they had to separate so he could get weighed before the podium sitters' interview. But he made sure to sign his bottle of champagne before that with his autograph. And scrawled in big, bold, golden letters: To my pretty girl.

my girl y/n can’t catch a break, hope ya’ll liked this!

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4kunikuzushii · 2 months ago

Text

A Spoonful of Trouble - Wooyoung x Reader

Summary: Three years of living with your best friend Wooyoung, and it’s all been chill… until a run-in with your old coworker, who’s dating your ex, forces you to lie. You tell her you’re in a relationship with Wooyoung, and now you both have to fake a relationship at a couples’ dinner. Wooyoung’s plan? Make your ex jealous. What starts as a harmless game soon sparks something you didn’t see coming.

Word count: 17.4K

Genre: Best-friend/Roomie Wooyoung, fake dating, comedy (it’s wooyoung, ofc its fun), friends-to-lovers, oneshot, smut

Warnings: Jealous undertones, Wooyoung with reader (fem pronouns), dom Wooyoung, he’s a tease, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking and hair pulling, ass slaps and pussy slaps (lmao sorry) dirtytalk, unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N: I was requested a Wooyoung fanfic (preferably friends to lovers) and your wish is my command. Also, I haven't read this through, so I excuse if there are any mistakes!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Wooyoung in any way.

You didn’t know Wooyoung before you moved in with him.

It wasn’t some childhood-friends-to-roommates situation. It was a Facebook listing, a desperate rent situation, and a quick video call where he grinned and said, “I’m clean, I cook, and I only walk around shirtless on laundry days, deal?”

Your boyfriend had just cheated on you and you were too broke to be picky.

You moved in two weeks later.

That was three years ago.

When you first moved in, things were simple. Polite nods in the hallway, careful division of chores, messages like “Can I use your oat milk?” and “Trash day’s Thursday.” You were strangers learning how to coexist. He was respectful, charming, funny in a careful kind of way.

But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.

There was the night he knocked on your door with two bowls of ramen after hearing you cry through the wall. The time he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie, and you let him stay there. The mornings where he started making two cups of coffee without asking, and the way he never forgot which mug was your favorite.

Little things, at first. But they stacked up.

Now he knows your coffee order and your worst ex’s name. He doesn’t knock anymore when your door is open. And you don’t bother pretending to be annoyed when he drapes himself across the couch you’re already sitting on, like there’s not an entire empty seat next to you. You know his favorite hoodie and the playlist he only listens to when he’s feeling off.

You don’t even remember when it happened. When “roommate” became “friend,” and “friend” slowly became “best friend”.

He’s the first person you turn to when something happens, good or bad. You’ve become so used to him and his playful, flirtatious nature, that it’s just... normal now.

This morning, you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling.

It’s not unusual. Wooyoung does most of the cooking in the apartment, partly because he’s better at it, mostly because he refuses to eat anything bland. You’ve learned not to interfere when he’s in his element, your only job is to show up and eat.

Still, it’s early, and he’s making a bit too much noise for someone who claims to love you “platonically.”

You shuffle out of your room, hair a mess, socks mismatched. The kitchen smells like garlic and eggs, and you see him standing at the stove, completely in his zone. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand, flipping something with a finesse that makes it obvious he knows he looks good doing it.

“You’re showing off,” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn’t look away from the pan. “You’re welcome.”

You make a beeline for your favorite mug, the one he always pretends to hate but still washes carefully every time you leave it in the sink.

“I figured you’d sleep in,” he says. “You stayed up late.”

“Yea, because someone wasn’t leaving my room.” you send him a glare.

“I like hanging out with you! and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the story about the geek and the popular girl from my old highschool. That story is cute as hell.” he points the spatula with you like it’s a weapon.

You smirk behind the mug. “Okay, that one was kinda good.”

He grins, plating scrambled eggs and what looks like roasted vegetables. He slides the plate toward your usual spot at the counter like he’s done it a hundred times, because he has.

“How was your date?” you ask, poking your fork into a roasted tomato.

Wooyoung groans. “Disaster.”

“That bad?”

“She asked if I was in love with her halfway through the appetizer.”

“Bold of her,” you say, chewing.

“And when I said no, she looked at me like I kicked her in the face. Then she told me I ‘give off commitment issues.’”

You grin. “You do give off commitment issues.”

He glares playfully. “Okay, rude. I’m extremely loyal.”

“To me.”

“Exactly. My loyalty quota is full. Sorry to the rest of the world.” he shoots you a wink, nothing dramatic, just one of those natural, easy gestures he does without thinking. You don’t blush. Not anymore.

You're used to it. In the beginning, back when you were still adjusting to living with someone who looks like that, who flirts with the air he breathes, who walks around shirtless and steals fries from your plate and calls you “babe” just to watch your reaction, it was different.

But now? Immunity.

Mostly.

It’s easy with him, always has been. Closeness that doesn’t need explanation. No boundaries, because you don’t need them. Not when you’ve seen each other through every version of a day.

He sits beside you at the counter instead of across, thigh brushing yours like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

***

“You know,” you say, pushing the cart down the cereal aisle, “you could just admit you have the taste buds of a hyperactive child.”

Wooyoung gasps, dramatically offended as he holds up a neon box of chocolate puffs. “This is not childish. This is elite. You wouldn’t understand the depth of this flavor profile.”

Grocery shopping with Wooyoung is basically a weekly ritual at this point. Not because you can’t go alone, but because he insists on it. Claims you’d forget half the list and come back with snacks and nothing else. Which, to be fair, is kind of true.

You’re halfway through the cereal aisle, walking behind the cart as Wooyoung wanders a few feet ahead, eyes locked on the shelf like he’s making a life-or-death decision between sugary clusters or chocolate swirls.

He’s in his element, mumbling ingredients under his breath, holding one box up to the light like he’s reading ancient scrolls. You smile to yourself, letting him do his thing as you slow down, scanning your phone for the rest of your shared grocery list.

And then, just your luck, you hear it.

“Oh my god, Y/N?”

You look up too slowly.

Hana.

You turn, putting on the most polite expression you can muster as she approaches, all bright eyes and perfect hair and the same aggressive enthusiasm she used to bring to Monday morning staff meetings.

“Hana,” you say, trying to sound surprised instead of resigned. “Wow. Hi.”

“I thought that was you! Oh my god, it’s been what, like, forever? You look so… Anyways, it’s so good to see you!” She eyes you, then glances down into your cart before you can respond. “Frozen dumplings, instant rice, oh my god I love those snacks, they’re so bad but soooo addictive, right? Wait-, this kimchi brand is the worst. You should try the one from Jihyun’s Market across town. It’s organic.”

You blink. “I... like this one.”

“Sure, sure. I mean, I just think it’s better to be picky with fermented stuff, you know? Especially when you’re eating it alone.”

You don’t answer right away. She doesn’t wait.

“Gosh, how are you? I remember how you were always the chill one at work. So responsible. So put together. Like, you were always the single one! We called you "The Independent Icon" behind your back. Not in a mean way!”

You hadn’t planned on staying single forever. But a few years ago, your boyfriend cheated on you while he was on vacation, called you from the airport like it was no big deal. After that, you decided you were done. No dating for a while, no more risks. It was easier to be alone than to be blindsided again. Eventually, people stopped asking. Then they started assuming.

Your stomach twists. You glance down the aisle. Wooyoung is still several feet away, crouched in front of a lower shelf now, examining cereal boxes like he’s an art critic. Totally out of earshot.

“Oh, I didn’t know people talked about that,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Hana waves a hand. “Only in admiration, really. I mean, you’ve never brought a guy to any of our dinners. I think Minji even thought you were secretly dating a girl for a while, totally cool if you are! No judgment! But I told her, no way. Y/N is just focused. Did I tell you I got married, by the way? I don’t think you ever met my husband. We got married last year, tiny ceremony, super last minute. Here-, he’s gonna kill me for showing this, but look how ridiculous he looks in this suit.”

She pulls out her phone, swipes once, then holds it up to you.

You freeze.

You know that face.

The sharp jawline. The dimple on his left cheek. The same stupid smile he had when he came back from that trip and told you, casually, like it was weather, that he’d slept with someone else. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said, “we were just having a rough patch, right?”

Your stomach drops.

“That’s him,” Hana says proudly. “Total goofball, but he’s the best. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d find someone like him. But don’t worry, you’ll find someone too some day!”

Hana is still talking but her words blur.

You could say nothing. You could just smile, nod, and escape with your overpriced kimchi and frozen dumplings. But you nod slowly, eyes darting to the end of the aisle again. Suddenly, you hear yourself say, voice too quick and too loud:

“Actually, I’m dating someone.”

Hana’s brows lift. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” You point down the aisle.

She turns.

Wooyoung, still crouched, is now reading the back of a cereal box, completely oblivious to your social spiral.

“Oh?” Hana’s eyes are practically sparkling now, thrilled by this newfound information. “Look at you! I know you had it in you!” she says, nudging your arm. “You have to bring him to dinner. We’re doing a little couples night this Friday. Just a few of us from work, old and new. Minji’s coming, and Jihyun, and my husband’s inviting one of his coworkers and their girlfriend. You two should come!”

You hesitate, already internally spiraling. “Oh, I don’t know-”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I need someone there who doesn’t talk about babies every ten seconds. Please.”

She’s already taking your nod as confirmation before you’ve fully given it. “Perfect! I’ll text you the details, I still have your number. You better show up.”

Just as she’s about to walk away, Wooyoung returns, holding two cereal boxes and strolling up casually.

Hana’s face lights up again. “See you soon!” she says brightly to him, giving you both a final little wave before disappearing around the corner.

Wooyoung blinks after her, then looks at you, eyebrows raised. “...Why do I feel like I just missed something deeply important?”

You stare at him, trying to decide where to begin.

He holds up the cereal boxes, undeterred. “Okay. Fruity Loops or Cinnamon Sugar Swirls. One has slightly fewer chemicals. I won’t say which.”

You inhale slowly, exhale even slower. “So, remember when you left me alone for two minutes?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Well… in those two minutes, I may have… sort of… told someone we’re dating.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Wooyoung blinks. “You what?”

You gesture weakly down the aisle. “That was Hana. Old coworker. She’s always been weirdly obsessed with the fact that I’m single. She was doing her usual thing, and I panicked, and I pointed at you, and now she thinks we’re together, and- surprise! We’re going to a couples dinner on Friday.”

Wooyoung looks at you. Then at the cereal. Then back at you.

And then he grins.

Like really grins.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide with delight. “This is amazing.”

“Wooyoung.”

“We’re fake dating? We’re doing the thing? Like the romcoms?”

You press a hand to your face. “It gets worse.”

His grin somehow grows. “I’m listening.”

“She’s married to my ex.”

Wooyoung blinks. “The ex?”

You nod. “She showed me a wedding photo. It’s him. The one who cheated on me while he was on vacation. The reason I swore off dating for like, three years.”

Wooyoung’s jaw drops, then slowly morphs into something almost unhinged with glee.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This is so much better than I thought.”

“Why are you happy?”

“Because,” he says, absolutely glowing, “I get to sit across from the guy who cheated on my best friend and pretend to be the hot, attentive boyfriend who’s so in love with her he’d die for her. I’m going to be so annoying. I’m going to feed you food.”

“Wooyoung.”

“I’m going to wipe sauce off your mouth. I’m going to put my arm around your chair. I’m going to call you baby in front of him.”

You groan. “This is going to kill me.”

“This is going to heal you,” he says. “You know what, this counts for both of the cereals. Sweet childhood nostalgia and the one that turns milk radioactive pink.” He throws the cereals into the cart with dramatic flair. “This is the best grocery trip of my life.”

***

Friday morning

He’s already in the kitchen when you shuffle in, still half-asleep, arms wrapped around yourself. The smell of eggs and butter greets you first.

“Good morning, my beautiful fake girlfriend!” he beams.

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“Too late,” he sings, doing a dramatic spin with the spatula. “Do you want toast with your lies or just plain guilt?”

You drop your head onto the counter with a sigh. “I’m not built for this level of energy before caffeine.”

He slides a mug your way, your mug, with your preferred coffee, made just right. “I knew you’d be a flight risk this morning.”

You mutter a thank-you and take a long sip. It helps. But not enough.

“I think I’m panicking,” you say into the mug.

He sets your breakfast in front of you and leans on the counter across from where you sit. “Hey. We’ve got this. All we have to do is show up, eat some overpriced cheese cubes, pretend we’re madly in love, make your ex suffer for being the biggest asshole known to man, and leave. Easy.”

“Madly in love,” you echo flatly.

“Yes, madly.” His smile grows. “Madly, stupidly in love. To the point where your ex is going to regret every single life choice he made after cheating on you. And enough to make Hana go, ‘oh wow, they’re so cute, maybe I am a terrible friend for shaming her for being single for the entire time I’ve known her.’”

You blink. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“I’ve never even met him and I already hope he has the biggest receding hairline I’ve ever seen.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“And besides,” he adds, stealing a bite of your toast, “we got chemistry.”

You make a face.

“We do, though. We’re best friends. We’re comfortable. We finish each other’s-”

“Don’t.”

“-sentences.”

You hurl a piece of toast crust at him. He dodges it with a smirk.

But he’s right. You are comfortable. You already know what shirt he’s going to wear tonight and that he’s going to pretend he didn’t plan it. You know he’s going to be charming and make everyone laugh and completely forget he’s pretending.

And that’s the part that begins to make your stomach twist.

The day goes faster than you anticipated, and before you know it, you’re both getting ready for the dinner.

You’re halfway through checking your bag for the fourth time when he walks out of his room, and everything in you stills.

He’s adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down, casually rolling them up past his elbows. He tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabs a bottle of wine off the counter. He’s talking, saying something about the wine in his hands, but you don’t hear a word.

Because damn. He looks good.

His black hair is styled a little messier than usual, in that perfectly undone way that probably took way too much effort. He’s tucked his shirt into dark slacks that fit just right, and he’s wearing that silver chain he only brings out for “important” nights.

Like fake dates, apparently.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look like he’s trying. He looks like this is just how he always looks. Like he doesn’t know that he’s the kind of guy women cross sidewalks for just to sneak a better glance.

And you should be used to that. You live with him. You see him fresh out of bed, half-asleep, shirtless and in the same ratty sweats every Sunday. But this is different.

You recover fast, mutter something closer to sounds than actual words and spin on your heel toward the bathroom.

You need a second. Maybe two.

You close the door behind you and lean against it, willing your heart to calm down. It's just Wooyoung. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your fake boyfriend for the night. Nothing to get flustered over.

You run a hand down your dress, fix your lipstick, try not to think about how the curve of his smile made your stomach flutter.

Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.

He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you through the reflection. “Hey.”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, and for a second, you forget what you’re doing, because his gaze isn’t neutral.

It drops. Lingers.

Slides down the line of your black dress, the way it hugs your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders. It’s not crude, not obvious, but you can feel it. Like a slow drag of heat over your body.

You blink. “You’re not allowed to just come in here.”

“I knocked.”

You glare.

He lifts his hands, innocent. “You just didn’t hear it. Selective hearing, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t move. Just stay there, eyes trailing from your hair to your lips to the way you’re fidgeting with your rings.

“What’s up?” you ask, voice soft.

He tilts his head slightly, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Funny,” he deadpans. Then after a beat, “I was wondering how much of a boyfriend I’m allowed to be tonight.”

Your stomach tightens.

He says it lightly, but there’s something in his voice, something teasing, but slower. More deliberate.

You meet his gaze in the mirror again. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says, stepping a little further into the room, “can I hold your hand? Whisper something in your ear if it gets boring? Pull you in when he’s watching?”

You swallow. He’s close now, not too close, but close enough that the air feels warmer.

“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes flicking to your lips just for a second, “kiss your cheek. You know. If it feels natural. Just enough to make him wonder.” There’s something electric in his voice now, light, amused, but edged with something darker. He smiles, wider this time, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Actually… can I make your ex jealous as fuck? Is that allowed?”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“I mean… if you give me even a little room to play…” He leans in, just slightly, not touching. “I swear I’ll ruin his whole fucking night.”

You’re still staring when he backs away, grin wide, eyes too pleased.

“No pressure," he says, putting both of his hands up, he smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “I’ll do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Your mouth is dry.

“Do whatever you want,” you manage. “Just… don’t be weird.”

He grins. “I make no promises”

You’re smiling, even as you turn away to grab your perfume, trying not to let him see how warm your cheeks are.

And as he walks out, he says it over his shoulder.

“You didn’t say no to the kiss.”

***

The knock sounds louder than you expect. You suddenly feel overdressed, underprepared, and painfully aware of the fact that your hand is linked with Wooyoung’s.

You didn’t mean to hold hands.

It just sort of… happened. One second you were adjusting your sleeve, the next his fingers found yours, no hesitation, like they’d done it a thousand times. And now it’s too late to pull away without it being weird.

“Y/N! Oh my god, finally! Come in!” Hana screams as she opens the door. You’re barely stepping inside when she notices the man next to you, her eyes widening. “And this is…?”

“Wooyoung,” he says smoothly, offering the wine bottle with both charm and ease. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana takes it with a delighted hum, already ushering you both inside. You barely get a foot in before her voice lifts again. “Babe, come meet my old co-worker!”

And there he is.

Standing a few steps inside the hallway, one hand curled loosely around a drink. He turns at the sound and freezes. Just for a second, quick enough to pass for nothing, but not to you. You see it. His eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Confusion. Surprise. Like he wasn’t told. Like he wasn’t ready.

But you smile, smooth and pleasant. Step forward, extend your hand like you’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Hi,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile like it’s nothing. Like you don’t know him. Like he’s just another name you’ll forget by morning. There’s the barest pause before he sets the glass down and shakes your hand. “Yeah,” he says, guarded, eyes flicking to Wooyoung. “You too.”

Before you can say anything, Wooyoung steps forward smoothly, hand outstretched, “Hi,” he says, voice warm and a little too cheerful. “I’m Wooyoung. Her boyfriend.”

There’s a pause. One breath too long. Your ex shifts, not quite hiding the way his eyes flick to your still-joined hands.

“…Right,” he says finally, taking Wooyoung’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana, being the overly-excited host that she is, smiles at the situation. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on, we’re just doing drinks and snacks before dinner.”

You glance toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction, but not before you feel Wooyoung’s hand press gently against your lower back, guiding you forward.

As if to say: I’ve got you.

But also…

Watch me work.

The house is warm and golden-lit, filled with soft music and the quiet sounds of people mingling. Laughter drifts from the back, layered over the clink of glasses and the sizzle of something on the stove.

The kitchen is full, couples leaning against counters, clustered near the island, perched on stools. Everyone looks up when you enter, and Hana claps her hands once. “Everyone, this is Y/N and her boyfriend, Wooyoung.”

You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.

Wooyoung just nods with a relaxed smile, greeting the group like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s introduced to a few of the guys first, and within a minute he’s already laughing at something, fully immersed in conversation.

You hang back, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore how good he looks tonight, sleeves rolled, watch glinting, hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try. And then, as if on cue, Hana pipes up from across the room, tossing the words over her shoulder like they’re harmless.

“I still can’t believe Y/N’s in a relationship now,” she says brightly, like it’s a funny little update. “I didn’t believe it at first, Y/N in a relationship? We all thought she was allergic to commitment!”

There’s a few laughs, light, not cruel. The kind of laugh that happens when people think they’re in on something. The moment the words leave Hana’s mouth, your ex looks up. His expression flickers with a hint of surprise.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say. But before you can speak, Wooyoung cuts in. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look particularly bothered. He just glances over at Hana with an easy, almost lazy kind of smile.

“If loving her is a commitment, then it’s the easiest type of commitment I’ve ever made.”

You blink.

Your ex doesn’t say anything. His lips press into a tight line, but his eyes narrow further, jaw clenching slightly as he watches Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung’s gaze never shifts away from you, his hand finding yours again, linking your fingers effortlessly. His smile is small, but there’s a touch of pride behind it. He’s enjoying this.

The women smile. A couple guys glance over like damn. And Hana? She laughs, charmed. “Wow, okay. You’re already winning points.”

You try to smile like your heart didn’t just skip an entire beat.

Hana insists on giving you and Wooyoung a quick tour before dinner. “It’s not huge,” she says, with a laugh that’s anything but modest. “We just really wanted something simple but tasteful. Natural light was a must. You know how it is.”

Wooyoung nods beside you like he deeply, deeply understands the weight of natural light, and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“And this-” Hana gestures grandly as she opens a set of double doors. “This is my favorite room. The light in here at golden hour? Unreal. We had the cushions custom made to match the ceiling beams. And the books are mostly for decoration, but it kind of gives the right mood, don’t you think?”

You nod along politely, half-listening, while Wooyoung leans down slightly, his voice warm and low against your ear.

“Do you think if I mention natural light three more times, we unlock a secret level of the tour?”

Your breath hitches with a soft laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tilt your head slightly toward him, shoulder brushing his chest. His smile lingers like he’s proud of himself, but there’s something else behind it too, something quieter. The way your face lights up when you laugh, how you don’t pull away. It flickers in his chest and sits there, unexpected.

His hand lingers a little longer at the small of your back as you follow Hana to the next room.

The dinner table is lively, plates are passed around, and glasses are filled as casual conversation flows. Across the table, your ex is quiet. He hasn’t said much all night, just observed. His smile is polite, his presence steady, but you can feel his gaze on you every now and then, especially when Wooyoung leans in to refill your glass or casually touches your wrist while talking.

The group is in a comfortable rhythm, and just as you're about to take a bite of your food, one of the guests leans back in their chair with a curious smile.

“So how did you two meet each other?”

You freeze, your mind racing. And across from you, you swear you see your ex stiffen slightly, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit.

Wooyoung notices immediately.

He smiles at you, that teasing, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans forward, taking the cue. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, his voice fills the room. Smooth, charming, and effortlessly natural.

"Oh, this one’s my favorite story," he says, his voice warm and playful, his eyes lighting up as if he's about to tell the most incredible tale.

He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you, making sure you’re paying attention. You give him a quick nod, still unsure of where he’s going with this.

“It was one of those nights you’re not even supposed to go out, you know? I almost canceled.” He lets out a soft laugh, glancing at you. “But then she walked in.”

Everyone leans in slightly, curious.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there either, actually. Our friend had to convince her. She was tired, had a long week,” He looks at you briefly, as if asking permission with his eyes, but his smile says he already knows you’ll let him go on.

“She came in late, a little out of breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, apologizing even though no one noticed. And I swear-” He leans back, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-the second I saw her, I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. Just totally lost it. My friend thought I was choking on my drink.”

Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.

“She sat right across from me, and I swear I didn’t hear a single thing anyone else said the whole night. I spent the night trying to make her laugh.”

It’s smooth, too smooth, but his tone is light, playful, like he’s just telling a fond memory, not spinning an elaborate lie. He continues, eyes sparkling.

“I asked for her number before we left, and she said no.”

A small gasp comes from someone at the table, and Wooyoung grins like he’s telling a bedtime story.

“She said I seemed like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.” More laughter. Wooyoung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Which-, okay, fair. But I wasn't flirting with her… or maybe I was, but I just wanted to keep talking to her. So I said, ‘If she doesn’t want to give it to me, fine, I’ll earn it.’ And I kept showing up whenever our friend invited people out. I'd always make sure to sit next to her. Always brought something small. Coffee, gum, dumb stuff, just to have an excuse to talk.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“And eventually… she let me walk her home.”

Someone lets out a little aww.

“I didn’t try anything,” he adds. “I just wanted to stretch out the moment as long as I could. I think we stood outside her door for half an hour just talking. I memorized the color of her front light. The chipped tile on her step. Her laugh.”

The table is completely silent.

“And the next time?” His smile curves wider. “She kissed me first. Which I will never let her forget.”

The table is enchanted.

For a moment after Wooyoung finishes, there’s a soft, stunned silence, like everyone’s holding their breath without realizing it. Then:

“Oh my God,” someone breathes.

The woman across from you nudges her partner. “You never chased me like that.”

“You didn’t run,” he deadpans.

“So you’re telling me you saw her once and just knew?” another friend adds, reaching for more wine.

“I told our mutual friend to introduce us, and he said ‘don’t bother.’” He stretches his arm along the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “So obviously I did the exact opposite.”

The table erupts with laughter. Real, full, warm.

“God, that sounds so like you,” Hana laughs, sending you a playful glance.

Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.

But not from everyone.

Across the table, your ex’s grip on his fork tightens, just for a moment. Not dramatic, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but you see it. The twitch in his jaw. The way he shifts back in his chair like he needs space to breathe.

Wooyoung leans in slightly, hand still resting lightly behind your neck now, fingers brushing just enough to make it look natural. Intimate.

“And when she finally said yes,” he adds, voice lower now, more deliberate, “I knew I wasn’t gonna let her go.”

Your chest tightens.

The air feels heavier.

Meanwhile, you’re frozen in place, staring at your wine glass, heart racing as if you lived every second of that made-up story. You catch someone across the table watching you with a knowing smile, clearly convinced you're the luckiest girl alive.

And for a second, just one, you almost believe it too.

The rest of the dinner unfolds like a well-rehearsed play. Light laughter, wine refills, soft clinks of cutlery against porcelain. Conversation drifts easily between the couples, like they’ve all known each other forever, even if some only met tonight. And somehow, you and Wooyoung fall into it without trying.

After the dinner, the buzz of conversation in the living room fades as you step quietly down the hallway toward the bathroom. You need a second to breathe, just a minute alone after everything that’s happened tonight.

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Wooyoung’s charming story about how you met still lingers in your mind, and the way everyone seemed so enchanted by him... it felt like something out of a movie. It had been easy to get swept up in it all, even though it was completely fabricated.

After a few moments, you open the bathroom door and nearly jump out of your skin.

Wooyoung is standing right there in the hallway, hands in his pockets like he’s just been casually waiting. His gaze flicks up to meet yours immediately, and a slow, knowing smile pulls at his lips.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms now crossed, like he’s settling in.

You swallow hard. “You scared me.”

“Did I?” His voice is low, soft. Like a secret passed between friends. “Sorry. You just disappeared.”

“I needed a second. Too many couples,” you say, attempting a light laugh that comes out a bit thin. “Too much… love.”

“So?” he murmurs beside you. “How am I doing?”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised.

“The fake boyfriend thing,” he adds with a sly grin. “Convincing enough for you?”

You shrug, but your smile gives you away. “I’ve seen worse performances.”

“Cold,” he mutters, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Here I am, carrying the entire romance on my back.”

You laugh quietly, then shake your head, your voice dropping again. “Honestly, I think everyone at the table wants to date you now.”

“Jealous?” he says, all teeth and sparkle, but his voice is soft, teasing rather than cocky.

You roll your eyes, even as your stomach flips. “Please.”

Then he tilts his head, studying you. His tone shifts, still playful, but quieter. “You know, you’re still a little pink.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your cheeks,” he says, nodding toward them. “Blushing. Again.”

You cross your arms instinctively, heart picking up pace. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he whispers. He leans a little closer. “It’s kinda cute.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re insufferable,” you whisper, smiling despite yourself.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

The moment hangs, just a little too long. You’re standing in the dim hallway, lights soft, voices muffled behind walls, and he’s looking at you like this is his favorite part of the night.

You clear your throat, trying to reset something in the air. “We should go back.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening slowly. “Before someone thinks we’re sneaking off to make out.”

Wooyoung straightens just a little, the moment sliding away like water off skin. He gives you one last glance, a wink for good measure, then turns and walks toward the others. That leaves you standing in the hallway, heart racing, wondering why his lazy confidence always makes it hard to tell when he’s joking and when he isn’t.

You follow behind, still feeling the blush he called out.

You offer to help Hana out in the kitchen. Wooyoung is busy winning everybody’s hearts with his charm, so you aren’t concerned about him.

You rinse off a plate, hands moving on autopilot as you stack it neatly on the drying rack. Hana leans against the counter beside you, sipping the last of her wine, her smile still painted on from dinner. “Seriously though,” she says, nudging your hip with hers, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up with someone like that.”

You huff a laugh. “Like what?”

“Like… funny. Hot. Charismatic. The way he talks about you?” She raises a brow. “Unreal.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Yeah. He’s something.”

“I mean…” She grins. “You glow around him. It’s wild. Like, he looks at you like he’s already picking out your wedding venue.”

You laugh, quiet, awkward. “He’s just… sweet.”

Hana raises her brows. “He’s obsessed. In a good way.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go grab the wine opener. Don’t let me forget it again. Be back in a sec.”

The back door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles again. It’s nice for a moment, just you, the clink of cutlery, the steam from the sink. You keep washing dishes, grateful for the moment alone.

But it doesn’t last.

You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.

You turn your head and freeze.

It’s him.

Your ex.

He stands just past the threshold, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on you. He steps in without saying anything at first. Just lingers a little too close to the kitchen island, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what he’s seeing.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says.

You dry your hands on a towel, steadying yourself. “Clearly.”

He takes a step in. Not too close, but enough to unsettle you.

His eyes flick around the room, then land back on you. “You look good.”

You sigh quietly, turning back to the sink. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just saying.”

Another beat.

You hear him shift again, leaning slightly against the island behind you. You can feel his eyes on your back.

“That guy,” he says finally. “The one who came with you. Wooyoung.”

You don’t look at him. “What about him?”

He hesitates. Then, carefully: “Are you two… serious?”

You pause, then shrug. “That’s none of your business.”

He lets out a low breath. “So that’s a yes.”

You turn slowly, facing him now. “Why are you here, really?”

“In my own house?”

“No,” you say. “Why are you in this kitchen, right now?”

He stares at you. Silent.

“I fucked up,” he blurts, “Okay? I know I did. I’ve been thinking about it since-”

“Don’t,” you snap, but still keeping your voice down so the rest of the party won't hear. “You don’t get to come here, pretend we’re still something, and then act surprised that I moved on. You’re married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. He looks at you like you’ve just hit him.

“You moved on?” he repeats, like the words are bitter on his tongue. “With him?”

You step back. “You don’t know him.”

He scoffs. “I might not, but I can still see how insufferable he is.”

You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He takes another step forward, eyes sharper now. “I just don’t get it. After everything-”

“No,” you say firmly, holding your hand up. “You don’t get anything. You lost the right to have an opinion the second you slept with someone else.”

There’s a beat of silence. Your heart pounds in your ears.

And then…

“Everything okay in here?” Wooyoung’s voice is cold. Threatening almost.

You don’t need to look. You feel it, the air shifting, the way the atmosphere bends around his presence. But you still turn your head. And it steadies you instantly.

He’s leaning in the doorway. One hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture is relaxed. His expression? Somewhere between nonchalance and interest.

But his eyes?

They’re fixed on your ex.

And they could kill.

Your ex straightens, caught off guard. “Uh-, yeah. We were just-”

Wooyoung steps fully into the room like he’s walking through water, unconcerned by the tension that’s thick enough to drown in. He nods once, a polite gesture with razor edges, then glances at you.

His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.

“You okay, baby?”

The pet name slips out effortlessly. Like it belongs there. Like you belong to him. Then he closes the space between you and him, his hand brushing the small of your back with casual ownership.

Your breath stutters. “I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers on your ex, sharp enough to make the air hum.

“Then I’ll ask one more time,” he murmurs, voice dipped in steel, eyes locked on your ex. “Is there a problem?”

Your ex lets out a quiet scoff, trying to play it cool. “No problem at all.”

Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.

“Then I’ll make this simple,” he says, softly now. Dangerous soft. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He tilts his head, the barest shift of muscle. His smile is slight, almost gentle, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If not…” His jaw tightens just once. “Walk away before you make me repeat myself.”

Your ex doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t look at you. Just leaves.

And Wooyoung watches every step. Tracks him with the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch. It says everything he hasn’t:

Try it again. I dare you.

When it’s just the two of you again, Wooyoung’s fingers trace your spine once, barely there. A silent check-in.

Then, slowly, his focus shifts. Back to you.

His voice drops. Low. Controlled.

“You okay?”

You nod once, but it’s tight. Too tight. And he sees it.

His brows pinch just slightly. “Did he say something?”

“No,” you whisper, and it’s true, mostly. “He was just… being him.”

Wooyoung exhales slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Like he’s trying not to say something that would ruin the whole night. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in him softens. Just a little.

His hand slides from your back to your waist, anchoring you close. He studies your face for a moment, like he’s not fully convinced, but then he exhales and gives a small nod back.

“I didn’t want to step in too early,” he says, voice soft now. “You looked like you had it under control. You did.”

There’s something warm in your chest at that, that he trusted you to hold your own.

You meet his eyes.

He’s not angry.

He’s present.

“I know you don’t need anyone to defend you,” he says, quieter now. “But I’m here. If you ever want me to.”

That part lingers. A gentle offering.

You smile faintly. “Thanks.”

He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping like he doesn’t want to be overheard, even by the walls, and something wicked flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to make it clearer you’re taken.”

Your heart skips a beat.

His hand gives your waist the faintest squeeze, not possessive, just sure. Then he straightens up, tone lighter, a glint in his eye as he teases, “You ready to go back out there, or should we hide out in here a little longer?”

You smile. “Let’s go.”

Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours as you step out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say much. Just keeps his hand on you, sometimes at your back, sometimes curled around your fingers, like he doesn’t trust the room not to try and touch you.

The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.

But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long when you make eye contact The way his thumb brushes your skin when you pass your ex. Like a fuse waiting for flame.

The evening moves on. Laughter. Drinks. Music humming low in the background. But that energy never leaves him.

Then, after another drink, his palm slides against your waist as he leans in, murmuring just low enough for only you to hear. “Come outside with me for a sec?”

You glance up, surprised by the quiet invitation, but nod. “Yeah. Okay."

He takes your hand and leads you through the back door, into the cool hush of the backyard. String lights sway gently above. A few scattered chairs dot the patio, mostly empty.

He pulls you just far enough into the yard that you’re framed under the golden light, a sight impossible to miss. Then he stops just enough to pull you in close, his hands resting firmly on your waist. His breath brushes your neck as he leans in, voice low and a little teasing.

“Do you trust me?”

You meet his gaze, smiling without hesitation, but a little confused. “Of course.”

But before you can say anything more, he leans in, no warning, no hesitation, and his mouth finds your neck.

Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.

His grip on your waist tightens, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you, or maybe keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Your fingers twitch, aching to clutch at his shirt, his shoulders, anything. But he doesn’t stop. His mouth keeps moving, tongue flicking, lips parting as he sucks softly at the spot just above your collarbone, lazy, indulgent, filthy in how intimate it feels.

You gasp, hips tilting forward instinctively, heat already pooling low and heavy in your belly. He doesn’t miss it, he hums against your throat like he felt it happen.

Wooyoung pulls back just enough to murmur, voice thick and close to your ear, “You weren’t expecting that, huh?”

His tone is teasing, pleased, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Then he leans back in, grazing your neck again, his nose brushing over the same spot he just kissed.

“Fake boyfriend of the year, right?” he adds, a low smirk in his voice.

It pulls a laugh from you, too real, too soft, and he chuckles under his breath like he lives for the sound.

And then he looks up.

Over your shoulder.

Still smiling.

You don’t turn. You don’t even realize why his gaze has sharpened. But Wooyoung knows. He’s known from the moment he stepped outside.

“Oh, hey,” he says, just loud enough, like the thought only now occurred to him. “Didn’t see you there.”

You blink, startled, then turn.

And there he is.

Your ex is sitting in the far corner of the backyard, posture stiff, one hand loosely holding a glass of something amber that he’s no longer drinking. He’s been watching, long enough, clearly. His eyes flick from your face to where Wooyoung’s hand rests against your hip like it was made to be there. His mouth is drawn in a line so tight it might split.

He’d been watching.

Wooyoung's arm wraps a little tighter around your waist. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just… secure. Like he has every right to hold you like this. Like he dares anyone to question it.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Wooyoung says, cool and lazy.

Your ex stares, jaw tight.

Wooyoung doesn’t wait. His posture is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye that betrays him, too amused, too at-ease.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” he adds, like it’s nothing. “Stars out. Music inside. My girl tastes like sangria. Hard to complain.”

You stiffen slightly, but Wooyoung doesn’t flinch. He’s still smiling faintly, watching you with that unbothered, pretty-boy charm that somehow makes everything worse.

Your ex lifts his drink and mutters, “Some of us came out here to be alone.”

Wooyoung cocks his head. “Oh, totally fair. Should’ve said something.”

There’s a beat of silence, sharp enough to cut through. But he doesn’t move. He stays planted right there beside you, hand still snug on your waist like it belongs there.

Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.

“Oh-, wait,” he says, voice still sweet. “You want us back inside?” He huffs a quiet laugh, almost apologetic. “Damn. That’s on me.”

Your ex sets his glass down with a soft clink on the stone railing. “You always this annoying?”

Wooyoung grins. “Only when I’m in a good mood.”

“Y/N! Wooyoung!”

Hana bursts out, loud and glowing, wine glass in one hand, joy practically spilling out of her. Her eyes land on you both and she lights up like the fourth of July.

“Oh my God, there you are!” she grins. “I was about to come get you, everyone keeps asking where the hot couple went!”

You see your ex stiffen. Wooyoung’s smile stretches.

“Hot couple,” he echoes, biting back a laugh.

Hana gasps dramatically. “Don’t act shy now! You two are disgusting. I love it.”

“I'm not mad about it. She’s got great taste,” Wooyoung teases with a little shrug, for a second glancing over at your ex. “Eventually.”

Your ex’s jaw tightens. He looks like he might speak.

But Wooyoung leans in one last time, whispering low into your ear, voice soft enough to make your skin spark:

"Success, baby"

He smirks before sliding his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the house where Hana is waiting, oblivious to the tension left behind.

The night has mellowed. The lights are dim, the wine is flowing, and laughter has started to echo easier around the table. Someone’s passed around dessert, tiramisu in glass jars, and Wooyoung’s excused himself to the bathroom with that lazy, effortless vibe only he can pull off without trying. You’d felt his hand brush your shoulder as he left, and it still lingers there somehow, phantom-warm.

Hana’s had just enough wine to get bold. She sits across from you, grinning over the rim of her glass.

“Okay,” she says, loudly enough to cut across the overlapping chatter. “New question for the couples.”

The table quiets, interest piqued.

Her eyes land on you like a spotlight. “What’s your favorite physical thing about your partner?”

A few groans. Someone throws a napkin in her direction.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” she warns, laughing. “And no safe answers either. I don’t want to hear about how they ‘have a nice smile’ or ‘beautiful eyes’, everyone says that. I want the thing. The detail. The part of them that does it for you when you’re not even trying to look. The one that makes your brain short-circuit a little.”

You laugh, swallowing a little too quickly. The wine burns, and suddenly the air feels too warm.

“I’ll go last,” Hana says, clearly loving this. “Y/N, go.”

You freeze. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Her smile is practically villainous. “He’s not even here. You can be honest.”

Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.

You hesitate, lips parting, unsure. Your eyes flick toward the hallway where Wooyoung disappeared. As if he might walk in just in time to save you.

But he doesn’t.

You clear your throat and say, maybe a little too honestly, “His hands.”

“Ooh,” someone says. “That’s a good one.”

You glance down at the table, fingers curling around your wine glass. “They’re just… nice,” you say, not looking up. “He moves them a lot when he talks. And they’re always doing something. Tapping, pulling at a sleeve, playing with his rings or-, whatever. Just always… moving.”

Your voice quiets as the room listens. You feel exposed, like you said something too intimate.

You don’t realize the room has fallen silent. Until it hits you that no one’s said anything back.

And then...

“I should leave more often if this is what I get to come back to.”

And Wooyoung is standing just behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in interest.

Your breath halts.

There’s laughter again around the table, but your throat goes dry. Hana’s grinning at the perfect timing. “There he is,” she says, wiggling her brows. “Right on cue. We’re playing favorites.”

Wooyoung raises a brow. “Favorites?”

“Favorite physical thing about each other,” she explains, eyes sparkling. “And no cop-outs like smile or eyes. We’re talking the thing. The detail that ruins you. Your turn”

He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Her neck.”

A beat of silence. His voice is smooth but deliberate, like the words were waiting in his mouth.

You feel your body go still.

Then he moves, slowly, stepping closer behind your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder as he comes to a stop. You’re suddenly very aware of how exposed your skin is where your top dips to your collarbone, of how warm the air feels even though he hasn’t touched you.

“She’s got this curve,” he says, quieter now, like he’s letting everyone else fade out. “Right here," His fingers trace the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, so lightly it barely counts as a touch. “Right where her hair rests.”

Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.

“In the mornings,” he says, like he’s letting the rest of the room fall away, “when she’s still half-asleep and pulls her hair up without thinking. Stretching, yawning, no makeup, nothing, this part’s just exposed. The light hits it, and I swear to God-” He cuts himself off with a low exhale, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “It makes it really hard to be on time for anything.”

The silence that follows is a different kind of hush. Not teasing. Not performative.

It’s weighted. Personal.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t making any of that up. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he pulls back, barely.

“Plus,” he adds, a lazy grin playing on his lips, “it’s really unfair that you smell the way you do.”

“Okay, damn,” someone says from across the table, but you can’t even register who.

Wooyoung finally moves, slipping back into the seat beside you. But he doesn’t lean back, doesn’t settle into comfort like before. He sits just a little closer than he needs to. His thigh brushes yours. Warm. Steady. You don’t move.

The game rolls on, Hana gesturing to the couple across from you with a flourish, their answer met with giggles and teasing. But the background fades, soft, foggy, because you feel it. The weight of Wooyoung’s stare.

When you finally turn your head, you find him already watching you.

And everything in his face is different.

Gone is the cocky smile, the playful glint in his eye. He’s quiet now. Studying you, like he’s not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe he doesn’t want to know.

And then, another gaze.

You catch it from the corner of your eye: your ex, sitting stiff at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. He’s watching Wooyoung like a hawk, jaw tight, mouth set in a firm line.

Wooyoung senses it. You can feel the shift in him, the small breath he takes. The flicker of heat in his chest, like he might respond, say something, smirk just to provoke.

But he doesn’t.

Because it’s not about him anymore.

After a few more rounds of the game, you step into the hallway and let your back hit the wall with a quiet sigh. The noise from the living room still hums faintly behind you, laughter, the clink of glasses, someone shuffling a deck of cards. It’s warm in there, but your skin feels too tight. You just need a minute.

You close your eyes.

Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.

Wooyoung slips into the hallway like he’s done it a hundred times, like he always knows when you need the space. He falls in beside you, close but not crowding, his shoulder hovering just shy of yours as he leans against the wall.

“You always vanish when it gets too loud,” he says, his voice low.

You keep your eyes forward, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t vanish. I relocate.”

He hums. “Right. Into hallways. Or kitchen corners. Or that one time it was behind the couch.”

“That was one time.”

“It was still dramatic,” he teases, nudging your arm lightly. Your breath catches, just a little. It’s playful. It’s Wooyoung. But something about the way he talks makes your stomach flip.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

The words land like a spark, and your breath catches before you can help it. You blink up at him, startled.

“I-, what?”

He grins, slow and lopsided. “Just saying. I don’t think I told you earlier.”

You feel your face flush, warmth blooming across your cheeks, down your neck. You look away instantly, trying to mask it with a half-laugh.

“I’m honest,” he counters, still looking at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers. “I mean, you always look good, but tonight…” His voice dips, softer now. “It’s kind of unfair.”

You glance away, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s standing. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asks, leaning just slightly toward you. “Is it that hard to believe? Do I need to be faking a relationship for you to believe it?”

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can. Your heart’s already too loud in your ears.

He nudges your arm gently. “You know, for someone who lives with me, you’re really bad at accepting compliments.”

You try to play it off. “Maybe you just give too many.”

“Mm,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just really easy to compliment.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tucking your chin down in embarrassment. “Can you not?”

You finally glance at him, and he’s already watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable look, somewhere between playful and serious. Like he’s holding back.

He doesn’t say anything else for a second. He just looks at you.

And somehow, that says more than the rest.

You try not to smile. You fail.

Wooyoung pushes himself off the wall with a lazy stretch, then turns his body to face you, effectively placing his back toward the living room.

“Come back in when you’re ready,” he says softly, his voice carrying that usual teasing warmth. “You don’t have to rush. But I’ll be on my seat, being distractingly attractive… in case that helps.”

You almost laugh, but then your eyes drift past him.

Your stomach dips.

Your ex is standing just inside the living room, half-shadowed but unmistakably watching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed directly on you.

“Wait,” you breathe, reaching out without thinking.

You grab Wooyoung’s shirt and pull him a little closer. He stumbles forward a step, surprised but not resisting. His brows furrow slightly in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Do you trust me?” you ask now, your voice quieter now. There’s a tremor in it, not fear, but urgency. Purpose.

Wooyoung’s expression shifts, softening. “Yes,” he says, instantly. “Of course.”

That’s all you need.

Your hands move quickly, one sliding up to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt. You rise onto your toes and kiss him. Firm and deliberate. Lips meeting his in a way that leaves no room for questions. His mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in.

When you break the kiss just slightly, you don’t step back. You stay close, close enough that your lips graze his as you whisper, “He’s watchi-,”

You don’t get to finish. Wooyoung’s lips are on yours again before you even register, like they need to be. Like he doesn’t care about why you kissed him, or for who, but because he can’t stop now that you’ve let it happen.

This time it’s deeper. Hungrier.

You can’t help but deepen the kiss when he slides his tongue slightly into your mouth, and one of his hands slips down to your lower back, guiding you closer. The other lifts to your jaw, gentle but sure. l

You feel your back press lightly into the wall behind you as he moves with you, not rough, but insistent. The kind of kiss that drowns everything else out, conversation, footsteps, your ex’s presence across the room.

His lips part yours, his breath hot and heavy against your cheek between kisses. His grip tightens at your waist, grounding you. You respond instinctively, hands curling into his shirt, lips moving with his, matching every shift and tilt of his head.

It’s a performance. That’s how it started.

But it doesn’t feel like one anymore.

It feels like heat, like want, like a spark that caught fire the second you gave it permission. And he’s kissing you like he’s not planning to stop anytime soon.

And for just a second, you let yourself melt into it. Into him.

But then… it passes.

The air changes again.

You blink and glance over to the living room. Your ex is gone. Vanished back into the room. Wooyoung slows, then stops. His hands remain on you, his breath still a little uneven.

You pull back first, just enough to look at him.

His eyes are already on you. There’s something different there now, an emotion you haven’t seen from him before. Not just playfulness, not just comfort. Something heavier. Hungrier.

You force a small, awkward smile and drop your hands from his neck, stepping back just slightly. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think that worked.”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything for a second. He just studies you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. Then he nods, slow and unreadable, and finally, he smiles. But it’s not quite the same. Something about it is quieter. Almost reverent.

At the end of the night, shoes shuffle at the door. Coats rustle. The air is heavy with the kind of tired that follows too much wine and too much pretending.

“Get home safe, okay?” Hana says warmly, stepping toward you both as you’re about to leave. Her smile is soft, a little teasing. “You two are seriously adorable. Like… sickening. I love it.”

You laugh, a bit breathlessly, already halfway into your coat. But before you can say anything, Wooyoung’s arm snakes naturally around your waist, casual, confident. You feel his fingers press into your side, warm through the fabric.

“Thanks, Hana,” he says, flashing her a grin. “She keeps me in line.”

You roll your eyes and glance up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips is real, too real. “Barely,” you murmur, playing along.

His eyes flick to yours for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Hana grins and gives you both a quick hug before stepping back into the house. “Bye, lovebirds.”

The door closes behind you.

The air outside bites cold against your skin.

And just like that, his arm drops from your waist. The performance ends.

Neither of you says a word as you walk to the curb. You don’t know if it’s the silence or the absence of his touch that makes the air feel heavier now, but it’s different.

The cab pulls up with a soft screech. He opens the door for you like always, waits for you to slide in, then follows without a word. The car is warm, too warm, and too quiet.

You're both staring straight ahead.

The streetlights flicker past, painting gold across his face. In the confined space, the silence between you buzzes, thick with something unspoken, something ignited hours ago that neither of you has dared to acknowledge.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels far too loud in the quiet.

Coats are hung. Shoes are kicked off. The scent of his usual candle lingers in the air, citrus and something darker underneath. Normally comforting. Now it just makes your heart beat faster.

Wooyoung heads to the kitchen without a word. His shoulders are relaxed, but there’s something taut underneath it all. You hesitate in the hallway, watching him open the cabinet, sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins still prominent down his forearms from earlier, and you hate how you notice.

You drift into the kitchen slowly, lingering by the edge of the counter.

“So,” you offer, light and a little too bright, “that was fun, right? Peak acting performance. Someone give us Oscars.”

No answer. He fills the glass with water from the tap, moves with that same quiet ease, but doesn’t glance at you once.

You try again, a bit more playful. “Think we fooled them? I mean, your story about how we met really sold it. Ten out of ten commitment.”

He finally looks at you, just looks. And it’s a look that completely steals the breath from your chest. Calm, dark, unreadable. His eyes are locked on yours like he's waiting for you to crack first. And suddenly you're hyperaware of everything. How hot your cheeks feel, how your voice might've sounded too eager, how the silence seems to wrap around your body like a second skin.

You clear yours softly. “Anyway. Um. I’m gonna-, I think I’m just gonna head to bed.”

Still nothing from him.

You nod quickly. “Night.”

You turn, heart hammering now, and you’ve only made it a step or two down the hall when his voice floats to you, quiet, even.

“If you ever need a fake boyfriend again…”

You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.

“…you know where to find me.”

You turn back toward him slowly. He’s still in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, eyes unreadable, but fixed on you like he’s daring you to say something. To ask him what he means. To call him out.

You don’t.

You meet his gaze, and it’s only for a second, but something heavy passes between you, something weighty and unspoken that neither of you wants to name.

Then you nod.

Not a joking nod. Not one meant to brush things off. Just… quiet acknowledgement. You walk off with your heartbeat pounding in your ears, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up with. You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And for a long time, you just stand there in the silence of your room, pulse racing, breath held, trying to figure out what exactly that was.

You don’t even remember walking to your vanity. You’ve just been standing here, fingers curled loosely along the edge, eyes locked on your reflection like it might give you answers. But all it gives you is the echo of him. His words. His gaze. His lips on yours. The way your body reacted like it knew something you didn’t.

There’s a knock.

A soft one.

You straighten up fast, like you’re guilty of something. “Come in.”

The door creaks open behind you.

You meet his gaze through the mirror as he strolls in, easy and casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, in your space, late at night.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

You manage a breath. “Not tired?”

His shoulders lift in the faintest shrug. “Not really.”

Then silence again.

But it’s not awkward, it’s thick. Charged.

“I was thinking about something,” he finally says, his voice smooth, a little playful.

You glance at him in the mirror, trying not to let your pulse jump. “Yeah? About what?”

Wooyoung pushes off the frame, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. “You’re better at this whole fake relationship thing than you give yourself credit for.”

You attempt a shrug. “Just playing along.”

A soft laugh leaves him. “Mm. Sure.”

He walks further into the room. Not quickly. Not even directly toward you. He slows as he passes by your bed, eyes roaming lazily over the space like he’s trying to memorize it. But you know that’s not what this is.

He��s letting the silence stretch.

He’s letting you squirm.

You glance at him through the mirror, just as he finally makes his way behind you.

You don’t move.

You can’t.

He stops right behind you, not touching, but close. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, but it’s no use. He’s everywhere now. In your space. In your breath.

“And the things you said tonight,” he says, voice soft but pointed. “Those were part of the act too?”

You try to keep your tone even. “What things?”

He tilts his head. “The part where you said you like my hands. That you stare at them when I’m not looking.”

You freeze just slightly.

"I-, uhm... I dont-..." You glance down instinctively, suddenly very aware of your own hands fidgeting.

“Funny,” he says softly, “You think I haven’t noticed? When I’m cooking. When I’m fixing something around the apartment. You always get quiet.”

His hand lifts, fingertips brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. You shiver as he lowers his voice again.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” he says. “I do love your neck.”

You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to.

“In the mornings,” he murmurs. “When you’re in the kitchen, still half asleep, standing by the window. Your head tilts just a little. That soft little spot here,” he gestures near your collarbone, but still doesn’t touch. “barely covered.”

You’re not breathing properly now.

“And I try,” he continues, “I really try to keep it together, but you standing there like that…? That does something to me.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

His fingers trail lightly along the back of your neck, not quite touching skin yet, but enough to make you lean into it. He steps in fully now, his hands finding your waist, and you instinctively lean back into him.

And then, finally, his mouth brushes your neck. Gentle. Slow. A teasing press that turns into something deeper. You feel the smile against your skin as he kisses again, and again, lower this time, until your knees threaten to give.

You gasp, just a little, and he smiles against your throat.

“You know,” he starts, voice casual, “if this wasn’t fake…”

Your breath hitches.

“…I would’ve done a lot of things differently tonight.”

You swallow hard. “Like what?”

He trails one finger along your side, feather-light, just enough to make you squirm.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he begins, like it’s casual, like he’s not setting you on fire, “I wouldn’t have let you leave my side once tonight. I would’ve had my hand on you the whole dinner, your thigh, your back, the curve of your hip, just to remind you who you belong to.”

Your stomach tightens.

He brushes his fingers lightly along your sides, not quite ticklish, just maddeningly slow.

“I’d bring you home,” he continues, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, “take your hand, lead you to your room like I’ve been waiting to all night. And I wouldn’t rush it. No pretending, no performance. Just you. Me. And the dress I’ve been dying to take off you.”

He trails his knuckles lightly down your side, slow and reverent.

“I’d unzip it real slow…”

You hear the faintest shift of fabric.

“Let it slip off your shoulders while I kissed right here…” he presses a single, feather-light kiss to the side of your neck, “and here…” another just below your ear, “until you were shivering.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and he watches your reflection like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear.

You’re at a loss for words but you’re hungry for more. You shake your head as you swallow, but realise how dry your mouth is. His hands slide up your sides, warm, sure, with a smile on his face.

“If it hadn't been fake, I’d press you against this vanity,” he goes on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Make you watch as I touched every inch of your skin.”

You can’t look away from the mirror, from the image of his hands exploring you, slow and confident, like he’s known this body forever.

“I’d hold your hips right here.” His hands grip you firmly, positioning your body with ease. “And I’d make sure the only thing you remembered from tonight was how I made you feel.”

"Yeah?" you manage to say, too invested in everything he's saying.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he murmurs, his hands still on you, tracing the curve of your body as if he owns it. “I’d make you see stars. I’d fuck you right here, make you forget you were ever pretending.”

You let out a light gasp, feeling your heart in your throat.

He presses against you, his hand finding its way to your neck, just enough to make you tilt your head back, exposing more of that sensitive skin. He breathes softly against it.

“You’d be mine. I’d make sure you knew it, every fucking inch of you.”

You’re a breath away from crumbling, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you realize how much you want him, how easily you’re giving into the fantasy.

His lips are still close to your ear, breath warm, voice impossibly soft.

“But then again…” he murmurs, the barest smile in his tone, “this is all fake… isn’t it?”

You stiffen.

He lets out a low chuckle, his nose skimming the line of your jaw as he continues, casually cruel in the way only he can be. “None of this would actually happen. I mean, why would it?”

"Why not?" you barely let out a whisper.

His fingers drag slowly down your sides, feather-light, torturously teasing. He’s pretending to think, pretending to be thoughtful, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You and me, coming home after a night like that, all dressed up, all tense and wired… and me just…” His hand glides over your hips. “Peeling you out of this dress and fucking you over your vanity?”

He hums, tilting his head. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.

He leans in again, lips just at your neck now. “You haven’t said much,” he whispers, his hand brushing lower, just enough to make you flinch. “Should I stop?” His fingers press gently into your thighs now, possessive even in their softness. “Because we’re faking it, right?” He lets out a slow, amused breath. “And I’d hate to make things confusing.”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, your skin flushed everywhere.

“Unless you want me to keep going,” he murmurs, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, darker now, heavy with intent. “But you’d have to say it, sweetheart.”

His fingers trail between your legs, light as a threat.

You grip the edge of the vanity with white knuckles, heart pounding in your throat. “Wooyoung…”

His hand slides up, over your stomach, between your breasts, up to your throat, never squeezing, just there. Possessive. Protective. His lips trail along your shoulder, just above the strap of your dress, while the other hand finally finds the zipper.

“I’d take you like this,” he says lowly, kissing the back of your neck. “Make you look at yourself while I ruin you, slow… deep… mine.”

Your knees nearly give out.

He presses forward just a little more, breath ragged now against your skin. “But maybe we should stop.”

You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.

“No, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like the last wall crumbling. "Don't stop."

His hands freeze for just a moment, then he smirks, low and satisfied.

“There she is.”

His smirk deepens, wicked, triumphant. He doesn’t say a word.

Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.

Your back meets the cool edge of the vanity. Before you can fully catch your breath, his veiny hand is already on your throat, firm but careful, guiding your head back just enough to look up at him.

You gasp from the way it makes your knees go weak, the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

His gaze drops to your lips. Then slowly, almost torturously, he leans in, breath brushing your mouth, letting you feel the heat of it before he claims you.

The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.

His mouth crashes into yours like he’s starved for it, tongue, teeth, everything. He takes and takes, groaning low in his throat the moment you moan against him. That tiny, helpless sound makes his fingers tighten slightly on your neck, his other hand sliding possessively down your side to your hip.

“God, you sound so pretty when you do that,” he breathes between kisses, voice wrecked.

You melt under him, into him, letting him press you back against the vanity like he wants to fuse you to it. He breaks the kiss with a growl, breath hot against your lips, then suddenly, he spins you again.

You can’t speak. You can’t think. All you can do is feel his hands on your hips, feel the way his body aligns with yours so perfectly it’s almost cruel.

“Still pretending?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Or can I finally touch you like I’ve wanted to all fucking night?”

You nod before he even finishes the sentence. "Yes-, yes please," you whimper, hips tilting back into his, head tipping to give him more of your neck.

He chuckles under his breath.

“Thought so.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before his hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His fingers find the zipper of your dress, and he pulls it down, letting you feel every inch of his focus on you.

The dress slides off your body, pooling at your feet, and he’s quick to step back just enough to take you in. His eyes rake over you like he’s starving. You stand there, vulnerable, under his gaze, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache in your chest growing stronger.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes raking over you from behind. “You’re a goddamn dream.”

You gasp as he presses you into the vanity, your body trapped between the cool wood and the heat of him. His hands slide down to your thighs, pulling them apart slowly, giving him access, making sure you feel every moment of it. His voice drops to a velvet growl. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. Right here.” His lips press behind your ear again, “Tell me you want it,” he demands.

And you can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you nod, your breath quickening. “I want it.”

He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His hand presses firmly between your thighs, rubbing you through the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to make your legs weaken beneath you.

He chuckles against your skin when he feels you tremble. “Already this wet for me, baby?”

You nod helplessly, and his free hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose more of your neck.

His teeth graze your pulse point, and you moan again, louder this time. "Look in the mirror as I touch you."

Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as your gaze locks on the reflection. “Fuck, Wooyoung…” you whisper, already unsteady, your thighs trembling under his stare alone.

Then, with no warning, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them fall. Cool air brushes against your wetness, and your whole body jolts in response.

“Jesus-” you exhale, shivering.

His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make you twitch. You moan, sharp and helpless, eyes fluttering closed for a second until he tuts softly beside your ear.

“Eyes open, sweetheart. I said look.”

You obey, forcing your eyes to the mirror again, and the sight of you, glowing, needy, lips parted, legs trembling, draws a sound from deep in your throat.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing just below your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, he pushes in, just one finger at first, thick and deliberate. He doesn’t rush. He presses in knuckle by knuckle, watching your face in the mirror as your lips part and your back arches. The way your body welcomes him makes his cock twitch under the fabrics.

“There we go,” he whispers, dark and pleased. “So fucking tight.”

He gives you a moment to adjust, curling that single finger just right, then pulls back, almost all the way, before pushing in again, deeper this time. You whimper, soft and broken.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. “You let me in so easily.”

When he slides in a second finger, your knees nearly give out, but he catches you, pressing his chest to your back and flattening his palm over your belly.

You cry out, raw and desperate, body jerking in his arms.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, right there-, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.

“Good girl,” he whispers, moving his fingers just the way you need. “Let me hear you.”

And you do.

Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.

Your hands grip the edge of the vanity. He watches in the mirror as your face twists in pleasure, breath shuddering every time he pumps into you. He doesn’t relent. His fingers are steady, coaxing, relentless, fucking you precisely, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands softly.

“So good,” you breathe. “It’s-, god, Wooyoung-”

“That’s right,” he cuts in, curling his fingers deeper. “Say my name like that.”

He shifts just slightly, just enough to hit the spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes, and keeps that rhythm. Over and over.

“Come on,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.

But he doesn’t let you. His free hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, guiding you back to the mirror.

“No. Look,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “I want you to see how good I make you feel. How pretty you look falling apart just for me.”

You force your eyes open, lips parted, eye makeup already smudged, breath shaking, and what you see unravels you: his body pressed to yours, his hand moving between your legs like he owns you, his gaze fixed entirely on your reflection.

The sight of it, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and around you, tips you over the edge.

You cry out, helpless and raw, as your body clenches hard around his fingers. He doesn’t slow. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your ear.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good girl. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

Your hips jerk, grinding into his palm as your orgasm pulses through you, long and overwhelming. When the waves finally ease, your body limp and trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers, slick and shining.

You shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his hips against you, the thick hardness of him pressing against your thighs.

He suddenly guides you forward, one hand on your back, he presses you down firmly, bending you over.

“Stay just like that,” he commands, stepping back slightly to admire the view, your ass pushed out, your eyes wide in the mirror, lips already parted. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then you feel it, his hands on your thighs, spreading them, dragging his fingers slowly along your skin. His shirt hangs open, wrinkled and useless now, clinging to one shoulder, exposing his toned chest, flushed and rising with every harsh breath. His palm presses to the center of your back, bending you over the vanity with a firm, unyielding push.

“Stay like that,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “I want you spread out. Pretty. Obedient.”

You obey without thinking, chest against the cool surface. Then, with excruciating slowness, he undoes his belt. The sound alone makes your breath hitch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushes his pants down just enough and frees himself, fingers wrapping around his cock like he’s been aching for this.

And when you see him… you go still.

He’s thick, long, flushed and heavy in his hand, already glistening at the tip.

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.

“Oh?” he smirks, stroking himself lazily, intentionally, letting your eyes drink in every inch. “Surprised?”

You hear the sound of him spitting in his hand, stroking himself once, twice, and then that thick, hard length is sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.

His hand slides into your hair, not rough, but controlling, guiding your eyes back to the mirror.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he commands, hand fisting your hair just enough to lift your gaze. “You’re gonna watch what it looks like when your best friend finally fucks you.”

Then, with one slow, devastating thrust, he sinks into you.

Deep.

Possessive.

Claiming.

He groans behind you, head falling forward, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

“God-, fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, hands scrambling to grip the edge of the vanity.

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, hard enough to make the vanity rattle.

You gasp, fingers scrambling for the edge, and he laughs behind you, breathless.

“More,” you cry, pushing back into him, shaking. “Don’t stop-, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“You want more?” he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head up so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at this mess. Look what I’m doing to you.”

He slams into you harder. Filthy. Relentless. His palm lands on your ass, then rubs over the sting like he owns every inch of your body.

Then he snaps, hips continually slamming into you with a rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Over and over again. The sound of skin against skin echoes, obscene and raw, as he pounds into you like he’s lost all restraint. He leans over you suddenly, chest pressing to your back. His breath fans hot across your skin as his lips find your shoulder.

He kisses it once. Then again, slower.

“You gonna come like this?” he demands, voice thick and breathless. “Bent over, ass red, stuffed full of me?”

“Yes-,”

But he doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

Just when your body tenses, right on the edge, he pulls out halfway and stills.

You let out a sob, raw and desperate, collapsing onto your elbows against the vanity.

“No…” you whimper, voice trembling. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because I said so,” he growls behind you, breathing hard. “And if you’re mine now… you come when I let you.”

A sharp slap lands on your ass, the heat blooming instantly, making you cry out and he grins at the way your thighs twitch, how your body tries to grind back into him without thinking.

“Oh, you like that,” he mutters, dragging his palm over the curve of your ass, then gripping both cheeks hard, spreading you open as he groans. “Look at this view. Fucking perfect. So pretty and messy for me.”

His hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upright, spinning you to face him. His mouth crashes into yours in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and breathless need. You barely have time to cling to him before he’s walking you backward toward the bed.

“You think I was gonna finish you over a vanity?” he growls against your lips. “Not a fucking chance.”

You fall back onto the mattress with a gasp, legs spread slightly, chest heaving, body already trembling from the way he’s used you, and he just stands there for a second, looking down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

Then his eyes narrow.

“Spread your legs wider.”

You do, instantly.

His shirt is half off, a desperate tug of fabric, and as he pulls his pants fully down, he’s not wasting any time to let you get a full look at him. His cock stands heavy, dripping with need, leaking as he strokes himself with a low growl.

You open your mouth, but the words die as he moves closer, kneeling on the edge of the bed. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you toward him, his grip firm, claiming. He leans over you, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly along your inner thigh.

“Tell me,” he demands, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Did it turn you on? Knowing he saw you with me? Knowing he saw how badly I wanted to rip that dress off you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breath hitching.

Then he’s kissing you again, slower this time but just as possessive. His hand wraps behind your neck, holding you in place as he takes what he wants, savoring your reactions, feeding off every moan that escapes you.

“Look at this,” he mutters, gaze locked between your legs. “So swollen. So wet. All for me.”

His hand drags slowly down your stomach, the heat of his palm branding every inch of skin it touches. It’s not hurried, no, it’s maddeningly slow, his fingers grazing along the dip below your navel, making your muscles jump with anticipation.

Then his fingers reach your folds, gliding through your slickness, deliberately lazy. You twitch under his touch, hips tilting up instinctively.

And then-

He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.

The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene. The sting hits you a second later, blooming heat across your center, and your whole body jolts, legs trembling.

“Fuck-!” you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Wooyoung-,”

He smirks down at you, all dark satisfaction. “Oh yeah,” he says, eyes heavy with lust. “You liked that.”

Before you can catch your breath, he does it again. A second slap, just as sharp. The impact makes your thighs jerk apart, a cry tearing from your throat.

He moans, actually moans at the sight of you coming undone. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you take it like that.”

Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, breath hot as he leans closer, dragging two fingers through your folds again. “Dripping. You get this wet from just my hand?”

He rubs your clit in tight, quick circles, pressure unforgiving but just right, sending sparks up your spine. The contrast of pain and pleasure makes your head spin.

Your hands grip the sheets hard enough to cramp. “Fuck, Wooyoung-, don’t stop-”

He chuckles low and hungry. “Didn’t plan on it.”

With one smooth motion, he shifts, settling between your thighs. His cock, thick, flushed, already leaking, presses against your entrance, the tip catching on your slick folds. He rubs himself through your arousal, slow and teasing, just enough to make your hips chase him.

You try to lift your hips, to take him in, but he pins you back down, eyes wild.

“No. I get to fuck you when I say so,” he growls, mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you hard, deep, messy, like he’s starving. Like your mouth is the only thing that’s ever tasted good.

When he finally thrusts in, it’s a single, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt and knocking the air right out of your lungs.

“Fuck,-” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again, the force of it leaving you breathless.

He doesn’t stop. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, body caging you in like a predator. His mouth finds yours, kissing you like he’s drowning, messy and hot and desperate. Teeth, tongue, breathless moans between every clashing movement.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he growls against your lips. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

So you do.

His pupils are blown, his hair a mess, sweat on his brow, mouth parted. But it’s his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted, and that makes your heart slam against your ribs.

You’re gasping, crying out, and he swallows every sound, his kiss never softening, only growing more frenzied as his hips pound into you.

“You feel that?” he pants into your mouth. “That’s mine. This pussy’s mine.”

He lets go of your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh, throw your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, angle harsher. His grip is punishing, like he needs to hold you down to keep from losing his mind.

“Shit-,” you sob, clinging to him now. “You’re so deep-, I can’t-,”

“You can,” he growls. “Oh, fuck, baby-, that’s it,” he smirks, sweat dripping down from his neck. “You feel so good-, so fucking tight, so wet, I could stay buried in this pussy forever.”

He drops his head to your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his hands move constantly, palming your breast, gripping your hip, dragging across your thigh, he can’t stop touching you.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me make you feel so fucking good.”

You clench around him and he nearly loses it, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, messier. He grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to his.

“Please-, Wooyoung, I’m close-”

“Yeah? Let me hear you. Come for me. Come on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”

And it hits you, fast and deep, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you like a wave you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.

“God, baby,” he growls, suddenly losing all rhythm, all control. “You feel so-, fuck, I’m not gonna last-,”

You reach up, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you just like he did to you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”

That does it.

With a strangled moan of your name, he buries himself in you with a final, desperate thrust. His whole body tenses as he gives in, letting himself fall apart.

You can’t help but look at his face as that wave of pleasure overtakes him. His mouth is parted, lips trembling with the sounds he can’t hold back, brows drawn together in a tight knot like he’s fighting to stay grounded. The muscles in his jaw twitch, veins standing out along his neck and arms, his whole body straining as he spills everything into you.

When he finally exhales, it’s a ragged, shaky breath, and his body slowly relaxes, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come back down. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say a word. He just lowers his weight over you gently, careful not to crush you, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

You can still feel the warmth of him inside you, the lingering tension of release pulsing between your bodies.

Then he lifts his head, just barely, and looks down at you, really looks. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, the way you’re still dazed and boneless beneath him.

And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.

“God,” he says, voice low and pleased.

You blink up at him, heart stuttering. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his eyes drag over you like he’s memorizing everything. The mess he’s made of you. The way you still haven’t caught your breath.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, but it lands heavy in your chest. “Like… stupid beautiful.”

Heat rushes to your face. You instinctively turn your head, trying to hide the way your lips curl, the way you can’t even look at him right now.

But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, fingers catching your chin, turning your face back to his. “don’t get all shy on me now. Not after the things I just did to you.”

“Wooyoung-“ you try to protest, flustered, but it’s useless.

He shifts suddenly, his hand pinning your wrist to the bed as he leans in, eyes blazing. “Nope,” he growls playfully.

When his mouth crashes into yours, it’s not sweet or teasing, it’s intense. Deep and all-consuming, like he’s starving for you. His tongue claims yours, every movement deliberate, dominant.

When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his lips are swollen and his voice is wrecked.

“I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Never.”

***

You wake up slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow. His arm is still draped over you, his breath steady and calm. You shift gently, trying not to wake him, but you can’t help but linger for a moment, watching his peaceful expression. He looks so content, so relaxed, last night still feels like a dream.

Carefully, you lift his arm from your waist and slip out of bed. As you stand, you glance back at him. His face is soft, his black hair a little messy, and the sight of him, even in his sleep, makes your heart flutter. You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips, but you can’t help it.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen. The cool air of the morning greets you as you open the cabinet and pull out his cereal box.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, bare legs dangling, quietly munching on a bowl of Wooyoung’s ridiculous neon-colored cereal. The box sits beside you, obnoxiously bright. You’d teased him for years about how awful it looked, and secretly craved it every time.

You hear the soft shuffle of feet before you see him.

Wooyoung emerges from the hallway, shirtless, his hair a messy halo of waves, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks like a dream and somehow worse for your heart in the morning light. A familiar ache stirs in your chest. This is your best friend. Your roommate. The same guy who left his laundry in the hallway and screamed at horror games.

The same guy who had his hands all over you last night and made you come like no one else.

“Morning, roomie,” he mutters, voice low and rough, smirking when his eyes catch yours. They linger. “Is that my cereal?”

You nod, trying not to choke on it now that your mouth’s gone dry. “It was calling to me.”

He walks right up to you, stepping between your legs like he’s done it a thousand times. Only now, there’s nothing innocent about the way he crowds your space.

You glance down, gripping the bowl a little tighter. Your voice comes out quieter than you meant. “You, uh… want some?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just takes the spoon from your hand, still warm from your touch, and scoops up a bite like it’s nothing. His other hand settles on your thigh, casual but firm. You forget how to breathe.

He hums like it’s gourmet. “God, I love this shit.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He’s too close. Too warm. Too real.

And then, without warning, he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.

“Good morning, beautiful,”

Before you can say anything else, before your heart can fully flip in your chest, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then it deepens, and the world around you fades. There’s no rush, no frantic need, just the slow, steady push and pull of lips, the quiet hum of connection between you two, something that’s always been there but is only now being acknowledged.

His lips linger just long enough to make your stomach twist in the best way before he pulls back, barely.

You stare at him, still a little dazed. He smirks.

“What?” he says, all fake innocence. “You gonna yell at me for stealing your cereal or for kissing you?”

You eye him, lips twitching. “Still weighing my options.”

He shrugs, hands still warm where they’re resting on your thighs. “Take your time. I’ve got all morning.”

“You’re literally the most impatient person I know,” you mutter.

“Mm,” he hums, brushing his thumb just under the hem of your shorts, right where it makes your breath catch. “Not when it comes to you. I like watching you squirm too much.”

You exhale a laugh, trying not to give him the satisfaction. He just grins wider, enjoying seeing you like this.

It’s completely unfair, the way he looks so relaxed. Like this, you and him and whatever happened last night, isn’t a big deal. Like waking up tangled together, touching each other like that, was just the natural next step.

And maybe… maybe it was.

“You know,” he adds after a beat, glancing at your bowl again, “I thought about that last night.”

“What, the cereal?” you ask, trying to level your voice.

He nods, all faux-innocent. “Had this whole internal debate. Go finish the box or save you some.”

You squint at him. “You didn’t even eat any.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “Fell asleep. Dreamt about it. Woke up, and there you were. Stealing the first bowl like some greedy little gremlin.”

You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”

“And hungry,” he adds, stealing your spoon without looking. He takes another bite, still watching you, chewing like he’s thinking about sin. “Might be craving something a little messier, though.”

You scoff, but your thighs tense around his hips, pulling him in closer. He feels it. Of course he does.

You think that’s the end of it, but then he tilts his head a little, voice dropping. “Also, you were real cute sneaking around out here like I couldn’t hear you. Hair all messy. Wearing nothing but your-”

“Stop,” you cut in, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.

He just laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I’m just saying. Round two almost happened right then and there.”

You shoot him a look. “I was literally getting cereal.”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek again before he murmurs, “Yeah, and you still looked hot.”

You go quiet, too aware of his mouth near yours and the fact that he’s still standing between your knees like he belongs there.

You open your mouth, no idea what you’re even going to say, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you again, easy, unhurried, like it’s just what he does now. Like kissing you is second nature.

And god, maybe it is.

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4kunikuzushii · 4 months ago

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(´｡• ◡ •｡`)

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4kunikuzushii · 5 months ago

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c. One in the same

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4kunikuzushii · 5 months ago

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4kunikuzushii · 5 months ago

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😚😚😚

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4kunikuzushii · 5 months ago

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That sweet face 🥰

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4kunikuzushii · 5 months ago

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4kunikuzushii · 5 months ago

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Cause of death: Park fucking Seonghwa's bath time.

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4kunikuzushii · 6 months ago

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ATEEZ 2025 SEASON'S GREETINGS Seonghwa

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4kunikuzushii · 10 months ago

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Obliviate Me

✩‧₊˚ Obliviate ⇄ to forget [Latin] ✩‧₊˚

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: dark!Park Seonghwa x female reader

✩‧₊˚ Warning: smut, addiction, ptsd, mentions of war, violence, fights ✩‧₊˚ Word count: 27.6k ✩‧₊˚ Rating: nsfw ✩‧₊˚ Genre: Harry Potter!au, set in the forties/Grindelwald's time, lovers to enemies!au, tragic love!au ✩‧₊˚ Summary: ✩‧₊˚ Grindelwald's reign holds everyone under terror, and you decide you want to join the right side and put an end to it. But the stars seem to refuse to align for you and your lover as you find yourselves on opposing teams. Will your love prevail, or will you succumb to the darkness? ✩‧₊˚

A/N: My lovelies, I...I am bawling my eyes out ngl, I can't believe I wrote this. Bring a box of tissues with you before you sit down reading, I am already forever sorry if I cause anyone any heartache<3 I have proofread this, but it's past 1am and you might still find mistakes, so I'm sorry about that! There's little time jumps in here, so for a quick clarification, after each divider you'll find them back in the current time (which is still in the forties!). I probably had a lot more things to say, but I forgot and I'm sleepy, so I'll settle for this much: there are probably some inaccuracies to the Harry Potter canon events as I took some creative liberty so yeah, keep that in mind when reading; also Mingi and MC aren't related, they just share the same surname! I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into this oneshot y'all (as into everything I write LOL), so I hope you enjoy! I appreciate all of your thoughts, so please leave feedback, I love reading them!<3 (special shotout to @hwasbbyg because somehow I always have you in mind when I'm writing something Seonghwa related <3) divider

Times were dire, both in the Wizarding World and the Muggle World. Supremist leaders with atrocious views unleashed attack after attack upon innocent civilians, creating more destruction than victory. My heart broke daily reading the newspaper, both the muggle and wizard one. It made my blood boil that two men, so different yet similar upon closer view, would play God and decide what was wrong and right. Who was pure and who deserved to suffer. Nobody was perfect, nobody will ever be. I couldn’t just sit idly at home and be the housewife many women dreamed of becoming after graduating. I wanted to make a name for myself, I wished to become strong enough to save the innocent, to take their side and advocate for those who were too scared or weak to do so for themselves. That is why upon graduating from Hogwarts, I became an Auror. The training was harsh and demanding, but it wasn’t anything I wasn’t ready to bear if it meant it would lead to saving millions of lives. I was sick of all the spilled blood and wailing on the streets, I wished to see peace and serenity, to go to bed without the fear of never waking up again. Four years have passed since I have left the confines of Hogwarts, since I was forced to face the horrors of the outside world, to fend for myself, and to become someone. It was hard and terrifying, but for once, I felt complete. I felt happy with where I stood in my life, I was proud of who I had become. And I knew that as long as Grindelwald isn’t stopped, I shall not rest even for a second.

The auditorium was small in size and stuffed, the benches placed in a circular shape around a platform that had a table sitting on it and a chair. It was deep down on the second level, far away from the Auror’s offices, hidden between the women’s and men’s restrooms. The auditorium wasn’t meant to be easily found and it was only used when a situation had turned dire, when an emergency meeting just had to be called. I had chosen to sit towards the back of the auditorium, closer to the exit as the air felt stale and warm inside the stuffed room, at least thirty aurors squeezed together towards the front of the room. My throat felt parched and my palms were sweaty as I had them placed in front of me, leveling my breaths as Theseus Scamander, the Head of the Auror Office, stood tall on the platform, a forlorn look on his face. Anyone who had picked up the newspaper earlier this morning must’ve seen the devastating news of the destruction caused to the small and welcoming wizarding village, Apo’s Nook. There was nothing left of it, just the ashes of ghosts that would haunt the land and the smoking foundations of destroyed homes that would never flourish again.

I felt a lump in my throat as Theseus sighed long and loud, eyes surveying the auditorium. It was deadly silent in here, everyone was either too mad or sad to say anything. The time was barely nine in the morning and we knew we had a long day ahead of us. This meeting was a top-secret one, whatever was said inside this auditorium would be never allowed to leave the confines of these walls. Only the best of the best aurors were called in, no doubt for a mission that would be challenging both physically and mentally. It wouldn’t be my first special mission, yet I couldn’t help but feel dread for what was to come. A tiny voice in the back of my head tried to whisper warnings this morning while I was getting ready to come to work, my gut twisting nauseatingly and making me more restless than I usually was. Something would happen here today that I wouldn’t like, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

“Good morning, aurors.” Theseus’ voice rang loudly in the quiet room and I gulped, feeling sweat collect on my nape, under my hair. I didn’t want to get rid of my jacket, finding the warmth it provided comforting, but I was sweating too much. Careful, not to make any sound, I wrestled out of the satin fabric and placed it onto the table in front of me. My dress was thick to protect me from the merciless winter, and it reached just below my ankles as the front had a V-cut that stopped just above the valley of my breasts, “I assume you all know by now why you’ve been called here.”

There was a collective murmur of confirmation to Theseus’ question and I gulped, patting my forehead free of any perspiration, “What occurred in the early hours of today’s morning is—terrible and unforgivable.”

I couldn’t help but let my eyes run over the aurors as Theseus’ voice shook with raw emotion. He was just as affected by the news as everyone else in the room. I fiddled with my fingers as my eyes finally fell on a familiar person, the tiniest smile slipping onto my lips. It brought little comfort and assurance to see my former professor in a place where I was surrounded by fearless warriors who were mere strangers to me, but would soon become my trusted companions. The only other two aurors that I did become friends with throughout the four years of working here were Song Mingi and Jeong Yunho, partners in missions and other aspects of life, and I haven’t seen them in over a month now. They were alive, and as safe as possible, but they were far away from our home, in a land colder and far scarier than what London was at the moment. They were close to the German border, spying on Grindelwald’s men having infiltrated themselves amongst them. They were our precious informants, their jobs far more dangerous than ours at the moment. I couldn’t help but pray every night to a God that listened, that the two people I started cherishing in such a short time would return to me in one piece and alive.

“Grindelwald has destroyed another village,” Theseus’ words snapped me out of my thoughts as Professor Dumbledore turned his head, gaze finding mine, “wizards and witches were killed once again because they refused to join his dark cause. This cannot go on anymore, I won’t allow it.”

Professor Dumbledore bowed his head slightly in a nonverbal greeting before he turned his head, looking at Theseus with an unreadable expression on his face. I gulped and subconsciously reached for the pocket of my coat, feeling around for the plastic holder in the shape of a tube.

“I was given full permission to construct a team that will directly take out Grindelwald’s men until he’s left with nothing, until he’s alone and powerless.” Theseus leered, face contorted into fury, “I shall task you with bringing down these disgraces one by one, dead or alive, I do not care as long they cannot help Grindelwald anymore.”

My fingers tightened around the plastic, my head turning when I saw a man stand up with a heavy-looking folder in his hands approach Theseus, “We have gathered all the information we could about Grindelwald’s most important wizards and witches, they are our main target. I want you all to look at these photographs closely, commit them to memory as each one of you will be handed one to capture and bring forth to the court.”

I watched from the back of the auditorium as the man opened the folder and placed it down on a table in the front row, starting to hand out photograph after photograph. Knowing that I sat way too far in the back, I rose to my feet and swiftly took the plastic bottle from my pocket, slipping it between my breasts so that nobody would see it. Pushing my hands behind my back, I walked down a few stairs until I reached the row that had more wizards sitting in it, grabbing a photograph that wasn’t being looked at yet. The picture was in black and white, but the face of the witch was clear. Something in my stomach coiled as I recognized her being my peer at Hogwarts, just a year above myself, and a Slytherin like I had been too. The man sitting next to me looked at me with a questioning gaze, and I passed him the photograph as he handed me another one, this one of an older wizard who had a cunning look in his eyes as he held a cigar between his teeth. Something was unsettling about his gaze as I leaned against the side of the table, passing it along as another then another photograph passed through my grasp as I committed their faces to memory. Some of these pictures seemed to have been taken recently, right at Apo’s Nook before it went up in flames. My jaw clenched as the witch in the next photograph was grinning widely as if she was taunting us, and I accidentally passed it to the man next to me a bit too harshly as he gave me a concerned look. I ignored him and took a deep breath, fingers itching to hold onto the plastic bottle hidden between my breasts. The news this morning had been too shocking, and I had no choice but to take two pills instead of one. It wasn’t healthy, but I did force my breakfast down my throat in hopes that it wouldn’t make me feel ill if I doubled the dose.

The next photograph that was passed to me was flipped upside down, and I sighed as I braced myself for another unfamiliar face to commit to memory, except that when I flipped it, my whole body froze, blood going cold. I tried to gulp, but I couldn’t due to the lump in my throat. My lungs contracted, and I desperately tried not to gasp as my fingers dug into the fragile paper and I fought the urge to rip the photograph into shreds. I knew this would happen sooner than later, but I realized how completely unprepared I was for it. The wizard in the photograph was smiling widely, the photo not recent at all, his round eyes turning upwards at the corners, his front teeth on full display. His hair had been freshly cut before the photograph was taken, yet it still fell in his eyes as he failed to style it—he was talented at many things, yet he never quite learned how to tame his wild hair. I could feel my hands start to shake the longer I stared at the face of my first love, my heart beating so fast my ears started to ring. I struggled to breathe and I knew I was turning pale as my lips parted, a quiet gasp leaving through them. It was enough to alert the man sitting next to me as I felt his eyes on me, but my body couldn’t react to anything as I crumbled up the photograph, throwing it far away from myself. I heard my name being called and words that sounded like they were asking if I was alright, but my vision had started turning black from the lack of oxygen. The room was too small, too stuffy, too warm; I couldn’t breathe.

Hands still shaking, I gripped my dress and lifted it above my ankles as I abruptly turned around, eyes settling on the exit desperately as I felt my feet take me up the stairs, running as I extended my hand way before I have reached the door to grab the handle. My heart was in my throat and the ringing in my ears was as loud as a kettle’s whistle, and I yanked the door open with all the force I could muster up due to the tremor of my whole body. The air of the hallway hit me hard, making me gasp loudly as I slammed the door shut behind me, feeling tears prick at my dry eyes as I flung myself forward, hands cushioning my crash as I flew into the wall in front of me, forehead banging against it. I needed it, I needed something painful to shake me out of my borderline psychotic state. I couldn’t take another pill so soon, I really just shouldn’t. I bit my lower lip as I struggled to take deep breaths, the tremors of my body worsening as my hands curled into fists, forcing me to close my eyes. The ringing in my ears had started to subside, but my heart was still beating way too fast and my throat was too dry. I really couldn’t take another pill just yet; however, my right hand was reaching for the bottle without wasting another second as I uncapped it and grabbed two pills out of it, throwing them back as my eyebrows furrowed, struggling to gulp them down at once.

I stood desperately waiting for the downers to kick in, the thumping of my head subsiding as the ringing of my ears went away completely, the tremors of my body remaining, however. I felt my muscles trying to relax, not even having noticed how tense they had become, and I gulped as I turned around to press my back against the wall, groaning as my head fell back. My throat had started hurting, the pills having scrapped it, but I couldn’t care less as my frantic heartbeat had finally started slowing down. I heard the door of the auditorium open, and my eyes opened as I watched my former professor approach me with a concerned look on his face. He held a plastic cup that he extended towards me, and I took it eagerly, downing the cool water as it finally soothed the ache in my throat. I crumpled the plastic in my fist, sighing long as I looked at Professor Dumbledore, wondering what was going through his mind having seen me in such a hysterical state.

“War is harsh,” As if reading my thoughts, his eyes twinkled with that familiar warm glint, “it affects everyone differently. You’ve seen things no woman your age should have, but you are a talented auror, Miss Song. However, I fear you won’t be amongst us for much longer if you continue abusing those.”

I felt shame crawl up my body as the professor’s eyes fell on the bottle, and I quickly hid it behind my back, “I’m sorry.”

I felt like a little child that was being scolded for doing something bad as I averted my gaze away from Professor Dumbledore’s, and sniffed as I noticed my heartbeat had finally returned to its natural rhythm.

“How are your parents doing, Miss Song?” Professor Dumbledore’s voice was soft, and I shrugged looking up at him.

“They are scared, as is everyone else.” I sighed, biting my lower lip, “I have moved them to the Wizarding World in hopes of keeping them safe, but nowhere is safe anymore, Professor.”

“It’s saddening, indeed.” The professor nodded, sharing my feelings of sadness that were slowly turning into despair, “But I think you did the right thing. The Wizarding World might not be the safest place at the moment, but it is a lot safer than the Muggle World.”

It was reassuring to hear the approval of my much wiser and smarter professor, and for a second, I believed that I had done something right for the first time in a long time. No matter how many dark wizards and witches I have captured, I never truly felt accomplished. It wasn’t enough, because I knew I could do better if sent on even more missions, and finally, the chance to fulfill my selfish desires while proving myself to be good and useful to my superiors, had come.

“Are you feeling any better now, Miss Song?” The professor’s eyebrows raised as I quickly hid the bottle back between my breasts and nodded, squaring my shoulders back. There it was, the condescending look of deep thought crossing the professor’s face as he looked towards the ground, humming lowly, “When it comes to the matters of the heart, it’s a slippery and unsure territory, Miss Song. You might think you are prepared to face whoever and take them out, but if you haven’t completely let go of them, your heart will outrule your conscious, your rationality. Even if you have long released the feelings you had once harbored for them, your more rational side might stop you, might hold you back from delivering the final blow.”

I felt tears trying to prick at my eyes as they snapped up, boring into Professor Dumbledore’s as he had a sad smile on his lips, “It’s difficult to forget your first love, Miss Song, no matter how deeply they have wronged you.”

The tremors in my hands haven’t disappeared and wouldn’t go away today, but they halted for a second as I gulped, throat feeling dry again, “He chose his path consciously, as I have chosen mine. Our beliefs have never truly aligned, it was just wishful thinking on my side, Professor. Love, an emotion I do not feel towards him anymore, isn’t stronger than my rational mind. If I would have allowed my heart to lead me throughout my life, I would be by his side now, wallowing in self-misery and pity for all the lives I allowed perish.”

“I have recognized your passion the moment you sat on the stool on the night of the sorting, Miss Song, you’ve known from the very first moment what you wanted and how to get it. I fear I haven’t met a Slytherin as determined and stubborn as yourself, Miss Song—”

“Not even Tom Riddle, sir?”

The professor’s expression suddenly became leveled, warm smile turning into a rather forced one, “I fear I cannot compare you to Tom Riddle, Miss Song.”

I hummed and smiled, memories of the younger boy bashing the professor for even the smallest inconvenience returning. I had never figured out where their distaste came for each other, but as it wasn’t my business, I never prodded more than necessary. I fixed my hair and made sure the little bottle couldn’t be seen as I glanced past the professor, feeling calm enough to join the aurors again, “We should head inside before they deem me unfit for this task, I would hate to miss out on this one, Professor.”

“They cannot afford to lose an auror like you.” Professor Dumbledore chuckled with a thoughtful look on his face as he led us towards the door, opening it for me like the true gentleman he was. I thanked him quietly as I stepped through the threshold, the lump back in my throat as the room went silent at once, everyone turning around to watch me and the professor as we descended the stairs. I went to sit at my initial spot, but Professor Dumbledore gently grabbed my elbow and veered me towards his seat, a witch making a place for me as she had an understanding look on her face.

“Is everything alright, Miss Song?” Theseus asked once the professor and I had taken our seats, the curious eyes of the other Aurors still watching me. I gulped and placed my hands on my knees, trying to hide the tremor behind the desk so that nobody would see it.

“Yes, Mr. Scamander, my apologies for storming out like that.” My voice was leveled as I forced my face to relax, and an easy smile appeared on my lips, “I felt a little ill this morning, I suppose it returned suddenly.”

“Right,” Theseus hummed, a smile matching mine on his lips, “that is reassuring to hear; however, I do wish for a quick recovery should it get worse.”

“Thank you.” I bowed my head as my hands fisted my dress, my heart rate picking up again as I felt the witch next to me gently rub my back. I wasn’t fond of being touched by strangers, but I didn’t have the willpower to ask her to stop. Finally, seemingly content with my half-assed lie, the attention wasn’t on me anymore as everyone went back to conversing with each other. Theseus cleared his throat and walked towards our table, Professor Dumbledore gathering the photographs as they were scattered around on the desk.

“While you were taking a breather, Miss Song, I have informed your colleagues that each one of them will be assigned a dark wizard to survey and consequently take down whenever the Office seems fitting.” I tried to gulp, my throat going dry once again. The witch was still rubbing my back and her touch had started burning my skin through my dress, making me fidget with my hands as I released the grip I had on my dress. I knew this was coming, but I didn’t feel ready. If I could’ve, I would’ve downed the whole bottle of pills, not minding if I would have been the one in need of a funeral.

“I see, Mr. Scamander, who had been assigned to me?” I felt the professor’s eyes take me in carefully as if I were a ticking time bomb, and the hand of the witch was finally away from my body, her sigh too loud as Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Records say you have been peers with Park Seonghwa at Hogwarts, yes?” I failed to inhale air as my lungs contracted, my worst nightmare lay right in front of my eyes and ears, “Professor Dumbledore, could you confirm this for me?”

“Yes, Mr. Scamander, Miss Song and Mr. Park had been my students barely four years ago.” My eyes burned as I blinked them fast, scared that tears would flood them as my hands shook more, itching to grab the bottle even if for little reassurance. The sedatives weren’t working as they should have, I shouldn’t be so wired up and nervous still. I figured I should buy something stronger; the muggles were more lenient when handing out sedatives than the wizards if you knew how to put on your best act.

“Indeed,” My voice was emotionless, and I knew my face was unreadable as Theseus’ eyes narrowed, “I know Park Seonghwa, but just merely. He was a great student I often had to compete with for the first place in our year.”

The longer Theseus’ eyes bore into mine, the more prominent the soft prodding in my forehead became. I knew what he was doing, way too familiar with the feeling of having my mind invaded. He was searching for memories of Seonghwa and me, of anything that could prove I wasn’t lying and that our roots didn’t grow deeper than a surface-level acquittance. It was laughable how easy it was to veer Theseus around my mind, to trick him into seeing only what I wanted him to see. He wasn’t a born Legilimens, I could feel he was less strong than the likes of Tom Riddle, who was a born natural in his talent, and so, I knew Theseus wouldn’t figure out that I—in fact—was a born Occlumens, the will of my mind stronger than his surface-level talent. I watched as a satisfied expression settled on his features upon viewing the images I allowed him to see, like the brief snappy exchanges between Seonghwa and me when we were in class, trying to show off to the professors, or the duels where we loved to flaunt our skills, or the brief acknowledgments in the hallway when we so happened to pass by each other.

“Very well, Miss Song,” Theseus muttered and then slammed a photograph down in front of me, a much younger Seonghwa smiling mockingly at me, “I trust you to do your best and bring him to his downfall. Mr. Park is an important asset to Grindelwald’s army; we need him gone.”

“He shall be gone, then.”

1943

The classroom was full of vigor as everyone pilled inside, rather excited to see what Professor Merrythought had up her sleeve for us today. She had promised a dueling class sooner than later, and, as we happened to be ahead on our curriculum in DADA class, we got permission from Headmaster Dippet to go ahead and transform our usual classroom into a dueling ring. This year, the Slytherins shared most of their classes with the Ravenclaws, the DADA class being one of them. I let my eyes run over the crowd of the gathering 6th-year Ravenclaws on the other side of the classroom, pressed up against the wall much like myself and my housemates. Despite the majority of students being in their 6th year, Professor Merrythought found it essential that all students above the age of fourteen learn how to duel due to the imminent threat looming above our heads, both in the Wizarding and Muggle World. Therefore, it came as no surprise that younger students were ushered inside by Professor Merrythought, who had a grin on her face. Finding the person I had been looking for in the crowd, on the other side of the classroom, a tiny smile made it onto my lips as I found him already looking at me attentively. His dark hair, once again, fell wildly around his head in curls that looked natural, framing his boyish features as his round eyes sparkled with excitement. I chuckled and felt more elated knowing that Seonghwa was here, the chance of getting paired up with him was rather high as we were the top students of our year.

“Miss Song.” I flinched at the sudden intrusive voice in my head, always taken aback when I was addressed telepathically. I looked away from Seonghwa, eyes falling onto the boy—who despite being younger, was a lot taller than me—was now standing next to me with a stoic expression, ice-cold blue eyes boring into my darker ones. I chuckled and pressed a hand against my chest, always impressed by his skills despite his younger age.

“Mr. Riddle.” I greeted back with a grin, the small prodding at my forehead proof that our telepathic connection worked both ways. It was rare that Tom allowed me inside his mind, and even then, he knew how to guide me around his thoughts to show me only what he wanted me to see—a skill he learned from me, rather quickly. He had a natural talent for learning and achieving accomplishments that wizards and witches older than him struggled to garnish. He was an admirable student and a force to reckon with, I was never too eager when he challenged me to a friendly duel under the pretext of gaining experience by dueling a student who was as outstanding as himself—in reality, he only wished to show off and torment me in the confines of the Room of Requirements when the two of us would head over to study.

“Now, children,” Professor Merrythought clapped her hands together as she walked between the parting crowd of students, everyone watching her curiously, “as you may know, Headmaster Dippet had granted us another dueling session, and I am beyond excited to teach you new tricks that may as well save your lives in the future. The rules are the same as always, no serious spells aimed to harm, and no maiming, Madam Gorsemoor has far more important tasks than to heal some children who didn’t take the rules seriously, yes?”

Everyone muttered a ‘yes’ at once, and Professor Merrythought had a pleased grin on her lips as she pulled her wide shoulders back, her golden eyes surveying the crowd, probably counting how many of us were here. Usually, no more than twenty students were allowed inside the classroom as Professor Merrythought wished to watch and help everyone, not just those few she noticed lacking in their skill, “Can someone tell me what we’ve learned in our last class?”

Several hands shoot up high in the air, mine included, and I felt compelled to look over to the Ravenclaws, not surprised at all to see Seonghwa’s arm high up in the air, shoulders pulled back to make him look taller. I stifled a chuckle and faced the front of the classroom again, feeling Tom’s questioning gaze on the back of my head, but I paid him no mind.

“Mr. Lovegood, perhaps?” Professor Merrythought pointed at the platinum blonde-haired wizard from Ravenclaw, who stood on his tiptoes, about to bounce up and down to gain the professor’s attention.

“Diffindo!” He exclaimed, cheeks flushing instantly as the students from his house snickered, the Slytherins remaining uninterested, “I mean, Diffindo and Relashio.”

“Very well, Mr. Lovegood, thank you.” Professor Merrythought hummed, eyes narrowing as she looked over the crowd once again, her eyes stopping on me as I offered her a small smile.

“I must remind you that Diffindo is a spell that brings great harm if not death to your opponent, and inside this classroom, we shall not use it against each other. And even outside of it, I advise you use it wisely and level-headed only if the occurrence calls for it—”

“Like—if it were for Grindelwald to attack us?!” A younger boy—from Ravenclaw—asked, heads turning in his direction as he yet had to grow a few inches.

“Yes, that’s the likely scenario I had in mind.” Professor Merrythought muttered pleased, nodding at the curious boy with big round eyes. He reminded me of Seonghwa when we had just started our journey at Hogwarts, always eager to learn more and curious about how everything around him worked. Since then, his nature remained but he learned how to control it, how to make it less obvious how big of a nerd he actually was. Some would say he tries to impersonate the ‘cool guy’ archetype, but I know him too well to believe those silly ‘rumors’, “Well, before we learn something new, I’d like to see a duel from our best duellists.”

I gulped, feeling eyes bore into the side of my head as I looked over to Seonghwa again, finding his eyes on me already once again. He was smirking, round eyes fierce as we both knew who Professor Merrythought would call to the front for a demonstration, “Miss Song, Mr. Park, would you grace us with your presence?”

I heard Tom chuckle behind me, unamused, no doubt having known we’d be the chosen ones for this task. It was rarely not us, even Seonghwa and I knew it. I patted down the front of my robe, dusting it off, then squared my shoulders as I made my way through the crowd, getting a few pats on the back from people who I was familiar with. I had grabbed my wand out of my pocket, and Seonghwa and I made it to the front of the class at the same time. His smirk had turned cheeky as he held his wand in his hands elegantly, twirling it playfully as I took a few steps backward and then adjusted my stance.

“Miss Song.” Seonghwa’s voice was deep, tone almost seductive, and I couldn’t help but grin and narrow my eyes at him.

“Mr. Park.” My tone was confident and full of assurance because I knew I would win this duel. I usually did. Seonghwa was very good at dueling, but I was better since I was faster and more agile. I was also a little more talented at wandless magic than he was, I found it amusing whenever he’d exercise next to me, growing frustrated with himself way too quickly. Professor Merrythought clapped her hands and stepped back as Seonghwa and I bowed to each other, wands gripped firmly in our hands as we took our stance for the duel. I zeroed in on Seonghwa only, focusing on the movements of his body, eyes boring into his as if I would read his mind—I could, but I knew he hated it, and what I hated more was when I made him hurt. Seonghwa stood alert, his dark eyes boring into mine, a curious glint in them, laced with mischief and anticipation as he was patiently waiting for me to make my first move. He usually wasn’t the one to attack first, and we both knew that. We’ve dueled each other many times already, we knew each other’s tricks and weakest points.

“Stupefy!” I exclaimed, throwing my hand out, my wand pulsing with power as a light blue zap quickly shot towards Seonghwa, who expertly threw up his defense wall, nulling my attack with a pleased expression. I chuckled under my breath and raised an eyebrow as I threw my next attack at him, “Flipendo!”

Seonghwa huffed as another jinx was thrown his way, raising his arm high as he cast another shield in front of his body, eyes narrowing as he realized I was trying to get him to fly to the other side of the classroom. I knew he was wary of injuring himself, and unless I teased him a little bit at the beginning of our duel, I knew he would try to go easy on me. But I didn’t want easy and friendly, I wanted him to have no mercy and fight as if we were in a real fight, against each other, with only one winner standing tall in the end.

“Stupefy!” Seonghwa exclaimed, the same light blue zap flying towards me, making me easily block his attack as I threw my arms up, casting an invisible shield. Unlike Seonghwa’s, mine remained blue and violet ripples the tell-tale sign that there was something in front of me. Seonghwa narrowed his eyes, calculating his next move as I sent a hot air charm his way, which he dodged skilfully, his black hair falling into his eyes. Seonghwa chuckled and twirled the strands behind his ear, graciously raising his hand, not even looking my way as suddenly electric blue flames came barrelling towards my shield, making the students in the classroom gasp in surprise, but also fear. Someone had started clapping hard, and I knew it was Professor Merrythought as she enjoyed the show the most out of everyone.

Seonghwa was smart, and so, he knew the blue flames would demolish my shield without hurting me, and I could hear Professor Merrythought explain just this to the students who watched us with even more excitement in their eyes. Deciding to not verbalize my next spell, I winked at Seonghwa as I made the hand movement that was required for the Waddiwasi spell, Seonghwa realized a moment too late as, suddenly, crumbled up parchments floated around me for a second, before propelling towards Seonghwa with force and speed that left him defenseless. Seonghwa gasped as he turned sideways, the little balls of parchment crashing against the side of his body without causing any damage—physical because his ego was probably bruised—and the students started laughing as Seonghwa hissed, facing me once again with piercing eyes. I grinned and curtsied teasingly, enjoying the way his cheeks had flushed from embarrassment, his grip tightening around his black wand. His lips didn’t move, but his hand did, and I narrowed my eyes as for a second nothing happened, and then I felt invisible ropes binding around my body, trying to immobilize me as my eyes widened in surprise.

“Emancipare!” I yelped the counterattack of Brachiabindo, the defensive spell Seonghwa had used, and felt the ropes instantly disappear from my body. Seonghwa huffed, running his fingers through his rich curls, looking frustrated as he walked a few steps closer. It wasn’t like him to lose his wits when we were dueling, and so, this was the first sign that told me something was bothering him as he couldn’t completely focus on the task at hand. But this was an exercise, a duel in which we had to demonstrate to the other students, so I pushed my worries aside and cast my next spell, “Fulgari!”

Much like Seonghwa’s spell, it was another one that bid your arms together, however, the ropes weren’t invisible anymore but red and thick, painful, as the charm tied your wrists together tightly. But Seonghwa knew how to counterattack it, and the ropes dropped midair as a white light was cast from his wand. Knowing that we didn’t have much time anymore and that Professor Merrythought was waiting for one of us to disarm the other, I acted quickly, “Expelliarmus!”

However, Seonghwa’s simultaneous attack was silent as it shot from his wand, and our spells clashed in the middle, exploding with a loud boom after they’d tangled up for a few seconds. I gasped as the force pushed me backward, almost making me stumble to the floor. The hem of my robe had caught in the heel of my boots, and as I tried to manage the issue, I felt my mind being prodded at. Not even having to concentrate on the action, my mind instantly blocked the intruder out, my mind’s barriers strong and stubborn, no matter how insistent the intruder became. I knew who it was, in this classroom only Tom Riddle was so talented enough to use Legilimens wandless and non-verbally, but he was least of my worries as Seonghwa’s glare was deep, mouth moving before I could register his words, “Relashio!”

I gasped as my wand was snapped out of my hand, clattering to the floor, making the students roar with claps and cheers, Professor Merrythought not even trying to calm them down as she walked towards Seonghwa and me. I gulped, feeling my cheeks tinge pink at the amateur mistake I had made, the fact even more embarrassing as I was disarmed by such a pathetic spell. But this is what a duel encompassed, and I took a deep breath and released it slowly as I felt Professor Merrythought’s hand on my shoulder, pulling me next to her as she had grabbed onto Seonghwa as well.

“Brilliant!” She exclaimed lips pulled into a huge grin, “Simply brilliant, my students! You will make such fine Aurors, the department will be blessed upon your arrival!”

I muttered a quiet thank you and bowed my head abashed, missing the cold look that crossed Seonghwa’s face upon hearing our professor’s words. Then, when the class had finally settled down, Seonghwa and I were ushered back to our previous spots, Professor Merrythought taking the lead as she started explaining the new spell we’d be learning today. I felt the uncomfortable prodding once again, and a little frustrated, I turned around and snapped at Tom without considering my actions first, “Stop it, Riddle!”

My exclamation thankfully wasn’t too loud, but it made a few heads turn our way. I gulped and averted my eyes flustered as Tom grinned, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “My apologies, but I failed to gain your attention any other way.”

“I am trying to pay attention to the new spell, Riddle,” I muttered as I faced the front of the classroom again, feeling the younger boy step closer as he loomed over my shoulders.

“But you already know it,” He muttered, voice devoid of any emotion and I just sighed, nodding and confirming his claim, “Well, then, let me offer you some friendly advice.”

“The Tom Riddle offering me some friendly advice?” I teased, looking over my shoulder with a chuckle, “So you finally admit that we’re friends?”

“Well,” Tom cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, “if you think of us as friends, we shall be that, Y/N.”

Tom hadn’t been keen on addressing each other casually in public, but he’s been calling me by my name rather often lately, “And your advice is?”

“Ah, yes,” He cleared his throat again, leaning just a little bit closer to whisper in my ear, “use more non-verbal spells next time and maybe even wandless magic too, Park seems to struggle to defend those. And, try not to lose focus so easily, getting disarmed by Relashio out of all spells is rather embarrassing, Miss Song.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms in front of my chest, watching Professor Merrythought’s wand as she drew the movement of the spell slowly for us to see, “Thank you for pointing out that Relashio isn’t even a disarming spell.”

It was rare to see any sort of positive reaction from Tom, but he snickered as I felt him take a step back to offer me more space as he was done with the conversation, “Meet me later in the Room of Requirements?”

But apparently, he wasn’t done with the telepathic conversation, “Yes, at the agreed-upon time, I won’t be late this time.”

“You better not be.” Tom’s voice sounded unimpressed in my mind and I rolled my eyes, hoping nobody saw it, “And tell your boyfriend to stop staring daggers at my head, I could disarm and harm him in just a few seconds—”

“Thank you, Tom, that’s enough.” I snapped, never too keen when he tried to bash Seonghwa and his skills—or lack of them as Tom had so often remarked, “And get out of my head, now.”

His chuckle was cut short as I raised the barrier once again, forcing Tom out of my mind. I knew it would be painful to him and I didn’t mind as lately he’s been trying to prod at my mind way too often. But being a born Occlumens came with its perks, no matter how much Tom tried to peek inside my head, he’d only be allowed inside as long as I let him. Having realized that he had some control issues, I didn’t let him know about that little piece of information, for my own peace of mind, really. Feeling like somebody was drilling holes into the side of my head, I looked over to the Ravenclaws, a little taken aback by the dark look in Seonghwa’s eyes and the sneer on his lips. He looked irritated, and as we made eye contact his expression hardened for a second before he looked away, ignoring me for the rest of the class. I had only sighed, paying attention to Professor Merrythought for the rest of the class.

Once class was over everyone pilled outside quickly, eager for the short break before our next class would start. Wanting to speak to Seonghwa in private, I stayed back with the hopes that he’d do the same, but when Professor Merrythought noticed me and asked if I had wanted to speak to her, I realized it was just her, myself, and Lovegood in the classroom. I bid her farewell and then scurried outside, sighing long as I felt disappointed that Seonghwa had left without me even noticing it. He was mad at me, that was now certain, and we wouldn’t have the possibility to meet until dinner or our Prefect duties as this was the last class we shared today. I held the strap of my satchel bag tightly as I gnawed on my bottom lip, wondering whether I could use an excuse and search for him between my classes, when suddenly a classroom door was thrown open and I was harshly yanked to the left by my arm. I gasped as I stumbled, failing to keep up with the aggressive tugging, my back hitting a wall rather painfully as my heart had started racing, eyes widening as I felt warm lips pressing against mine. It took me a second to register what was happening.

I was face to face with Seonghwa, who had me pinned between himself and the wall, holding the side of my neck firmly with his right hand as his left one gripped my hip, fingers digging into the fabric of my uniform. His eyes were open and glaring at me despite his heated kiss, and it only made me flush more as I felt his tongue force itself between my lips while his fingers sneaked up towards my jaw, tilting my head up as he had to lean down, just slightly, due to our height difference. My heart hammered against my ribcage as the satchel bag fell from my shoulder, landing with a loud thud as I gripped his robe’s collar, the fabric a lot softer than mine. Seonghwa’s tongue lapped at mine fiercely, stealing my breath away as I felt his hand slip from my hip, trace the inside of my thigh as it slowly slipped underneath my knee-length skirt. I gasped and gently pushed him back, breathing hard as his right hand held my nape, fingernails pressing into my frail skin, “Seonghwa—”

“Did you have fun flirting with Riddle right in front of me?” His tone was harsh, voice raspier than usual, and I gulped, his hand slipping higher up underneath my skirt.

“Seonghwa, I wasn’t flirting with him.” My voice trembled as he leaned closer again, lips tracing the skin of my neck, feather-like, making goosebumps erupt all over my skin. My hands released the collar of his robe as they slipped higher up, circling his neck as my fingers got tangled in the wavy strands of his hair, “I’ve told you so many times that I’m not interested in him—”

“Well, you certainly don’t act like it.” I gasped as his sharp teeth sunk into the skin of my neck, making my stomach coil as his other hand stopped at my groin, caressing my flesh through my stockings, “I’m sick of seeing him prance around you like a lost puppy, my love.”

“He’s just a boy.” My eyebrows furrowed as Seonghwa’s head snapped up, a sneer on his face.

“Just a boy?” He scoffed and leaned incredibly close, lips brushing against mine as he spoke, “He’s barely one year younger than us, Y/N.”

Sighing loudly, I pressed a chaste kiss against his lips, seeing his eyes shake for a second, his anger dissipating slightly, “Yet I only see the little boy I guided to the Slytherin common room in his first year in him, my love, he’s nothing but like a brother to me.”

“He has no boundaries.” Seonghwa huffed, jaw clenching and unclenching as I kissed his cheek, right side and then left side, then pulled him slightly lower to kiss his forehead too. Seonghwa’s grip visibly softened, his finger rubbing circles into my hipbone under my skirt.

“I know how to put him in his place if he ever goes too far, which he has never done before.” I muttered reassuringly as I ran my fingers through his hair gently, knowing that he loved the ministration, “Abraxas is touchier than Tom will ever be, yet you make no scene when he’s with me.”

Seonghwa scoffed, gripping my chin as he tilted my head up again, “Because it’s clear he’s not interested in courting you, he’s touchy with everyone.”

I chuckled as I coaxed his lips towards mine, my eyes fluttering closed as Seonghwa’s lips gently, but firmly, pressed against mine, our lips playing a gentle dance as they moved at a calmer pace, following the other’s rhythm as I let Seonghwa take the lead, our lips slotting perfectly against each other. His breath hit my face as he nipped at my bottom lip, enjoying the way my lips chased after his again, capturing his bottom lip between mine as I felt his hand very slowly slip towards my crotch. I keened, pushing him back by the shoulders when he had started rubbing circles against my clothed core, “I need to get to the greenhouse, Hwa, we can’t do this now.”

“You can skip Herbology,” Seonghwa whispered as his lips brushed against my ear, I bit my bottom lip, eyes fluttering closed, “it’s not that important.”

Before I could succumb to the feeling of Seonghwa’s fingers teasing me, I gripped his wrist and pushed his hand away, blinking my eyes open, “I’m not going to skip classes because you want to have sex, Seonghwa. You can wait until tonight.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, round eyes glinting dangerously, “I can?”

“Unless you want to throw another jealous fit over the fact that I’ll be studying with Tom later on.” I mused and pursed my lips as Seonghwa’s expression hardened again. He was so easy to irk, his face hid nothing as I cocked an eyebrow in challenge at him.

“Right,” He muttered, clearing his throat, “You’ll be busy with Riddle this afternoon—”

“I’ll be busy perfecting my Legilimency, yes.” I raised my eyebrows at Seonghwa as he hummed and stepped back, detaching himself fully from me. I licked at my lips and ran my hands through my hair, trying to get rid of any knots that may have formed.

“Find me after you’re done patrolling, then,” Seonghwa adjusted his tie and then patted down his robe, “I won’t be coming to dinner tonight.”

“Something wrong?” I asked with furrowing eyebrows as I leaned down to pick up my satchel bag.

“No, I just need to catch up on some assignments, is all.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I didn’t say anything as he caressed my cheek with his warm hand, “I love you.”

I smiled widely, turning my head lightly to press a kiss against his wrist, “I love you too, Hwa.”

Despite the sun trying to shine some light on the dire streets of London, the ever-grey clouds were everlasting, casting a gloomy shadow over the streets and the people that ventured outside. Lately, it seemed to be safer to go out and enjoy the much-needed social interactions, but people were still wary of the imminent threat posing over their heads. You just never knew when the enemy would strike, making you look over your shoulder at any given moment. London wasn’t anymore what it used to be, but reconstructions have started and there seemed to be light at the end of the permeating dark tunnel.

My coffee’s steam reached my nose as I forgot of its existence, my eyes having fallen on two children who had their palms out and were timidly asking for money from the passerby people. My heart broke at the sight of such innocent lives having to suffer so much, unwanted scenarios clouding my mind. They could’ve lost their parents, or maybe they still had them, but the war made them homeless and this is was the best they could do. I hated how most people didn’t even cast a glance at the obviously suffering children, their clothes strewn in places, cheeks dirty with dust. They clung to each other, the boy taller by a head as he clutched the younger girl to his side, pulling her back when a postman paid them no mind as he barrelled down with his bicycle on the pavement. But before my anger could get the best of me, the bell to the small coffee shop chimed, and I looked over, heart settling at the familiarity of the man that was approaching my table. He wasn’t a coffee lover, not when we were mere teenagers, so I had ordered tea instead for him.

“Mr. Kim.” I smiled as I abandoned my cup and pushed my chair back, fighting the wide smile that tried to make it onto my lips. Kim Hongjoong and I haven’t been close during our days at Hogwarts, but due to a person that was present in both of our lives, we had the chance to share some fond memories. Hongjoong had always been a free spirit, unafraid to break rules here and there, trying to break free of the chains society placed on all of us. Even now, his hair was brushed back in an uncharacteristic way, the black ends tinged almost blonde. His clothes didn’t match in colour, his pants burgundy and his shirt a rather atrocious colour of yellow, the grey sweater thrown over it saving the outfit somewhat. His green coat was dark, and due to the colour of his pants, it made him look like a Christmas tree.

“Dear,” Hongjoong chuckled, his hug warm and comforting, arms circling my middle tightly, “are we back to being formal with each other now? Has it been that long since we left Hogwarts?”

I chuckled, arms tightening around him subconsciously as my chin pressed against his shoulder, eyes glazing over with sudden tears that took me off guard. I have missed the faces I have become familiar with at Hogwarts, the place where I was still innocent and in love with life, with the prospect of a bright future. A future that was now my present, neither bright nor innocent. I have never had many friends, keen on keeping to myself, and the life of an Auror made it hard to keep up with others. It was better for them; my field of work had no guarantee of me returning alive. And knowing that two of the people I considered my family, Mingi and Yunho, were first in line in harm’s way, made me prolong my hug with Hongjoong. It felt nice to be in a warm embrace for once.

“Four years and three months, more specifically.” I whispered as I reluctantly let go of Hongjoong, who gripped my bicep and gave it a reassuring squeeze before we both claimed our seats at the small round table.

“So, you’ve been counting,” Hongjoong muttered, looking down at his steaming hot tea, “as have I.”

I hummed, feeling a certain sad aura around Hongjoong as he carefully cradled the teacup in his hands, humming to himself as my eyes bore into the side of his head. I was curious of what was running through his mind, but entering it without his consent was a breech of privacy and the break of trust between the two of us. Picking his fragile mind apart would’ve been very easy. Finding what I was looking for would’ve taken only a few seconds and I could be on my merry way in no time, hunting down the man I was tasked to take out, but I was yearning for just a second of normalcy, for a second that could take me back to the past where I was happy, unafraid, in love.

“How is the Auror life, dear?” I smiled at the nickname, Hongjoong being the only person who’s ever addressed me so affectionately—besides my former lover, Seonghwa.

“Dangerous,” I sighed, raising my cup of coffee to take a small sip, “exhausting, and time consuming.”

“I’ve had to treat many Aurors since I’ve started working at St. Mungo’s, and each time I pray I do not come across you, dear.” Hongjoong’s expression was solemn, as if he was trying to repress memories that weren’t kind nor pleasant, “But you seem to be in great health, so I shall not worry so much anymore.”

I chuckled and placed the cup down, fingertips tracing the porcelain in order to keep my hands busy with something, “I’m rather agile, one of the best they have. But sometimes even I worry for my own safety, thank you for thinking of me so often, Hongjoongie.”

He smiled, reaching out to grab my wrist, “Sometimes I feel bad for the way things have ended between us—between the three of us, I mean.”

I gulped, the topic of Seonghwa inevitable anymore. But still, I tried to stall it for a little bit longer, trying to enjoy Hongjoong’s company for a little bit more before the real reason I was here would ruin our nostalgic reunion.

“Don’t fret on the past, Hongjoong, what’s lost is lost.” I gripped his hand with my right one, patting it gently, “How are the other nurses treating you at St. Mungo’s? I’ve heard there’s not many wizards working there.”

“The witches seem to love me,” Hongjoong chuckled, suddenly his cheeks red, “they praise me a lot and always fight on who gets to work with me. I’m treated nicely and they’ve accepted me rather quickly despite being a wizard.”

I gulped, knowing the tumultuous history of the Kim family, “And your parents?”

Hongjoong froze, eyebrows furrowing as he averted his eyes, “My mother is speaking to me again. My father…we know how he feels about me.”

“You’ve always done just fine without them,” I encouraged him, watching curiously as he grabbed my hand and flipped my palm upside down, “and if you need a friendly advice or just an evening spent drinking wine and reminiscing, you know were to find me, Hongjoongie.”

He chuckled, forefinger gingerly tracing the inside of my palm, making me shiver. It’s been long since someone had treated me so tenderly, ever since Yunho and Mingi have been sent onto their mission actually, “Have you cut yourself here?”

“Yes.” I answered surprised, “How did you know?”

“The skin is rougher here,” Hongjoong pressed his finger a little harder against where the cut was healed up, not even a trace of a scar, “Stop by St. Mungo’s when you have a little free time, I have the perfect potion to fix your skin. I’ve got quite the tricks up my sleeve now.”

As our eyes met, a beat of silence passed, then we both burst out in quiet giggles, pressing our hands against our mouths. Memories of all the failed potions made by Hongjoong resurfaced, most of those times Seonghwa or me being his test subjects. There were too few fingers on my hands to count the number of times Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and I had ended up in the Infirmary, on the brink of dying from dangerous toxins found in Hongjoong’s brews. And yet, we continued indulging in his shenanigans as he was too endearing to say ‘no’ to.

“I suppose you’ve stopped poisoning people now, right?” I raised an eyebrow, tone joking as Hongjoong bit his lower lip, cheeks flushing once again.

“No more failed experiments or potions that would send Slughorn up the wall if he were to know about them.” And once again, we started giggling behind our palms as Hongjoong seemed to finally loosen up, making me feel bad that I would soon deter the conversation to a delicate topic. But I didn’t have much time, I had to move fast if I wanted to catch Seonghwa when he least expected it.

“I suppose you meet all sorts of people at the hospital…” I trailed off as I grabbed my cup of coffee yet again and took a long sip, Hongjoong’s lips pursing as he traced the wooden design of the table.

“Yes, quite the personalities.” He mused, eyebrows raised slightly in question as I swallowed the coffee, biting my lower lip in hesitance.

“As a nurse your allegiances do not matter, you must save everyone—”

“That is correct.” Hongjoong’s tone had turned colder, his face losing its warm glow, a mask of indifference now replacing it. I sighed knowing that Hongjoong had probably caught on to where our conversation was headed now.

“I know you still keep in touch with Park Seonghwa.” I lowered my voice so nobody would hear us. Everyone knew who Grindelwald’s men were, I didn’t want to risk the chance of anyone overhearing our conversation, even if the coffee shop was only frequented by muggles. I chose this place for this specific reason, few wizards and witches ventured out into the heart of London, not keen of the life muggles lived here.

Hongjoong had frozen, jaw clenching as his cat-like eyes narrowed at me, “What does that have to do with me being a nurse at St. Mungo’s? Are you accusing me of something, Miss Song?”

I sighed, but I knew the jabbing was inevitable. Hongjoong had been very protective of Seonghwa even before our years at Hogwarts, “I am not accusing you of anything, I was just merely curious on who’s side you stand—”

“I stand on nobody’s side.” Hongjoong snapped, pushing his teacup far away from himself, glaring at it suspiciously. He must be wondering whether I had slipped Veritaserum in it, but I would never do that to him, “I stand on the side of the victims I must save, on the side of justice, and on the side that doesn’t harm but protects instead. Do you fathom there’s a side like that? One that does not harm, but only protects?”

“No.” I whispered, averting my eyes from Hongjoong’s intense gaze, visibly irritated, “We’re trying to do our best, I promise, but I cannot guarantee that innocent folk won’t be harmed in the process of stopping Grindelwald.”

“You’re just doing your job,” Hongjoong’s tone softened, “and so am I, and so is Seonghwa—”

“Seonghwa is killing innocent wizards and witches for a cause that is irrational, for a cause that aims to harm muggles that aren’t at fault for being the way that they are. This isn’t a job!” Hongjoong’s eyes widened as my voice gradually raised, never the type to lose my cool. My heart had started racing and I felt anxiety creeping up my chest, through my throat, making me chew on the inside of my cheeks. I scrapped at my hand, averting my eyes as Hongjoong’s stare became too much, making me feel like he was judging me. Maybe I have misjudged his character, maybe he is on Seonghwa’s side, after all.

“Y/N,” But his voice was soft and I felt his hand grip mine, gently stopping me from scratching my skin until it was raw and red, “I know how hard it was when you found out about Seonghwa’s ambitions and beliefs, and I know you still feel guilty and think you played a part in him becoming like this. But as someone who’s known him since he was a little boy, Seonghwa’s always dreamed of doing big things, of changing our world into the better. You couldn’t have stopped him even if you had known of his plans since early on—”

“Then help me.” I felt choked up as I looked at Hongjoong swiftly, eyes shaking as I gripped his hand. His eyebrows were furrowed and he gulped as my eyes glossed over, his words ringing through my ears. He was right, I have always felt guilty for not noticing the blatant signs of Seonghwa’s true beliefs. He’s never been kind to muggles at Hogwarts, he’s always made snide remarks about them, and he’s mentioned joining a cause one day that purified our Wizarding World. I thought he was simply aspiring to join the Ministry, like many others wanted. Instead, he decided to join the cause of a man who thought wizards were superior to muggles and wished to subdue them, and force them to live in fear for the rest of their lives, “I need to talk to Seonghwa, please tell me where he is. Hongjoongie, you’ll be helping a greater cause than yourself and even myself. I must find him and—”

“You’re an Auror, Y/N.” He cut me off sharply, yanking his hand out of my grip as he shook his head feverishly, “If you find him, then what? Will you interrogate him and lock him up in Azkaban for a few months until he gives in and admits to his mistakes? We both know that’s the last thing Seonghwa will do if he’s ever captured. You’ll kill him—”

“I won’t—”

“You’ll kill him, and I cannot set up my best friend for his death.” He snapped angrily, cheeks red as his eyes were tear-filled, “I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that you sought me out for such a feat. You should be ashamed of yourself, Miss Song, for even thinking that I would help you out with such an atrocious thing. I love Seonghwa more than anyone, you have deeply wounded me, Miss Song, I have expected more of you.”

“Hongjoong—” Heart breaking as he swiftly stood and left with a last piercing look, I slumped back in my chair and tried not to let the sob break through my lips, cheeks damp from the tears that fell down them. Yes, I have been a fool for seeking out Hongjoong, I knew he’d never give away Seonghwa’s location, but he was my first and last option in trying to find Seonghwa in a way that I could negotiate with him, try to deter him from his cause, save him from a harsh sentence. And I have failed, and now I’ll have to kill the man that I have never stopped loving.

Having lost my appetite for anything, I stood hastily and wore my dark coat, pulling on my gloves to protect my hands from the freezing air. I gathered my purse and clutched it tightly in my hands, storming out of the coffee shop as I felt around for my bonnet inside the purse. The heart of the city was buzzing with people as the hour was nearing noon, the loudness of it all irritating my ears as I tried to walk between the people to the closest Portkey leading to the Wizarding World. But just as I was about to cross the road, I felt a hesitant tug on my coat. Alarmed and ready to defend myself, I whirled around and searched for whoever had touched me, only to find the siblings looking up at me with pleading eyes. Tapping the tears off my cheeks quickly, I opened my purse and crouched down as I fetched the pastries I have bought earlier for breakfast.

“Have this,” I handed them to the little girl, who had a runny nose and whispered a ‘thank you’. I pushed around in search for the little muggle money I still had, and once I found it, I gave it to the boy who looked beyond grateful and even bowed his head in gratitude. Feeling helpless that I couldn’t do more for them, I grabbed the bonnet that I knew I wouldn’t wear again, and placed it onto the little girl’s head. It was big and it fell in her eyes, but she grinned as her brother tried to adjust it for her, making my heart swell, “Take care of each other.”

The two nodded with eyes glistening, and I gulped down the lump that’s formed in my throat and stood tall once again, hurrying away before I felt the overbearing need to break down in the middle of a muggle filled street. I would finish this mission even if I lost my life in the process of it, it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter because innocent children and innocent common folk were the one suffering the consequences of these tyrants that ruled over our worlds.

20th of December, 1943

Slughorn’s Christmas parties were catalogued somewhat legendary and, thus, have always been talked about in the hallways of Hogwarts. Those who were invited mentioned it in excited exclamations and those who weren’t in whispers with envious tones. I had been part of the lucky few who got invited, being part of Slughorn’s Slug Club for a good two years now, and I couldn’t have been happier. These parties were perfect for mingling with socialites and people of importance in the Ministry and other fields that piqued your interest. I had been lucky enough to meet a few well-known Aurors tonight, but my utmost luck struck when, despite his drunken state, Professor Slughorn pulled me aside to introduce me Theseus Scamander, the Head of the Auror Office. The professor had rambled on about my abilities and how talented and knowledgeable I was in the Dark Arts, painting me as a very talented duellist to Mr. Scamander. He had been eager to listen to his former professor, giving me knowing glances and a dashing smile. I couldn’t help but blush a little, the Fire Whiskey I had—secretly—drunk with Abraxas getting the best of me. Unable to hide his amused smile anymore, Theseus had excused us with the pretext that we’d head over to the delicious candy bar and serve ourselves with chocolate frogs, to which our professor couldn’t object as, he, himself loved it.

“He’s quite the talker, isn’t he?” Theseus laughed as he gently guided me through the crowd of students and outsiders, his hand holding my gloved elbow. My dress was modest, adorning the emerald green of my house that I wore proudly. The neckline was a sweetheart design, sleeveless, and the upper part of the dress was moulded tightly against my body, a silvery fabric creating the illusion of a belt around my waist. From the waist, it flowed down to my ankles in a simple A-line, highlighting my long legs. I had a thin, sheer, shawl around my shoulders—but I have abandoned that at the dinner table as it had started annoying me—and instead wore my silvery satin gloves that reached just above my elbows.

“He certainly let’s go of himself when alcohol is involved.” I said quietly, earning a chuckle from Theseus as we reached the candy bar. It was hard to choose just one delicacy as the table was littered with at least fifteen types of desserts, and I watched as Theseus grabbed a plate rather eagerly.

“I couldn’t wait for the annual Christmas party back when I was a student here,” Theseus said as he started placing different delicacies on his plate, “the dessert was the best part of the night—apart from the Fire Whiskey.”

He glanced at me briefly and winked cheekily, making me chuckle as I averted my eyes with a shy blush on my cheeks. He chose a rose shaped tart that was filled with marzipan, and it reminded me of Seonghwa as it was his favourite dessert. Wondering where he was—since he had disappeared around half an hour ago—I searched the crowd while Theseus was busy filling his plate.

“Is it you who wants to be an Auror, or are your professors pushing you towards this job?” Theseus’ question earned my attention as I looked back at him, unsuccessful in my mission of finding Seonghwa.

“It is me.” I answered with a smile, fiddling with my fingers nervously, “I hate injustice, and I hate seeing our world get torn apart as Grindelwald is trying to ruin us. I want to help in stopping him, I want to be a figure that others can entrust their lives to. I want to protect the innocent, and I am not scared to sacrifice myself for others. And when he’ll finally be stopped, I will continue dedicating my life to help the right cause.”

Theseus hummed, his eyes softening as they quickly took in my form, a pleased look crossing his features, “You sound quite determined, and you look tough too. I have spoken to Professor Merrythought about any student she deemed fit for the role of an Auror, and I am positive she talked about you for almost an hour, Miss Song.”

I gulped, feeling warmth spread through my chest in happiness that I had been praised so extensively by my professor to a very important and prominent person in the Ministry, “I’ve still got two years until I graduate, but I hope to join you as soon as possible.”

“I cannot wait for that day to come, Miss Song.” Theseus grinned, grabbing the rose dessert, “I can already tell you’ll be great; you sort of remind me of myself, actually.”

“I do?” I asked with a surprised tone, feeling my smile get even bigger.

“Indeed.” Theseus hummed and then took a bite of the rose as I tried to contain my glee, my mouth hurting from smiling so widely. Suddenly, there was a presence next to me, and I felt a hand gently grip my shoulder, the hold familiar but rather cold. I turned my head and was met with Tom’s piercing-blue cold eyes looking down at me impassively.

“Mr. Scamander.” He greeted the Auror with a tight smile on his lips.

“Mr. Riddle.” Theseus was in the middle of chewing his dessert, but he quickly forced it down his throat and shook Tom’s hand.

“Do you mind if I steal Miss Song for a dance?” Tom’s voice was suddenly light, dripping with sweetness as his face morphed into a warm smile, “Have I interrupted an important conversation?”

“I have said what I wanted to Miss Song, if she wishes so, you can steal her for a dance.” Theseus winked, our gazes meeting as suddenly his thoughts flooded my mind. For a powerful Auror like him, it took me off guard to find his mind so defenceless. Perhaps he didn’t see a reason to guard his thoughts in the confines of Hogwarts, and before I could correct him that there was nothing between Tom and myself—as Theseus’ thoughts claimed—I was already whirled around and guided towards the crowded dance floor. The orchestra played a nice tune, slow but not to the point all you could do was step left and right. Tom placed his hand on the middle of my back as he held my hand in his other one, a respectable distance between our bodies as he started leading.

“Any reason you wanted to dance with me?” I asked with narrowed eyes, knowing for a fact that Tom never danced. He hated dancing or standing as close to somebody as we were stood right now.

“Hmm,” He hummed, his tone low and his voice pleasant to the ears as he spoke up again, “you looked like you needed a little saving.”

“Speaking to Mr. Scamander was pleasant,” I shrugged, holding onto Tom’s shoulder tighter as we narrowly avoided a drunken couple, “You could’ve tried to save me when I was talking to Professor Slughorn and the spouses that work at St. Mungo’s, instead. They are weird.”

“They are peculiar people, indeed.” Tom muttered, eyes falling on my face, “But they are incredibly smart and good assets to a team.”

“What team?” I asked confused, eyebrows furrowing. Tom was leading us out of the crowded dance floor, thankfully, more towards the side where we’d have more space and wouldn’t have to avoid every second drunken couple. A platinum blonde hair popped up in the crowd not far from us, and I stifled a laugh as Abraxas tried not to topple over as he was led towards the exit by his date.

“Well,” Tom started, eyebrows lightly furrowing as he mused over his words, like he didn’t know how to formulate his next words. That was unexpected from Tom as he was a good speaker, and an intelligent person, “let’s put it this way. You build an army of people that are magically gifted, but smart too, and you lead them to victory.”

“Why would you need this army?” I asked as I grew even more confused, “Are you talking about Grindelwald?”

“We can take him as an example, yes.” Tom chuckled, a smirk pulling at his lips as our eyes bore into each other’s, making me wonder for a split second if he was hiding something from me, “The people he has on his side aren’t just strong and powerful wizards and witches who excel at magic, they are also intelligent and strategize with him, leading him towards victory—”

“You think Grindelwald will prosper in this war?” I asked, feeling myself irked at such vile thoughts. Grindelwald wouldn’t win, I would become an Auror just to make sure of it.

“No, of course not.” Tom whispered, an easy smile adorning his lips and I felt his fingers gently rub against my knuckles. I sighed and looked away, surveying the crowd in hopes that I would finally find my lover. I missed him, I wanted to be by his side and dance with him, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Of course.” I chuckled, but my eyes were still searching the crowd as Tom cleared his throat, turning us around so that I was facing the exit now. My eyes stopped on the familiar form of my lover, and my eyebrows furrowed in wonder as I realized Seonghwa was speaking to Rabastan Lestrange and his parents, “Are you?”

“I hate these events, actually, even the Slug Club, but if I wish to remain in the graces of our daft professor, I must—”

“I am really sorry for cutting you off like this, Tom.” I released my hold on Tom and took a step back, eyes hastily falling back on the Slytherin boy, “But I’ve finally found my lover, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Right,” Tom’s expression faltered, then returned to being cold as he nodded towards Seonghwa, “I’ll see you around. But, Y/N, did you know Park and Lestrange have been acquittances for quite a while now?”

My eyebrows furrowed as I bit my lower lip, wondering if Seonghwa had ever mention Lestrange to me, “Of course, there are no secrets between Seonghwa and I.”

I felt the slight prodding at my mind, but Tom got nowhere near my thoughts as I have carefully guarded them all night. I bowed my head slightly before I walked away from the dance floor, nearing my lover and the Lestrange family with a soft smile on my lips. Rabastan was the first one to notice me, and he loudly cleared his throat, eyes jumping between Seonghwa and my approaching form. Seonghwa stiffened and I tried to mask my confusion as I stood next to my lover, “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Miss…?” Rabastan’s father was a gruff man, scary-looking, and rather unfriendly as his voice was harsh.

“Song, Song Y/N.” I answered and offered him my hand before I greeted his wife, who looked stoic and glared at me viciously. But I remained unphased as I continued smiling.

“Song,” She muttered, eyes narrowing as she shared a glance with her husband, “your parents are quite prominent figures in the Ministry, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” I answered, not keen of talking about my parents. It was always about them, never about me. They’ve made their own reputation already, I wanted to make one for myself.

“Y/N is just as brilliant as her parents, if not more.” Seonghwa mused with a warm tone, lips pulled into a dashing smile as I felt his arm sneak around my middle and gently pull me into his side. My muscles softened as his familiar warmth and cologne embraced my being, making me look up at him with a small grin. Rabastan’s parents exchanged a glance as their son cleared his throat again, looking rather awkward.

“And you make a pair, I assume.” Rabastan’s father quirked an eyebrow, not looking very impressed by the prospect. Before I could answer, Seonghwa hummed lowly and I felt his fingers flex against my hips in a quiet request to remain silent. I bit my bottom lip, but adhered to his request.

“Yes, Miss Song and I had been quite the academic rivals, but I suppose in our fifth year we found common ground and discovered together we are more powerful, our knowledge forever expanding.” Seonghwa’s answer made my eyebrows furrow as I turned my head to look at him with a questioning gaze, but he continued looking at the Lestranges, who seemed pleased with his answer.

“Well, yes, she is a Slytherin like our son,” Rabastan’s mother said with a chuckle that was filled with vice, “but she might take after her parents, after all.”

Fed up with the cryptic conversation, I chuckled and flashed the Rabastans an apologetic smile before I cradled Seonghwa’s cheek in my hand and turned his head to face me, “May we dance? You’ve neglected me the whole night, my love.”

“My apologies,” Seonghwa hummed and kissed my wrist as I let my hand fall from his face, the two of us looking back at the Lestranges, “It was a pleasure talking to you and meeting you Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange, I shall see you around—hopefully.”

They nodded wordlessly as Rabastan bid us farewell, and I intertwined my fingers with Seonghwa’s as I led us back to the dance floor, the crowd a little more dispersed now than it has been when I was dancing with Tom. The orchestra now had started playing slow tunes, all the dancing couples swaying gently to the music. I sighed as I felt Seonghwa’s arms slip around my hips to pull me close in, my arms circling his shoulders as our bodies flushed together, my nerves and muscles easing at the familiar press of his body against mine. Seonghwa’s round eyes had a warm glow in them, his cherry-like lips pulled into a soft smile. I chuckled and fought the muscles in my body yearning to press a kiss against his lips, and instead let my eyes travel down to the early Christmas gift I had given him earlier this morning. Seonghwa and I would be going home tomorrow, meaning that we wouldn’t spend the holidays together like last year, when Hongjoong, his best friend, decided to stay at Hogwarts due to his horrible parents and Seonghwa and I decided to stay too, to keep him company. It was one of the best Christmases I have ever had.

My gift was something small, a thin silver chain necklace with a small star pendant hanging on it, representing the way I viewed Seonghwa. He was bright and beautiful, always glimmering in the darkness and guiding me through my hardships, helping me sparkle as bright as him. He was an inspiration and so easily lovable that sometimes I felt like I fell for him over and over again each day.

“I had no idea you knew Rabastan Lestrange?” I raised an eyebrow as Seonghwa sighed, our moves smooth as he twirled us around.

“Barely.” He muttered, dipping his head low, his breath fanning my face, “Did Professor Slughorn introduce you to Theseus Scamander? I saw you talking to him.”

“He did!” I beamed, Seonghwa’s eyes creasing as he smiled back at me, “I am so happy I met him tonight, he said he cannot wait for me to join the Auror’s Office.”

“Is that so?” Seonghwa hummed, making my eyebrows furrow in confusion. He didn’t look too eager, but he chuckled upon seeing my reaction, it didn’t sound amused, “With how eager Riddle was to whisk you away for a dance, I figured you couldn’t talk much to Mr. Scamander.”

“Seonghwa,” I sighed, interlacing my fingers around his neck as I tilted my head back, “can we not do this here? Can we just not talk about Tom for one second?”

“How can I not talk about Riddle when he’s openly trying to court my partner—”

“Seonghwa.” I snapped quietly as I didn’t want anyone to overhear our useless argument, “Tom hates every female that breaths around him withing a meter radius, can you please for the love of Merlin stop this nonsense?!”

“I cannot.” He hissed, eyes narrowing as our steps faltered, “You fail to see the issue at hand, Y/N, he hates every female but you. And I cannot stand that—”

“Why are you so jealous when I have never given you a reason to be?” I cut him off, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Because you’re mine and I cannot fathom losing you, I just—”

“Park Seonghwa.” I sighed, cupping his cheeks as I shook my head at him, “You are the love of my life, I have never loved anyone before you and I will never love anyone else but you. I don’t want anyone else that isn’t you, and I will never do. You are my star and the reason I live for, and I trust you with my whole being and have given all of myself to you. Sometimes—I just wish you trusted me as much as I trust you. When you act like this, you make me feel guilty and bad, like I don’t deserve your love and you.”

Seonghwa’s bottom lip was between his teeth and he released a long sigh as his hands sneaked back to grip my hips, “Only Merlin know how much I love you, Y/N, how much faith I have in you, and just how much I trust you. It’s this irrational fear that I will lose you if I make a wrong move that makes me act like this. I don’t even care about Riddle—or anyone else—if I have one fear, it’s that of losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I might be your star, but a star cannot shine without darkness. I need you, promise me you’ll stay by my side no matter what.”

“I promise to forever stay by your side, Hwa.”

Hongjoong was a good friend to Seonghwa, righteous, and ferociously protective. But even Hongjoong could tell apart right from wrong, unlike Seonghwa. And when I had gotten home after meeting him at the coffee shop, in the haste of searching for my yellow bottle of pills as my hands had started trembling once again, I found a small rolled up paper nestled between the white tablets. Eager to swallow the sedatives, I held the paper carefully, and after downing two tablets, I unrolled the paper, eyebrows furrowing when I realized it was an address to a fancy place in high-end London, where socialites mingled to their hearts wishes—both muggles, wizards, and witches alike. Hongjoong would never help me in taking down his best friend, but he also knew I was offering his best friend the easy way out this time. I would let him flee if he promises to never show himself around Grindelwald—I would do that because it’s Seonghwa. Because I cannot imagine a life without him even if he’s not by my side, just the thought of knowing he’s out there breathing and living keeps me going.

The casino Hongjoong had given me the address of was fancy and elite, only those who had an invite could enter. But I had connections, getting in was the easiest part. And perhaps, feeling nostalgic after having seen Hongjoong, I yearned to see more familiar faces that reminded me of my innocent childhood, familiar faces that could help me forget that I haven’t heard from Mingi and Yunho in a week. They were alive, that much we knew, but we had no idea if they had been discovered or injured, or if they have gone low-key in order to have even fewer chances of compromising their mission. Nonetheless, when I sent an owl to an old-time friend, I did not expect to receive an answer this eager, at least not from this particular person. Having taken my time to tidy up and make myself presentable, I slipped my bottle of pills inside my purse, knowing that there were great chances I would be seeing Seonghwa tonight—that was the whole point of me going to the casino. I was restless all day long and I had probably already taken too many of them, but the tremors of my hands never once stopped, and I could feel my heart race all day long. It was unsettling, but I knew there was nothing more I could do about it but slip the bottle in my purse and pray to Merlin for a successful mission. If I managed to get Seonghwa on my side tonight, much would change—the war would change.

There was a light smog in the air of London as I neared the casino, the evening breeze pleasant for once as the cobblestones were slippery from the previous rain. There was a light drizzle in the air still, but the invisible shield I had casted around myself to protect me from it was doing its job fairly well to keep me dry. My fur coat kept me warm as the nature of my dress was more daring tonight, attention grabbing on purpose. As I neared the entrance of the casino, lit up brightly and bustling with ladies and gentlemen that had bright smiles on their faces, I noticed a tall figure looming to the side in the darker corner of the street. Heartbeat halting, I hurried my steps as I clutched the invitation tighter in my hands, eager to see the man’s face from up-close. It’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other, I didn’t think he’d actually join me tonight. I knew he had his own ambitions, what those were exactly, I couldn’t tell. He’s always been secretive, but he’s made quite the reputation for himself after finishing Hogwarts. He was a young promising man, eager to chase after his desires.

“Miss Song!” His voice had gotten deeper over the years, but remained as velvety as always. My lips pulled into a smile as I was finally close enough to see his face clearly, and I was taken aback by the obvious changes the years have brought to his once youthful face. His eyes were still as bright and blue, perhaps even icier than they used to be, but his cheekbones had become hollower, skin ashier. He looked good, but he looked ghastly.

“Mr. Riddle.” I came to a stop in front of him with a big smile on my face, and was taken aback by the arms that have wrapped around me in a hug. Tom had always hated physical contact, I wondered if the passing of years had changed that, “You’ve changed. A lot.”

“Hopefully in a good way.” He chuckled as he released me, smirking dashingly at me. I would be lying if I said my heart didn’t skip a beat. I chuckled and shook my head, taking in his even taller, but lanky, form.

“I suppose yes,” I hummed, realizing that there were no traces of the young boy I have once viewed as perhaps my little brother, “You’ve grown taller, I didn’t think that was possible.”

Tom and I chuckled at the same time as he reached out again, squeezing my lower arm, “And you look stronger than ever.”

I hummed and tried to hide the way my tremors only worsened at his words, wanting to tell him that I was on the brink of falling apart every day. I wasn’t strong, I was far from being strong, I just refused to give in to the darkness until I have fulfilled my purpose, then I could finally let go. Give in to whatever madness threatened to pull my thoughts to an everlasting field of blackness, the stars absent from the night sky. Stars that have long abandoned me, left me alone to fend for myself, to figure things out without a guiding light.

“Let’s head inside, I’m beginning to feel cold.” I muttered as Tom hummed, offering his arm for me to take as he confidently waltzed us towards the entrance, the bouncer smiling at us pleasantly as I handed over our invitation. It seems that he already knew Tom, who, it turns out, frequents this casino rather often. The question was on the tip of my tongue, whether he sees Seonghwa here often or not, but I didn’t want to know. It was better not to know. I couldn’t start questioning Tom’s morality right now, I had to stay focused on the task at hand, which was finding Seonghwa and trying to coerce him onto my side.

The place was buzzing with all sorts of people, all seemingly eager to socialize and make lasting connections. The interior of the casino was vast and covered in red and black décor, giving it a sultry but eloquent touch. We had barely walked in when our coats and purses were taken to a garderobe for safe keeping. And before Tom could explain much about the place and the type of events that were held here, we were swarmed by quite a few wizards and witches, all very keen of talking to Tom, of holding his attention for more than five minutes. It seems like that hasn’t changed since Hogwarts.

I remained by his side and smiled, only spoke up when I was addressed to as I was too busy searching the room—the crowd—for the familiar face that I was here in the first place. I had opted to wear a long-sleeved dress as it was still cold outside, the velvet fabric feeling soft against my skin, keeping me perhaps too warm inside the parched room. The neckline of it was a deeper cut, just shy of stopping at the swell of my breasts, and I had decorated my long neck with emeralds that glinted prettily under the light. The dress was long, I had to be careful not to step on it with the heel of my high heels, and it was a poison green, tricky as under the light it glimmered green, however, otherwise it appeared black. I had pulled my hair away from my face and curled the strands, letting them fall free against my back as simple emerald earrings decorated my ears.

I was itching to hold onto something as I tried not to fidget with my hands, preferably to feel the comforting weight of the bottle of pills, but as they were hidden away in my purse, the only reassurance that I wasn’t completely defenceless lay hidden under my long dress, strapped against my shin was my wand. Over the years, I have learned to excel in wandless magic completely, but just knowing that I had my wand on me helped ease my nervous heartbeat. My eyes never stopped surveying the crowd, waiting to spot those round eyes and cherry-red lips.

“Aren’t you the Songs’ daughter, my dear?” I felt a lady gently touch my arm in order to grab my attention, and I averted my eyes from the back of a man who seemed to have a form similar to Seonghwa’s.

“I am.” I answered the older lady with a pleasant smile, trying to seem cordial despite my nerves.

“Oh, you are gorgeous.” She whispered, fingering the velvet sleeve of my dress, lips pursed, “You were a Slytherin, yes?”

“Yes.” I hummed, glancing side ways at Tom, wondering whether he could save me from this stranger, but he was busy speaking to who seemed to be the lady’s husband, “Does that matter?”

“Well, Slytherins are highly regarded in our society, we are prestige, you know?” The old lady smirked, and I gently pulled my hands behind my back, feeling uncomfortable that she wouldn’t stop touching my dress.

“I wouldn’t call ourselves prestige when most from our house turn towards the usage of the Dark Arts in inconvenient and illegal ways.” I grumbled, trying to hide my distaste as the older lady chuckled, eyes narrowing at me.

“So, you seem to share your parents’ beliefs, after all.” I heaved a long sigh, looking at the lady with a pressing glare. It was always about my parents, about sharing their beliefs. I was fed up with hearing that over and over again. What did people expect of me? To follow the ‘path’ of other Slytherins and join dark causes? Why did everyone have prejudices of us? And most of all, why did everyone assume all Slytherins were evil and would turn against what was right to do?

“My parents are mighty people and proud of their legacy.” My voice was harsh as I squared my shoulders back, the older lady’s eyes slightly widened, “My mother was a Hufflepuff and she raised me with compassion and fierce love that taught me how to differentiate wrong from right. My father was a Ravenclaw that is beyond wise his years and values knowledge above anything else, he taught me that there is no reason to live if you don’t learn constantly, if you don’t find a passion that you excel in. Excuse me if I find no joy in slaying those innocents around me, if I don’t enjoy tea parties organized to discuss who would and who wouldn’t live another day. You, and everyone else, should know basic human decency and stop playing the Gods you’ll never be. I am Slytherin proud of my heritage, and Merlin be damned if I let another one look down on me because of my parents, who have achieved things far beyond your capability in this fragile life that we live. So, if you happen to have a problem with me, or the fact that I am a Song, please, speak to be bluntly and not in riddles.”

The older lady’s mouth hung open in shock, and we have earned the attention of Tom and the man he was talking to, the two looking just as taken aback as the lady. Well, Tom didn’t look that much surprised, his frown told me of his distaste towards my words, and the swift glare sent my way signalled to me to shut up. But I didn’t want to, my nerves were on a high and if one more person mentions my parents and the fact that I am the ‘Songs’ daughter’, I shall repeat my speech proud and loud for the whole room to hear. It wasn’t hard to guess that it was infested with Grindelwald’s people, and my stomach churned as I felt Tom’s fingers sneak around my wrist, holding it so firmly I almost winced in pain.

“She’s opiniated.” Is what the old man said at last, eyes narrowed as he pulled his wife closer into his side, “Is this who you’ve looked up to at Hogwarts? The woman you’ve mentioned before?”

My breath stilled as I looked at Tom confused, feeling suddenly uncomfortable as I tried to untangle his fingers from my wrist but he wasn’t letting go. Was Seonghwa right all along? Was Tom trying to veer me away from Seonghwa while we were at Hogwarts? Had I been actually blind to Tom’s advances? But that mustn’t have been possible, I’ve heard Tom say multiple times that he wasn’t capable of feeling love for anyone, nor was he interested in maintaining any relationships, not even friendships.

“I apologize for her harsh words,” Tom bowed his head humbly, making my eyebrows furrow, “in her field of work she must be blunt and unfiltered, sometimes that slips into her everyday life too.”

I grit my teeth, but remained silent as the older man chuckled, eyes twinkling as he took me in. My face was a mask of impassiveness despite the urge to jinx both him and his wife. Deciding that I didn’t want to partake in this wretched conversation anymore, I turned my head and allowed my eyes to survey the crowd again. I heard Tom’s voice, but I paid no mind to what words were said. I knew the older couple walked away with a laugh on their lips, and I felt Tom’s eyes piercing the side of my head, but I was frozen. My tremors returned in the worst way, making my arms tremble as I tried to gulp but my throat felt dry, eyes glassing over the longer I looked at the familiar, yet so foreign face of my once lover. He was far from us, in the heart of the crowd as he tipped his head back, lips pulled into a charming smile as he laughed. The sound was swallowed by the cacophony created by the conversing people and the playing orchestra, yet I could hear its warm timbre as if he were right next to me.

He had also changed, became less boyish looking and turned sharper in angles he didn’t have before. His jaw was sharp and his nose tall, his round eyes void of the softness I was so used to receiving from him. His cheekbones were more defined than before, his cheeks having lost the baby fat I so loved pinching, and his black hair was longer than I have ever seen it before, framing his face, falling onto his forehead as his bangs were styled carefully. Gone were his wild curls that he always struggled to keep in one place. Park Seonghwa has changed since the last time I’ve seen him, and I was afraid I couldn’t recognize him anymore. Had Grindelwald stolen away even the last remnants of my lover?

“I can’t breathe.” I croaked out as I held onto my middle, my muscles so tense I was in pain as I tried not to double over and empty the contents of my stomach. I needed my pills, I had to take them before I would cause a scene. Suddenly, as Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes turned sharp, vigilante, and found mine, Tom obscured my view of him, eyebrows furrowed in concern, yet I couldn’t actually see the concern in his eyes, or on his face.

“Let’s head over to the bar,” He said quietly, grabbing my hand and stopping the absent-minded scratching I had started doing, “water will do you good.”

I hummed, unable to will my legs to move, and felt thankful when Tom gently coerced me towards the bar, nestling my arm in his as he pulled me into his side, his cologne foreign. There was nothing comforting about his presence, unlike how Hongjoong’s had been, and I struggled to regulate my breathing and frantic heartbeats, telling myself that I was here on a mission and that I had to place aside any feelings I felt towards Seonghwa. I couldn’t compromise my mission this way, I was here to offer Seonghwa a way out. If I wasn’t able to keep it together for just one night, then why was I even here?

Too wrapped up in my mind, I didn’t hear Tom speak to the bartender, nor did I see the glass of water that was placed in front of me until Tom poked my trembling hands and pushed the glass towards me. I quickly took it and gulped down the cool water in a few sips, thankful that the ache in my throat was finally soothed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I placed the glass back onto the surface of the bar, willing my muscles to loosen up as I licked my lips, Tom’s pressing stare becoming irritating. I exhaled slowly and opened my eyes, glancing over to Tom, voice raspy as I spoke up, “Thank you.”

“I’m here for you.” Tom muttered, grabbing my hand and making the hairs stand on my arms as I didn’t want to be touched. But I said nothing as I gulped and nodded once, focusing on my trembling hands as I knew Tom had noticed them, his eyes straying towards them. If only I could fetch my purse to take just one pill, it would help a lot right now. I sighed and had started pulling my hand away from Tom’s just as a person appeared right next to Tom, lean body leaning against the bar as his eyes were cold, narrow, and piercing.

“Good evening.” He spoke up upon making eye contact with me, and I forgot how to breathe all over again, “Miss Song, Mr. Riddle.”

“Mr. Park.” My voice was a mere whisper as our eyes bore into each other, mine desperately searching for a semblance of the man I used to love. But it was gone, innocence and youth long ripped from him, now only a shell of the dorky and geeky boy that used to recite poems to me that he found in muggle books. It broke my heart; it made me mad—it made my hands tremble even worse.

“Oh, and who are these?” A very thick accented female voice spoke up, her dark red lips pulled into a pleasant and friendly smile as her eyes rivalled Tom’s blueness. I gulped, eyes straying from her onto Seonghwa as he looked down at her, his expression softening as he placed an arm around her middle. I didn’t allow myself to feel anything upon seeing that as my eyes snapped back up to Seonghwa’s face, waiting for his next move.

“Old acquittances from Hogwarts.” He said easily, flashing the woman a quick fake smile, “This is Rhaena, she went to Beauxbatons.”

“Pleased to meet you!” Her French accent was irritating as she extended her hand to shake, eyes stalling on Tom for a second too long. I bit the insides of my cheeks, trying to reign in my scowl as Tom elegantly pressed a kiss against her knuckles, smirking at her with a charming gaze.

“My name is Song Y/N.” I introduced myself confidently once it was my turn to shake her hand, my handshake firm and perhaps too strong as Rhaena winced while my eyes landed on Seonghwa, my own lips pulling into an unamused smirk, “I must admit being introduced as mere acquittances leaves me with a distaste I didn’t think I’d harbour towards you, Mr. Park.”

Tom laughed loudly, watching Seonghwa with a challenging look as Rhaena turned and looked back at him with a quirk to her eyebrow, “My memories must be murky, my apologies, it’s been long since we’ve last seen each other, Miss Song. But I see you continue entertaining your old admirers—”

“Admirer is a strong word,” Tom cut him off with a chuckle, but it was far from being friendly as he glared at Seonghwa, “I merely admire Miss Song’s working etiquette, always have, ever since our time at Hogwarts, I suppose. Is it such a crime to look up to a strong, ambitious, and independent woman?”

I could see the spark of interest in Rhaena’s eyes the longer Tom talked, and it irked me. If she was with Seonghwa, why was she so openly interested in other men? Did Seonghwa not see? Did he not care? Seonghwa deserved better than a woman who couldn’t remain loyal to him.

“Ambitious with foolish ideas—” Before Seonghwa could finish his jab and break my heart more than it was already, Rhaena interjected, smiling widely at Tom. I knew he wasn’t interested in her, but it was scary how well he played his act of looking interested in the eager woman.

“I have always loved a man who is able to recognize the power his partner holds and worship her like a queen.” Rhaena’s lips pulled into a suggestive smirk as she licked her lips, eyes raking over Tom’s body, making me feel uncomfortable as I eyed the two. Tom chuckled under his breath but I noticed the way his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“You’re too daring for me, Miss Rhaena.” Tom settled with saying, making the French woman pout as she suddenly pressed herself to Seonghwa’s side, who was glaring at Tom’s blatant rejection.

“And Miss Song isn’t?” Seonghwa’s lips pulled into a vicious smile, face contorting into something sinister as he continued with an air of insignificance, “After all, Aurors take great pride in their work and never place anyone above themselves.”

“Miss Song knows the distinction between her personal life and her work.” Tom snapped back, grabbing the sleeve of my dress when I started shuffling on my feet, feeling uncomfortable by the exchange. I felt a little prodding in my mind and as I glanced at Tom, he was already looking at me with a frown. I nonverbally reassured him that I was okay, and finally admitted to him that I was here on a mission. He understood quickly and didn’t ask questions, only stated that he’d help me with whatever.

“So, you two are married, then? Rhaena kept on antagonizing us as our telepathic conversation was broken, and my eyebrows furrowed as I scoffed.

“Tom is an old friend that I have always been fond of, are you married to Seonghwa?” Perhaps my tone was too snappy, perhaps my words gave away too much. I gulped, realizing that my emotions were getting the best of me, making me ponder again whether I should just go ask for my purse to take another pill. Things were going horribly; this isn’t what I had planned for the night.

“No.” It was Seonghwa who answered, voice deep and laced with anger, “What are you doing here, Miss Song? I haven’t seen you at the casino before.”

“I’m here to accompany Tom as he’s told me he’s been feeling rather lonely on his visits to the casino.” I plastered on a fake smile, levelling my voice so that they wouldn’t be able to tell that I was lying. Even Tom seemed to be surprised as he hummed next to me in confirmation of said lie, tilting his head as he looked at Seonghwa challengingly, “It’s a nice break from my work that you seem to know so much of, Mr. Park.”

But Rhaena seemed to be stuck on a different part of the conversation, “Mr. Riddle, would you like to be my first dance partner of the night?”

I stiffened as Tom chuckled, giving me a quick glance before he nodded and extended his hand for Rhaena to take. She batted her eyelashes at him and pursed her lips as she waved at Seonghwa, walking off with Tom towards the dance floor. I gulped, eyes stuck onto them as I subconsciously started rubbing my left hand, nails digging into my skin painfully, scratching the skin as it left marks. My heart had started hammering against my chest, and I couldn’t face Seonghwa as I felt his piercing gaze bore into the side of my head. I knew why I was here; I knew what I wanted to say to him, but his hostile attitude wasn’t something I had expected, and now I felt like I needed to rethink and reformulate everything I had wanted to say to him.

Jumping at the sudden warm touch against my hand, I faced Seonghwa with wide eyes as he squeezed my fingers, stopping me from scratching my skin up more. My eyebrows furrowed as my hand tingled, leaving my throat dry once again as Seonghwa’s expression was blank, his round eyes having lost their beautiful and warm glimmer.

“Will you dance with me?” His voice was quiet, tone almost dejected, and I gulped as I nodded wordlessly. He didn’t release my hand, instead, he intertwined his fingers with mine as he led the way towards the dancing crowd, making my insides churn at the familiar feel of his larger palm pressing against my small one.

For a second, I felt like a teenager back at Hogwarts, dancing with Seonghwa under the moonlight to a melody that he so often hummed. But the bodies that nearly collided into mine did a good job of helping me repress the memory to stay level-headed, and instead, I straightened my back and finally remembered what I was taught when I was training to become an Auror. The mission was my number one priority now, and so, I repressed all emotions and slipped a neutral expression onto my face as Seonghwa stopped in the middle of the crowd and turned around to face me. He raised our intertwined hands and yanked me towards himself, taking me off guard as I stumbled into his body. He swiftly grabbed onto my hip and I steadied myself as I held onto his shoulder, turning my head away to gaze over it as Seonghwa’s eyes landed on my face. My heart was hammering against my ribcage, skin burning everywhere it touched Seonghwa’s.

It felt familiar being in his hold, warm and comforting, yet his body was tense and on-alert. Seonghwa was a smart man, he knew if I was here, other Aurors might be too, he was on the look-out in case he needed to flee. My body was tense too, but for different reasons. I was trying not to give in to the yearning of my consciousness after the warm body that I knew so well, the embrace that made me feel like the luckiest person on the planet, the lips that ignited my skin on fire wherever they touched. I have missed Seonghwa so much that sometimes I wondered if my impeding madness was imposed upon me by our separation.

“It’s unexpected seeing you here.” Seonghwa muttered carefully, voice void of the previous hostility. I gulped and nodded, having to agree with him.

“I was curious of this place.” That wasn’t a total lie, and Seonghwa could tell. I felt his finger graze against my knuckles, gently rubbing them, but I ignored it for my peace of mind—which I was already struggling with.

“And how do you like it?”

“It’s too pompous, fake, prestigious.”

“People are here to make beneficial connections, of course it’s fake.” Seonghwa’s voice had dropped low so that nobody but me would hear him. I hummed, licking my lips as I felt him pull me more into himself as we danced around in a small circle, his familiar cologne making my head spin. Even after all these years, he looked and felt like the Seonghwa I once fell in love with.

“Your hair is long now.” I had no idea why I said that but I couldn’t take it back now, and Seonghwa’s steps stuttered for a second, making me step on my dress.

“I’ve always liked it better like this,” He said once he cleared his throat, “I kept it short because my parents didn’t like it.”

“I know.” I whispered and closed my eyes, giving in to my body’s cravings as I felt Seonghwa’s hand slip lower, press firmly against my lower back as our bodies flushed together, making me let out a stuttered breath.

“And your parents, are they well?” I felt bile rise up in my throat upon the question that left his mouth. He knew about them, of course he did, it was his people who sent them into hiding. My parents had played an enormous part in discovering the identity of Grindelwald’s men and their hideout. Of course, they were being hunted by Grindelwald now. I wasn’t safe either, but I was an Auror now, a talented one, Grindelwald wouldn’t waste his time on somebody who could very well defend themselves against him and his army. At least, not yet. I’m sure my time will come too.

“You’re being a hypocrite right now, Seonghwa.” I snapped, hearing him heave a sigh.

“They’ve always been kind to me, I do not wish mal-intent towards them—”

“And towards others?” I snapped, eyebrows furrowed as I pulled my head back to be able to look him in the eyes, “Towards all the innocent lives Grindelwald has taken—you have taken?!”

Seonghwa gulped, jaw clenching as his eyes narrowed, “There’s nothing innocent about being oppressed and having to hide our true nature while those mudbloods continue living their lives carefree and in peace.”

“Mudbloods.” I whispered, shaking my head in disappointment at Seonghwa, “You’re a half-blood, Seonghwa—”

“Enough.” Seonghwa snapped, his grip on my hand turning just a little painful, “I do not want to hear whatever you have to say—”

“Well, that is hilarious, Seonghwa.” I chuckled humourless, eyes narrowing at him in annoyance, “You cannot silence me, you cannot tell me what to do.”

“I can silence you,” He gulped, eyebrows furrowing, “for forever, if I want to.”

I froze, feeling a chill run down my spine, and then I just chuckled. I raised my eyebrows at him, looking him in the eyes challengingly, “Like you’ve silenced all those unassuming folk living in those village you burned to a crisp?!”

Seonghwa’s face contorted in anger, his round eyes narrowing as they stared me down fiercely, a dangerous glint in them, “What had to be done was done. They refused to join our cause.”

“A cause that is wrong and harms others, Seonghwa.” My voice raised slightly as I had lost my patience, our faces leaning in close as we both breathed through our noses harshly, glaring down each other, “You’ve done so many atrocities that you’re afraid to face the repercussions, isn’t it? It’s still not late, Seonghwa, if you come with me tonight, I can make things less painful for you. I can convince the officials to lessen your sentence, I can make them reason with you. If you say you regret everything you’ve done and that you will strive to fix your mistake, they will—”

“I will never do that.” Seonghwa hissed and I felt his breath fan my face, “I stand by what I believe in, I stand by what I have done, Y/N. You are on the wrong side, and you all will pay.”

Body shaking from both anger and anxiety, I tried to inhale deeply and exhale, but my throat felt restricted, and the longer I remained in Seonghwa’s arms the more choked up I would feel. I needed to get away, to get away from the man that didn’t resemble my once lover. This wasn’t the Seonghwa I had fallen in love with, this was—a monster standing in front of me. I bit my lower lip, feeling them tremble as I tried to supress the desperate need to cry, I wouldn’t do it. Not here, not in front of him, not ever again. I have cried enough because of him.

Feeling unsafe and cold in his arms, I tried to detach myself from Seonghwa, but his hold only tightened as his eyebrows further furrowed, looking like he was fighting with himself, a turmoil going on inside his mind. My blood froze over when my eyes slipped from his face, falling onto the necklace that sat against his black shirt, sparkling underneath the dim lights. It was the star necklace I had gifted him. Shaking my head, I looked back up in his eyes, grabbing onto the collar of his vest as Seonghwa’s arms held me in a firm embrace, fingers pressing painfully so into my lower back, “Seonghwa.”

And when his eyes shook, I knew he had lost control over himself, over his emotions, over his mind. I felt my eyes fill with tears for breaking even the little trust that’s remained between the two of us as our eyes bled into each other, making it easy for me to push through his fragile mind’s barriers. It was frightening how dark his thoughts were, revolving around murder and strategies of taking down even more people, of converting even more wizards and witches for their ‘greater’ cause. It was terrifying how good of a manipulator Grindelwald was, the fatherly look in his eyes when he looked at Seonghwa, the praises that left his mouth addicting—the complete opposite of Seonghwa’s muggle father who would never understand our world. I felt a small resistance trying to build itself back up in his mind, but I was stronger—Tom’s lessons at Hogwarts had paid off, the Auror training only making my acquired skills stronger—and so, I pushed forward, searching for anything that would be of use for future purposes.

In my search, I stumbled past sleepless nights spent staring up at the ceiling, of tear-filled eyes and salty cheeks as a familiar man cradled Seonghwa to his chest, shushing him and reassuring him of a bright ending. I heard broken whispers of my name as he’d wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare, of lustful touches that were turned down in a haste at last, and ear-piercing shouts that sent everything tumbling to the ground, shattering. And then, painfilled screams and pleas for mercy, people on their knees crying, mothers cradling their children to their chests as their houses burned down and—a piece of parchment that would’ve been blank if it wasn’t for the name of the town scribbled down on it, Grindelwald’s harsh voice commanding my once lover to make everyone perish, nobody spared. He didn’t need anyone on his side from that village, he wanted revenge. Revenge on my parents and on everyone who’s ever tried to mislead him and take him down. Mingi. Yunho.

Seonghwa and I gasped loudly as he finally managed to push me out of his mind, not that I wanted to see anything beyond this. I have seen everything I needed. I had to alert the aurors of the attack Grindelwald had planned on our hideout. My heart raced in fear for my loved ones, and suddenly, I became aware of the hands holding my arms painfully, making me hiss out in pain as I looked up at Seonghwa’s face, feeling my heart still as his eyes were filled with tears, shaking, mouth agape as he looked speechless. I knew he’d hate me for invading his mind without permission, but I had to do it. Our trust in each other has been long broken; I was doing this for the greater good. Seonghwa wouldn’t understand, but he didn’t have to. Despite being a monster, he did something good, he contributed to saving hundreds of lives by weakening his mental barrier.

“You-you—” His voice was shaky as his eyebrows furrowed, body starting to shake from anger, “how could you?!”

“You made me do this, Seonghwa.” I gulped, jumping when he grabbed my nape painfully so, yanking our heads so close to each other that our lips brushed together. I felt my knees grow weak, it would be so easy to press my lips against his now, to feel the soft and plush skin against mine, to devour him and taste him. He’s always felt like home, but would he still feel like it? “You gave me no choice, Seonghwa.”

He scoffed, sneering at me as I whimpered when his fingernails dug into the sensitive skin of my neck, “You’re a monster, they’ve turned you into a monster.”

“As they have with you.” I whispered, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying, to keep myself from surrendering to Seonghwa completely. Seonghwa huffed, looking like he couldn’t believe what I have just said, eyes falling onto my lips as I tilted my head back, hands smoothing against his chest as my fingers ached from griping onto his vest so tightly. And my eyelashes threatened to flutter closed when Seonghwa angled his head just a little lower, his plump lips slotted perfectly against mine if one of us were to just tip our heads even the slightest forward.

But we were monsters to each other, the bogeyman of each other’s stories.

1943

I was close to finishing my patrolling duties, the Astronomy Tower my last stop before I could head back to the Slytherin common room and catch up on some much-needed sleep. Our examinations for the end of the year were nearing, more notedly, we only had one more week to catch up on every lesson before we’d be subjected to the long week of finals. It was stressful and I barely had any time for anything besides studying, so, much like others, I was cooped up in the library, scribbling down any necessary information that I might’ve missed during classes. Seonghwa and I only met up when we’d have breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the dining hall—unless one of us decided to skip due to not having studied enough that day. But that was alright, we both valued our studies and grades above all and, besides, we left little messages for each other in hidden places that we knew the other would patrol in the evenings after curfew.

The steps to the Astronomy Tower were steep and made of thick concrete, I pressed my palm against the stone wall for guidance and to feel safer as I was headed up to the tower. I had a slight fear of heights, which wasn’t too handy when I had to fly on a broom, hence why I never even considered playing Quidditch despite finding it cool and entertaining. Hongjoong could’ve probably brewed me a potion that made my fear halt but then again, I don’t know how smart it would have been to trust Hongjoong with even the simplest potions. He loved experimenting, and I had been on the receiving end of his failed brews one too many times. I am sure Madam Gorsemoor, herself, will banish me from this school if I turn up with an aching tummy to her Infirmary one more time.

I was panting by the time I reached the top of the stairs, all I had to do was round the corner and peek around it, then I could bolt back down to the Slytherin dormitories. However, just as I was about to do that, I heard hushed voices echoing around the stone walls. I couldn’t tell exactly what was being said as the voices were low, nonetheless, I did have to interrupt whatever was going on as I was a Prefect—I would even need to deduct house points if these were students and not professors. Squaring my shoulders and straightening my back to look more menacing than I actually was—with hopes of scaring off the students—I power-walked around the corner, only to freeze in the next second. Seonghwa stood leaning against the railing of the terrace, the wind howling loudly without the walls protecting us, and he was speaking to Rabastan Lestrange. My eyebrows furrowed as I noticed another figure sitting down, feet dangling over the ledge as he was leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the bright starry night sky, Hongjoong.

I didn’t understand what was happening, and I gulped as I carefully hid back around the corner, grateful that the three boys hadn’t noticed me. I peeked my head around the stone wall, still, and cast a wandless eavesdropping spell, Seonghwa and Rabastan’s voices suddenly tangible to my ears.

“So, what you’re saying is that your parents got everything ready for us?” Seonghwa’s usually warm voice lacked emotion now, and I could see that his eyebrows were slightly furrowed.

“Yes, all we have to do is give them the go.” Rabastan’s voice was harsh much like his father’s, and my eyebrows furrowed even more as I felt more confused than ever. What was this about and how did Seonghwa know Rabastan? What even was the purpose of this meeting after curfew? Was it worth it for Rabastan and Hongjoong to get caught and have house points reduced?

“But are you certain we’ve got enough people on the inside?” Seonghwa pressed on, sounding stressed, “Out of twenty-five people I have talked to, only ten wanted to join the cause.”

“Is he one of them?” Rabastan scoffed, tilting his head in Hongjoong’s direction as he remained ignorant of the two. I chewed on my bottom lip as Seonghwa glanced back at his best friend then shook his head slightly.

“Don’t worry about him,” Seonghwa muttered and Hongjoong gave him a lopsided smirk and a wink. Rabastan looked disgusted as he averted his eyes, glaring at Seonghwa now.

“If Grindelwald arrives and marches inside the school, we need to have enough students on his side to defend against the other fools, Park.” Rabastan hissed and my eyes widened, a tiny gasp slipping past my lips in shock, “He’s been planning this for way too long for you to mess it up—”

“And I have been planning alongside him just as much, Lestrange.” Seonghwa leered as he got all up in Rabastan’s face, his face contorted in anger. I had never seen Seonghwa look like that, I couldn’t believe this was real, that my Seonghwa was saying such things. What did he mean he’s been planning alongside him—alongside Grindelwald?! Was Seonghwa doing bad things behind my back? There had to be an explanation to all of this, this can only be a sick joke. Before I could react, Hongjoong tipped his head back, looking rather bored until we made eye contact. His eyes widened instantly and his mouth fell open as he struggled to scramble up as I shook my head at him ‘no’, but it was already too late.

“Seonghwa!” He hissed, and I watched as my lover looked over to his best friend with an irked expression on his face until he followed Hongjoong’s line of sight, our eyes meeting. I gasped, my heart racing in my chest as I whirled around and took off running, waving off the spell I had cast. I held onto the railing tightly as I tried to make my way fast down the stairs, struggling not to stumble and accidentally fall as I heard hurried footsteps echo behind me, laboured breaths leaving the person’s mouth. I didn’t dare look back to see who was following after me, but if they weren’t casting jinxes my way it meant that I was somewhat safe. At least as long as they didn’t reach the end of the staircase. The winding stairs seemed to suddenly never end as the wind howled in the distance the closer I got to the bottom, to the wooden door that was ajar as I had left it like that, the key to the door sitting in my pocket.

My lungs heaved for air as I finally reached the last stone step, letting go of the railing as I ran for the wooden door, screaming in fright when I felt a hand wrap around my bicep and yank me back before I could leave. I was whirled around and pushed against the door as I frantically tried to fight off the hands gripping my arms now.

“Y/N, it’s me.” The breathy voice was gentle, “My love, it’s Seonghwa.”

But that wasn’t comforting to hear anymore as my head snapped up, wide eyes staring at Seonghwa’s worried face. I gulped and gripped his forearms, pulling him closer towards me as our chests rose and fell quickly, “Explain.”

Seonghwa’s face blanched, skin paling as he gulped, his grip softening against my biceps, “I—what you heard isn’t—my love, let’s stay level-headed—”

“Is it true?” I snapped, jaw clenching as I couldn’t stand to hear him stutter, “What Lestrange has said, is it true, Seonghwa?!”

“Calm down first—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I screamed and fought his grip off, pushing him away from me. My hands had started trembling as I stared at him with disgust, trying to make sense of everything, “It is true?! Are you on-on Grindelwald’s side?!”

“Y/N,” Seonghwa froze, his expression suddenly faltering as he looked past me, at the wooden door, “Yes—Yes, I am.”

I felt my heart clench as tears flooded my eyes in an instant, and I was gripping Seonghwa’s shirt in a flash, yanking him down to be eye-level with me, “Tell me you’re lying. Look me in the eyes.”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he licked his lips, struggling to take a long breath as his eyes fell on my face, searching for something that he didn’t find as suddenly he looked resigned, “It’s not a lie, my love, I have chosen to support Grindelwald’s cause. We’ve been forced to suffer for too long, shunned into hiding while those creatures do as they please, while they live the lives we are supposed to live.”

I shuddered at his words and released him as if he had burned me, hugging my arms around my middle as I bit my bottom lip, a few tears having escaped my eyes, “You were there. At Lucy’s funeral, you were there, Seonghwa. She died because of Grindelwald. Her entire family—eradicated, burned down, because she was an innocent Muggle.”

Seonghwa’s eyes were filled with tears too as I had started crying now, hands shaking even more as I tried to wipe my cheeks dry, but the tears just kept flowing, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?!” I snapped, voice shaking from the betrayal I was feeling, from anger, and from feeling like my heart’s been ripped out, “How could you look me in the eyes every single day, touch me, when you’ve been going behind my back and plotting such atrocious thing, Seonghwa?!”

“I wanted to tell you but you—you—” I took a step back as Seonghwa tried to reach out for me, watching the hurt expression on his face due to my rejection, “I knew you’d react like this; I just couldn’t tell you. You’d—ruin our plans.”

It felt like a punch to the gut hearing the love of my life say those things and I laughed, body shaking in despair and pain that this is the side my lover had chosen. The man I thought I would marry one day, give children to, grow old with. Yet here he stood in front of me, with tears streaming down his face—an abomination, just a mere shell of what he used to be, “Your father is a muggle, Hwa.”

His jaw clenched and he swiftly wiped his tears off his cheeks, taking deep breaths to calm himself down, “And he’s never been good to me.”

I gulped as I closed my eyes and willed my muscles to ease up a bit so that I could move again. I brushed my hair back as I blinked my eyes open, a little blurry from the tears that still threatened to spill out, but I sucked it up and nodded, ignoring my heart that was crying out for my mind to stop, not to say the words that would leave my lips soon, “Goodbye, Mr. Park.”

“What?” Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrowed as I grabbed the door handle behind me and bowed my head respectfully.

“Finish your Prefect duties and go back to your dormitory.” My voice was devoid of any emotion as I yanked the wooden door open behind myself, mind numb and silent for once, “I shall do the same, I won’t report this to Headmaster Dippet just yet.”

“Y/N, what are you—”

“I believe it’s Miss Song to you, Mr. Park.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened as I stepped outside, hands trembling beyond normal as I had started feeling faint, “Y/N, no. No, you cannot leave me, I don’t—I cannot—please, Y/N, my love, please don’t. I cannot live without you, Y/N—”

The wooden door was loud as it slammed shut in my face, making my knees go weak as I tumbled to the floor, gasping for air as my whole chest felt on fire, tears wetting my cheeks before I could even try to stop them from escaping. The gut-wrenching sob that rippled through the hallway despite the wooden door that separated us made my skin crawl, my heart screaming at me to go back and take back everything I’d said to Seonghwa, but my mind knew what was right. My mind knew there was no further future for us, for Seonghwa.

He had chosen his path, and I have chosen mine.

Like many knew, my work etiquette was beyond pristine and precise. I valued my missions above anything else, and so, I had wasted no time in reporting back to the Auror’s Office—to Theseus Scamander—about what I had found out at the casino. The attack that Grindelwald’s men—Seonghwa—was tasked to lead to avenge their leader. I could only hope that I was on time, that they hadn’t gotten to the village just yet, but with Seonghwa knowing that I had discovered their plans, it was probable that I was either too late, or they wouldn’t attack anymore. Either way, I was compromised and I needed to move, to go into hiding at one of our safe houses. I had requested to be placed close to Yunho and Mingi, in hopes that I could finally find them and speak to them. I missed them gravely, and slowly I had started feeling crazy without their safe and comforting presence around me.

But my mission wasn’t over yet, due to the weight of Seonghwa’s own mission, now I was tasked with killing him. It was a straight-up order, nothing could change their minds. Even if Seonghwa apologized and begged, they wouldn’t forgive him. In their eyes, he deserved to die—and I knew this. He did deserve to die, but I couldn’t ignore the growing lump in my throat and the coil of my stomach any time I tried to come up with a plan to lure him towards me. I was a trained professional, and I was tasked to kill a man. It would have been like second nature if said main wasn’t Seonghwa. I didn’t know how to proceed just yet, but I knew upon seeing Mingi and Yunho I would find solace in their presence and inspiration in their ideas. But one thing was certain, I would never be able to face Hongjoong again if my mission was successful.

I had woken up early in the morning to pack away my most important belongings, stuffing old polaroids deep into my satchel bag—the same one I had used at Hogwarts. At times when I felt nostalgic and missed the good old times, I would flip through the moving polaroids that had been taken at Hogwarts, many of them of Seonghwa and I, or of Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and I. Despite Yunho and Mingi having entered my life recently—three years ago, more specifically—the pictures of the three of us belonged in the same pile. Those two were like the brothers I never had.

I had taken my time to venture into the Muggle World and buy enough pills to last me three months in case I had to hide for a longer period of time, and I was already tempted to abuse the prescribed amount as I placed the third bottle away in my satchel bag, zipping it closed and placing it down onto the floor, next to my other bags. Now all I had to do was wait for the official that would fetch me and Apparate me to the safe house. Only a select few knew of its location, and I would be granted permission only once we have arrived to it. It didn’t help either that last night I was plagued with nightmares, the lack of sleep and the pills I had taken earlier this morning made me feel drowsy now, making me contemplate if taking a nap right now was smart or not. But I felt too restless to sleep, and thus, I couldn’t stop pacing around my main hallway, chewing away at my bottom lip. I was thinking of ways that I could deal with Seonghwa, desperately trying to find a way out in which he remained alive, when there were three firm knocks at my front door. I released a stressed sigh, grateful that the official was finally here and that I wouldn’t have to think about my issues for a little while.

I hurried over to the door, unlocking it quickly and yanking it open, freezing in surprise. The black cloaked figure was tall, head leaning down and obscured by a hood, making me wonder if the Ministry had changed up their customs and forgot to update me about them. But then, the person raised their head just until I could see their eyes, and I froze. Round eyes were narrowed into a ferocious glare and I gasped as I went to slam the door shut, fear striking my whole body as Seonghwa threw himself against my front door, pushing with all of his force to throw it open. I hissed as I leaned against the door heavily, refusing to give up, but Seonghwa gave it an aggressive push and I was sent tumbling back as I crashed into the round table placed in the middle of the hallway. He pushed the door open with his foot and unclipped his cloak from around his shoulders as he elegantly stepped inside, eyes cautiously glancing around, surveying the place. Perhaps he was looking to make sure I was alone.

I quickly snapped out of my initial shock and pushed off the table, heart beating fast as I ran around the table, going to fetch my wand which was placed atop the fireplace, but suddenly I felt my feet tangle together, sending me face first down onto the floor. I groaned as I narrowly avoided banging my head against the surface and rolled onto my back as I heard footsteps quickly approach. Staring up at Seonghwa wide eyed, his wand pointed at me, I narrowed my eyes and watched as the wand flew out of his hand at my non-verbal spell. His jaw clenched and I quickly jumped up to my feet, eyeing his wand, contemplating whether I should grab his instead as I knew he was never too good at wandless magic. I could only hope that was still true.

But as I lunged towards his wand, which had rolled underneath the table, Seonghwa lunged for me, arms wrapping around me and tackling me onto the table. I gasped as I collided against the surface painfully so, my shoulder digging into the sturdy wood as Seonghwa pressed my cheek with his hand against the surface without mercy.

“You’ve got a nice little cottage for yourself, Miss Song.” He sneered leaning down, “A little too daring for my taste. You didn’t even have wards set up.”

I huffed and grabbed his wrist with my left hand, which wasn’t trapped underneath my body, and yanked his hand off my face, kicking his shin hard with my leg, “I fear no one, Mr. Park. One doesn’t need wards when they live on the edge a Wizarding and Muggle town.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my love.” I gulped at the once endearing nickname, and trashed around until Seonghwa’s hold loosened, “You made tracking you so easy.”

I chuckled as I finally wrestled my way out from underneath Seonghwa, “Perhaps I wanted to be found, my love, perhaps you just willingly walked into my trap, Hwa.”

Seonghwa froze for a second, face falling as I smirked and jumped up, hand curling around his neck as I threw him into the wall behind him, making him gasp at the sheer force I had used. I had never fought physically against Seonghwa, we had only duelled at Hogwarts. He had no idea what I was capable of in hand-to-hand combat. But I also had no idea how he fought, and I was certainly taken aback when I felt his knee raise into my stomach, making me suck in a sharp breath of air. My hand left his neck as I doubled over, fighting the urge to vomit as Seonghwa looked down at me with a dark look in his eyes. I felt fingers card through my hair and my head was yanked back as I groaned, looking up into his eyes with venom.

“You’re rather unprepared for someone who’s just lured me into their trap.” Seonghwa leered, leaning down, but before he could get too close, I stomped on his foot harshly, making him cry out as he let go of me, pushing me to the side. Regaining my balance, I dashed towards the fireplace to retrieve my wand and I heard hurried movement behind myself as well as we both turned around at the same time, wands held in each other’s direction threateningly. Neither of us moved nor spoke, our eyes boring into each other’s to see who would make the first attack. Based on experience, Seonghwa wouldn’t attack first, he would wait for me to do that, but I suppose times have changed us as I was forced to dodge an attack that almost made my fireplace explode into pieces. My eyes widened at the aggressive nature of Seonghwa’s attack and decided to return the energy. If he wanted to play dirty and use non-verbal magic, I could certainly match his energy.

I sent a Stupefy his way and watched in satisfaction as it took him off guard and sent him flying into the wall, breaking the small shoe rack that I have mounted myself. I smirked at Seonghwa, tilting my head with a challenging glint in my eyes, until I suddenly lost my footing again. It had seemed like he was fond of the spell. Seonghwa looked slightly dazed as I tried to regain my bearings, my head having hit the floor a little hard this time, but the duel must go on, I have gone through far worse things compared to this.

Sharp icy arrows were shot towards me as I scrambled backward, raising an invisible shield with my left hand as I sent blue fireballs towards Seonghwa using wandless magic. His eyebrows furrowed as he raised his own shield last minute, looking taken aback that I could use my magic so sharply while utilizing three methods at once. I knew he couldn’t when his eyes hardened again, giving me time to finally stand up and continue my attack with a spell that had birds materializing and diving for Seonghwa. He yelped and shielded himself, his barrier broken by the bird’s beaks as I shot another Stupefy at him, which he barely avoided as it crashed into the portraits hung onto the wall, sending them crashing to the floor.

I knew his next move before he even did it—I didn’t need to read his mind to know—as I raised another shield, dodging his strong Stupefy as it shattered my spell quite instantly. This duel felt childlike, as if we were testing each other’s patience, wanting to see who would give in first. It almost felt petty, like he was only teasing me because he was so certain that he’d win. I could count on my fingers how often he had beat me in a duel, and I knew for a fact that he still wasn’t better than me. Fed up with our useless fight, I decided to put an end to it as my eyes hardened, Seonghwa’s eyes narrowing upon seeing my expression. But before I could yell out Expelliarmus, I felt my right hand burn, the wand so hot that I had no choice but to drop it as I gasped, the tremors of my hands worsening as I looked back up at Seonghwa. He was smirking, thinking he had won the duel, but I raised my left hand and screamed, “Expelliarmus!”

He didn’t expect me not to give in right away, and so, his wand flew out of his hand as I whirled it against the wall, hearing a crack. My breath halted in my throat as my eyes widened in horror, watching as Seonghwa’s broken wand fell to the floor, his jaw falling open as he flinched. The apology was on the tip of my tongue, but the pure rage that had encompassed Seonghwa’s face made me shiver, and I dashed for the front door, trying to escape before his wrath could reach me. But had I miscalculated our distance, and as I grabbed the handle and tried to open the door, I felt a warm presence behind myself as the door was slammed back shut, my breathing loud in the silent room as my heart had started beating fast.

I was frozen, too afraid to move as I didn’t know what Seonghwa would do now. The man that stood behind me, stopping me from fleeing, was somebody I didn’t know. I could hear Seonghwa trying to level his breaths as his palm remained pressing against the door, his arm brushing against my hair. I tried to calculate my next move, work out what would be the smartest thing to do next, but his proximity made it hard to focus. I had seen him barely two days ago and his touch was still fresh in my mind, haunting my every waking moment, making me crave him like never before.

“Where’s Riddle when you need him, huh?” Seonghwa’s tone was poisonous, laced with hatred as I tensed, eyebrows furrowing.

“I don’t need Riddle,” I hissed, jaw clenching as my grip tightened around the handle, “I can protect myself; I don’t need anyone.”

“One would assume he’d be running here to save you like the lost puppy he was following you around at Hogwarts—”

“Tom has no part in my life!” My voice raised as I grew angrier, whirling around to face Seonghwa. I faltered for a second, finding him too close for comfort as he glared down at me, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes as I gulped, “I only used him to get an invite to the casino because I heard he goes there often—like you.”

Seonghwa’s careful mask cracked for a second as his eyebrows twitched, almost turning into a frown, but he caught himself and smirked instead, leaning down, “You think you can fool me with your pathetic lies?”

“Want me to show you?” I raised an eyebrow challengingly, knowing that it would only make Seonghwa angrier as he detested Legillimency, especially after I have used it on him at the casino.

He scoffed, leaning down closer to my face, “I should’ve killed you on the spot two nights ago—”

“Yet you didn’t,” I breathed out with a scoff, “like I haven’t told anyone about you and Lestrange’s stupid plan of bringing Grindelwald inside Hogwarts.”

“It wasn’t stupid—”

“You failed.”

“Because Riddle caused a scene, as always.” Seonghwa hissed, and I jumped when his fist made contact with the door above my head, making me melt back into the sturdy door, heart racing all over again, “I would’ve killed him a long time ago if Grindelwald hadn’t seen potential in him.”

Dread washed over me as I felt my stomach drop, “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry,” Seonghwa leered, tilting his head to the side as his glare made me feel sick to my stomach. He’s never looked at me like that, with so much venom and hatred, “your little lover refused his offer and Grindelwald decided to let him live for a little longer.”

“He’s not my lover.” I snapped, chest rising and falling quickly once again as I started getting angry. When would he understand that I could never look at Tom the way he thinks I did, “I have never harboured any romantic feelings towards Tom—I don’t even understand how my personal life is any of your business. You don’t see me talking ill of Rhaena or questioning her motives with you, Seonghwa.”

He paused as he gulped loudly, his hand slipping lower on the door until it was right next to my head, his wrist brushing against my cheekbone, “Rhaena is someone I work with, it’s all professional.”

“I do not care, Seonghwa.”

“You don’t, right.”

I gulped as suddenly an uncertain look crossed Seonghwa’s features, his eyes momentarily softening as I felt my whole body tingle as he stepped closer, his clothes brushing against mine. I felt my mouth go dry as my eyes roamed his face, palms turning into fists as I felt the sudden urge to reach out to him and touch him. Seonghwa placed his other hand against the door too, caging me in between himself and the sturdy surface. His eyebrows furrowed as his dark eyes bore into mine, bangs slightly obscuring his beautiful eyes as he exhaled slowly, closing the distance between our bodies. I shuddered and tilted my head back as he straightened up, my eyes landing on his plush lips as he parted them, tongue poking out to lick his dry lips. My whole body was buzzing as my eyebrows furrowed, my heart and mind fighting a never-ending battle as I couldn’t contain myself anymore and reached up, fingers reluctantly touching his cheek.

I wasn’t certain if he’d let me as his eyebrows furrowed even more, obvious that he was also struggling to make up his mind. But at last, I decided to be brave and cupped his warm cheek, my hand trembling against his soft skin. Seonghwa gasped quietly as his eyes widened, searching my gaze before his eyes fluttered shut, bringing tears into my eyes. I so desperately wanted to be engulfed by his familiar embrace, the warmth of his safe hug, the feeling of belonging, something I haven’t felt ever since we parted ways. Then, just slightly, as my fingers have started tracing his cheekbone, he turned his head and pressed a firm kiss against my wrist, alighting a vicious fire in my body.

“Seonghwa.” I had barely finished whispering his name when my lips were muffled by his, the familiarity of them making me moan as I threw my arms around his shoulders, clinging to him with desperation. Seonghwa inhaled loudly as he gripped my hips and flushed our bodies together to the point you couldn’t tell where he started and where I ended, and I pushed up on my tiptoes to better kiss him. His pace was sloppy and desperate as I returned the aggressivity of his own lips, fingers tangling in his dark and long locks, pulling on the strands and making him groan in the back of his throat. He leaned down and I felt his hands travel to my thighs, and I jumped before he could signal for me to, legs wrapping around his hips firmly as he pressed me back up against the sturdy door, moaning against my mouth when I finally parted my lips for his tongue to explore. He tasted like the old Seonghwa, he smelled like the old Seonghwa, he even felt like the old Seonghwa.

His body had gotten sturdier, stronger, and yet despite the desperate way he clung to me, fingers pressing into my cheeks or grabbing at my neck, he remained mindful of hurting me, of being gentle even in our desperation to feel each other, to love each other. His tongue lapped at mine eagerly, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled back for a scarce breather, making me chase after his lips again as I couldn’t let go of him just yet. Our lips were swollen and covered in our mixed saliva, but I couldn’t care less as finally my thoughts were silent, my body and mind only focusing on Seonghwa. He gripped the back of my thighs and I made sure to hold onto him tighter as he pulled me off the door and started walking aimlessly around my cottage, having to pull away from my lips just slightly so that I could give him directions towards my bedroom.

Our clothes were quick to come off, even before we made it to the bedroom, and I found his once flawless skin now littered with scars, bringing tears to my eyes as he shuddered when I gently traced them with my fingertips. My body wasn’t perfect either, but it definitely harboured less scars than his, and it made me wonder just how many times he’s been in harms way with no guarantee that he’ll make it out alive. Before I could cry, Seonghwa’s lips were pressing against my cheeks, my forehead, my eyes, my nose, my jaw and chin, at last finding my lips as I was guided backwards onto the bed, pressing me down gently as he wasted no time getting on top of me. Despite the passing of time and being away from each other for four years, our bodies seemed to still know the other, our minds remembering every little thing that made the other tick, and it felt natural as we were guided by pure lust and desire for each other.

I had tried to remain composed and focused on Seonghwa, to give back just as much as I was receiving, but when he had settled between my legs, lips pressing feather-like kisses against my thighs until he drove me crazy and had me begging for more, I was a gone woman only able to focus on the immense pleasure his long tongue and plush lips brought, his fingers helping out when it wasn’t enough anymore. When my fingers yanked on his hair so hard that it made him whine, tongue lapping at my juices even faster, making me writ around until he held me down by the hips, Seonghwa knew I was close to unravelling, to coming undone on nothing but his tongue and fingers. But he pulled back, he always did, because he wanted to fill me up, to make me scream his name while I came undone on his dick. His lips kissed all the way up to my lips as I whispered his name over and over again, scratching down his back with my long nails, legs hooking around his hips as he wouldn’t lay on me just yet, tongue tangling with mine and making me taste myself as I reached down between us, grabbing his twitching member.

Seonghwa froze, moaning against my mouth as his eyebrows furrowed, rutting against my palm as I jerked my hand faster, until he was begging me to stop because he didn’t want to finish like this. And I did, I cradled his face in my hands as our eyes bore into each other’s, his dick finally lined up with my entrance as he slowly pushed inside, holding himself up by the forearms. It was painful, it was bittersweet, and it was the most pleasure I have felt in years, all in the arms of the man I had once loved—I still loved. My mouth had fallen open as I hissed in pain, eyebrows furrowing and eyes falling shut as Seonghwa kissed my wrists, whispering reassuring words, understanding that I haven’t done this since we went our separate ways.

But I didn’t need much to get accustomed to the once familiar feel of his dick splitting me open, stretching me out and making me feel filled to the brim, the only thought on my mind being him, Seonghwa. And I tried to swallow the noises that wanted to tear through my throat, but the harder Seonghwa slammed back in, the faster his hips thrust, I could only moan and whine, call out his name repeatedly as he fondled my breasts and made my back arch, hitting my sensitive spot over and over again. I grabbed onto his arms for leverage as he sat back on his heels, holding my hips up tightly as he pulled me down on each thrust to meet him halfway, making me curse out loudly as my stomach had started coiling, the pleasure building up until I couldn’t bear with it anymore.

“Seonghwa.” His name was nothing but a broken whisper as I bit my bottom lip, opening my arms, knowing that he’d understand my request. And he did, because he pressed himself completely against me, my arms going underneath his to hug him tightly as my fingernails pressed into his shoulder blades once again, painfully so, making Seonghwa hiss in pain and pleasure at the same time. He buried his head in my neck as he was panting, hips jerking messily as he was nearing his own undoing, much like I was. Our bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat, chasing our own orgasms as Seonghwa’s right hand lowered between our bodies and started quickly rubbing my bundle of nerves, making me throw my head back and come undone in just a few seconds. His name left my lips like a mantra as I felt tears spring into my eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, body trembling as he stilled, and then I felt hot liquid spill inside me as he lazily continued to move his hips, making my body ache as it all felt too much.

“My love.” His lips brushed against my ear with one final thrust and then he stilled, body going lax as I was panting hard, trying to swallow but my throat felt parched. Seonghwa muttered something against the skin of my neck but I didn’t understand, and I turned my head to press kisses against his hair, his shoulder blade, and ultimately his lips when he raised his head. I instantly felt cold and like I was missing something as he rolled over and pulled out, his chest rising and falling just as frantically as mine. My heart was beating so fast that it felt like a vein would pop in my forehead and I felt Seonghwa’s fingers intertwine with mine. I gulped and looked over, finding nothing but a pained expression on his face and eyes that were overflowing with tears. I couldn’t hold it back in anymore, and let mine fall free as Seonghwa sniffed loudly, his beautiful black hair strewn across my pillow, the cloudy weather casting my bedroom in a dim light.

“I love you, Y/N,” Seonghwa’s voice was raspy and it trembled as he pressed a long-lasting kiss against my knuckles, “I love you so much, my love.”

I bit my bottom lip to fight the sob that threatened to rip through my throat and nodded, bringing our hands up to my cheek to nuzzle it against Seonghwa’s skin, “I love you too, Hwa, always have. Always will.”

But we weren’t meant to be since we were on opposing sides. And we both knew that as our tears stopped flowing, our fingers going numb from how tightly we held onto each other. Seonghwa sighed then released my hand reluctantly, making me bite back a whine as he sat up, running his fingers through his hair. Before he could get off my bed, I sat up hurriedly and threw my arms around him, letting out a long exhale as he returned the embrace, cradling my head against his naked chest. I wanted to grow old with him, I wanted to have children that would gift us grandchildren, I wanted us to never be separated again. And maybe Seonghwa wanted that too because his whole body trembled as we somehow found the strength to separate from each other, eyes yearning for something we’d never have.

I watched as he rolled over, then sat on the edge of my bed as I pulled my knees up to my chest, hugging my bare legs, looking for even the smallest comfort now that I knew I would let him leave, just this once. This was our final goodbye, the closure we never got. Once Seonghwa was out of my cottage, we’d play our parts, we’d be the enemies everyone thought we were. I was ready, and perhaps he was ready to. An easy smile settled on my lips as I watched Seonghwa lean down and fetch something, his back muscles tensing as he glanced back over his shoulder. My eyebrows furrowed upon the solemn look on his face and I went rigid as he turned his torso around, my own wand pointed at me. His voice was resigned, a whisper, pained.

“Obliviate.”

1944

The train came to a screeching halt as we neared the next village, sending me back in my seat as I stared out the window, feeling bored as I knew nobody who shared the compartment with me. But that’s how it is when you don’t have friends of your own. It was alright, I had always done just fine on my own. As the train stopped and the doors opened, I watched the students who lived in this village get off, pulling their heavy luggage after themselves, greeted by their families who couldn’t wait for them to return home for the summer holiday. My chin was resting in my palm as I pursed my lips, finding it hard to enjoy my last train ride back home, never to return to Hogwarts. There was an ache in my chest that grew the longer I stared out the window, the longer I stared at the messy black-haired boy that had stopped close to the edge of the platform, gazing inside the train, dark and soft eyes landing on me unmistakably.

I gulped, feeling my heartbeat pick up the longer our gazes remained connected, confused by the ache in my chest that only got worse the longer we looked at each other. My eyebrows furrowed as I felt this sudden urge to reach out to him, to get off the train and run into his arms, to breathe in his familiar scent and feel his plush lips press against my skin, and his low voice whisper reassuring words into my ears. I didn’t know why I felt like that, I couldn’t explain the yearning of my own body as the boy’s once familiar face became hazy, unclear. No matter how hard I tried to look, I couldn’t see his features clearly. I couldn’t remember his name.

He became a murky memory in the back of my mind as the train whistled, signalling its departure, and as we took off, I felt the lurch of my heart and the coil of my stomach worsen as I jumped up from my seat, pulling the window open and scaring those sitting in the compartment with me. I looked out the window, head leaning outside as my eyebrows furrowed, the name of the boy on the tip of my tongue as I desperately tried to cry out his name—but I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know who he was. The alarmed cries of the people who rode with me snapped me out of my unexplainable actions, and I settled back into my seat feeling confused and embarrassed as I apologized.

I couldn’t tell anymore why my heart ached like I had loved someone with my whole being, with my soul, like I had sworn to remain by their side forever and even beyond. It confused me as to why I wanted to sob and scream after a boy that once was my guiding light in the darkness, my star. A face once familiar now became just the whisper of a distant memory that I couldn’t put my finger on, a nostalgic ache of a love that felt real, yet intangible.

The stars couldn’t shine bright without their darkness.

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