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enjakey · 13 days ago

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The Diner, The Cat and The Girl That Played Mahjong

aka, the mahjong agenda

Pairing: [Diner owners!Sunghoon and Jake x mahjong player!student!fem!reader]!Hong Kong

TW/N | 26k- love triangle, strangers to lovers, age gap, forbidden love, found family, very wholesome | I loved writing this fic but it’s also that I had no clue how to write the fic. I’ve never done love triangles before and the choices I made in the relationships here kinda made it harder I think. I hope you enjoy reading it, even if the dots don’t seem to connect or the lines don’t seem to tie. It’s just very wholesome | nainai means grandma in Cantonese | inspired by many things- Wong kar wai, Murakami, Student of the year (movie), Challengers (movie) and a lot more but I can’t seem to remember. Enjoy!

Summary: Sunghoon and Jake found each other when they needed support the most. And they made a great pair, though the logistics didn’t make sense to most people. They opened a diner together, they lived together, did everything together. Nothing could tear them apart. Until Y/N came in with her shy smiles, impressive mahjong skills and a mundane presence that seemed to settle into the diner and both of their lives.

or, who gets the girl?

i. the diner

The first time Sunghoon and Jake met, they were both working in the same building- different jobs, though. It was a rooftop job site in Mong Kok, one of the densest, loudest neighborhoods in Hong Kong.

Sunghoon had picked up short-term kitchen work at a failing fusion joint that fancied itself avant-garde. It was the kind of place that plated rice like art but paid in delays and insults. The head chef yelled in English, called coriander “cilantro,” and acted like he’d invented fire. The sous-chef spent more time arranging microgreens with tweezers than actually cooking anything.

Sunghoon kept his head down, worked the grill, and bit his tongue when the manager called him “too local.”

He wondered, more often than he cared to admit, if this was the cost he paid for not going to college. For choosing wok burns and minimum wage over lecture halls and hollow degrees. For giving up his shot in education so his younger sister could have one.

That decision- noble, maybe, but tiring- haunted him most on nights like these, when his body ached but nothing he made had any soul in it. He was good at what he did. He knew he was good. His hands were precise, his instincts sharp. He could tell when oil was hot enough just by the sound of the sizzle.

But here? His cooking was being used for waste. For showy dishes with smoked foam and edible flowers. For tourists who’d never eaten from a street cart and called every bite authentic. For critics who photographed his food but never looked at him.

Sometimes, during a slow shift, he'd catch a glimpse of himself in the steel counter- face greasy, eyes dull, hands shaking from caffeine and repetition. He’d wonder if he’d traded away joy for survival. If all his skill was being drained, dish by dish, into a sink that led nowhere.

Jake was working construction, helping renovate the building- he needed cash after dropping out, and no one cared about degrees when you could lift drywall.

He hadn’t planned for any of this. Two years ago, he was studying mechanical engineering with decent grades and big-city dreams, the kind of kid who loved fixing things just to see how they worked. He thought he’d end up designing bridges or subway systems, maybe send money back home to help his parents retire early.

But all that cracked the day his father made a single bad business move- trusting an old friend with their family’s savings. One betrayal later, their small chain of hardware stores went under. Debts piled up like receipts from a fire sale, bank accounts froze; overnight, everything changed.

His parents went back to Korea, swallowed in legal paperwork and shame, fighting to keep even one apartment. Jake stayed in Hong Kong, partly because the university wouldn’t refund his tuition, but mostly because someone had to make money. Someone had to survive.

So he started doing construction jobs.

It consisted of waking up at five, nails chipped, palms blistered, sweat soaking through borrowed uniforms. He learned quickly that no one asked where you came from when you could haul tiles and shut up. There was no space for dreams on scaffolding- just weight, gravity, and the sound of men yelling over jackhammers.

One afternoon, the kitchen’s exhaust system broke down again. Jake was half inside the duct, arms covered in grease, shirtless from the heat and frustration. The fan blade inside rattled like it was dying, and he’d already cut his knuckles trying to fix it.

That’s when Sunghoon stormed out the back door, apron stained, hair sticking to his forehead, and murder in his eyes. He looked like he’d just gone twelve rounds with a broken hand mixer.

He lit a cigarette with shaking hands and muttered, “If one more so-called chef tells me foam is food, I’m throwing myself into the wok.”

Jake didn’t even look up. He passed him a warm can of lemon tea and said casually, “You know, you could just cook noodles. No one judges noodles.”

They sat on overturned milk crates in the alley behind the kitchen, the kind that left marks on your thighs. The air was thick with fryer grease and summer heat. A couple of stray cats wandered nearby, and someone upstairs was blasting old Cantopop through a broken speaker.

They sat in silence for a while, too tired to pretend they weren’t burnt out. Eventually, they talked- not about the jobs they hated or the people who’d looked down on them, but about how expensive it was to have dreams. And how eggs and rice were cheaper- that maybe cooking didn’t need to impress anyone to matter.

By the end of the week, they’d both quit.

Jake texted his foreman that he wasn’t coming back. Sunghoon left a sticky note on the fridge at his job that just said, “I’m done. Good luck.”

They spent the next few days wandering through Sham Shui Po, poking their heads into run-down shopfronts and empty spaces no one wanted. It was the kind of place where the paint peeled, the tiles cracked, and the rent was low for a reason.

Jake found the place first- a dusty corner unit between a pawn shop and a gaming café. The windows were covered in grime, the sign was unreadable, and a rusty ceiling fan hung like a death trap.

Sunghoon stood in the doorway, took one long look around, and said, “I’ll cook. You fix things. If it fails, we blame capitalism.”

And that’s how the diner started.

They named it Tin Cup Diner because it was the first thing they could think of and the only thing that looked good as a neon green sign Jake found secondhand for forty bucks. The sign flickered slightly at the “n” in “Tin” and buzzed audibly at night, but they decided it gave the place character.

They argued over the menu like it was life or death.

Jake wanted to add pineapple buns and French toast stuffed with peanut butter. Sunghoon refused to deep-fry anything “that sweet and disrespectful.” Sunghoon pushed for simple rice plates, noodle soups, and stir-fried greens. Jake said no one would come unless they threw in some eggs and a novelty sandwich.

They settled on a chaotic fusion- stuff your grandma might make if she owned a TV and once had brunch in London. You could get congee with spam fries. Or pork chop rice with a side of coleslaw. Every now and then, someone ordered the tuna melt out of curiosity and ended up coming back.

The furniture came from junk shops, roadside pickups, and the occasional mercy donation. Nothing matched. One table leg was shorter than the others so they folded an old receipt booklet under it. Most of the chairs wobbled. The counter was built from salvaged wood Jake found during a renovation gig- he sanded it down at 2am while Sunghoon painted a crooked chalkboard menu on the wall behind him.

It took about a month.

A month of greasy hands, cheap instant coffee, half-finished conversations, small cuts, bigger dreams. Of cursing at leaky pipes, peeling faded posters off the walls, and scraping chewing gum from under old booths. Of Sunghoon burning three rice pots trying to calibrate the kitchen stove, and Jake accidentally electrocuting himself when rewiring the lights.

But eventually, it looked… kind of presentable. The kind of place you walked into and thought, “yeah, I could eat here if I’m broke or heartbroken.”

And on opening day, they only had six customers- three were their neighbors, two were lost, and one just wanted to use the bathroom. But one of the grandmas from across the street left them with a generous tip. “Tastes just like the old days,” she said. And that was enough.

Overtime, their customer pool expanded. First, the owner of the pawnshop beside them started coming over for lunch more often. “It’s good food,” he’d told them while drinking their chicken congee, “and it’s cheap.” And Sunghoon and Jake remember beaming at each other with pride, one holding a twisted washcloth and the other slapping a notepad onto his palm.

The next group of regular customers were the teenagers that often stopped by after blowing their money on the gaming café. They were always loud groups of high schoolers in their inappropriate clothing and unfortunate friendship dynamics. There were many accounts of Jake finding himself chasing away some kids who had pulled out alcohol or cigarettes or started making out right there in the centre of the diner, disrupting the carefully curated ambiance of the place. It was a scene to rubber neck on, truly- Jake with a broomstick, apron around his waist, napkin tied to his head, yelling profanities at a ragtag group of teenagers.

He absolutely loathed teenagers after enough instances. Sunghoon liked to make fun of him for it, making sure it was always him serving the teenagers instead of Sunghoon going in himself.

Then, there was the group of construction workers that always seated themselves late into the night. Eventually, Jake and Sunghoon started working late shifts just to cater to these groups of men that were in desperate need of nourishment and a roof to be under. They always brought a cloud of cigarette smoke and cement dust whenever they came, exhaustion weighing down their posture, arms and eyes heavy.

They once stopped Jake to ask what he was before the diner- like they could sense he was once a fellow construction worker; like there was some sort of unrecognisable brotherhood Jake held in him. That night, while sharing stories of how they each got into construction work- something none of them wanted to do but were pushed into through the unfair course of life- Sunghoon offered them free food at the sight of Jake's welled eyes as he narrated his past.

Out of all the customers, though, Sunghoon’s favourite were the group of grandmas that came from time to time. He thought they were mellow, the perfect kind of customers that brought the laughter and peace that he chased when opening the diner. They spoke in deep accents that made it hard for Sunghoon and Jake to understand their Cantonese and they usually always ordered the same thing- spam and egg sandwiches, macaroni in broth with ham and milk tea that came in the fancy “Black & White” mugs- the kind with the cow printed on one side with a red border as the base.

Life, owning and running a diner, was good.

There were no spreadsheets, no performance reviews, no hollowed-out fine dining talk about “notes” or “palates” or “culinary storytelling.” There was just food- food that people actually enjoyed.

Jake liked that he didn’t have to explain himself anymore. He fixed what was broken, took orders, made dumb jokes, and whacked teenagers with a broom if he had to. His apron was always stained, and his hands always smelled faintly like soy sauce, but he hadn’t felt this steady in years.

Sunghoon liked that he could hear laughter through the kitchen walls. The clang of ceramic, the low radio hum, the grandma chatter about gold rates and old TVB actors. No backstabbing sous-chefs, no white tablecloth pressure, no lectures about plating. It was always just warmth, a stability in life he hadn’t experienced in a while.

Slowly, they had become an integral part of the neighborhood.

They were essential like the ten-year-old stationery shop tucked under a crumbling awning that schoolkids depended on for last-minute notebooks and cheap pens. Like the fruit stall with sun-faded umbrellas and a weathered old man who always had a loyal flock of aunties by 7am, arguing over lychees and paying in loose change.

Tin Cup Diner became that kind of place. The kind that didn’t need a signboard update because everyone already knew where it was.

Their stretch of Sham Shui Po was a road of second chances and low expectations. Laundry dripped from windows overhead, buses screeched past puddles, and neon signs buzzed in the fog like city fireflies. The air smelled of five different kinds of street food depending on where you stood- fresh waffles, frying oil, cheap skewers, and once in a while, the sweet, almost floral scent of steamed buns from the lady two shops down.

People knew them there.

Jake and Sunghoon- the inseparable duo, the walking contradiction. The sunshine-and-stone pairing that somehow worked.

Jake, ever the extrovert, called out greetings to everyone who walked past. His voice cut through the street noise, full of boyish charm. He carried bags for grandmas, flirted harmlessly with girls who giggled at his apron, and once even got roped into babysitting when a customer had an emergency.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, preferred silence. He nodded at familiar faces, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes down but ears alert. He was awkward in a way that people forgave- because his food was good, and his heart showed in the small things. A discount here, an extra egg there.

He also had a soft spot for things that didn’t ask much of him. Like the ginger cat he found one night nestled between the tires of two bicycles, its fur patchy and its body trembling from the cold.

He crouched down, cautious and quiet, and placed a piece of leftover tuna on the sidewalk. He didn’t touch it, didn’t coax it- just left the food and walked away.

The cat showed up the next day.

And the day after.

Soon, she became a fixture outside the diner- curled up near the back door, blinking slowly at the kitchen heat. Sunghoon never named her, never talked to her, but he always set out milk in a mismatched saucer and small scraps of fish or ham. Jake teased him for being a cat dad. Sunghoon just rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on his apron.

Sometimes, if you passed Tin Cup at closing time, you’d see the two of them- Jake wiping tables while talking too much, and Sunghoon crouched near the alley, one hand resting beside a tiny orange cat, the city humming quietly around them.

Days bled into weeks, and weeks folded into months, until routine settled around them like steam off a rice bowl. They liked living this way- cramping themselves into the small kitchen of the diner, speaking to their customers like family, feeling like they were needed and important. And everynight, after locking up, they liked walking the street that led back to their apartment. It was a familiar drill- Sunghoon would feed the cat, Jake would play a game of hopscotch with the group of children near an old playground, they would both stare at the moon and trees and wonder what luck brought them the mundane life they’d both wished for.

Their apartment was located above an old man’s cobbler shop. It was just far enough from the main road that the city noise turned into a dull, sleepy hum by midnight. The place was barely 400 square feet, and it looked like it hadn’t been touched since the early 90s. The wallpaper peeled at the corners, stained with old humidity and city air. One window didn’t open, and the other never fully closed, so they stuck a towel in the crack to keep the mosquitoes out. The fridge door creaked every time it opened, and they had to kick the bottom of it to make it close again.

Their beds were on opposite sides of the bedroom- Jake’s messy, covered in clean clothes he never folded, and Sunghoon’s rigidly neat, tucked tight like a hospital cot. They had one tiny table between them, always cluttered with receipts, unopened mail, spare change, and the occasional half-finished drink.

But the washroom? Spotless- recently tiled, water pressure strong enough to knock the stress out of your shoulders. Jake had fixed it himself. “If the world ends,” he liked to say, “I want to die with clean hair.”

They kept a small goldfish tank on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. The built-in lights flickered unpredictably, casting a ghostly glow over the water whenever they sparked to life. Inside, four goldfish swam in lazy circles- there were always four. If one died, they’d replace it without much ceremony. They’d done it so many times they’d lost count. Neither of them knew exactly what kept killing the fish- bad water? Old wiring? Goldfish karma? But the cycle continued- four goldfish, always four, like a strange little ritual they never talked about but always maintained.

ii.

“Same order?” Sunghoon called from the kitchen.

“Same order,” a grandma answered from her table.

The group of grandmas were back again. It was their third, probably fourth visit of the week. They were a group of ladies that had known each other since high school and were fortunate enough to not have their life uprooted with immigration or job opportunities their husbands wanted to explore. And even now, years- perhaps decades- later, they still spent all their time together. Their meetups started at one of their houses, then they moved on to the park. But they stopped going there because the walk was too long. Then, eventually, after jumping between locations, they found Tin Cups Diner- where the owners loved them and doted on their wants and needs.

Recently, they’d formed a habit of playing Mahjong while sitting on the cramped table. Sunghoon and Jake were surprised this didn’t start sooner- it was quite a stereotype; grandmas and mahjong. It was a tale as old as time. And Sunghoon and Jake didn’t mind it at all. Their laughter and occasional bickering was lively, reminding them of their old houses that they lived in with their respectful families. It was good company. Sometimes, Jake would intrude to break up their arguments like a charming son-in-law.

They adored Jake- always pinched his cheeks and asked him if he had a girlfriend yet. There was the occasional “my granddaughter is single, if you’re interested” but Jake assured them that their precious granddaughters would probably not want to date a broke diner owner. They adored Sunghoon too, but they learned to show it differently. Sunghoon didn’t like to be touched but he liked to be smiled at and he liked when they complimented his food. The grandmas grew a habit of tipping them extra, especially on days Sunghoon laughed back at their jokes.

“How many rounds do you think they’ve played?” Jake sauntered into the kitchen, crumpled bills and loose change in his hands from serving the other customers. They peered at the grandmas’ table through the window. “And who’s the new girl?”

The past couple of days, Sunghoon and Jake observed that there was a girl much younger than them that had joined the grandmas in playing Mahjong. They weren’t sure how it started- perhaps they were distracted when she got invited to their little clique. But from what they could gather, from the occasional praise or groan, she was good at the game- had tips and tricks up her sleeve she wasn’t willing to share.

Sunghoon ignored Jake, eyes focused on the boiling pot in front of him. The grandmas wanted macaroni in broth again, as usual. And they also ordered stir fried udon with beef- no one had ordered that in a while but it had been a recurring order the past few days. Probably because of the new girl, whose name they learnt was Y/N through passing conversation.

“Do you think she’s one of their granddaughters or something?” Jake continued. His eyes were fixed on the girl- her confident smile that always showed her teeth, the crinkle in her eyes when she was close to winning a game, her manicured nails that were always in a deep white and green pattern that mimicked the mahjong tiles and her trendy outfits that never ceased to gain compliments from the grandmas.

Which was saying a lot because these grandmas hated the younger generation and their revealing clothing and bright jewellery.

Y/N was modest- in the way she played, in the way she dressed and in the way she ate.

“God knows,” Sunghoon shook his head and tucked away the strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes. The steam from the macaroni glossed his skin as he plated the food. “Go serve them. Tell them their udon will come in a bit.”

Struggling to balance five plates of their macaroni in broth with both arms, Jake reached the table of grandmas with his usual smile that had them swooning. “There he is!” One of them cheered, the one wearing the plastic green sun hat even though she was sitting indoors. When asked about it, she’d always tell them to stop questioning her fashion choices.

“Hope you enjoy the food today,” Jake grinned at them, eyes briefly flashing towards Y/N. He caught her smile, the way she warmly looked at all the grandmas while they cooed at Jake.

“When do we not?” Another grandma said, reaching to pinch Jake’s cheek- only slightly, barely, like he was her grandson. “Thank you sweetheart.”

“Why don’t you play mahjong with us today, dear?” One of the grandmas looked up at Jake with anticipation.

Their attention, however, was pulled towards the kitchen window where Sunghoon stretched his arm out with the plate of udon. “Again with the mahjong, nainai?” Sunghoon chuckled at her, brows holding his annoyance. He was terrible at hiding his emotions- most of it sat on his face, right there on his brows and lips.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” another grandma insisted. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to play.”

“Y/N can teach you!” A grandma hollered with excitement, eyes glowing as if she’d made a new revelation. The rest of the grandmas nodded with enthusiasm.

Y/N, on the other hand, laughed awkwardly and shook her head, her gaze stuck somewhere in between Sunghoon and Jake. “I don’t play that well,” her voice came out a whisper.

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, honey,” the grandma sitting beside her nudged her arm with hers. “You’re phenomenal.”

Sunghoon, who was leaning out the window, hand hanging off the railing, watched as Jake placed the plate of udon in front of her Y/N. She smiled at him thankfully, the corner of her eyes crinkling, fingers instinctively reaching for a pair of chopsticks.

“You guys already have enough players,” Jake cracked them his signature grin- the one that had girls swooning and boys feeling insecure of their own smiles. “The six of you make a great group.”

His response was met with a string of groans and “alright, alright, get back to working” and a lot of hands teasingly waving at him to leave. As Jake walked away, Y/N took a bite of her udon and her expression changed into a sense of bliss, from satisfaction that the dish gave. Sunghoon saw it- that look of utter appreciation for his cooking- and let it burn into his memory. Just as he did with most customers he caught enjoying his food. Sunghoon liked knowing his customers were satisfied with what they were paying for- that his skill was recognised.

“How many games do you think she won this time?” Jake was back in the kitchen again, eyes still on the girl that was playing mahjong with the grandmas. Sunghoon glanced at him from the corner of his eyes- he saw his toothy grin, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Every game,” Sunghoon mumbled- he was keeping count. It was hard not to when the grandmas whined and crooned after every game and patted Y/N on the back with pride.

iii.

A few days later, on an early afternoon where the diner was unfamiliarly empty, the grandmas were back again to wile away time with mahjong. Along with them, they brought their mahjong sidekick- the best player on the block, a girl who later revealed that she was formerly a mahjong prodigy and used to play at the national level.

Now, she was just a student at the local college, studying economics with a minor in sociology. She was going to graduate in a year. And in her free time, instead of being holed up in her room studying, she’d much rather sit with the grandmas and play mahjong.

“Aren’t there only supposed to be four players in mahjong?” Jake approached them with his arms full of their orders, a quirk in his brow as he looked at the group of six.

“We take turns playing,” the grandma wearing the plastic green sun hat answered, her hands clasped in her lap. She clearly wasn’t playing in this round- and neither was Y/N. She was helping the grandma beside her- subtly cheating, but not really.

Jake placed Y/N’s udon in front of her and she gave him that smile again- polite, grateful and happy. “Enjoy,” he said to her, voice tuned and chirpy that seemed to make her fluster. But as quickly as she had reacted, the faster she moved on to eating her order. And she was back in her world again- savouring her food, eyes locking onto the mahjong tiles, laughing with the grandmas.

“She’s cute, no?” Jake sauntered into the kitchen with a lightness in his step, wiping his hands with a washcloth and leaning his back against the counter. Beside him, Sunghoon was pre-frying fish balls for the day, his lips pursed and eyes lowered as usual.

“She’s a college student,” Sunghoon said- like it was the most obvious fact in the world, a fact Jake was already aware of.

“What's your point?” Jake was teasing him now, his lip pulled between his teeth and eyebrows wiggling. “You find her cute too, don’t you?” He was poking Sunghon’s side now, laughing as he got a reaction out of him.

Sunghoon groaned, only passing Jake a smile that he couldn’t hold back- partly because he could never hold his smile back around Jake and partly because the moment felt juvenile, like they were young and in high school again. “Grow up,” Sunghoon chuckled and pushed him away, his arm stretching into Jake’s shoulder.

“You know I joke,” Jake laughed too, making his way out of the kitchen to watch the grandmas play mahjong- to watch Y/N play mahjong.

He leaned against the wall separating the diner from the kitchen, his tongue poking his cheek, meddling with his own fingers at the sight of the girl. But, honestly speaking, Jake wasn’t the stud people sought him out to be. He was outgoing, extroverted, big-mouthed (a quality Sunghoon both loved and despised) and liked to flirt with the young, attractive girls he met in the market. But that was where his reputation ended- his kindness always preceded him.

So, Jake didn’t have any intention of doing anything about Y/N. She was cute and she seemed to make his dear old customers happy.

Behind him, Sunghoon stepped out of the kitchen, his hands running through his hair to get the sweat and steam out. No matter how much time he spent styling his hair in the morning, it would always be a greasy mess by the end of the day.

“Are you guys gossiping about the gold dealer’s wife again?” Sunghoon smirked when the grandmas turned to him with looks of feigned guilt.

“I’m telling you, she’s cheating on her husband!” One the grandmas hollered in defense.

“I saw her walk out of his brother’s apartment with my own eyes,” another grandma insisted, literally stomping her foot down and hitting the edge of the table with her fists to make a point.

As the mahjong pieces in front of them rattled in the ruckus, Y/N let out a soft giggle at their conversion. “Careful,” her high pitched laugh went lost amongst the argument- but they heard it.

“They’re family, it could mean anything,” Sunghoon went on, crossing his arms across his chest.

“She walked out with messy hair, Sunghoon!”

“Adultery is a grave accusation, nainai,” Jake chimed in- obviously a joke, obviously to tease. He cracked his knuckles against his palms, shifting his weight onto one foot, crossing his leg.

“Oh, I’ll listen to you when you play Mahjong with us,” one of the grandmas teased, waving Jake off with that twinkle of mischief she always carried.

A chorus of claps and cackles followed- Jake sighed dramatically, Sunghoon groaned under his breath, and Y/N gave an awkward laugh, unsure whether to join in or retreat.

“Not this again,” Sunghoon muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I swear it’s a daily ritual now,” Jake added, gesturing helplessly at the table like it betrayed him. “The Mahjong Agenda.”

“What is it with you two?” One grandma cried out, genuinely baffled. “Why do you hate it so much?”

“We don’t hate it,” Jake replied, hands raised in defense. “It’s just… a lot. Too many rules. Such long games. My brain’s already full running this place.”

Then, quietly- almost like she didn’t mean to speak at all- Y/N cleared her throat. “It doesn’t take that long if you know the game,” she offered, her voice soft, almost like she was testing her place in the whole dynamic.

The grandmas hummed in agreement, nodding like they’d been saying the same thing for years.

Sunghoon looked at her then, eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. Jake’s smirk stretched wider. “Well,” he said, “we don’t actually know the game, do we?”

The pause that followed held something- barely there, but noticed. A shift in attention, a thread pulled tighter.

Then, just as quickly, a grandma slapped the table. “Then learn!”

The clamor picked up again- more groans, more mock complaints, more laughter that filled the small diner like sunlight. Sunghoon shook his head and ducked back into the kitchen. Jake chuckled and grabbed the designated chipped mug of milk, stepping outside to feed the orange cat waiting in front of the diner.

That night, while they were locking up the diner after last call- Jake pulling the shutter down, Sunghoon crouching to pet the cat one last time for the day- Sunghoon started pondering. The street lights around them were starting to flicker shut and street vendors were on their way home- just like the two owners of Tin Cup Diner.

“Maybe we should get into mahjong.” Sunghoon said as they started walking.

Jake almost stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned his head towards Sunghoon, his eyes wide and confused. “Who are you and what did you do to my friend?”

Sunghoon fell into a soft string of laughter as Jake tackled his arm around his shoulders. The pair swayed as they walked, letting the quiet street be filled by their childish bonding.

“Why so sudden?” Jake rubbed his fist into Sunghoon’s hair as he tried pushing him off his back, eyes squinting as he failed to hide his cackling. “It’s because of the girl, isn’t it? Y/N?”

“Fuck off, no,” Sunghoon successfully shrugged Jake off him, fixing his jacket. They fell into a steady step again. “I just thought… since they’ve been insisting for so long. Could be fun?”

Jake scoffed and kicked a pebble on the street. “Since when did you care about fun?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Sunghoon nudged Jake with his arm.

“Fine,” Jake rolled his eyes. “I’ll learn when I’m not lazy,” the pair grinned at each other and let silence engulf them through the rest of their walk.

iv.

When Y/N came to the diner, alone and with a book tucked under her arm, Sunghoon and Jake exchanged confused looks. The grandmas weren’t coming in that day, that was for sure. And Y/N had been slowly eating her udon and reading her book- something on economics, as Jake caught a glimpse of, while serving her food. The customers walking in and out with the occasional whiff of cigarette didn’t bother her- she continued to read, eat and listen to music through wired earphones and a small MP3 player.

The windows of the diner started to fog and a slight rain drizzled outside. Many customers started running in with puddles dragging behind them. All Sunghoon could think about was how they would struggle to clean that up later.

“Weird that she’s come here alone, no?” Jake leaned into Sunghoon’s side as he asked the question, eyes trained on Y/N and her unfazed frame.

The pair were staring at her from the kitchen- she was two tables away from their eyeshot. “Just be glad we have business,” Sunghoon whispered back to Jake, turning to continue making wonton soup. “She’s done eating, Jake.”

“Right,” Jake cleared his throat and moved out of the kitchen.

Jake approached her with his usual confidence, a pep in his step and arm already stretched towards her empty place. Y/N felt his presence before he even reached her but she chose to ignore him, gaze still on her book. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there in that position. Outside, the sky was getting darker and the neon shop signs were getting brighter.

“Odd place to sit and read, don’t you think?” Jake hovered near her before taking her emptied plate.

His words startled her, but she only blinked before craning her body to face him. “I quite like it here actually,” she smiled at him- polite, curt, a little shy.

“The clatter doesn't bother you?” He raised his brows.

She gave him a soft shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not really. It’s kind of… comforting.”

Jake tried not to smile- his lips pressed together, tongue clicking lightly against the roof of his mouth. Out of instinct, he flicked his eyes toward the kitchen window, hoping to catch Sunghoon’s reaction- but he was too busy tossing rice in the wok, face glazed with steam.

“Well,” Jake turned back to her, “can I get you anything else?”

She glanced at her phone, then back at him. “My dad’s picking me up soon. But… a milk tea sounds nice in the meantime?”

There was something in her tone- soft but sure, her wide eyes catching the warm overhead light, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Jake stared for a beat longer than he meant to.

“Milk tea, coming right up,” he finally said, his gaze lingering a moment too long before he turned away, even though she was already back to her book.

Jake slipped into the kitchen, still grinning to himself as he filled the kettle. The place smelled like soy and garlic and something slightly burnt- probably the fish balls. He reached for the tea leaves when Sunghoon, without looking up from his pan, muttered, “We’re out of eggs.”

Jake groaned loudly, clanging the kettle a little harder than necessary. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Sunghoon said, flipping rice with practiced ease.

“Why didn’t we buy them this morning?”

“Because someone wanted to sleep in,” Sunghoon deadpanned.

Jake groaned again- longer, more dramatic this time- and stomped toward the door, grabbing his wallet off the hook. “Fine. Eggs. Got it.”

He was halfway out when he suddenly remembered. “Also! We need a new goldfish!” He yelled over his shoulder. “One of them kicked it last night!”

Sunghoon sighed but nodded, still not turning around. “Yeah, yeah. Just go.”

Jake waved him off and disappeared through the door with the jingle of the diner bell, taking one last glance of Y/N.

A moment later, Sunghoon wiped his hands on a towel, picked up the chipped red-and-white porcelain cup with the cartoon cow and carefully placed it on a tray. He walked out into the quiet clatter of forks and shuffling bodies, eyes scanning the room until he spotted her again. She was still reading, still tucked into her chair like it was comfortable.

Without a word, he gently set the cup in front of her.

She looked up and smiled, that soft kind of gratefulness that didn’t need extra words. “Thank you,” she said.

Sunghoon stood there for a beat, staring at the back of her head as she returned to her book. He debated with himself for a moment, jaw tight, before finally opening his mouth.

“So…” he started, already regretting it. “Mahjong?”

He cringed internally. His lack of people skills humiliated him more often than not, and this time was no exception. He crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to slap a hand over his face as she turned to look at him again.

“What about Mahjong?” She asked, smiling- shy, polite, unsure of what he meant.

“Oh, um,” he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “You’re really good at it.”

He wanted to throw himself off the roof for saying something so plain.

“Thank you,” she replied, voice still soft and a little hesitant, barely audible. But Sunghoon heard it clearly.

“The nainais love playing with you,” he added, trying again.

She chuckled, the sound light as she fidgeted with the edges of her book. “I love playing with them too.”

Sunghoon nodded, heart thudding louder than he’d like to admit. “I was thinking maybe I should start playing,” he said. “Since they insist so much.”

That earned him a brighter smile-genuine and almost surprised. “They’ll be so excited to hear that,” she said, eyes warm.

With that, Sunghoon gave her a small nod- tried for a smile, though it came out a little crooked- and turned to head back to the kitchen. The familiar clang of cutlery and low hum of chatter greeted him as a few customers called out their orders. He slipped into the rhythm easily, hands moving on instinct as he took their requests, his mind only half in it as he waited for Jake to return with the eggs.

The grandmas had just finished their lunch- macaroni in broth, as always- and were setting up the mahjong tiles on their favorite table. The diner's usual clatter had dulled into a comforting quiet. Jake was wiping down tables, Sunghoon was prepping ingredients for the dinner crowd, and Y/N, elbows on the table, was watching the grandmas argue over who mixed the tiles wrong.

“You always flip too fast, Mei Lin,” one said, tapping the table.

“And you always complain, so maybe it balances out,” another shot back.

Y/N smiled into her sleeve.

From the kitchen window, Sunghoon’s eyes flickered to them again and again. The chatter, the rhythmic clack of tiles, the easy comfort between Y/N and the old women- something about it kept pulling his attention.

Finally, after drying his hands on a towel, he walked over. He didn’t sit- just crossed his arms and stood behind them, quiet, trying to peek over the top of their heads. No one minded- he was part of the furniture here, just like the smell of soy sauce and the cat waiting by the door.

He lingered for a moment. Then, almost too softly, he said, “…What do the symbols mean?”

One of the grandmas blinked up at him like she hadn’t realized he was standing there. Another simply grinned- slow and mischievous, the way a cat does when it knows it’s already won.

“Well, well, well,” said one of them, elbowing Y/N playfully. “Someone finally asked.”

Y/N looked up, her expression touched with a kind of surprised warmth. She hadn’t expected him to actually come over. Tilting her head, she studied him- tall and awkward, arms still crossed like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Which ones?” She asked gently.

Sunghoon shrugged, looking at the tiles like they’d just started speaking in code. “All of them?”

From across the diner, Jake’s voice rang out, dry and amused. “He doesn’t even know the difference between bamboo and buns.”

“They’re dots, not buns,” Y/N laughed, the sound small but clear. She scooted to the side and patted the empty seat next to her. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Sunghoon hesitated- just for a second. Then he exhaled through his nose, muttered something under his breath, and sat down. He was a little stiff, a little too careful. It was like he wasn’t sure how to exist in a chair that wasn’t in the kitchen.

Immediately, two grandmas shuffled closer, surrounding him on either side. One pushed a pile of tiles toward him, the other clapped his back in pride- Sunghoon cracked her a helpless grin. He looked cornered, like a kid roped into a family dinner with relatives he hadn’t seen in ten years.

The grandmas- delighted beyond measure- turned their sights on Jake.

“You too!” One shouted, pointing a finger directly at him. “If Sunghoon’s playing, you are too.”

Jake sighed, slinging the towel over his shoulder with dramatic flair. “You people are relentless.”

But he paused. His eyes flicked to Sunghoon, caught mid-instruction, nodding solemnly like he was absorbing ancient wisdom. Then Jake looked at the grandmas- hopeful, eager, waiting.

And finally, he looked at Y/N. She was watching him- not pressuring him, just waiting, a small smile playing on her lips, fingers brushing over the edge of a tile like she was testing the waters.

Jake let out a long breath, one hand on his hip. “Fine,” he muttered, walking over. “You people act like we don’t have a whole diner to run.”

The table erupted in cheers before he even pulled out a chair.

Jake pulled out a chair with exaggerated reluctance, plopping down beside a triumphant-looking grandma who immediately pulled his face closer to her to kiss his cheek. “God bless,” she said and Jake giggled at her.

“Shuffle those tiles, boy,” another ordered, and Jake obediently reached for the pile, side-eyeing Y/N.

“You planned this,” he whispered.

She grinned, not denying it. “Welcome to the table.”

Sunghoon shifted to make room, now sitting between Y/N and another grandma who was already assigning him a wind tile. “You missed the whole tutorial,” he told Jake, but there was no smugness in his voice- just quiet amusement.

Jake leaned closer to Y/N. “So, are you gonna save me from complete humiliation or just let me die out here?”

Y/N, still smiling, tapped two tiles. “These are dots. Think of them as buns, since you insist. And that- ” she pointed to another, “-is bamboo. Try not to mix them up this time.”

Jake pretended to take notes on his hand with an invisible pen. “Dots are buns. Got it. Is there a tile for coffee? Because that’s what I’m playing for.”

“No,” one of the grandmas declared. “You’re playing for dignity.”

Y/N laughed, and even Sunghoon let out a low chuckle.

As the round began, the grandmas shouted instructions over each other. Jake was immediately lost, discarding a tile that made two of them gasp dramatically. Sunghoon picked it up cautiously, frowning at his hand like it was a puzzle missing pieces.

Somehow, Y/N stayed calm- her voice soft but sure as she walked them both through their first real game. Her presence made the table feel less chaotic and more like a circle- one that had room for all of them. There was the occasional cheer or groan of a play gone right- or very, very wrong.

Neither Sunghoon or Jake won a game that day- the pair, in fact, had left the game in between to tend to their customers. As they fell into the bustling rhythm of their diner, serving plates of food and cleaning down dirty counters, the grandmas complained in low groans. Y/N continued playing with her usual silence and a laugh thrown in from time to time.

One of the grandmas insisted on a rematch- she just wanted Jake and Sunghoon to play. And neither of them said no.

vi.

The next afternoon, the mahjong table was already waiting when Jake and Sunghoon walked out of the kitchen. The grandmas had their lunch pre-cooked this time, and Y/N was already seated, shuffling the tiles absentmindedly with one hand while sipping soup with the other.

“She’s been waiting for you two,” a grandma whispered loudly, elbowing another.

Jake gave a mock bow. “Apologies, honored ones. We had... actual jobs.”

One of the grandmas slapped her tile down with finality. “Alright,” she declared, chin high, eyes glinting. “Just the boys this time. I want to see if either of them actually learned anything.”

Jake’s head snapped up. “What- no, no, I haven’t even processed the rules.”

“You’re just scared,” another grandma teased.

“Terrified,” he confirmed. “Utterly and completely terrified.”

Sunghoon tried to get up, mumbling something about prep work, but was immediately pulled back down by a surprisingly strong wrinkled hand.

“You sit,” she ordered. “You owe us after years of avoiding this table.”

Y/N just smiled into her sleeve, watching as the grandmas quickly reset the tiles, their movements quick and practiced. Sunghoon looked resigned. Jake looked betrayed.

The game started with less chaos than last time. Jake remembered a few rules, mostly. Sunghoon took it more seriously than necessary. And Y/N, still not playing, quietly pointed to the right moves without drawing too much attention to herself.

“Okay,” Jake said, squinting at his tiles. “I have three bamboo sticks. And three more. That’s… something?”

“You’re getting there,” Y/N encouraged.

“Don’t gas him up,” Sunghoon muttered. “He still discards every dragon tile like it’s cursed.”

“It feels cursed,” Jake insisted.

“You two bicker like an old married couple,” a grandma commented.

“No,” Y/N smiled, “they bicker like brothers.”

The next fifteen minutes were loud, messy, and full of good-natured mockery. Jake made illegal moves twice, Sunghoon forgot which wind he was, and both of them accused the grandmas of stacking the deck.

But something shifted too.

Sunghoon started leaning into the chaos, rolling his eyes but not pulling away when a grandma ruffled his hair- something he usually flinched at. Jake laughed like he hadn’t in weeks- head thrown back, palms smacking the table when he finally made a decent play.

Y/N watched from the side, sipping her milk tea, legs curled up beneath her, a smile tugging at her lips that she didn’t bother hiding. She’d help them sometimes, other times would simply stare back at their confused expressions with a teasing grin.

When the game finally ended- Sunghoon won, obviously- the grandmas stood triumphantly, stretching their backs.

“We knew you had it in you, Sunghoon,” one of them encouraged.

Jake’s shoulders visibly sagged, his lip jutting forward in a pout. It was such an involuntary reaction, Y/N couldn’t help but stare at the innocence behind it. “You didn’t think you had it in me?”

“You’re getting there,” another grandma assured.

“That’s so mean! I’m nicer to you lot than he is!”

“Oh, don’t say things like that!”

The grandmas left with promises of bringing home made dessert the next day- their special treat for their favourite diner owners. For finally succumbing to their requests and also making them feel like they were loved again. These grandmas, from what Sunghoon and Jake had learnt from rubbernecking, always complained about feeling neglected by their children and grandchildren. Perhaps they displaced that emptiness onto Y/N, Sunghoon and Jake.

Y/N didn’t leave right away.

She stayed at the table, legs tucked neatly under the chair, her half-empty cup of milk tea in front of her. She scrolled through her phone absentmindedly, the gentle clatter of the diner folding around her like background noise she’d grown to like. Jake and Sunghoon had returned to their usual rhythm- Jake wiping down counters, Sunghoon chopping vegetables in the back- but for a brief moment, neither of them noticed that she hadn’t left with the grandmas.

Until Sunghoon glanced through the kitchen window.

“Jake,” he called out, eyes narrowing.

Jake had just finished taking an order. He tucked his notepad away and leaned into the pass-through. “What?”

Sunghoon jerked his chin toward the dining area. “Why’s she still here?”

They both stared.

Y/N sat with one elbow on the table, phone in hand, tea in the other. She didn’t look out of place- just… still.

Jake shrugged. “I dunno. Let me go ask.”

Before Sunghoon could say anything- probably to stop him- Jake had already tossed the towel over his shoulder and stepped out of the kitchen. Sunghoon sighed. In moments like these, he loathed Jake’s confidence, the way he never hesitated, never second-guessed himself to the point of paralysis.

Jake approached her with easy steps.

“Everything okay?” He asked, his voice gentler than usual.

Y/N looked up, blinking out of her thoughts. “Oh- yeah.” She smiled, polite but sincere. “I’m just waiting for my dad to pick me up. If that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Jake said, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You looked a little lonely. Just wanted to see if you needed company.”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “No, I’m okay, really. But… could I order a tuna melt?” She looked up at him, her voice more sure now. “I’ve been meaning to try it.”

Jake lit up like she’d complimented his accomplishments. “One tuna melt, coming up.”

He turned back toward the kitchen, only to find Sunghoon already halfway through assembling the sandwich. Jake smirked, but didn’t say anything. He’d learned a long time ago not to poke the bear.

He wanted to stay, maybe keep the conversation going, but another customer had walked in and flagged him down. With a silent sigh, Jake turned on his heel and went to take the order, throwing one last glance back toward Y/N as she settled into her seat again, warm tea in hand, waiting- not just for her father now, maybe, but for the comfort of the sandwich being made in a kitchen she’d grown used to.

Sunghoon wiped his hands on a dish towel before picking up the plate from the counter. The tuna melt, golden and crisp, sat beside a pile of thick-cut fries and a small cup of house-made pickles. He tried not to look too eager as he walked it over.

“Here you go,” he said, placing it down in front of her.

Y/N perked up immediately. “Oh- thank you.” Her voice was warm now, a little less shy than before. She took in the sandwich like it was an offering, her eyes lighting up at the smell.

Sunghoon didn’t leave right away. He hovered awkwardly, hands shoved in his apron pockets, and after a pause, he asked, “Do you have your own mahjong set?”

She blinked up at him. “Hmm?”

“You always play with the nainais’ sets. Was just wondering.”

She tilted her head, thinking. “I do. But it’s kind of old. I’ve been meaning to get a new one, actually. Something I can customize, maybe.”

Sunghoon nodded, lips pressing into something almost like a smile. “I know a guy in the market. He does hand-carved pieces.”

Her eyes widened just slightly. “That sounds… kind of cool.”

“It is,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking over his shoulder toward the kitchen before returning to meet her gaze. “Jake and I could take you sometime, if you want.”

He didn’t say it casually, and he wasn’t suave about it. His voice was even and sincere, but there was the usual hesitation underneath, like he was still learning how to offer connection instead of deflecting it.

Y/N looked down for a second, then up at him again- reading his expression, measuring the offer for what it was: a genuine one.

“I’d like that,” she said finally, and smiled. Not polite. Not shy. Just soft.

And Sunghoon, for once, didn’t overthink it. He just nodded, slow and certain. “Cool. We’ll figure out a day.”

He turned to leave, and behind him, Y/N reached for the sandwich- realizing, as she took her first bite, that it was still warm, still perfect, like maybe, somehow, she was meant to stay a little longer.

That night, Sunghoon and Jake had locked up early. The diner had been quiet, and they figured it was as good a time as any to finally replace the fourth goldfish. One had died a few days ago, and the tank looked oddly lopsided without it. Not that they were heading to a proper pet shop- just to the old man on a bicycle who sold goldfish dangling from sticks, each one bobbing in its own water-filled plastic pouch, swaying like strange fruit.

While Jake fished out cash from his back pocket, Sunghoon cleared his throat. “I told Y/N we’d take her to that custom mahjong place.”

Jake froze mid-motion, the folded bills pausing between his fingers and the vendor’s outstretched hand. The vendor blinked at him, mildly annoyed, and snatched the money anyway. Jake nearly fumbled the bag with the new goldfish.

“You, what?” He said, staring at Sunghoon.

“It came up when I brought her the tuna melt,” Sunghoon said, casually- but not too casually. “Just… in passing.”

Jake started walking again, the bag swinging from his fingers. He smirked, glancing over. “Passing conversation, huh?”

“Yeah. Passing conversation,” Sunghoon repeated, quieter this time. Like he was trying to convince himself more than Jake.

Jake didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just let the silence stretch between them as the glow of the street lights flickered on. He could hear the gentle slosh of water and the occasional squeak of the goldfish bag in his hand.

Jake shot a sidelong glance at Sunghoon, who kept his eyes fixed stubbornly on the road ahead.

“So,” Jake started, voice carefully casual, “you gave her a sandwich and a field trip?”

Sunghoon didn’t look at him. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Jake snorted. “I’m not being dramatic. I just didn’t know tuna melts came with custom mahjong tours now.”

Sunghoon sighed through his nose. “It wasn’t a big deal. We were talking. She said she wanted to buy a new set. I said I knew a guy. It’s not-”

“A date?” Jake cut in, biting down a grin.

Sunghoon glared at him, then immediately looked away again. “It’s not,” he muttered. But his ears were pink.

Jake laughed under his breath, nudging Sunghoon with his elbow. “You’re such a liar.”

“I’m not lying,” Sunghoon insisted, voice rising slightly. “I’m-” He paused. “It wasn’t planned, okay?”

Jake let the silence sit between them for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Alright.” They walked on a few more steps before Jake added, teasing but not unkind, “You just accidentally offered to take a girl you barely know to a shop you’ve never even taken me to.”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes. “We didn’t start playing mahjong until literally yesterday.”

The goldfish made a sudden turn in the bag, catching their attention. Both of them looked down at it, watching the flash of orange dart through the water like it had somewhere important to be.

Jake adjusted his grip on the plastic loop. “So, when are we going?”

“Whenever she’s free, I guess.” Sunghoon shrugged.

Jake hummed. “You gonna ask her?”

“I figured… we’d ask her. Together.”

Jake blinked at him. For once, no joke came out of his mouth. He just nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

vii.

Y/N replayed the way Sunghoon and Jake had approached her about the mahjong shop over and over again until the day actually arrived.

The memory still made her giggle, her stomach fluttering in that light, ridiculous way that meant she was more nervous than she wanted to admit.

It was the way Sunghoon trailed a few steps behind Jake, hands in his pockets, gaze darting everywhere except her face- like the whole plan hadn’t been his idea in the first place. Jake had done the talking, naturally, with that easy, familiar confidence of his. "When are you free?" he had asked, flashing that bright, lopsided grin like this was just another errand, nothing special at all. Meanwhile, Sunghoon stood behind him and nodded- once, twice- as though trying to keep it cool, but looking exactly like a guilty accomplice.

She remembered how Jake waited for her answer without pressure, and how Sunghoon pretended not to care but had looked up just enough to meet her eyes when they finalised a plan.

They hadn’t even left yet, and somehow she was already looking forward to the afternoon like it was something that would matter.

The pair had asked her to meet them at the mouth of the old street market, just past the temple gate where the pavement turned to uneven stone and the smell of incense mingled with fried dough and fresh produce.

It wasn’t far from the diner, but it felt like stepping into another world- louder, warmer, slower somehow. Jake had said the mahjong stall was tucked somewhere in the back alleys, “next to the guy who sells antique radios and possibly illegal fireworks.” Sunghoon had just rolled his eyes at the description, muttering that he’d find it faster without Jake’s help.

Y/N arrived five minutes early, but they were already there- Jake leaned against a lamppost scrolling through his phone, Sunghoon sipping from a bottle of barley tea. Jake spotted her first, nudging Sunghoon with his elbow.

She smiled. They both straightened.

Jake grinned as she approached. “Right on time. I had money on you being early.”

“I am early,” Y/N replied, glancing at her watch with a teasing look. “But you two clearly beat me.”

Sunghoon gave a small, crooked smile. “Jake insisted we leave early just in case we got distracted by fried snacks.’”

Jake didn’t even pretend to be ashamed. “And we did, thank you very much.” He held out a paper bag that smelled vaguely like sesame and sugar. “Want one?”

Y/N took one without hesitation, and the three started walking- Sunghoon leading the way through the winding lanes while Jake lingered beside her, occasionally pointing out odd little shops with dramatic flair.

The market was a maze of sun-faded awnings, peeling posters, and curious smells. Old radios crackled from corners, kids darted between stalls and somewhere in the distance, a man yelled about a two-for-one mango deal like it was the end of the world.

“So,” Y/N asked, chewing thoughtfully. “How custom is this mahjong place?”

“You’ll see,” Sunghoon said, almost proudly. “Last time we were here, the guy tried to sell Jake a set shaped like sea cucumbers,” he added.

“I almost bought it,” Jake said defensively. “It was kind of cool.”

“It was horrifying,” Sunghoon muttered, but he was smiling too. “And we didn’t even play.”

Eventually, they reached a low tin-roofed shop wedged between two buildings, half-hidden by a hanging rug. A wooden sign above the door read, in hand-painted strokes: Mr. Liu’s Lucky Tiles.

Inside, the air was cooler. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with mahjong sets of every shape and color- some traditional, some made of glass, others painted with dragons, koi, and cherry blossoms. There was even a neon pink set in the corner, shimmering like it had no business being in such a dusty room.

Mr. Liu himself appeared from behind a beaded curtain- an elderly man with a stooped back and sharp eyes, rubbing his hands like he already knew why they were there.

Jake and Sunghoon had met Mr. Liu in the early, uncertain days of the diner- when the rent felt too high, the customers too few, and the future too blurry to hold onto. He had wandered in one quiet afternoon, ordered nothing but tea, and stayed for hours, offering them sharp, unsolicited advice on budgeting, supplier haggling, and why their menu needed at least one dish with ginger. Over time, his presence became a quiet constant- dropping by with old coins to tip with, passing down contacts for cheaper produce, and sometimes just sitting silently, like the kind of distant relative you don’t call often but always count on. Their bond was dependable, old-school, forged in unspoken trust and shared stubbornness.

“You brought a friend this time,” he said to Sunghoon, nodding at Y/N. “Finally someone with taste.”

Jake gasped, “I’m right here, sir.”

Mr. Liu ignored him. “So, what kind of set are we making?”

Y/N stepped closer to the table lined with carved tiles and paint samples. Her eyes flitted across the display- flashes of color, lacquered wood, tiny painted details that told entire stories.

“I want something brighter... maybe something in red, I don’t know...” she began, voice soft but certain as her fingers hovered over a row of designs. “Those cherry blossoms and koi fish look nice. I want some lanterns on there too.”

Mr. Liu looked impressed. “Bold choice. Most people play safe with ivory and jade.”

Jake leaned in. “She used to play national level mahjong, you know? She's got taste.”

Sunghoon glanced at him sideways, but said nothing, watching as Y/N picked up a tile and turned it over in her hand like she was already imagining it on her table at home. Mr. Liu looked at Y/N with a newfound appreciation.

“I want a set that looks like a showpiece and also like something I never want to stop playing with,” she said. “You know what I mean?”

Mr. Liu nodded, reaching for a notebook. “Alright then. Lanterns, koi, cherry blossoms- red base?”

“Maybe hints of gold too,” Y/N said, smiling now, gaining confidence in the picture she was painting. “Nothing too flashy, just pretty.”

“I like that,” Sunghoon murmured beside her, arms crossed, watching her more than the tiles.

Y/N looked back at him, flustered and a little taken aback- like she wasn’t expecting him to say anything at all, let alone agree so gently. Her fingers paused mid-gesture over a tray of tiles, and for a moment, the noise of the shop faded beneath the warmth that crawled up her neck.

Sunghoon didn’t seem to notice what he’d done, or maybe he did and was pretending not to. His gaze dropped to the tiles again, expression unreadable except for the slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Jake, standing a few feet away and pretending to examine a display of dice he definitely didn’t need, caught the shift in atmosphere. He turned back just in time to see Y/N blinking rapidly and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

Mr. Liu chuckled, already sketching something quick in the corner of his pad. “Come back in a week. And bring better taste with you next time,” he added to Jake, without looking up.

“I literally brought her,” Jake pointed out, affronted.

“And yet,” Mr. Liu deadpanned, turning a page.

Y/N laughed under her breath, the kind of laugh that softened the tension in her shoulders. Jake pouted dramatically, throwing his hands up before shoving them into his pockets, but even that didn’t mask the faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t mind him,” Sunghoon said to Y/N, his voice low but teasing. “Mr. Liu insults people he actually likes.”

“I realised,” Y/N smiled, looking back at the old man who was now carefully selecting tiles from a display tray. “It’s kind of endearing.”

Mr. Liu grunted at that, but a slight smirk betrayed him. “Don’t make me start liking you too, girl. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

She held back a laugh, standing beside the two boys like she’d been doing this for years. Something about the moment felt easy- settled, like the pieces were just starting to fall into place.

As Mr. Liu continued his prep, Jake leaned against the wall near the door and asked, “So, who’s your usual mahjong crowd, anyway? Just the grandmas?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. They’re terrifying.”

Jake looked at Sunghoon. “They made her cry once, didn’t they?”

Sunghoon raised his brows. “And then gave her candy ten minutes later.”

“Stockholm syndrome,” Jake said, solemnly.

“Community,” Y/N corrected, nudging him gently with her elbow.

Sunghoon watched the two of them banter, something calm blooming behind his ribs. He didn’t say much- he rarely did in such moments- but he didn’t want to. They were all in the same place now, tied together not by any great, dramatic event, but by the custom mahjong tiles Y/N was getting excited about.

Mr. Liu cleared his throat. “If you three are done flirting in my shop, I’ve got a set to design.”

Jake and Sunghoon immediately turned stiff and upright, but Y/N just laughed at the joke.

Outside, the sun was already leaning westward. The market buzzed with low chatter and the smells of sweet bean cakes and fresh noodles. Y/N stepped out of the shop with the boys beside her, her shoulders brushing Jake’s for a moment before she stepped forward to walk ahead.

Jake watched her for a second and then looked at Sunghoon. “Passing conversation, huh?”

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch this time. “Yeah,” he said, hands in his pockets. “Still passing.”

They didn’t head back right away. With a few hours to spare before the diner reopened for the evening shift, the three of them drifted through the market like a trio without plans- just steps and distractions.

Y/N stopped to try candied hawthorns from a vendor, offering one stick to each of the boys with a grin that dared them to say no. Jake bit into his without hesitation; Sunghoon looked suspicious of the sticky glaze but didn’t refuse.

They walked past a stall selling old records, and Y/N paused to thumb through them. Jake joined her, flipping covers and teasing her music taste until she found one he actually liked- and then teased him right back for being predictable.

At one point, they sat on a low wall near a koi pond tucked behind one of the older courtyards. Y/N threw breadcrumbs at the fish from a little paper pouch a nearby kid handed her, and Jake leaned back on his elbows, soaking in the sun, while Sunghoon quietly snapped a photo of the moment on his phone- he told himself that he would send it to his family as a life update.

He never ended up sending it.

By the time they wandered back, the sky was slipping into evening hues. The air smelled different- cooler now, tinged with the promise of dinner. They said goodbye to Y/N at the corner where her ride usually picked her up.

Jake waved a little longer than necessary.

Sunghoon nudged him. “You gonna start writing poetry now?”

Jake just smiled. “Only passing poetry.”

viii.

A week later, Y/N walked into the diner carrying a tote bag. The grandmas had barely finished their tea before she set the bag down and carefully pulled out her new mahjong set- red lacquered tiles gleaming, each one etched with cherry blossoms, koi fish, and lanterns that shimmered with the faintest touch of gold. It was vibrant, personal, unmistakably hers.

The grandmas crowded around instantly, handling the pieces like precious gems. They didn’t even start a game right away- just examined each tile, murmuring their approval in half-teasing, half-reverent tones.

Jake leaned over the counter, watching the scene with a satisfied grin. “We took her to the shop, didn’t we, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon, who had just finished washing his wok, paused at the sound of Jake’s voice. He glanced at Y/N, then at the tiles, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We did.”

Y/N turned to them, her voice quieter than the chatter around her. “Thank you,” she said, eyes lingering on Sunghoon.

Jake gave a mock bow. “All in the name of community service.”

“Sure,” Sunghoon said dryly, but there was a warmth behind it.

The grandmas eventually began setting up a game, fussing over who would sit where like it was a matter of national importance. Y/N was coaxed into playing the first round, mostly because one grandma claimed her young eyes would balance out their seasoned wisdom.

Whatever that meant.

Jake and Sunghoon watched from behind the counter, sipping their iced coffees in sync. They didn’t need to be told this was special- they could feel it in the way Y/N laughed, her shoulders looser than usual, the way her hands moved confidently across the tiles.

“She fits here,” Jake said softly.

Sunghoon didn’t respond immediately. He just watched her, a ghost of that now-familiar smile on his face. “Yeah. She does.”

When one of the grandmas called out for the boys to stop being useless and come play the next round, Jake threw his hands up in surrender and made his way over. Sunghoon followed with less enthusiasm but equal affection, letting himself be scolded into taking a seat.

The game had spiraled into chaos- the best kind. Laughter bounced off the diner’s tiled walls, filling every corner with something light and breathless. Tiles clacked as they slid across the table, and steam curled lazily from forgotten mugs of tea. Y/N kept blurting out advice to Jake, forgetting herself in the moment. Her voice, half a whisper and half a laugh, gave him away more than once.

Sunghoon, deadpan and increasingly dramatic, accused her of conspiracy. The grandmas, gleeful and unbothered, leaned into the mess. One of them chuckled behind a hand. “Flirting,” one of the grandmas had said, pointing a bony finger in the air like a courtroom judge. “This is flirting.”

Y/N nearly choked on her tea.

She tried to laugh and swallow at the same time, which resulted in a brief coughing fit and Jake immediately reaching for a napkin, his hand awkwardly hovering like he didn’t know where to place it. Sunghoon blinked at the grandma, mildly horrified.

“W-What?” Y/N spluttered. “No- I was just- he was- ”

“I rest my case,” the grandma said, triumphant, shuffling her tiles like she’d just orchestrated a grand romantic revelation.

Jake grinned, smug. “Guess we’re flirting now.”

“We are not- ” Y/N began, face hot.

“She’s blushing,” another grandma sang under her breath.

“I’m not!” She cried, but her voice cracked just enough to betray her.

Sunghoon groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

The table dissolved into laughter. The grandmas high-fived each other. Jake smiled wide and unbothered, soaking in the moment like sunshine. Y/N tried to pull herself together, but the smile tugging at her lips refused to leave.

The game went on, pieces shuffled and discarded, but something else hummed beneath the surface. Something quieter than the jokes, more enduring than the clatter. With each round, each crooked smile, each rolled eye and soft nudge, a kind of ease began to settle in like a puzzle slowly clicking into place.

When the grandmas finally packed up and headed out, full and happy, the diner dimmed into its late-hour hush. The stools were empty, the lights flickered to their lower setting, and the hum of the refrigerator replaced the chatter of customers. But Y/N didn’t move to leave.

She lingered, almost without noticing. Her coat remained draped over the chair, her half-finished tea still warm between her hands. The buzz of the day was gone, but she remained grounded in that moment- like staying made more sense than going.

As Jake started stacking chairs and Sunghoon pulled out a bucket and rag, Y/N stood and quietly joined them. It was wordless- natural. She moved between tables, wiping down surfaces with the same care she’d use on cleaning mahjong tiles. The rag moved in slow circles beneath her palm, her rhythm matching theirs.

“You don’t have to help,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice low, words folding into the quiet hum of the diner.

“I know,” Y/N said after a pause, her tone light but honest. “I’ve just got nothing much to do.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond. He wasn’t good at arguing when the other person was so certain- or perhaps it was just that he didn’t know how to argue with Y/N. Maybe it wasn’t even about the argument. Maybe it was the way her presence always managed to make things feel just a little off balance, like trying to catch your breath mid-laugh. He held her gaze for a second, then gently reached forward and took the washcloth from her hands. His touch was careful, almost hesitant.

Without a word, he nodded toward the nearest booth. She understood and didn’t resist, sliding into the seat as he turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

A moment later, Jake was beside her, slipping easily into the space that Sunghoon had left behind- filling it with that familiar, quiet comfort he carried when he wasn’t trying too hard to be the loudest voice in the room.

“Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?” Jake asked.

Y/N sighed, shoulders slumping as she flexed her hands in her lap. “I wish. The local theatre is screening Happy Together- Wong Kar Wai’s. I really wanted to go, but none of my friends were free.”

Jake wasn’t a film guy. He liked movies, sure- comedies, thrillers, the flashy new stuff everyone talked about. He’d heard of Wong Kar Wai, of course. Living in Hong Kong and not knowing who that was would be borderline sacrilegious- he’d be pebbled on the streets. But he didn’t think he had the patience for films like that- moody, slow, full of longing and long silences. He always zoned out halfway through.

Still, he looked at Y/N now, at the subtle way her expression dimmed as she talked about it, and he felt something small and stubborn twist in his chest. It was just a movie, he told himself. But for her, it wasn’t just anything. And for some reason, that mattered more.

“Let’s go then.”

Y/N let out a short, amused laugh, thinking he was joking. “What?”

“Let’s go to the movie,” Jake said again, more firmly this time. “Right now. We’ll make it.”

She blinked. “Jake, you can’t be serious. You have a diner to run, and Sunghoon-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved off her concern. “Sunghoon’s got this. And I’m too tired to work.”

“Jake,” she said, softer now, guilt brushing her voice, “We can’t just leave. I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

Jake gave her a lopsided grin, one corner of his mouth squirming up. “If Sunghoon’s gonna be mad at anyone, it definitely won’t be you, Y/N.”

And strangely, she believed that.

Y/N watched Jake disappear behind the swinging kitchen door, his posture sure, purposeful. She stayed seated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve as muffled voices floated through. She couldn’t hear the words, but she saw the rhythm of them- Jake’s easy gestures, the way he clapped Sunghoon on the back, and Sunghoon’s quiet nod, his eyes never leaving the bubbling pots in front of him. There was no protest, no dramatic negotiation.

It struck her how simple it had all been. That was the thing about Jake- he made everything look easy. But still, the guilt clung to her like static. She hadn’t meant to impose, hadn’t meant to be the reason someone was left behind at work. And yet… she also didn’t know how to say no- not to Jake. Not when he was being this version of himself- warm and certain and just a little bit insistent.

When Jake returned, he was smiling, bright and boyish. He stretched out his hand to her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Y/N looked up at him, then down at his hand. Her fingers hesitated for just a second before slipping into his.

“Let’s go,” he said, as if this was exactly what the day had always meant to become.

She nodded, quiet and unsure, and let him pull her gently to her feet.

They stepped out into the soft burn of late afternoon light, the kind that painted the edges of buildings gold and made shadows long and forgiving. The diner door shut behind them with a faint jingle, the hum of oil and clatter of dishes fading with distance. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her hand still warm from Jake’s. Neither of them mentioned it.

They didn’t speak much on the way. Jake walked with a kind of boyish energy, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he’d committed. Y/N, on the other hand, kept glancing up at the sky, letting the wind push loose strands of hair across her cheek. Something about the silence wasn’t awkward- it was gentle, like both of them were trying to slow down time just a little.

The theatre was tucked between an herbal medicine shop and a print store, its small marquee spelling out Happy Together in crooked red letters. A few people lingered near the entrance, smoking or talking softly in Cantonese, and Y/N paused before the door.

Jake watched her take it in- how her shoulders relaxed just a little, how her eyes brightened like she was seeing something familiar, something comforting.

“Excited?” He asked.

She nodded. “Very much.”

Inside, the theatre smelled of old velvet seats and faint incense, the kind that lingered from the temple across the street. They picked seats near the back- close enough to see the screen clearly, far enough to have space between them and the handful of other viewers. When the lights dimmed and the opening credits began, Y/N shifted just a little closer.

Jake didn’t understand all of the movie- its silences, its metaphors, its aching slowness- but he watched it like he was watching her watch it. He noticed the way her eyes softened during certain scenes, the way she tilted her head when the characters said something heavy. And maybe that was enough. Maybe understanding her joy was more important than understanding the film.

When the movie ended, neither of them rushed to get up. The screen faded to black, the credits rolled, and still they sat there. The city buzzed quietly outside, but in here, the movie hung between them.

Jake finally spoke, voice low. “That was… a lot.”

Y/N smiled without looking at him. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”

ix.

Y/N hadn’t returned to the diner for a while. To be precise, she hadn’t returned since going to that movie with Jake. Sunghoon wasn’t sure if the two events were related in any way- the movie and the not returning to the diner. And in no means was Sunghoon trying to relate the two events. It was simply an observation he made, a fact Jake hadn’t yet acknowledged.

The night Jake returned from the movie, Sunghoon had asked him how it went- the movie, in particular. But he knew Jake’s big mouth would talk about Y/N in the process.

“The movie? I struggled to concentrate. You might like it, though, Sunghoon,” Jake had said. “Y/N loved it. She was quite happy.”

And Sunghoon didn’t question any further, too scared to come off as pestering or intrusive. He just nodded and continued moping the diner.

In the time that Y/N didn’t come to the diner, the grandmas still showed up. They followed their usual routine of eating, gossiping, playing mahjong and pestering Sunghoon and Jake. Some days, they would gossip with them, other days they would rope them into playing mahjong. But none of them acknowledged Y/N’s absence- or rather, they didn’t worry about her absence.

“Jake,” Sunghoon called out.

“Yeah?” He entered the kitchen, lip between his teeth and brows raised in question.

“Could you bring the tea to the nainais?” Sunghoon pointed at the five cups of tea on a tray and Jake nodded. “And could you ask them where Y/N is?”

Sunghoon didn’t meet Jake’s gaze- he was too shy to. He was afraid that Jake would take a single look into his eyes and call him out on something Sunghoon was too scared to admit. But Jake only raised a brow at him, lips slightly parted and tray of tee hovering mid pick-up.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Jake chuckled a moment later. “Too scared to ask them yourself?”

Sunghoon didn’t respond- he didn’t need to. Jake wasn’t expecting a response; he was already out the kitchen and approaching the grandmas.

“Here you go,” he sang to them as he distributed the mugs. “Hey, how come your sixth teammate hasn’t shown up in a while?” He asked, so casually and confidently, as if the question hadn’t been gnawing at his brain.

“Oh, she’s busy with college, honey,” one of them answered.

“I think this is one of her busy months,” another answered.

Jake straightened and turned to look at Sunghoon through the kitchen window- he knew he was listening, despite his feigned distraction. With a smirk, Jake returned to cleaning up empty dishes of previous customers.

Sunghoon, still in the kitchen, spacing out at the chopped vegetables in front of him, wasn’t sure if he believed the grandmas. He let his mind spiral- that perhaps, something happened between Jake and Y/N during the movie, that perhaps she felt embarrassed or awkward for reasons he didn’t know. For reasons Jake hadn’t revealed.

Just then, his phone rang. It was odd for someone to be calling him, especially at this hour. His family only usually called him in the mornings or late into the night.

Y/N’s name was flashing across the screen of his phone.

Sunghoon’s breath caught in his throat.

Slowly, cautiously, he picked up his phone, his fingers wrapping around the curves of the metal and sliding up on the call. He pressed the warm screen against his ear.

“Hello?”

“Sunghoon,” Y/N’s voice rang loud into his ears. She sounded frantic, almost preoccupied. “I’m home alone.”

For a moment, Sunghoon’s brain froze. He wasn’t sure what to make of that sentence- his heart almost spasmed.

“I’m home alone and there’s a fucking cockroach in the house and I don’t know what to do,” she sounded like she was on the verge of crying.

Sunghoon let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“I’m so sorry,” she continued. “I’m proper terrified of bugs- I don’t know what to do-”

“Y/N, don’t worry about it,” he breathed, voice now filled with a sudden sense of confidence. “I’ll be right there.”

“No, that’s not-”

He ended the call before she could finish her sentence. Sunghoon stared at his phone, screen now black, reflecting his expression back to him.

Jake walked in, his notepad nestled in his hand, eyes scanning the words he scribbled on it. “Someone ordered a Hong Kong-style Spaghetti Bolognese. Been a while since someone asked for that,” he said, tilting his head to the side before tipping it back in surprise. Then, he lifted his gaze to find Sunghoon frozen in his spot, eyes static. “What happened, why do you look like that?”

“Y/N just called me,” Sunghoon mumbled like he didn’t believe it himself.

Jake’s eyes darted in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “Is she okay?”

“Said she needed help with something,” Sunghoon blinked at him.

“Well, then, go,” Jake said with no hesitation, like it was his most natural reaction. He looked at Sunghoon like he was stupid for not leaving yet. “Go on, I’ll cook.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not my first time cooking, Sunghoon,” Jake tilted his head. “You’ve taught me well enough.”

A few minutes later, Sunghoon stood in front of her apartment door, a parcelled container of udon in one hand and a tube of cockroach repellent in the other. Her building was in a fancier part of town- sleek, quieter streets, the kind lined with flowering hedges and motion-sensor lights- but it hadn’t taken him long to get there. He’d practically sprinted the whole way, not that he’d ever admit it.

He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles met the wood, he heard a thud from inside- what sounded unmistakably like a shoe being hurled across the room.

“The door’s open!” Y/N called, her voice carrying a distinct mix of panic and irritation.

Sunghoon eased the door open with caution, stepping inside like he was entering enemy territory. And there she was- perched on the edge of her coffee table, legs crossed, scanning the floor with laser focus. Her oversized t-shirt slouched off one shoulder, her hair was tied messily like she'd abandoned the effort halfway through, and she wore only one sock- the other nowhere in sight, presumably a casualty of the ongoing war.

Something about her in that moment- disheveled, determined, completely unguarded- hit him with a strange, quiet softness. He had to blink and remind himself why he was there. Don’t stare, he told himself, as he closed the door behind him and stepped fully into her chaos.

“I brought some food,” Sunghoon said, holding up the plastic bag. “You said you were home alone,” he placed it on a cupboard that stood beside the doorway.

Y/N turned to him with wide, grateful eyes, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. Her gaze flicked to the bag he set down, then back to him- as if the sight of someone else in her apartment, someone calm and steady, made the whole situation feel a little less ridiculous.

“You really didn’t have to,” she shook her head.

“Udon’s quick to make,” he said, walking over to her with brevity she didn’t have. “Where’s the cockroach?”

“I think it went under the bookshelf,” she whispered like it might hear her.

He stepped aside quietly, scanning the floor like he was on a mission- perhaps he was. There was a certain kind of silence between them, familiar and strange all at once. She got off the table and hovered behind him like a shadow, pointing occasionally, giving unhelpful commentary like “I swear it flew” and “I heard it crunch.”

Eventually, he found it- the cockroach, cornered and twitching near the leg of the bookshelf. Sunghoon didn’t hesitate- grabbed a slipper she handed him and swiftly ended its reign of terror. Y/N let out a dramatic breath, slumping against the wall like a war survivor.

“I owe you,” she muttered, hand pressed to her chest.

Sunghoon finally looked at her then, eyes flickering. “Not at all.”

She tilted her head, then went quiet. He stood there, still holding the slipper, unsure of what came next.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, not trusting himself to sit still any longer. “I’ll apply the repellent,” he said, holding up the tube like a peace offering. “Should last you a few weeks.”

He got to work without waiting for her response, crouching by the corners of the hall first. The motion was methodical, something to focus on- dot the edge, press the tube, swipe. She watched him quietly as he moved into the kitchen, applying it behind the fridge, at the back of cupboards, and beneath the shelves with careful, practiced hands. He didn’t ask where anything was- he just kind of knew.

When he finally turned to her again, their eyes met for half a second before he looked away. “Your room,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but it was quiet, like he didn’t want to startle her.

Y/N led him down the short hallway, her hand brushing the wall as she walked ahead. He followed, steps measured. The door creaked open, and she stepped aside to let him in first.

Sunghoon hesitated before crossing the threshold. It felt… intimate, somehow, to be here- not in a loud or obvious way, but in the quiet traces of her life that surrounded the space. He felt like he’d stepped into a part of her she didn’t often share. He almost didn’t feel worthy.

And though he told himself not to look, he did.

There were photos framed on the walls- friends, blurry oceans, distant smiles- and a half-used candle on the study desk. Books stacked in uneven piles, a hair tie hanging off the corner of the lamp. Her bed was slightly unmade, a soft quilt tangled in the center. And resting on the top of her bedside table was her personalized mahjong set- the red one, with gold koi fish and painted blossoms. The one he helped pick out.

Sunghoon’s throat tightened.

He crouched in the corners of the room and applied the repellent in silence. But every now and then, his gaze flickered back to the mahjong set. The fact that she kept it there, next to where she slept, said more than she probably knew.

After he was done, she led him back to the hall again. She played with the hum of her shirt, awkward as she turned back to him. Sunghoon’s stiff demeanor wasn’t much help either. He himself wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Do you wanna stay for a bit?” She asked softly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask the question. “I have those green tea cookies you like.”

Sunghoon blinked. His first thought was confusion- he didn’t remember ever mentioning those cookies to her. But then he remembered- a few weeks ago when Jake had come in late to the diner, holding up a box of green tea cookies like a peace offering, loudly apologizing to Sunghoon for coming in later than promised. Y/N had been there, seated between the grandmas, shuffling the tiles with a calm that felt so at home.

Jake had shoved the cookies onto the counter with a grin and a “I know you love these. Makes you less mad at me, huh?” And Sunghoon, red-eared and grumbling, had tried to hide a smile while the grandmas teased him for it.

She remembered that- that small moment.

He nodded before his throat could catch up to his thoughts. Something about the offer, her remembering, the soft steadiness of her words- it settled over him like his mom’s bowl of comfort soup.

Y/N padded to the cabinets, one foot still missing a sock. She moved with the ease that came with being in her own house, but there was a lightness to her movements now, as if his presence didn’t interrupt anything- like he belonged there for the moment. She boiled water in a worn kettle, the kind with chipped paint near the spout that had been in the family since before she was born. And she pulled out a box from the back of the shelf. The green tea cookies were a little crumbled but still perfectly good. She smiled to herself as she laid them out on a porcelain plate.

They settled on the floor of her kitchen like kids hiding from responsibility. She handed him a mismatched mug- his had a cat on it, tail curled into a heart. Hers was plain, chipped at the rim. The plate of cookies sat between them like a peace treaty.

Sunghoon took a bite, and the taste was exactly like he remembered- earthy and a little sweet, crumbly in the best way.

“I didn’t think you noticed,” he said after a long while, his voice low, careful.

Y/N looked at him, a slow blink. “I notice more than you think,” she said simply.

Sunghoon glanced down at his shoes, then back at her, unsure of what to make of it. He wondered what else she had noticed- but chose not to ask.

“So,” he began, instead. "You have a proper phobia of cockroaches?”

Y/N nodded, mid-chewing on the cookie. She swallowed abruptly. “Bugs in general,” she admitted. “The last time I saw a spider in the house, I fainted and my parents rushed me to the hospital.”

“You fainted?”

“Yeah,” she laughed like it wasn’t a big deal- like it was an old memory “It’s gotten better now, but I’m definitely still terrified.”

“I can tell,” Sunghoon nodded, a grin playing on his lips.

Y/N rolled her eyes, eyes drifting back to her mug. “I didn’t mean for you to come, by the way,” she admitted. “You really didn’t need to go out of your way to do this.”

“It’s not a problem, Y/N,” Sunghoon assured. “Why’d you call anyway?”

“I thought you’d give me emotional support and teach me how to chase down a cockroach.”

“Through the phone?” He laughed now, finally realising how childish the situation actually was.

“Laugh all you want,” Y/N rolled her eyes.

They both looked down at the plate between them. The cookies were beginning to crumble at the edges.

“You haven’t come around to the diner in a while,” Sunghoon said after a beat- not accusatory, just staging an observation.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Y/N sighed. “I’ve been swamped with assignments.”

“Don’t need to apologise for that,” he said, shaking his head.

“I missed it though,” she added, softer this time.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You should probably get back before Jake burns the place down.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon exhaled, glancing toward the door. “He’s probably trying to plate spaghetti like a Michelin chef.”

A few days later, on an early morning when the streets were still yawning and the sky hadn’t fully made up its mind about the sun, Y/N found herself tagging along with Sunghoon and Jake to the wet market. There was no real reason- just that she was free, and just that she could.

Sunghoon had mentioned wanting to experiment, to see if he could add a few new seafood dishes to the diner’s menu. That was the official reason. The real reason, perhaps, was simpler- it was nice having her there.

The market was already alive, a cacophony of voices and smells and sloshing water. Jake took the lead, animatedly picking fights with fishmongers over prices, freshness, or whether the catch was really caught that morning. Sunghoon followed a few steps behind, arms crossed and expression sharp, his eyes silently backing Jake’s words like punctuation marks.

Jake was mid-haggle with an elderly fishmonger about the size of a grouper when Sunghoon leaned toward Y/N and muttered, “he always starts a fight before 5am. It’s part of his warm-up routine.”

She stifled a laugh, then wrinkled her nose when a splash of fish water nearly hit her sandals. “Is it always this... intense?”

Sunghoon gave a faint, dry nod. “This is one of his better days.”

Eventually, Jake held up a glistening red snapper triumphantly like a knight with a sword. “Victory,” he declared, already halfway to the next stall. The old fishmonger chuckled, muttering something about these boys and their drama.

Sunghoon calmly handed over the money and shot a quick thanks before motioning for Y/N to follow.

Y/N trailed after them, half-awake, half-amused, her eyes darting between the two of them- between Jake’s loud dramatics and Sunghoon’s quiet intimidation. She didn’t fully understand the rhythm of their routine, but she liked being a part of it anyway.

They weaved through crates of shellfish, bundles of herbs, and stalls with dangling octopus tentacles. Jake struck up conversation with nearly every vendor- some clearly annoyed, some amused, all strangely fond of him.

Some vendors, familiar with the duo, greeted them with grins and playful jabs. A few even offered discounts without being asked- especially when they noticed Y/N in tow, standing a little behind, blinking curiously at a very lively basket of prawns.

“You like prawns and shrimp?” Sunghoon asked when he noticed her.

“Love,” she responded.

“What about lobster?” He continued.

“Think about it everyday,” she smiled at him, innocent and childlike.

Seconds later, Sunghoon was signaling toward Jake with a subtle lift of his chin, eyes flicking toward a crate of lobsters sitting in a cooler nearby. Jake caught on immediately- of course he did- and ambled over to the stall, already rolling up his sleeves like it was about to be a full-blown negotiation.

“These aren’t just lobsters,” Jake said to the vendor, dramatic as ever. “These are practically celebrities. I feel like I should be asking them for autographs.”

The fishmonger laughed. “Only if you’re paying celebrity prices.”

Jake squinted at the man, then turned to glance briefly at Y/N and Sunghoon standing a few steps behind. “She likes lobster,” he said, pointing his thumb at Y/N. “You’re really gonna make me tell her we couldn’t get any?”

The vendor raised a brow, grinning. “She’s that special, huh?”

Jake didn't skip a beat. “Special enough for a discount.”

Y/N stifled a laugh behind her hand. Sunghoon just shook his head, arms crossed again, quietly watching Jake argue his way into a discount like he did it for sport.

In the end, Jake returned victorious, holding up the paper-wrapped package like it was a trophy. “Lobster secured,” he announced.

“For a good price?” Sunghoon asked.

Jake grinned, cocky. “For her, yeah.”

Sunghoon glanced at Y/N- she was still blinking at the lobsters, face lit up with delight- and then back at Jake. “She gets us cheaper prices, doesn’t she.”

“It’s like she’s a walking coupon.”

Eventually, with bags full of seafood, bunches of greens, and Jake still animatedly chatting to a vendor about how fish bones were the real flavor heroes, the trio made their way toward the bus stop.

The morning traffic had just begun to swell, but they caught an early local bus- half empty, smelling faintly of engine oil and coriander from someone’s breakfast bag. Jake hoisted the heavier crates into the luggage rack with ease, exchanging a cheerful “good morning” with the driver like they were old friends.

Y/N sat near the back, wedged between a bag of clams and a plastic tub of greens, her knees pulled slightly in to make space. Sunghoon took the seat beside her, holding a smaller insulated bag on his lap, while Jake stood near the front, holding onto the rail with one hand and using the other to keep talking to someone on the phone- probably his brother.

The bus rattled along, sunlight just beginning to filter through the dusty windows. Y/N swayed gently with the movement, occasionally bumping Sunghoon’s shoulder. He didn’t move away.

Sunghoon stared out the window, his expression as unreadable as ever- quiet, faintly furrowed, like he was measuring something in his mind he didn’t quite have words for. Not brooding, exactly- just present in a way that made him seem miles away.

Back at the diner, the morning unfolded in a quiet rhythm. The sun had finally risen, its light spilling gently through the fogged windows, catching dust motes in golden halos. Jake unloaded the groceries with theatrical groans- dramatic as always- while Sunghoon took the ingredients into the kitchen, his focus already sharpening.

Y/N had offered to help, but was quickly shooed away.

“You’re a guest,” Jake had said, wagging a finger at her.

“You’ll just get in the way,” Sunghoon added with less kindness, though the way his voice dropped suggested he didn’t mean it harshly.

So she sat on a stool by the counter, quietly watching.

Sunghoon began working on the lobster, his movements precise, economical. Just behind him, a bowl of shrimp was being deveined. Jake wandered in, scooped a small portion of shrimp into a tiny dish, and turned on his heel to head back out.

“What’s that for?” Sunghoon asked, not looking up.

“For the cat.”

“Don’t give her too much,” Sunghoon mumbled, slicing through the shell of the lobster. “Too much shrimp’s bad for them.”

Jake paused, raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“I researched,” Sunghoon grumbled. And then, very deliberately, turned away- shoulders hunched slightly, like he could hide his face behind the curve of his neck.

Y/N bit back a smile.

Curious, she followed Jake to the front of the diner.

Out on the stoop, crouched beside the faded step, was a small orange cat- half asleep, tail flicking slowly. Jake knelt in front of her, placing the dish down and murmuring something Y/N couldn’t hear. The cat opened her eyes, then lazily leaned forward to sniff the shrimp.

“She likes Sunghoon more,” Jake explained, glancing over his shoulder. “He’s the one who found her, you know. Took her to the vet, made a whole bed for her in the storage room. Doesn’t talk about it though.”

Y/N crouched beside him, her fingers grazing the rough concrete as she stretched her hand out. The cat blinked up at her. And then, coolly, with that feline grace, nuzzled her head against the back of Y/N’s hand before turning toward the shrimp.

Y/N’s face lit up with something between surprise and wonder. Jake, still crouched, leaned back on his heels and gave her a grin.

“She likes you,” he said.

“Not as much as Sunghoon,” she replied softly.

Jake chuckled. “Don’t worry. That’s not a competition you want to win.”

Inside, behind the glass, Sunghoon paused in the middle of peeling garlic and glanced out- eyes lingering just long enough to catch the scene before ducking his head again.

By the time Jake and Y/N returned to the kitchen, the smells had bloomed- garlic, butter, a hint of chili, the sweetness of seafood carried gently in the steam rising from the stovetop.

Sunghoon didn’t say much as he plated the dishes he made- three new ones he was considering for the menu.

First, Typhoon Shelter Shrimp- lightly battered prawns fried with garlic, chili, and crispy bits of breadcrumb, piled into a modest heap that still looked restaurant-worthy.

Next, Steamed Clams with Black Bean Sauce, served in a shallow bowl, the clams peeking open through a dark, aromatic glaze flecked with scallions and red pepper.

Then came Pan-fried Grouper Fillet- seared till golden and crisp on the edges, set atop a spoonful of soy-ginger sauce that glistened under the diner lights.

He worked in a quiet rhythm, focused and precise. Then, without warning, he reached for a fourth plate- larger than the others- and gently lowered two halves of a garlic butter poached lobster, its tail meat already split and fanned slightly apart, a bit of lemon zest caught the light.

Sunghoon didn’t glance up. “That’s for us to eat,” he said, placing the plate aside. “Not for the menu.”

Jake barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no way can we afford to put a lobster dish on the menu.”

Sunghoon shrugged modestly, but there was the faintest trace of color in his cheeks. “You said you think about lobster every day,” he muttered to her, not quite meeting her gaze, as he sat down beside her.

Jake pretended not to hear it and sat beside him, already reaching for chopsticks to taste the shrimp. “Okay, but this shrimp? We are putting this on the menu. I’ll fight you if you say no.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “We’ll see.”

Y/N sat down with the lobster dish in front of her, quietly touched- and a little amused. “It’s so over-the-top for a random weekday.”

“It’s not random,” Sunghoon replied.

A week later, the typhoon shelter shrimp was added to the menu- not because Jake insisted. But because after the lobster, Y/N enjoyed the shrimp the most.

xi.

“Guess who I just got off the phone with,” Jake walked into the shared bedroom, flicking his phone onto the middle table.

“Who?’ Sunghoon asked, eyes still stuck on the book he nestled in his lap.

“My dad,” Jake stated.

That got Sunghoon’s attention. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Jake plopped down on his bed, surprised by the lack of wrinkles on the sheets and messy laundry. Sunghoon had cleaned it up earlier, unable to have the sight of clutter. “He said business has been picking up again. Things seem good, apparently.”

“Oh,” Sunghoon’s gaze dropped, unable to look at Jake’s triumph. A low anxiety settled in his stomach, his muscles tensed. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, and he meant it. But he wasn’t sure what the consequences of that would be.

“You’re worried about the diner now, aren’t you?”

Sunghoon and Jake were twenty-six now. They’d met at twenty-one- two strangers with miserable jobs and a few bills in their pockets- and somehow, five years later, they were still shoulder to shoulder.

They’d started the diner together, moved into a tiny rented flat above it, and never really left each other’s orbit. It was five years of waking up to the same alarms, sharing the same instant coffee, arguing about grocery budgets, crashing after shifts in the same room. They'd grown around each other like ivy- tight, inevitable, inseparable.

It wasn’t just closeness; it was muscle memory. The kind of bond where silence filled in the blanks and secrets barely had time to form. They never needed to say much to be understood. Some things stayed unspoken, sure, but even those things were known in that quiet, mutual way.

Over the years, they’d learned how to read each other better than the back of their own hands.

Sunghoon knew Jake got cranky when he was hungry, that he liked ketchup on his rice sometimes and got defensive about it, that he flicked his wrist when nervous and couldn’t keep still when something bothered him.

Jake knew that Sunghoon didn’t like being touched by new people, that a small smile from him meant more than full paragraphs, that when his brows dipped ever so slightly, it meant he was in his head again- thinking too hard, spiraling quietly.

“Your brows are drooping.”

Sunghoon tutted at him, turning his head to hide his expression. “What are you on about?”

Jake sighed and lifted himself off the bed, circling around the table to reach Sunghoon. He towered over him, which was odd. Sunghoon was the taller one between them. But as he looked at Jake now, curled into a corner of his bed, he felt small and weak- like the future wasn’t in his hands anymore.

“Listen,” Jake started, a firm hand placed on Sunghoon’s knee. “I’m not leaving the diner until you do, understand?”

Sunghoon leaned his head against the wall, eyes stubbornly fixated on his book.

“I stuck with you while you sent money back home for your sister and you stuck with me when I was sending money back to my family,” Jake continued. “We’re in this together, man,” he patted his knee. “I’m not leaving you hanging.

Finally, Sunghoon turned to him, eyes narrowed, almost like he was holding sorrow. “I’m grateful for you, Jake,” he mumbled. The world felt foreign in his mouth- foreign to Jake’s ears. He didn’t say things like that- not often, not at all. But Jake didn’t poke fun at him for it. “I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Jake gave him a curt smile and settled at the edge of the bed, whatever spec was left beside Sunghoon’s legs.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

Sunghoon almost hesitated, afraid that it would ruin the moment. He licked his lips, tongue suddenly dry. The thought itself made him feel confused, light headed. “Do you like Y/N?”

Jake immediately scoffed. “I just told you my family’s making more money and that’s the question you ask?” He wasn’t offended. In fact, he had a teasing smile on his mouth, a light expression. But Sunghoon knew that it was his way of steering a conversation, of changing the topic.

“I’m being serious,” Sunghoon raised his voice. “What exactly are we doing here?”

Jake thought about it for a moment- Y/N. He couldn’t deny that her name always brought a pang to his chest- the good kind. The kind of feeling you get when your mother cooks your favourite food for dinner or the feeling you get when you realise you’re someone’s favourite person. He smiled every time just thinking about her- her shy gazes, the way she could banter with him, the way she helped him cheat in mahjong.

What exactly were they doing?

How could he even let this happen?

Despite everything he was starting to feel himself, Jake couldn’t ignore the way Sunghoon was around her. It was different- undeniably, unmistakably different. He was softer with her. Not in any dramatic or romantic way, not overtly, but in the small things.

Sunghoon, who usually kept people at arm’s length, who bristled at new conversations and avoided eye contact when he wasn’t in the mood- he welcomed her in. He smiled more, spoke first, ran across the neighbourhood with a tube of cockroach repellent because she called him in a panic. He listened to her, remembered things she said in passing, let his guard down in ways Jake had rarely seen, even after five years of friendship.

Jake watched it all from the sidelines- quietly, almost respectfully- but it gnawed at him. Jake knew his friend. And he knew this girl made him happy- that this wasn’t just kindness. It was carefulness.

“I don’t know,” Jake finally said, not knowing how to articulate his thoughts. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze. “I really don't- she’s-,” he sucked in a breath. “The mahjong, the random trips, just her presence. I don’t know what it’s doing to me.”

“You do,” Sunghoon insisted. “You’re just denying it.”

“I can say the same for you.”

Sunghoon looked away now. “I guess, I don’t know either,” he admitted and let a moment of silence pass by them. “It’s really up to her now, isn’t it?”

Jake hung his head low, picking at his nails. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he sighed- and suddenly, his eyes were on Sunghoon again, hand on his knee. “But I hope you know- whatever happens-”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He just knew. And the silent acknowledgement between them was good enough.

xii.

Sunghoon was getting good at mahjong- his moves were more confident now, his hands steady as he arranged his tiles. He wasn’t winning every round, but he was no longer the tentative beginner he had been a few weeks ago. The grandmas had started nodding in approval, their teasing turning into genuine respect.

Jake, on the other hand, was still struggling. Every turn he made was accompanied by an exaggerated sigh or a panicked glance toward Y/N. More often than not, he leaned closer to her, whispering questions like, “Wait, is this one good?” or “Do I throw this? Or is that, like, a war crime in mahjong?”

Y/N tried to keep a straight face, whispering back in between her own turns, giving him subtle clues without outright cheating. But even then, Jake's face would scrunch in concentration like he was defusing a bomb, only to make a hilariously bad move and groan dramatically when the grandmas cackled.

“Maybe you’re just not built for this,” Sunghoon said once, eyeing Jake’s chaotic tiles.

Jake shot him a glare. “Sorry I didn’t emerge from the womb with mahjong instincts like you.”

It was an empty afternoon again, one where their usual customers were either busy with work or had already come and gone. It was one of those evenings where Sunghoon and Jake could put their diner duties aside and tend to a game of mahjong. And this time, instead of macaroni in broth, they had the new prawns that had been added to the menu.

Sunghoon won that round- against Jake and two grandmas.

“Again?” Jake groaned, slumping back in his chair. “That’s your third win in a row. This is rigged.”

One of the grandmas clicked her tongue. “It’s not rigged, boy. He’s just better than you.”

Jake threw his hands up. “Traitors, all of you.”

Sunghoon only smirked, stacking his tiles neatly while the grandmas reshuffled theirs with seasoned ease. Y/N returned a phone call just in time to catch Jake pouting.

“Another loss?” She guessed, setting down a fresh pot of tea.

“He cheats,” Jake muttered, pointing at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Tell them how you discarded a winning tile. Again.”

“I was distracted,” Jake defended. “You were humming. Who hums while playing mahjong?”

“I do,” Sunghoon replied easily, glancing up at Y/N.

She laughed and settled next to Jake, stealing a warm rice cracker from one of the side bowls. “Maybe humming is your power move.”

“No,” Jake said, pushing the cracker bowl toward her. “His power move is being unreasonably good at everything.”

Sunghoon shrugged, like he couldn’t be blamed for his talents. “You’ll get there eventually.”

Jake didn’t reply to that- he just looked at Sunghoon for a moment, then turned away, his smile tight around the edges.

Y/N broke the moment by asking, “One more round?”

“Believe me, I want to,’ Sunghoon grinned, watching Jake roll his eyes. “But we really need to get that cooker fixed.”

“Right, that was today,” Jake grumbled, already leaving his chair to untie his apron.

The grandmas immediately started groaning in protest.

“You can’t leave on a winning streak,” one of them complained, dramatically slapping a tile down.

“Children these days,” the other muttered. “No sense of honour.”

Jake put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright! We’ll make it up to you next time. Promise.”

“You said that last week,” the first grandma narrowed her eyes.

“That time I meant it less,” Jake said as he backed away toward the kitchen, “this time I mean it more.”

Y/N turned to Sunghoon, eyebrows raised. “What happened to the cooker?”

“It started sparking,” he said plainly, gathering up the tea cups. “I turned it off before it blew up. Jake panicked and tried to throw salt at it,” he added under his breath.

“I panicked like a normal person!” Jake called from the back.

Y/N laughed. “That explains why everything tasted weird yesterday.”

Sunghoon paused, then looked at her deadpan. “That was Jake’s cooking.”

A crash echoed from the kitchen. “I heard that!”

Y/N grinned as she stood up to help stack the mahjong tiles. “Where are you getting it fixed?”

“Place a few streets over. Some guy Jake knows,” Sunghoon said, slipping into his shoes near the door. “Are you free? You should come?.”

Y/N looked down at her phone, then at the door. “I am.”

Jake poked his head out. “We’ll get snacks after.”

“Sold,” she smiled, grabbing her jacket.

They walked to the market, the broken cooker tucked under Jake’s arm like some odd, metallic baby. He led the way with a confidence that only came from knowing every shortcut and side street in this part of town, throwing back quick comments without ever breaking his stride.

“Left here,” he called over his shoulder. “The guy’s stall is just past the tea shop that smells like socks.”

Sunghoon wrinkled his nose. “That’s specific.”

“You’ll smell it when we get there,” Jake said cheerfully.

Y/N walked in the middle, quietly entertained, her gaze darting between the signs and the noisy carts rattling past them. The morning air had settled into a pleasant kind of warmth- sunlight catching on wet pavement, leftover from a brief drizzle. It smelled like vegetables, vinegar, and fish.

“You sure this guy’s legit?” Sunghoon asked, eyeing the wires poking out of the cooker.

Jake scoffed. “He fixed our microwave last year. It hasn’t exploded once.”

“That’s your bar for success?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jake grinned. “Low expectations, low disappointments.”

Sunghoon shook his head but didn’t argue. He just matched his pace with hers, occasionally nudging her away from puddles she didn’t notice.

They reached the stall after one wrong turn and a minor argument about directions. The cooker was handed off, and the old man behind the counter promised to “have it breathing like a newborn” by sundown.

With time to kill, the trio ducked into a nearby street vendor alley, following the scent of fried dough and something sweet. Jake immediately beelined toward skewers; Y/N lingered at a cart selling mango sago; and Sunghoon stood at a distance, scanning both of them with that same quiet attentiveness he always wore when no one was watching.

Jake returned with a stick in each hand, waving one at her.

“It’s fried fish cake. Try it.”

She took a bite and made a face. “It tastes like regret.”

Jake laughed so hard he nearly dropped his own.

“I can make them better,” Sunghoon chuckled under his breath and handed her a small cup of chilled soy milk he’d picked up. “You’ll need this.”

As the three of them leaned against a low wall near the alley exit, chewing and sipping and laughing at nothing in particular, there was a pause- a moment soft and slow. A lull in the city’s noise, the kind that only comes when the company is easy and the day has no demands.

Y/N spoke first. “Do you guys ever get sick of spending every day together?”

Sunghoon blinked. Jake turned toward her. “Nope,” Jake said. “He annoys me less than most people.”

Sunghoon shrugged. “It’s been five years. Too late to start hating each other now.”

Y/N smiled. “You two are weirdly wholesome.”

Jake looked over at Sunghoon and raised an eyebrow. “Weirdly?”

Sunghoon just sipped his drink, not denying it, remembering the previous night’s conversation.

xiii.

Y/N was nervous to visit their apartment.

It wasn’t because she didn’t want to go- she did, very much. It was just… strange. Strange to be friends with people like them. Jake and Sunghoon were twenty-six. They’d lived through things she hadn’t yet touched. They had bills and taxes and lived away from home. They ran a business. They had a cat that visited their diner every morning and a complicated relationship with a fish named Clementine.

Y/N, by contrast, was twenty. Barely. One of those overachieving kids who had done everything right- grades, clubs, national-level sport that now made her knees click, university courses that looked impressive on paper but left her exhausted. On most days, she still asked her mom where the scissors were.

She told her parents she was going to meet a college friend that afternoon. Which wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Just not the whole truth. She didn’t know how to explain her friendship with Jake and Sunghoon- their diner, their banter, the quiet comfort of peeling garlic at the counter while they bickered about radio stations.

So she didn’t. She just snuck out quietly, like she was doing something wrong, and met them at the corner where they’d said they’d be.

Now, she was knocking at their door.

Sunghoon opened the door, his usual calm composure softening into something warmer when he saw her- a glint in his eyes, a small toothy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Behind him, Jake was frantically sweeping the floor. It wasn’t an unusual sight. He’d done that plenty of times in the diner- he was the one who took care of it after all- but here, in the cozy mess of their home, it looked a little more chaotic.

Sunghoon leaned against the doorframe, amused. “I know he keeps the diner polished, but at home? He’s the messiest person I know.”

Jake straightened, tossing the broom aside with dramatic flair. “You’re just a clean freak. I’m normal.”

“Normal is debatable,” Sunghoon said, already stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N crossed the threshold slowly, curiosity bubbling beneath her nerves.

Their apartment was nothing like hers.

It was small- the kind of small that made everything feel close, almost intimate. The hall barely fit three people comfortably, and it connected directly to the open kitchen, where mismatched mugs hung on a rail and bags of flour were stacked in the corner like a permanent fixture. She caught a glimpse of the single bedroom beyond, where two beds sat neatly divided down the middle, each with a different colored blanket. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, light spilling out onto the floor tiles.

Jake noticed her glance and beamed. “I redid the whole thing myself. The bathroom, I mean. Best construction work of my life.”

Sunghoon cooked lunch for them that day- something quick but flavorful, the way he always did. Lately, it felt like all their hangouts revolved around food. Which, honestly, made sense. Jake and Sunghoon owned a diner. It was kind of their whole thing.

But Y/N didn’t mind. In fact, she loved it. She liked the rhythm of their lives, the casual way they threw ingredients together, the jokes tossed across the kitchen like confetti. She liked how nothing about them felt routine, even when it technically was. Around them, she didn’t feel like a cog in a machine, or like the overachieving kid who peaked too early. Her life wasn’t mundane anymore. Around them, she felt… interesting.

While Sunghoon moved around the kitchen with quiet focus, sleeves rolled up, Jake pulled a chair for her near the fish tank- a big, square glass box wedged beside a cluttered shelf and a sunlit window. Inside, four goldfish swam in lazy loops, their scales flashing gold and white in the water’s filtered light.

Y/N leaned closer, resting her chin on her palm. “Did you name them?”

“Nope,” Jake said, popping a cracker in his mouth. “They’re all called Clementine.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nodded like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Every time one dies, we replace it and call the new one Clementine. At this point we’ve been through at least... seven? Eight? So now, they’re just all Clementine.”

Y/N burst into giggles, shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s efficient,” Jake said, smug. “We don’t get emotionally attached, and we don’t have to remember names. Win-win.”

“Sunghoon, did you agree to this?” she called out.

From the stove, Sunghoon replied without turning. “I tried to name one Junebug once. He changed it back to Clementine in twenty-four hours.”

Jake grinned, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s tradition.”

“So what’s for lunch?” Y/N asked, leaning forward on the table, the light from the window catching in her hair.

“You’ll see,” Sunghoon said coolly, eyes still trained on the stove as he added something into a sizzling pan.

Jake, without a word, got up and walked over to the low drawer under their small TV. He crouched, rummaged for a second, then returned with a battered deck of cards in hand. With a practiced flick, he started shuffling them, the soft snap of the cards punctuating the calm.

“Do you know how to play poker?” Jake asked, looking at Y/N with that glint of challenge he always wore before a game.

Y/N flushed and shook her head. “Nope.”

Jake gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “You know mahjong... but not poker?”

“It’s embarrassing, I know!” Y/N cried, laughing. “I’ve spent so much time playing with those damn tiles that I never got around to the cards.”

“Wow,” Sunghoon called over his shoulder. “What even got you into mahjong?”

“It’s like a thing in my family,” she said with a shrug. “All my aunts and uncles are obsessed. I basically had no choice. It was either learn or be exiled from game nights.”

Jake began dealing out three neat piles of cards onto the table. “Well,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “you’ve taught us mahjong. Now it’s time we return the favor.”

“Get ready to lose,” Sunghoon added, placing a lid over the simmering pot and finally joining them at the table. He smelled faintly of garlic and soy.

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully. “You’re both very confident for people who nearly cried during a tile draw last week.”

Jake raised his hand. “That was Sunghoon.”

“I did not cry,” Sunghoon said flatly.

“You almost did.”

“Chopped onions were on the table.”

“There were no onions,” Jake said.

“There were onions in my heart,” Sunghoon replied.

Y/N snorted, half-folding in on herself with laughter as Jake passed her her hand of cards.

Sunghoon returned from the kitchen, balancing three mismatched plates in his hands. He set them down one by one, the warm aroma immediately curling into the air like an embrace.

It was a simple lunch- egg fried rice with just the right amount of sesame oil, pan-seared tofu with a crisp glaze, and stir-fried greens. But what made Y/N pause, just for a second, was that it was somehow all her favorites. Things she’d mentioned offhandedly before, little details she hadn’t realized they’d remembered.

She looked up. Sunghoon was already settling into his seat, acting like it wasn’t a big deal.

Jake clapped once, oblivious. “Okay, we eat and play. Ultimate multitasking.”

“I can’t learn a new game and chew at the same time,” Y/N protested, laughing.

Jake winked. “Sure you can. That brain of yours? Gifted.”

Sunghoon reached for the cards. “We’ll go slow. I’ll talk you through it.”

They began.

Jake narrated with too much enthusiasm, while Sunghoon clarified things with quiet patience. Y/N listened, nodded, and still somehow managed to mess up the first round.

“Wait, I thought two queens was good,” she said, frowning at her hand.

“It is,” Jake said, “but not if I have three kings.”

“Oh.”

Sunghoon slid her a napkin. “You’re doing fine.”

Y/N laughed as she took a bite of tofu. It was perfectly crisp, not too salty- exactly how she liked it. She didn’t say anything, but she met Sunghoon’s eyes for a moment across the table, and he gave her a small, barely-there smile before looking back down at his hand of cards.

Something about that smile made her chest feel tight, but not in a bad way.

They kept playing- Jake competitive, Y/N increasingly flustered, Sunghoon quietly amused. The game was half-played, half-taught, interrupted constantly by someone reaching for rice or teasing someone else.

Somewhere between losing her third hand and trying to sneak a peek at Jake’s cards, Y/N gave up and leaned back with a groan. “Okay, wait. Pause. Can we talk for a second? You can’t just keep destroying me in poker without a little storytelling.”

Jake raised a brow but didn’t stop shuffling. “Are you trying to distract us so you can win?”

“Maybe,” she grinned. “But seriously- how did you two end up opening a diner?”

Sunghoon didn’t look up from his cards. “Long story.”

“We were both broke, had struggling families, and hated our jobs,” Jake explained. “We worked in the same restaurant- he was a chef and I was there for some reconstruction work. We met one night by chance and just-”

“Quit,” Sunghoon finished his sentence. “We quit within a week, rented that space out and opened the diner. spent all our savings on it.”

“And we're doing much better now, obviously,” Jake said. “The diner is doing so well.”

“Yeah,” Y/N smiled. “It's my favourite restaurant.”

“You’re lying,” Sunghoon mumbled again, not looking up from his cards.

It wasn’t accusation- just disbelief, soft around the edges. He couldn’t quite picture it, not when Y/N probably ate at places with white tablecloths and waiters in pressed shirts. The kind of restaurants with velvet cushions instead of plain wooden chairs, ambient jazz instead of a jukebox in the corner. Not… their place- their little diner with its flickering sign and chipped coffee mugs.

But when Y/N leaned forward, her smile calm and certain, something about it quieted that disbelief. “I’m really not,” she said.

The game began to dissolve somewhere around the fifth round. Y/N stared down at her cards, utterly lost, as Jake tried (and failed) to keep a straight face while explaining the rules for the third time.

“I give up,” she groaned, tossing the cards down in mock defeat. “This is too much. I’m never going to get it.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly but didn’t say anything. He’d already won the last two rounds without even trying. Now he was leaning back, sipping the last of his tea, eyes watching the cards like they still had something to say.

Jake tapped the table. “Alright, alright. Poker night is officially over.”

“Thank God,” Y/N muttered.

There was a pause. Then Jake stood up, brushing crumbs from his jeans. “Wanna see Sunghoon’s stash of old books?”

Sunghoon raised a brow but didn’t object. He just let out a soft exhale and nodded once. “Go ahead. It’s under my bed.”

Jake grinned, already halfway to the bedroom. Y/N followed him, not quite sure what to expect.

Their bedroom was simple. Two twin beds, pushed against opposite walls, with a narrow dresser squeezed in between. The room smelled faintly of citrus and something smoky- like old wood or incense. Jake knelt down and tugged at the edge of one of the beds before dragging out two large cardboard boxes, the sides worn soft with use.

“Behold,” he announced dramatically, “the Dragon’s Hoard.”

“Jake, don’t call it that,” Sunghoon called from the table, his voice muffled but amused.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor as Jake opened one of the boxes. Inside were books of all sizes- hardbound, leather-bound, dog-eared paperbacks. Some were stacked with scraps of tissue between the pages, others had post-its jutting out like flags.

She reached in slowly, reverent. The first thing her fingers touched was a thin volume of poems- its cover pale blue, the title fading into silver scrollwork. She opened it. Inside, the pages were covered in Sunghoon’s neat handwriting- translations, notes, small circles around particular lines.

“This is beautiful,” she whispered.

Jake smiled. “He found one at a flea market in Busan. Swears it changed his life.”

Y/N gently lifted another- a weathered book of Korean folktales, the cover cracked and stained from time. Beneath it, a French novel, a Japanese ghost story collection, a hand-sewn booklet of traditional recipes.

“How does he even find these?” She asked.

Jake shrugged. “He has a radar for them. Even on our busiest days, he’ll walk past a pile of trash and somehow come back with a book worth reading.”

Y/N chuckled, then hesitated. “Why does he keep them here? Why not on a shelf?”

“We kinda don’t have space for a shelf,” Jake paused, sitting on the bed. “But he says if he sees them every day, he gets distracted. He wants to forget about them for a while. Let them surprise him again when he opens the box.”

“That’s…” She trailed off, touched in a way she couldn’t name.

Sunghoon had been standing at the frame of the door, silent and making himself invisible. The pair didn’t realise he was there.

“You can borrow some if you want,” Sunghoon offered.

Y/N, startled, turned back to look at him. “I couldn’t… are you sure?”

“You’ll take care of them.”

xiv.

Y/N had a set of ceramic plates that she liked to collect. She hadn’t told anyone about it- the confession always made her feel a little old. But she’d been collecting for a while now, and it was easy, considering all the markets around her had at least one stall that sold ceramic items.

That morning, before going to the diner to play mahjong with the grandmas, she realized that one of the plates had broken. Honestly, it wasn’t that deep- but it seemed to bother her more than she liked. The frustration seeped into her game, clouded her focus, and tugged at her expression. Everyone could tell she was off.

“What’s wrong, honey?” One of the grandmas asked, pausing mid-turn.

“Oh, nothing,” Y/N sighed, her fingers fidgeting with one of the mahjong tiles.

The conversation made both Sunghoon and Jake stop in their tracks- Jake paused mid-wipe, rag in hand, while Sunghoon froze over the chopping board, green onions half-sliced. They wouldn’t say they were eavesdropping- they knew they were listening- but it didn’t feel like they were supposed to be part of the conversation.

“I have this plate that I really liked, and it cracked this morning,” Y/N explained. “Like, straight into three big pieces. Just broke.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s what’s bothering you?” Another grandma chuckled, rubbing her back in gentle comfort.

“It’s stupid,” Y/N laughed softly at herself and tried to get back to the game.

“Jake knows how to fix plates,” Sunghoon blurted out.

The group turned- first to look at Sunghoon in the kitchen, then to Jake leaning casually against a table nearby.

Jake had his arms crossed. He shrugged. “Yeah, it’s just glue and some paint. I’ve fixed a few in the restaurant.”

Y/N looked down at her plate again, realizing exactly what he was talking about- the dish in front of her had faint cracks near the rim, sealed with glue and tinted to blend in.

“I could help?” Jake offered casually.

Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared into the kitchen. The clatter of drawers opening and closing echoed faintly, and moments later he returned, holding up a familiar tube of glue like a tiny trophy.

He gave her a small grin. “Just say the word.”

A long walk later, Jake was in Y/N’s apartment, and it was exactly as Sunghoon had described it.

“Very Y/N,” Sunghoon had said once, and Jake hadn’t known what that meant until now.

It was quiet- not sterile, but composed. Like the kind of place where every object had a story, every corner had been arranged with quiet care. Ceramic bowls sat neatly on a shelf in the dining nook. A bookshelf leaned against the wall, not overflowing but selective. Plants, small ones, lined the windowsill like they belonged there.

Jake stood just inside the living room, the broken plate wrapped in cloth in his hands, careful not to track any dust in from outside.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Y/N said, although there was no mess to be seen. She shut the front door behind him quickly and quietly. “My parents are still at work. You’ve got like, an hour.”

Jake grinned, whispering in mock secrecy. “Wow. So this is a covert mission.”

“You’re literally fixing a plate,” she rolled her eyes, trying to keep her voice low. “Let’s go to the dining table. It’s better lit there.”

Jake followed, placing the wrapped plate gently down. “Still can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone you collect ceramics.”

She pulled out chairs for both of them. “Because it sounds weird and delicate and obsessive. I’m already enough of a nerd.”

“I think it’s kinda cute,” he said, unwrapping the broken pieces.

They sat beside each other, knees slightly touching. Neither were bothered by it, neither seemed to care. Jake brought out the small tube of glue and a brush from the pocket of jeans. Y/N watched as he carefully arranged the broken pieces on the table. His movements were slow and calculated. For someone so chaotic most of the time, he was strangely calm now.

“Do you do this often?” She asked.

“Sunghoon drops things constantly. We have a bunch of glued-together dishes at the diner. But I’ve gotten better at hiding the cracks.”

Y/N reached out to turn one piece gently, aligning it with another. “Don’t hide them.”

He paused. “No?”

She shook her head. “I kinda like the cracks.”

Jake looked at her- like, really looked at her. Her brow was furrowed just slightly, eyes focused on the jagged edges, like she cared about the object not just as a plate, but as something worth saving. It made something tug in his chest.

“Alright then,” he murmured. “We’ll keep the cracks.”

They worked in silence for a while, fitting the three pieces back together like a little puzzle. Y/N held them steady as Jake applied the glue, his fingers brushing hers a few times- warm, gentle, fleeting. Once it was secure, he pulled out a small tube of gold paint.

“What’s that?”

“Kintsugi style,” he said. “Fixing the cracks with gold. Makes it prettier. I saw it in some article and started doing it at the diner.”

Y/N watched in quiet fascination as he used a thin brush to trace the fault lines in the ceramic with gold. It gleamed, soft and subtle, catching the light from the window.

“There,” Jake leaned back slightly, admiring the plate between them. “Better?”

“It’s beautiful,” Y/N whispered.

Her fingers hovered just above the gold-lined cracks, not quite touching the surface. Something about the way the gold shimmered softly in the afternoon light made the plate feel even more precious now- like its story had only just begun. She looked up, about to say something else, but stopped when she realized Jake hadn’t looked away.

He was watching her.

Not like how someone watches a friend, or even with his usual teasing curiosity- but quietly, almost searching. His eyes softened as they met hers, and suddenly, it was like the space between them had shrunk to nothing. They hadn’t moved- but they were closer.

The moment pressed in, slow and quiet.

Jake’s arm was still on the table, elbow bent, fingers smeared faintly with gold paint. Y/N’s hand rested near his, close enough that the backs of their fingers brushed without meaning to. Neither of them pulled away.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, just barely. Her heart fluttered wildly, and she knew- she just knew- that he could hear it in the silence between them.

She didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe no one had, maybe it was just gravity, pulling them together the way it always did when people sat a little too close and looked a little too long.

Jake’s eyes flickered down to her lips, then back up. Just once.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Their faces were inches apart now. Her gaze had dropped to his mouth without realizing it, and when she met his eyes again, there was something unreadable there- an emotion suspended between impulse and restraint.

Her lips parted slightly.

Jake moved- just a breath forward.

And then he pulled back.

It was slow, intentional. His eyes didn’t leave hers until the distance returned, enough to break the spell. And then, of course, he smiled. That crooked, half-sincere, half-distracting Jake smile.

“I should get back to the diner,” he said, voice soft but steady.

Y/N blinked, a beat too late. The spell cracked. “Right,” she said quickly. “Yeah. Of course.”

Jake stood up, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake something off. He stuffed the glue and brush back into his back pocket with practiced ease, like he hadn’t just pulled away from something almost fragile.

Y/N remained seated, watching him move around the room, suddenly unsure of where to look. Her chest still felt tight- not painfully so, just… alert. Like she’d been holding something too close to the edge.

Jake slung his bag over his shoulder and turned toward her, pausing by the doorway. His eyes found hers again, gentler now, more familiar.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” he said. “And trusting me with your cracked plate.”

She gave a small smile. “No. Thanks for fixing it.”

Jake grinned. “Anytime, darling.”

Then he was gone, slipping out the door like he hadn’t almost kissed her- like he hadn’t just left a quiet storm behind.

xv.

Y/N came to the diner that evening just like she always did. The neon sign buzzed quietly above the doorway, casting a soft pink glow over the sidewalk. The cat- a sleepy little thing who’d claimed the entrance as her own- was curled up just beside the door. Y/N paused for a second, crouched to scratch gently behind her ear, then stood and slipped inside. The air was warm, carrying the familiar scent of broth and soya sauce, and the gentle hum of clinking cutlery filled the space like usual.

"Morning," Jake grinned, tossing her a wink.

Y/N returned the smile.

And Jake went back to talking to Sunghoon, laughing about something she didn’t catch. He waved when he saw her, casual and easy. Sunghoon clearly didn’t know about what had happened- about what hadn’t happened.

And perhaps he didn’t need to know. Perhaps there truly was nothing there to know. Over the night, Y/N had convinced herself that nothing had happened- that she was too in her head.

They played Mahjong that night like they always did. The grandmas were already seated at their usual table, shuffling tiles with practiced ease. Y/N joined them with a familiar smile, slipping into her seat as if nothing had changed. If anyone noticed her slightly quieter demeanor, they didn’t say anything.

Jake was the same- animated, teasing, losing every single round with exaggerated groans and theatrical sighs. Sunghoon won a round when Y/N stepped away to refill her tea, and the grandmas joked that it was only because she wasn’t playing.

Everything, on the surface, was normal.

By the time the grandmas started gathering their things, the sky had dipped into a deeper blue, and the diner had emptied of customers. The soft clatter of dishes from the kitchen was the only other sound in the quiet space.

Jake dried his hands on a towel and checked his phone. “Shit, I have to go. That hardware guy just texted- he closes in fifteen and he’s holding that sink part for me.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair, tossing a wave toward Y/N. “I’ll be back in, like, twenty minutes.”

Y/N nodded. “Don’t rush.”

Then it was just her and Sunghoon.

Sunghoon looked at her from across the table.

“Want to keep playing?” He asked, already reaching for the tiles.

Y/N gave a small smile. “Sure.”

They played slowly at first. No banter, no distractions- just the soft click of tiles on the table and the low murmur of their voices calling out suits. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was focused, easy, and in some odd way, comforting. Outside, the sky had turned the color of steel.

A few moves in- it started to rain.

At first, it was gentle- a steady pattering against the diner windows. But soon, it grew louder, heavier. Fat drops streaked across the glass, turning the neon glow from the sign into a pinkish blur.

Sunghoon glanced up from his hand and let out a small laugh. “Of course it’s raining.”

Y/N turned to look outside. “Of course.”

His phone buzzed on the table. He checked it, then held it out for her to see.

Jake: Took shelter in that garage down the street. Raining too hard to walk. I’ll go straight home from here.

Sunghoon pocketed his phone. “Guess it’s just us.”

Y/N gave a noncommittal hum and started shuffling the tiles again.

“Your parents won’t get worried?” He asked.

She shook her head. “They’re not home,” she gave him a soft smile.

They’d been playing for what felt like hours- time stretching long and slow the way it does when there’s nowhere else to be. The diner was still wrapped in rainlight and quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep into your bones. Outside, the world was all wet pavement and streaked windows. Inside, the Mahjong tiles whispered across the table, and somewhere in the corner, the cat stretched, tail twitching in sleep.

“You’re cheating again,” Sunghoon said suddenly, voice low but edged with amusement. He didn’t look up right away, just tilted his head toward her tiles, eyes flicking over the suspiciously good hand she was building.

Y/N glanced at him through her lashes. “I’m just good, Sunghoon. Accept defeat.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He glanced down at his own hand, pretending to study it, but his fingers stayed still on the tiles.

The rain outside pressed harder against the windows, beads of water tracking down the glass like slow-moving tears. The neon diner sign was little more than a hazy smear now- pink and gold rippling across puddles. The lights inside buzzed softly overhead.

“You know,” Sunghoon said, still not looking at her, “I used to think I liked the quiet.”

Y/N stilled, mahjong tiles stuck between her fingers. She didn’t interrupt- just watched and waited.

“Before you showed up, this place was quiet in a way that felt... right. Not good, not bad. Just what it was. Like breathing. Or peeling wallpaper. Something that doesn’t ask for attention.”

She tilted her head, eyes softening. He still wasn’t looking at her.

“And then you came in.” He finally raised his gaze- not sharp, not teasing. He looked steady and sincere, like everything in his life had built up to this moment. “With your laugh that made the Mahjong grandmas forget it was their turn, your ease, your kindness. I don’t even know what you did but you changed everything,” he smiled, barely- the kind that cracked at the corners but didn’t last long. “And it stopped being quiet. And I didn’t want it back.”

Her fingers lingered on a tile she hadn’t yet played. The cat, curled up beneath a booth nearby, stirred slightly, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said. “When I should’ve. I told myself it’d pass. That you’d get bored eventually. With the udon. The broken tables. The smoke. With us,” he swallowed, like the words sat thick in his throat. “But you didn’t leave. And I kept not saying anything. And now…”

A beat. The sound of distant thunder, low and slow.

“I don’t need you to love me back, Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just needed you to know I do.”

He looked down, finally breaking eye contact. He reached forward, picked up a tile like nothing had shifted- like the weight of what he’d said didn’t sit heavy between them now.

Then he placed it down gently.

“Your move.”

xvi.

The thing about Sunghoon was that he was always normal.

He could lose a limb and still wake up at 6:30, make rice the same way, fold the same tea towels, and sweep the front of the diner like the earth hadn’t shifted beneath his feet. He was built for composure- for endurance- the kind of person who swallowed chaos like pills with water and never spoke of the side effects. Even when his world cracked, he would smooth over the edges and carry on.

So, in the days that followed, Sunghoon treated Y/N exactly the same.

Same half-smile when she walked in. Same deadpan sarcasm when she dropped a Mahjong tile. Same way he slid a steaming bowl of soup across the counter and said “too salty today. Don’t complain.”

No lingering glances. No awkward silences. No change in tone, no shift in air.

It should have been comforting- familiar, even. But to Y/N, it felt like standing in a room where someone had painted over the walls in the exact same shade, except one spot hadn’t dried, and you couldn’t stop noticing it.

She didn’t bring it up. Neither did he.

Jake didn’t seem to notice anything was off. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t say anything either- a theme, it seemed, between the three of them.

The Mahjong games resumed. The grandmas teased, the udon simmered, and the diner breathed in its usual rhythm.

But Y/N couldn’t quite get her own rhythm back.

She wasn’t cold with Sunghoon. She wasn’t avoiding him. She just didn’t know what to do with the space he’d created between them- that strange invisible line he’d drawn and then walked away from like it didn’t exist.

And maybe that was the part that stuck with her the most.

He had told her he loved her- and then went right back to washing dishes like it meant nothing.

Like it was a Tuesday. Like she was just another girl who came in for soup and Mahjong.

It was the weekend of the Mid-Autumn Festival. The neon diner sign stayed off for once, its usual greenish glow swallowed by the soft, flickering lantern light that spilled through the streets.

They had planned it a week ago- Sunghoon, Jake, and Y/N- to spend the evening at the local carnival just a few streets away. The kind of event strung together by plastic booths, cheap music, roasted chestnuts, and paper lanterns that hung overhead like constellations.

Y/N stood near the corner of the intersection, half-watching the festival lights blur through the fogged street lamps, when she saw Jake approaching alone, she got concerned.

For a moment, a quiet panic settled in- the kind that bloomed without warning. Was this Sunghoon’s way of pulling away? Of singling her out after what he had said? Maybe this was how things would start to shift- subtly, awkwardly- until the warmth between them curdled into something unfamiliar. She hadn’t expected it to sting like this.

She blinked, brows pulling together. “Where’s Sunghoon?”

Jake shrugged, already a few steps away from her. “Fever. Again. Happens every year around this time. He always pretends it won’t, and then he crashes like clockwork.”

Y/N frowned, concern flickering across her features.

Jake waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. I’ve spent every Mid-Autumn either dragging him around or stuck inside making him soup. This time,” he said, flashing her a grin, “I actually get to go with someone who won’t cough on me the whole night.”

Y/N’s eyes softened just as he reached her. And for a second, Jake just looked at her, examined her. His smile shifted from playful to something quieter, more genuine.

“You look incredible, by the way,” he said. “The qipao suits you.”

She smoothed down the side of her dress, suddenly aware of how snug the fabric felt. “Thank you.”

“Red’s your favorite color, isn’t it?”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “…Yeah.”

They walked side by side down the narrow street, the buzz of music growing louder, blending with the rustle of leaves and the shouts of children chasing each other between stalls. The festival had swallowed the neighborhood whole- lanterns strung like stars across the rooftops, booths selling everything from fried dumplings to rabbit-shaped buns, the air thick with sweet and savory smoke.

Jake bought roasted chestnuts and passed her a warm paper packet. She took one, let it rest in her palm before cracking it open.

“You always this generous with your snacks?” She asked.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Only for people who don’t mock me at Mahjong.”

She grinned. “So never?”

They moved from stall to stall with no real direction, the rhythm of the carnival pulling them along like a tide. Jake bought her more snacks, pointed out the worst-dressed lanterns, and cracked jokes at every booth. He didn’t hesitate to reach for skewers, barter with vendors over silly prices, or shove her gently toward the candied hawthorn stand when she hesitated.

When they passed a game booth- the kind with flashing lights, plastic hammers, and impossible odds - Y/N began to move past it without thinking. But Jake stopped.

“Oho,” he said, eyes lighting up. “These are my thing.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “Didn’t you just lose miserably at the ring toss?”

Jake scoffed. “That’s a scam. This,” he gestured at the game setup, “is skill. I am built for this.”

Y/N laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he grinned. “Pick a prize.”

The booth was lined with prizes- neon frogs, cartoon ducks, little plush radishes with blushing faces, and at the center- a fat round cat wearing a red scarf.

Y/N raised a brow at the cat. “I like her.”

Jake nodded enthusiastically. “And you’ll have it.”

He handed over the tokens to the vendor, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles like a man preparing for battle. The music started, lights began to blink- quick and erratic- and Jake moved with speed and precision, hitting the right sequence with an ease that almost made it look choreographed.

The machine let out a cheerful jingle. Jackpot.

He shot her a smug smile. “Told you.”

The vendor, unamused but efficient, handed him the cat. Jake turned to Y/N and placed it gently in her arms with a mock ceremony. “For my lady.”

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, trying not to smile too wide.

When they reached the lantern-painting booth, Jake slowed his pace.

The space was tucked into a quieter bend of the carnival- half-lit by paper lanterns swaying gently from bamboo poles, the sound of laughter and music dulled here, like it had been placed under glass. People sat two-by-two at long, low tables. Children dipped brushes in watercolor, couples leaned close to whisper meanings behind symbols, old men painted silent wishes with practiced hands while their wives held the paper still.

It was intimate. Soft in a way that didn’t fit him.

Jake hesitated at the edge, hands in his pockets, scanning the crowd as if unsure this was a place he was allowed to step into. But Y/N had already slid into a seat, looking up at him with a raised brow and a half-smile.

“Come on,” she said, patting the bench beside her. “You don’t have to be poetic.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, smiled faintly, and took the seat next to her. He picked up a thin brush, stared at it for a second like it might bite him, and then dipped it into the ink.

“What are you painting?” He asked after a while, glancing at her paper.

Y/N tilted her lantern toward him- a red koi, bold and rising, swimming upward against a flow of soft blue current. Something about it reminded him of her- stubborn and graceful all at once.

He turned his own lantern around, showing her what he’d written:

Tin Cups Diner.

She snorted. “That’s it?”

Jake shrugged, half-grinning. “It’s the best place on earth.”

Y/N shook her head but didn’t tease him further. They just sat there for a moment, shoulders nearly brushing, watching each other from the corners of their eyes. The brush water rippled faintly between them.

Later, when the fireworks began- loud bursts splitting the sky into molten gold and violet- they left the crowds behind. The temple garden wasn’t far, a sloped patch of grass just beyond the canal. They found a quiet spot beneath a ginkgo tree, close enough to hear the river, far enough that their silence didn’t feel strange.

The lanterns had begun to float.

Dozens of them- painted, inked, marked with names and hopes and half-meant prayers- drifted down the canal like paper stars. Their glow danced in the water, flickering with each ripple, as if trying to stay alive just a little longer before the dark took them. They wondered how far their own lanterns had gotten.

Y/N sighed softly. “I used to come here with my cousins,” she said. “Every year. It always felt like something big would happen here. Like the year would change or something.”

Jake glanced sideways at her. “Maybe it is.”

She turned to him, unsure what he meant.

Jake reached down and tugged a blade of grass from the ground, rolled it between his fingers like he needed something to do with his hands. His gaze stayed on the canal, on the soft flicker of firelight reflecting off the water. And then he said, almost casually, “I think I’m falling for you.”

Y/N froze.

Jake didn’t look at her- not yet.

“I wasn’t going to say anything tonight. Didn’t want to ruin anything,” he added, with a breath of a laugh. “But then you smiled at that old lady who gave you the dumpling and I just... yeah.”

He finally turned to face her.

“You make everything feel easy. And loud. And too much. And I like it. I like you. I don’t know how it happened- how I got here. I woke up one day and I just knew. Liking you- loving you has been the easiest damn thing I've done in a while.”

His fingers flexed slightly, like he was holding back from reaching for her.

Jake pressed his lips together. “And I know that’s not fair. I know you didn’t ask for it. But that moment… that day in your house- when we almost kissed- that meant something. I know you felt it too.”

He leaned in just a little, like he was trying not to push, but couldn’t help himself.

“I’ve been trying to be the version of me that waits. That doesn’t ruin things. But I swear to God, Y/N, if I have to keep pretending that didn’t happen- that it didn’t change anything- I’ll lose my mind.”

Another pause. His voice dropped, almost like a confession to himself.

“I’m not asking you to pick. That would be unfair on you. I’m not trying to be the loudest voice in your head either. And if you don’t want to pick- that’s perfectly fine, too. I just… couldn’t let tonight end without you knowing that I’m already in it. All the damn way in it.”

READ ENDING HERE

144 notes · View notes

ughgoaway · 4 months ago

Text

all those dreams where you're my wife

Word count; 10.8k (my longest fic ever??)

Content warnings; Swearing, being sick, excessive/unsafe drinking, fighting, many emotions, sex, unsafe sex (time is of the essence here), public sex, in this universe men wear engagement rings okay, jumping perspectives, mediocre writing, defo spelling errors however if I read this again I'll die, and hurt no comfort… (sorry not sorry).

Authors note; it's taken me fucking forever to write this monster of a fic, and it might be shit and all be wasted time, but at least I had a fun time doing it for the first time in a while. Hope you all enjoy <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

A cheesy pop song blasts in your ears as you watch your sister unwrap yet another thing with “bride to be” plastered across the front, and somehow she's still just as thrilled by it every time. She's wrapped up in the dressing gown you got her, once again with “bride” sprawled across the back, but you ensured her name was also embroidered on it, reminding her that she does still have an actual name that is unrelated to the man she’s marrying.

Matty sits next to her, faking excitement and feigning smiles with every unwrapping, cooing and beaming, putting up a pretty good act. But knowing him as you do, you can see in his eyes that all he wants is a cigarette and some peace and quiet. Still, it looks like he’s doing a pretty good job fooling the rest of the room judging by the swooning from the other bridesmaids. You hear the hushed whispers shared between your sister's so-called friends, trying not to roll your eyes as each word falls from their lips.

“Oh, isn't he just so sweet?”

“He can't keep his eyes off her!”

“Ugh, he’s so perfect. Does he have a brother? I need to find someone just like him”

The last comment cuts especially deep, and it takes everything in you not to mutter under your breath that she just needs to wait until her older sister gets a boyfriend and then simply steal him out from under her and marry him. But to make it authentic, she would need to make sure she told that sister throughout the entire relationship how awful and manipulative said boyfriend is. And finally, to really ensure accuracy, she would need to only wait 3 weeks after they break up to text him. That's how your sister found Matty, after all.

Not that you were bitter, or anything.

Despite seeing right through Matty’s devoted fiancee act, you can't deny that every smile that passes his lips is like a bullet to your chest. Each present is a new shot being loaded in the chamber, even tacky gifts like matching “his and hers” mugs and “Mr and Mrs Healy” engraved watches are agony.

You swear you could hear the click and spin of the bullets being slowly loaded in with every balled-up piece of wrapping paper. The shared coy grins hit you harder than anything, and if you looked down you were sure crimson would be spreading over your dress, distorting the dusty rose satin as the blood pools in your gut from the bullet holes left behind.

A shrill scream forces you to focus again, but every fibre of your being wishes you had left your head swirling in your nightmare. Matty's eyes are filled with something other than distaste for the first time in the evening, but not because they're meeting yours as you had hoped. Instead, he watches with a sly smile as his bride-to-be opens the present from him, a brand new Hermes Birkin bag. It’s a garish shade of bubblegum pink with silver hardware, the stiff leather detailed so carefully was almost taunting you, a perfect representation of your nauseatingly perfect sister.

The pure bliss on his face, matched with the tears pouring from your sister's eyes becomes too much, and suddenly you feel bile rising in your throat. You manage to slip away unnoticed, mainly due to the ear-piercing squeals coming from your sister's stuck-up housewife friends as they internally damn their husbands whilst acting happy for the future Mrs Healy.

You barely make it to the bathroom before the 6 glasses of champagne you downed unceremoniously come up again, gripping the cold ceramic basin as you vomit, tears streaming down your perfectly made-up face with each gag.

Slowly you stand again, head rushing as the blood pooling in your head trickled down your body. Too quickly you’re faced with your reflection, staring into the mirrored cabinet as you turn on the tap, letting the water wash away the contents of your stomach. You can't help but trace over your features as you stare, the bags under your eyes are decorated with smudges of black mascara and tears, making the deep purple they already were more obscured and sunken.

Snot drips from your nose, and you feel out of your own body when you see your hand go up to wipe it, but you swear you didn't move an inch. Your eyelashes are clumped together, sticky makeup gripping them harshly, and your once-freckled skin is caked in thick layers of foundation and concealer, hiding any sense of personality you have. Baby pink blush is delicately placed on the apples of your cheeks, faking laughter and smiles that you couldn't muster if you tried. Lastly, your eyes finally meet themselves, staring into your soul unwavering, it’s cruel and intrusive as you see your every emotion leak from them.

You bear your teeth at yourself, watching your cheeks wrinkle as they tug themselves into a grimace, fighting so hard to pull it harder into a smile, but your skin fights back. One day you'll learn how to hide how you feel, plaster on that grin in a way that doesn't look like a wince, but today is not that day. The wrinkles that decorate your face tell the story you can't, the story of agony and yearning, of missing someone you let go. Pink lipstick is pulled across your face, tugging your dull and lifeless skin as your hand smudges it on purpose, desperate to see colour back in your face.

The rose colour fills the smile lines on your face that were once deep and full of joy. Now, they're replaced by frown lines and crow's feet, sinking deeper and pulling any youth and joy left out of your face. Every day, more of each leak from your soul, replaced by envy and disgust, by the memories of the life you had, by watching the life you were meant to live being played out in front of you, with your sister in your starring role.

A harsh knock on the door pulls you away from dissecting each and every inch of yourself, a familiar voice ringing through the wood.

“You alright love? I saw you run off, guessed this would be the only place you'd be” Matty’s voice leaches through the barrier between you, and you can't decide whether you need nothing more than to see the pity in his eyes or if that would just be another bullet. Still, you unlock the door with a click, meeting his eyes with your practised smile, praying it's not the poorly guised scowl you did earlier.

His eyes flutter at the sight of you, fighting the cheap look of sympathy he wants to give. You watch his chest expand, his mouth opening and closing as his hand reaches out to yours. The warmth of his skin was so close to radiating on yours before it was snatched away, your sister swooping in and grabbing it, draping herself over his shoulder with a pouted lip and a look of pity covering her face.

“Oh god, what happened to you?” she asks brashly. Tact never was her strong suit, any thoughts she had always either decorated her face or simply fell straight from her lips.

Honesty tickles at your throat, and you feel the words clawing their way out, “I was so disgusted at the idea of you marrying the only man I've ever loved that I was fucking sick. And I'm so jealous and jaded that I can't even face myself one more day. Every time I see you both a part of me dies, and I don't know how much of me there is left to lose.”

But obviously, you push that honesty so deep down it once again becomes resentment, and you muster up a lie, “m’ so sorry. Someone at work has a bug and I think I've caught it. Had to run and make sure I didn't ruin your day.” your voice dripping with faux sorrow.

Matty's eyes narrow at you, his fingers fighting to loosen from the vice-like grip of your sisters, but she doesn't budge, cooing at you before speaking, “Oh dear! I hope you'll be okay by Saturday, you're doing the cake!”

For a second there you thought you were about to get actual sympathy from her, but no, just another selfish desire clouding any semblance of sisterly love left in her body. So you feel less bad when you answer her saying, “No no, I should be fine, but only if I miss your bachelorette tonight. I'm so sorry, but we can’t risk you getting sick too.”

Her full body cringes at the idea of getting sick before her big day, so she begrudgingly agrees to let you have the night off, but not before adding that you “owe her big time.” You have to fight the part of you that wants to say her stealing your boyfriend pretty much absolves you of any favours forever, but instead you nod and smile solemnly.

Sickly strong perfume swarms your senses as she wraps herself around your body, rocking you from side to side as if hushing a baby, “we’ll miss you so much! I'll have a drink in your memory, yeah?” she remarks as if you're dead already, gripping your shoulders so hard that her acrylic nails leave crescent-shaped marks in your skin. She pulls away a few seconds too quickly for most families, but honestly, any contact with her at this point makes your body practically break out in hives.

Before you can process it, a familiar aftershave overwhelms you, hands sliding behind your back just had they had done a thousand times before. Matty strokes your skin how he used to, 3 long drags across your back and a squeeze before locking his fingers in the hollow of your back, resting his chin on your head. Seconds drip like honey in his hold, and your eyes flutter shut as memories cascade over you.

But the cold unforgiving air rushes you soon enough, Matty’s hand once again caught in the stronghold of your sisters. Matty's eyes hold yours as he's dragged back into the garden, nodding at you three times to ask if you're really okay, the way he used to when it was just you two, the same caring look pooling in his eyes.

You don't nod back.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

The burn is familiar when another glug of tequila slides down your throat, the very last drops falling on your tongue as you shake the bottle dry, desperate to feel anything other than the pain caused by the shitstorm in your head. But whatever tequila you managed to force down your throat wasn't even enough to make you tipsy, let alone enough to start to forget. You're starting to think you won't ever forget, you know that physically he’s gone but he’ll never truly leave.

The cupboards in your kitchen rattle as you throw each and every one open, desperate to find another bottle of something. It could be half empty or full to the top, you just needed something to dull the everpresent ache. You’d never felt like this before, it's all so painfully new. But fuck, you wish it was somehow a familiar kind of new, maybe even the same new as it was when Matty first met you. A warm new rather than one so icy and cold you feel forever frozen. Empty cabinets taunt you, and eventually, you throw yourself on a chair in your kitchen, tapping the wood of the counter as exasperation fills your bones.

You try to stay where you are, alone in your empty house, your leg rattling the chair you're sitting on with every impatient bounce of your knee. But an empty house isn't ever really empty; it's simply sitting and waiting, just like you. Soon, the waiting becomes too much, and your inability to forget drags you from your house with your keys in hand, walking to the closest bar with the cheapest shots.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

The bell over the bar door jingles as you skulk in, moving straight to the corner, preparing to hole up there the rest of the night. But a familiar chortling laugh fills your ears whilst simultaneously filling you with dread. Slowly you turn your head, letting your hair obscure your vision in some delusional hope that you don’t know exactly who that laugh came from, and that when you turn your head your eyes aren't going to meet his.

But you turn anyway, pulling your hair away from your face and everything clicks just as you thought. A table covered in bottles and glasses, cheap crowns precariously placed on each head around. Raucous laughter poured from every drunk body sitting around the filled table, except for one. Matty’s ring finger traces around the lip of the half-empty beer he has been nursing all night, his eyes unfocused and staring off into the distance, his friends oblivious to him as they chant “Chug! Chug! Chug!” at George downing yet another cheap beer.

You want to move away from the vision before you, but you stay locked in, looking, staring, studying.

Waiting.

And then, he shifts his view, so subtle anyone would miss it, but you don't. Recognition gradually turns his downcast features, the light slowly filling them back up. You can't bear to see the relighting of whatever fire is still glowing inside him, so you rip your gaze away, spinning off the chair and ripping open the door to the smoking section, welcoming the harsh biting air.

The clatter of the door makes the few drunks outside scatter like cockroaches, avoiding your eyes as they filter back inside. Blood pounded in your ears, once obnoxiously loud music overshadowed by your heart's racing. Shaking hands make you drop the cigarette you had viciously ripped from the pack onto the cobblestones, soon trampled by your pacing feet.

Your vision begins to blur, the view of your body quickly unfocusing and focusing as if you're looking through a shattered camera lens. The familiar bile rises in your throat again, now replaced with the vague flavour of tequila compared to the cheap champagne of earlier.

Hunched over a plant you start to gag, fighting the urge to vomit with every fibre of your being, unwilling to lose the buzz you need to even think about going back in there. But a familiar hand on your back rips any tipsy feelings from you violently, sobering you up so quickly you're sure you could ace any drunk driving test thrown your way.

Your body rips itself away from his touch as if it set your skin ablaze. You’re sure if you looked at your back there would be a red and blistering burn in the shape of his hand, engagement ring brandished into your weeping skin, taunting you.

Silent staring is all you can manage, sucking in deep breaths of the smoky air, trying not to look like you're a deer in headlights, and failing miserably. Matty hides his shaking hands, forcing them into the pockets of his jeans, fiddling with the loose blunt in there and fighting the desire to pull it out and light it.

Someone has to talk eventually, but it physically can't be you, it feels like something is sitting on your chest forcing the air out of your prickly lungs. If you opened your mouth, it would be nothing but a discontented squeak, a measly attempt at trying to stop this before it happens, to undo this night and never see Matty again.

Is that what you really want? To never see him again? It hurts like hell whenever he's near, but you've come to find it a comforting sort of agony. The kind that makes you feel validated in your hurt, that you're not just making it up for attention. Seeing Matty feels like pressing on a bruise just to remind you the pain was always real. You can hear your therapist screaming at you in your head right now that this is not a “healthy attachment” but maybe it doesn't need to be healthy, maybe-

“Nothing to say, then?” Matty stops your internal monologue from spiralling any further, breaking the ice and plunging you both into the cold water below you. Fight or flight fills your body when you start to feel the metaphorical freezing water fill your lungs as you suck in desperate breaths.

But you choose to fight, Matty is blocking the doors, and scrambling over the bushes next to you whilst tempting, doesn't feel practical considering the state you’re in.

“Why are you here?” is the first sentence that rips itself from your chest. It's a stupid one, you know it is. You see the husband-to-be badge on his chest, you saw the gaggle of drunk mates that surrounded him at the table, all with the same half-askew crown that is sitting on his sea of curls.

He steps closer, sucking in a breath to speak, you can’t help but flinch helplessly, hot tears already brewing at your lash line. Fuck. You didn't want to be emotional, you wanted to be calculated, fierce, cutting. You wanted him to walk away with a hole in his chest no doctor or therapist could ever heal. They say you can't stare at your wounds forever, but you need him to be eternally marked by the memory of what was.

“Should be asking you that really. The smell of tequila coming off you doesn't scream “I'm deathly ill” so,” Matty shrugs, dying to inch closer but fighting the urge just enough so he doesn't have to see you flinch at the sight of him ever again.

You sigh heavily, looking down at your feet and tugging at your shirt, every feeling you'd had in the past 6 months rearing its ugly head all at once. He’s here. He's here and he feels real, his eye bags look more sunken than they had earlier, the harsh moonlight casting shadows on his faded skin. She isn't here attached to his hip or draping herself over him like an overattached mother at her son's wedding. Suddenly any chance of a simple goodbye flashes away, leaving only behind the horrible memories and questions of what was not even 6 months before.

“Do you ever think-” you stop yourself, word vomit scratching at your throat violently, but you swallow it down. Matty can't stop himself anymore, taking a single step closer, but you don't flinch, instead gazing up at him and letting whatever fills your chest pour from you.

“Do you ever think that I know you better than anyone will ever know you?” you say quietly, almost hoping he doesn't hear, but he does. You can tell from the way he shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out a lighter to fiddle with, the same thing he always did when anxiety started burning his lungs.

“We can't have this conversation.” Matty sighs out, hovering his thumb over the flame and letting the black soot build up on his skin, the slight warmth of it reminding him what's real. Well, that reminds him, and the way the light of the fire gleams off his engagement ring.

“You really think we can just move on? Go to the wedding and play happy families for eternity? I lost my soulmate that day Matty. My best fucking friend, and the only person I wanted to tell that I lost you, was you. And every time I see you it all comes flooding back.” You whine helplessly. The blood is finally flowing, you had ripped open the wound you'd been carefully picking at for the past six months. Any healing was gone, the only way out was stitching it back up yourself or letting it pour.

“I'm engaged. You can't be my soulmate, it has to be her. Or at least we have to do an incredible fucking job of pretending she is.” defeated breaths come with everything he utters, accepting whatever fate he resigned himself to the second she messaged, the second he realised there was no going back.

“Please. You're just using her as fodder for your shitty music.” you huff like a teenager talking under their breath, kicking a loose pebble

Matty’s eyes harden, clenching his jaw before he speaks “Don’t do this. Start jabbing at me like it's going to solve anything. We aren't 18 anymore, no arguments are going to be solved by me strumming my guitar like a twat or your passive-aggressive comments that drag on.”

“Oh please, like you getting engaged wasn’t a “jab” to me.” You gesture wildly before crossing your arms and sighing heavily. Matty opens his jaw and starts pointing at you harshly, “No it-” but you speak over him without a second thought.

“You know, Sometimes I feel sorry for you.” you hiss, “I know how awful losing us was. But mostly, I’m just fucking angry. I went through exactly what you did, and I could never hurt you the way you did me.” shaking hands force you to shove them in your pockets, the anger making the very fibre of your being feel like an uncontrollable fire getting another log thrown on the blaze.

“I never did it to hurt you. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, I can't.” Matty says softly as if he's trying to placate you. It doesn't work. He lost every right to be a source of comfort for you the second he replied to that message.

“You wanna know what I hate the most? The part that makes me so angry I can't think straight? I hate that everyone knows but no one ever says anything. They act like it never happened. Like we never happened. Does what we have suddenly vanish from existence just because you're playing dolls with my sister?”

“Had,” Matty says quietly.

“What” you huff, tensing your muscles and fighting the desperate breaths that claw at your lungs, scratching at your throat to try and force them down.

“What we HAD. not what we have. You made sure of that. You always seem to conveniently forget that YOU ended this, it's so easy to make me the villain but don't pretend you don't remember that night in your apartment. I got on my fucking knees and begged for you to stay. You don't get to stab me and act like you're the one bleeding. You did this.”

“What, so you'd think we'd still be together if I didn't end this? You're fucking delusional. Surely if you're so in love with her, it would've happened eventually.” you spit “her” like its ash on your tongue, burning your mouth to simply say it. Silence hangs for a few seconds too long, your eyes magnetised to each other, helplessly intertwined.

“I buy her your favourite perfume you know” Matty swaps topics so quickly it hurts your head, every ounce of air is huffed from your lungs as you ready yourself to interject, but he keeps talking, “She doesn't wear it all the time, practically never. But every once in a while when I close my eyes and night and pull her close, I recognise that smell and i can pretend it's you. And when the moonlight hits her engagement ring, I don't feel sick to my stomach.”

Fuck. the emotional whiplash suddenly feels all too real, every ounce of air is ripped from your chest and replaced with a crushing burst of realisation.

You caused this. Every crying session, every drunken night cursing his name, each hour spent stalking her social media. Every time he wished it was you in his arms at night, or even the times he pretended it was. It was all your fault. He wouldn't have let go, you left his life with claw marks left in your skin.

Before Matty can even process what he said, you sprint away slamming the doors behind you as the world spins in your vision. Everything wrong in your life is the cause of your own hand. Your feet feel unsteady, the wood below you shaking as if an earthquake is rocking only where you stand, following each step, rocking you so hard your nausea feels bone-deep.

The bones in your whole body feel wrong under your skin, tugging and poking, attacking you from the inside out as you slam the bathroom door behind you, shaking hands, fighting to lock the door but failing. Eventually, you drop your hands, giving up on the metal click of the lock so you can hover over the sink, staring at your wet cheeks and bloodshot eyes. It’s the image of someone whose very being has changed beneath them, someone you don't know if you'll ever recognise as yourself ever again.

Desperate, warm breaths fill your empty lungs. You’re drunk on oxygen, but still, you can’t catch your breath. Everything around you falls in and out of focus, the image of the stranger in the mirror distorts with each hungry inhale. Her face swirls and distorts, you feel like you’re trapped in a Picasso painting. Warped faces stare back at you, with some humanity trapped behind layers of paint and years of waiting.

Just as the focus pulls your eyes back, the door swings open, and you're met with Matty huffing as he stares at you hopelessly, wringing his hands nervously before slowly shutting the door, easily locking it with one hand.

He cautiously steps closer and closer, as if he’s trapped in a cage facing a lion, testing the waters and hoping he gets out of this alive. You stand motionless, fear and realisations wracking every nerve in your body, zapping you with taps of electricity, forcing your limbs to freeze in place and allow the pain to skittle through you.

Metres become inches that become centimetres; goosebumps begin rising on your skin, your heartbeat rushing and jumping to the same rhythm as how Matty used to laugh. Before your eyes can meet he envelopes you in a hug, his shaking arms wrapping around you. His familiar hands hurt your heart, sliding down your spine the same way they had one thousand times before.

“I wish I hated you,” you whisper, pressing your face into Matty’s neck and allowing your senses to be overwhelmed by him. The simple scent of patchouli, the familiar scratch of his shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his skin radiating onto yours. If you opened your eyes, you know what you’d see, what freckles dance across his skin where your gaze would meet it; you know every mark on his body forevermore.

Matty’s vocal cords feel frozen in place; all he can do is nod and pull you closer, letting tears flow down your cheek and drip onto his shoulder. Eventually, he tries to pull away, but your arms tighten. “I can't look at you,” forces itself from your lungs, the idea of facing the man you’ve spent the past five years loving so deeply it hurts your chest. They told you that kind of love for him would pass, that it always does.

It didn't pass.

Part of you regrets ever loving him, of ever letting him so deep into your soul that it has become hopelessly intertwined with his. Everyone who knows you knows him. And vice versa. The time passes, no matter if you’re together or apart, but you're never truly apart. There's no one without the other.

Your fingers loosen of their own accord, your mind unaware you're releasing the grip around the only body that feels as if it fits right with yours. Your gaze lingers on the room behind him, refusing to see whatever swims in his eyes. It feels exactly like it was, but somehow, it still feels so different, if you were standing in the same room with your arms around each other eight months ago, meeting his eyes would have been the greatest comfort you could imagine.

But everything changed, as it always does, and now the mere thought of looking into them makes the butterflies in your ribs that used to delicately flutter instead hammer against them as if they're trying to shatter you. Furiously trying to warm the heart you're now not even sure still resides there.

You hold his gaze. Just for one second, you tell yourself, but one quickly becomes two, which then becomes ten, even 15. They flitter away for a millisecond sometimes, but only to watch his lips that you could swear were inching closer and closer to you each time your gaze flicks down.

You only realise they had indeed been getting closer when they pressed against yours for the first time in months, slotting together as they had millions of times before, a heat you knew all too well. The voices in your head are berating you, screaming at you to take a step back, to shove him away with every ounce of your strength, but they all muffle at the very feeling of his body against yours, screaming as if they're trapped underwater and you're standing on the surface oblivious.

There’s no time for buildup, both of you terrified the other would soon realise what you're doing, as if there was some trance tricking you, forcing you to stand dead still against your will. A trepidatious press of lips soon becomes ravenous, hushed breaths and stolen moments finally rearing their head after being pushed down one too many times before.

Sharp fingernails dig into his scalp as you tug him closer, his moans reverberating against your lips as he walks you backwards, letting your back hit the sink behind you, pressing his whole body into you as far as he can, your limbs slotting together in familiarity. Wordlessly you jump on the hardwood, opening your legs and allowing him to come even closer. You have the realisation then that you’d let him inside your skin at this moment if it meant he could somehow just be closer.

Warm hands slip from your cheeks to the hem of your skirt, wrenching it up so quickly that you wouldn't be shocked if you heard the fabric tear in his vice-like grip. But you welcome him warmly, locking your heeled feet behind his back, somehow tugging him even more into your space.

Every tug of his hair forced his hips forward, groaning as the tent in his trousers brushes your panties, an involuntary move you remembered from evenings just like this one. Sneaking away from family dinners to find an empty store cupboard or stall to just feel each other, to try and stifle the ever-burning fires inside you both, it only got stoked with every shared glance and slide of your heel up his calf under the table.

Matty’s belt clinks as he wrenches it open, the soft leather tugging at his palms as he rips it off. The only reason he’d ever remove his hands would be fighting to get endlessly closer to you, every other second they’re blindly memorising every curve and dip of your skin. You follow suit, tugging down your panties as far as you could with your legs still locked in the hollow of his spine, tempted to just rip them so you don't have to disentangle yourself from him. Matty doesn't let you contemplate it for another second, ruthlessly tearing at the lace until that familiar ripping sound stops and you feel the fabric drop to the floor below.

He yanks down his boxers as best he can with his lips attached to yours, “Fuck, I need to be inside you, I need it” Matty huffs pulling away as if it pains him not to be connected to you, a magnetic force dragging you together. Messy top-lip kisses make you dizzy, his tongue pressing into your mouth and hypnotising you, but he has to tug himself away one more time, his eyes painful before they start roaming your skin as if he's studying fine art.

They dance across your figure, focusing on the small parts he never thought he’d see again. The familiar freckle on your inner thigh, the very place he kissed each time he ventured down between them, his self-professed favourite place in the world. Or the scar on your knee from childhood, he remembers you covering your reddening cheeks, telling him the story of how you got it. Falling whilst chasing a boy, desperate to kiss him despite his obvious non-interest, and all you gained from the experience was lifelong embarrassment and that very scar.

Suddenly, he needs to see everything; every memory of your body connected with his comes rushing back, and desperation fills his every vein. He wordlessly tugs up your shirt; his focus trained on the very spot he knew it would be, the rib tattoo he always warned you not to get exactly where you did. He was there when you got it, your carefully manicured nails digging into the flesh of his hand as you winced, leaving marks he wished had scarred so he didn't have to rely on his fleeting memories of you, instead, you could permanently initial his skin with those familiar crescent shapes.

He shakes his head, trying to focus on his words rather than the vision in front of him, “Shit, sorry,” he pants, “you deserve something more romantic, but all I can think is how badly I've missed you.” soft hands slide up your thighs, tracing a comfortable path over and over, thumbing those familiar marks.

“Y’know, I could have you forever and it still wouldn't be enough. You wouldn't be close enough,” he grunts, wrapping your legs tighter around him. It’s then he finally sinks in, your body welcoming him home, the familiar feeling giving you a comfort you thought you’d lost forever.

Your visions of a reunion never looked like this. They were soft and sweet, wrapped in white cotton sheets with hot sun flickering over your skin as it pierced through the trees. But this was fervent and desperate, hunger gripping your soul and tugging in his, no time for sweet words of adoration or full breaths. You simply gasp when you can, sharing his exhales in the few seconds Matty can bring himself to stop kissing you, only to lose your breath again with every thrust.

Whines and whimpers seem to travel through you into him, every cry you make is soon mirrored by an aching grunt from him, pressing himself as deep inside you as he can and sitting there, feeling your body contract and shake around him. His touch somehow coaxed you closer each time, his fingertips skittering down each bone of your back, swirling and pressing as he reminded himself of the feeling of you, the gentle warmth and softness of your very being.

Every unforgiving buck of his hips made your skin prickle, your whole body arching into his touch helplessly, magnetised to him. But his very presence was enough to lure you closer to that teetering edge. The rush of heat made your head swell, foggy with the heady and intoxicating feeling of the togetherness you’d been yearning for. Your heart thrummed under your skin, matching the pulses Matty felt around him, nerves igniting under your skin as you inch closer and closer.

Before you can feel that all-consuming rush Matty drags himself out of you, grunting as he watches himself disconnect, paining him so deeply he swears it's like a stab wound. But no complaints can slip from your lips before he's scooping you off the side and spinning you around, holding your body against his, your back pressed on his heaving chest, feeling each hungry breath he sucked in. He keeps you there for a few seconds, one hand on your hip the other splayed over your ribs. Your head falls to his shoulder, your closed eyes letting you fall into him.

Slowly his hand slides from your hip up to your shoulders, pressing you down until you're bent over in front of him, your overheated body pushed into his pulsing bulge, forcing a huff of air from his already empty lungs. Sluggishly, your eyes open, met with a reflection themselves, your blissed-out face, and your flushed glazed skin. They inch up, watching as you bite your ruby-woo-flushed lip when you finally see Matty staring back at you as a predator looks at its prey, hungry for something that's almost insatiable.

Almost.

Without warning he slowly starts inching himself inside you, so leisurely that if you didn't see the look on his face you would think he doesn't really care how quickly he can sink back into you. Your eyes flutter shut on their own as Matty brushes your walls, tugging at spots that would make anyone twitch and whimper. Harsh fingertips dig into your jaw, forcing your gaze back on him, his jaw ticking the second you refocus, a cheeky smirk tugging at his cheek.

That smile only growing when he watches your jaw shake, your eyes rolling so far back in your skull only the whites are visible, your hand clutching helplessly at nothingness as pleasure wracks through you. Eventually, his body melts into yours, filling you up so perfectly it feels as if his body was only made to fit with yours. Goosebumps rise in anticipation, dancing over your skin as Matty stays motionless, the seconds dripping like honey, dragging on so long it made your head fuzzy.

He groans heavily as he pulls out as slowly as he went in, teasing you mercilessly just so he can keep watching your jaw clench and your body tremble in his grip. But patience isn't his strong suit either, and when it's just the tip of him inside you, he can't help but drive himself into you, splitting you open with each vicious roll of his hips. Bending over to whisper in your ear, “Say thank you sweetheart” with a flash of that familiar cheeky grin.

“Thank y-” your first try ruined as a cry rips itself from your chest, Matty waiting until you open your mouth each time to bury himself to the hilt inside you, watching you stutter and fight the grunts leaving you. Eventually, you can force out a whisper, “Thank you fuck-” making Matty kiss the side of your head, groaning as he mercilessly fucks into you.

He planted kisses along your jawline, the sound of skin slapping skin almost overpowering the constant mumers and whines falling from your bitten lips. Pink flush danced across your skin, decorating your neck and chest and obscuring any marks on your body, the mirror in front of you was too steamed up from your needy breaths for you to see anything clearly, but your eyes were so far back in your head that you wouldn't be able to see your reflection anyway. “Fuck” you manage to whisper under your breath, using every ounce of energy in your body to form a word rather than incoherent pleads and begs.

Matty’s pace was erratic, not giving you a chance to breathe before jackhammering his hips and sinking back into you. You can't help but shudder each time he fills you up, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure skitters up your spine, pooling at the base as he pulls out, only to electrocute you as it shoots up with every merciless thrust. Death could come and get you here and now and you wouldn't mind. This is life and death, existence, non-existence, bliss, lust, love; it was everything wrapped up into a fuck in a bar bathroom.

Words were stuck in your throat, helplessly tugging at you but coming out as broken cries and whines, your hands gripping the cold porcelain basin as you felt the waves of bliss start growing. Matty always told you to tell him when you were cumming, you remember evenings spent with him trying to get you to utter that phrase as many times as he could in one night, with every forgetful moment punished with a deliciously painful slap to your thigh.

“Close” you force out with a grunt, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you’re sure you taste that familiar iron of your blood overwhelming your tongue. Your body writhes trying to hold it in, desperate to let the shockwaves of pleasure crash over your body. Hooded eyes eagerly force themselves open, your body needing to see that familiar nod, those three shakes of his head that meant you could let everything building up in you go.

Finally, after the clock seems to freeze and time ceases to exist, he nods, biting his lip and focusing on you, the very idea of looking away killing him.

You don’t try and hold back any noises, moans ripping out of your chest helplessly, your whole body writhing as the electricity you'd been forcing down finally starts shocking you, from the tip of your toes up to your scalp, unmissable and unmistakable. You savour each second of bliss, letting your hips stutter and your walls contract around him, pulsing and trying desperately to feel him fill you up.

“Fuck- I love you. Holy shit-” you mutter under your breath thoughtlessly, it falling from your lips as easy as it was to breathe.

Shit. Every part of you freezes at once, itching to know if he just heard what you said.

If he did, he's playing it off very well, not even faltering in his thrusts, keeping his laser focus on finally finishing with the woman he's spent months fantasising over. Visions of you swirl around his head almost constantly, even in moments he knows very well they shouldn't be, but it's impossible not to. When you're so effortlessly intertwined with his very being, how can he not spend each day affronted with the memories?

But none of that is in his head at this moment, he doesn't have to imagine you or think up what you'd be doing in this moment, you're here. Your body is in his grip and he's inside you, the very connection he had been yearning for.

You watch in the mirror as he finally empties himself inside you, one last thrust pressing every drop of cum into you, wanting the memories of this night to be stuck in his head forever. Huffs and groans fill the space around you, and it's then you know he definitely hadn't heard you, he's as oblivious as he always has been. The only emotion on his face is pure bliss as he pulls out, watching his cum drip from inside you, decorating that familiar freckle on the inside of your thigh.

Wordlessly he grabs a paper towel from beside him, wiping you delicately all whilst studying his cum painting your skin. You poorly stifle a laugh, and Matty finds himself smiling too, raising his eyebrows at you in the mirror as if to incredulously ask “What?”

You shrug, simply stating, “You're such a boy” with an eye roll. Matty pinches your hip teasingly, silently tugging your skirt from around your waist, trying hopelessly to make it look like he didn't just fuck you within an inch of your life in this random bar bathroom.

He tries to be sly as he bends down and pockets your destroyed panties, but Matty hasn't ever been known for his subtlety, and judging by the schoolboy grin on his face, he has them buried in his trouser pocket just as he wanted.

“C'mon, I'll call an Uber. Best we wait outside, I think someone banged on the door about 10 minutes ago, must want to fucking kill us,” he grips your hand, his effortlessly wrapping around yours as it had 100 times before, no baggage dragging you down.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

The Uber ride was quick, your apartment was realistically a walk away from this bar, but you were all too happy to spend the 8-minute ride with your tongue down Matty’s throat. He pulled away reluctantly only once, finally answering the slew of texts coming from his groomsmen back at the bar. You know you shouldn't, but every part of you needs to read the text over his shoulder.

You wish you hadn't.

Ross: where have you run off to? George is begging to down your beer, not sure how much longer I can fend him off.

Matty: sorry had to rush home, missus just missed me too much, see you on the big day x

Ross: Really? Can’t be apart for even one night? You two are sickening, see you then mate x

It made that familiar pit in your stomach start growing again, filling it with the knowledge that you’d just fucked your sister's fiance at his bachelor's party. And the worst part was, you didn't feel even slightly bad about it. In fact, you only feel bad about the fact you don't really feel bad, at all.

Just as you start to pick at the skin around your nails, Matty grabs your attention, his warm hand cupping your jaw and forcing your eyes to meet his. He flashes you a gentle smile before kissing you, starting slow but ending up with your hands tugging at his hair and his hand gripping any part of you he could hold.

You couldn't disconnect, keeping up your act all through your lobby, and in the elevator up to your place, ignoring the camera in the corner and the creepy man who was definitely currently watching the footage. But it was helpless, your bodies stuck together in perpetuity. So it continued throughout your apartment, clothes slowly appearing in rooms along the way, marked with the memories of tonight represented by a rogue shoe or shirt.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

Your vision unfocuses and refocuses as you blink heavily, trying to make sense of the darkness around you, moonlight pouring through your window, your curtains still pulled to the side. A smile creeps onto your cheeks when you remember why you're there, and why your bare skin is pressed against your blanket, your hand smoothly sliding to the other side of the bed, waiting to hit Matty's Body.

But they don't stop, instead, the only feeling under your fingertips is lukewarm cotton and wrinkles in the shape of his body. You have to hold in a sigh when you realise what this means, but you soon hear rustling, followed by a muted “fuck” when Matty stubs his toe on the foot of your bed whilst shrugging his shirt on. You close your eyes for a few seconds, deciding if this was really worth it, or if it would be wiser to just roll over and pretend you never noticed him leaving.

Is it better to have never spoken up and allowed him to slip through your fingers one more time, or should you speak up and risk the very thing you've spent the last months begging whatever god there might be to bring back?

Your voice breaks as you speak, cracking your eyes open just a few centimetres, staring at Matty’s shadowed figure in the doorway, “Please just stand there for a bit. Just- Please.” you see him falter for a second, his fingers stroking the handle of the door, slowly pressing it down.

More words pour from you before you can stop them, “Life feels long but it's not, it's so bitterly short. Just spend a few more seconds with me, even if it's so fucking uncomfortable and awkward, stay. I need it, you.” his fingers freeze at your hushed words, and slowly they slide off the shiny metal and his head turns. His features are shrouded in the 4 am darkness, but you know the look in his eyes. You always do.

He only stays for another minute, but those 60 seconds heal cracks in your soul that were so deep they felt irreparable. But soon enough, the doorway sits blankly and the figure once cloaked in darkness is replaced with the cherry wood door you know all too well. The pillows and sheets welcome you as they always had before, but this time the ghost of someone else lays next to you, the sheets still scrunched from the echos of his body.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

The light drips through the curtains, fingers of sun piercing through your room. Sleep was fruitless anyway, visions of the night before clouding your already muddled mind. If you slow your breathing and allow darkness to overtake you, you can still feel the warmth of Matty's body on yours. His hands gripping your headboard, sliding across your skin, marking you the way he always loved to. In the back of your mind, the mistakes made fade away with every breath you shared, each desperate kiss fixing things you thought were beyond repair.

Maybe this time would feel different, maybe this time it will just be different. Maybe there could be a this time.

The shrill ringing of your alarm reminds you of what today really is, and suddenly any chance of a this time starts to fade away. But you push that to the back of your mind, letting the familiar feeling of denial take over your brain.

It's just your sister's wedding, who she's getting married to is irrelevant. You just need to get ready, get to the venue and go. You can decide everything there, with him. It's finally time to stop letting things go.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

At the venue, people flutter all around you, talking on headsets furiously trying to figure out when the next flower delivery is set to arrive. You can't fathom where more flowers could fit, the whole place is already a sea of jasmine, roses, and lilacs.

Anger skitters up your spine when you see the delicately placed lilacs scattered around, the flower you’d held close as your favourite since childhood was now an accessory in the wedding of your nightmares. She knew it was your favourite, everyone did. The mural etched onto your ribs was reminder enough, your first and last tattoo.

Still, you sighed heavily, shaking the building tears on your lashline away and painting on a non-agonsing smile. You know your priority should be going to the bridal suite and gushing over your sister as she gets her hair and makeup done, but as you walk down the long winding corridor a different room is calling your name.

Matty had his own private room, you remember it was something he refused to compromise on in the planning stages of the wedding, making finding a venue almost impossible. You distinctly recall accidentally eavesdropping on an argument between the two of them early on in the planning.

Baby please, just stay with all your groomsmen like everyone does. You don't need your own room! I don't even get one and I'm the bride!” your sister winged like a child, tugging at Matty’s sleeve and pouting.

He sighed heavily before speaking, fighting the eye roll pulling at his eyes, “M’sorry love, but I can’t. You chose every other bit of this wedding, just let me have this one thing”

“Ugh. drama queen” she muttered under her breath, violently striking off another venue on her list, almost ripping the thin paper with her ballpoint pen.

Well, maybe not so accidentally eavesdropping. You took any chance to hear your sister to prove she was actually human, and not some perfect robot child here simply to make your parents resent you.

Your knuckles crack as you nervously pull your hand into a fist, all the breath in your body is wrenched out of you as you knock, nervousness tugging at every nerve. What would his face be when he answered? Would he even answer? If he knew it was you, would that change his decision? A million questions cascade through your head, repeatedly punching you in the gut, a vicious reminder this wouldn't be as simple as you'd deluded yourself into believing it would be.

But he does answer it, and it’s like you can breathe again when you see him, the dejected look on his face swaps for light filling his eyes when he realises it’s you on the other side of the hardwood, tugging you in wordlessly, and pressing the door closed with your body.

“Hi,” he smiles, bending down to peck your lips, the warmth sending you rushing back to last night.

“Hi,” you reply helplessly, your head too hazy to think of an original response, your brain would have parroted any words that came out of Matty’s mouth no matter what.

Neither of you can wipe the cheesy smiles covering your face, your features too lit up by the presence of one another. Matty’s hands slide a familiar path as he gazes down at you, sliding the silk of your dress over your skin, pausing them in all the places with the marks he remembered making the night before.

“How are you?” you say dumbly, staring up at Matty as if he hung the stars and the moon, as if he created every emotion you've ever felt, as if he made you as he knew you now.

“Better know you’re here,” he teases, bending down to capture your lips in a kiss, letting it drag on for too many seconds, your lungs desperate for another breath, but you can't drag yourself away from him, not even if you tried.

But biology gets in the way as it always does, forcing you just far enough apart for oxygen to fill your systems once again. But you stay gazing, admiring, memorising. Studying the way that singular curl drops on his forehead, or the way the bags that looked so heavy under his eyes yesterday have a certain new lightness today, the freckles that decorate them glowing through instead of being obscured by the darkness that was.

“Who would I be without you?” you say softly, watching as your hand cups his cheek, sliding that curl behind his ear and looking at it as it defiantly pops back out, springing as it falls back into place.

“Whoever you were meant to be” Matty answers, his smile faltering only slightly, quick enough that anyone else wouldn't have noticed, but you do. Before you can call him out on it, a harsh bang on the door makes you jump, Matty’s hand quickly sliding over your mouth to muffle the scream that came with it.

His finger goes to his lips in a shushing motion as he slides you behind the door before opening it, keeping one hand in yours behind the hardwood as he speaks to whoever is behind it.

You can’t hear whoever is speaking, but you can hear Matty’s replies, “Yup sounds good Adam.” Matty huffs, “What? No, I don't need to see it, Mate. Really I-” A heavy sigh leaves his lungs before agreeing.

“Ugh okay, let’s go then” he concedes dropping your hand quickly and closing the door behind him, trapping you in the suite of your nightmares, surrounded by reminders of why you were here, why you were both here.

You wait for the footsteps outside to stop before slithering out of his suite, your eyes shifting around making sure no one caught you. Luckily you got away unharmed. Or, mostly unharmed, your ego the only thing that took a bruise.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

You keep getting so close to grabbing Matty to talk all day, but every time you start someone drags one of you away. It starts with Adam grabbing him to confirm the seating, then another bridesmaid grabs you to calm down your sister, a task you'd rather die than do. A comedy of errors continued all day, the conversation broken up into one-word meetings before one of you got guided away for something totally unimportant.

But despite the conversation being broken up 100 times over, you both know what you're saying. Are we doing this? Is this wedding really going to stop before it's even started? You still don't have an answer, desperation to just know is clawing at your chest.

Finally, you catch him, miraculously alone in the entryway to the ceremony room, the flower-petaled aisle just starting at your feet. There’s no time for pondering and deep consideration, before you know it someone else would pop out of the woodwork and drag one of you away, so you go for it, no more room for subtlety left inside you.

“Well? Do you wanna leave? Go at the same time?” you almost whisper, playing with Matty’s fingers as his hand rests in yours, anxiety boiling over in your head. Your palms slowly grow clammy as your chest tightens, awaiting the response that would make or break this whole messed up situation. That would make or break you. Still, his eyes don't meet yours, laser-focused on your connected hands, his thumb brushing over your skin.

All it would take is a nod, half a nod, a movement so small it would be impervievable to almost every other person on this earth. This is the first time since you first met Matty’s eyes across a crowded room that you truly have no idea what he's thinking. His face is always decorated with his every emotion, clear as day. At least it always has been to you, feelings painted across his cheeks, swirling in his eyes, exposing themselves by how he licks his lips, or exactly how his eyelashes brush his cheek. Practically screaming at you.

But not now, something different is shrouding his features, some unreadable unknowable version of a man you thought you knew every facet of.

Finally, after what feels like hours, his tongue darts out and wets his lips, readying himself to give you the answer that decides if you’re just running, or if you’re running with him.

“I-”

“Matty!” a feminine voice behind him hisses, carefully manicured pink nails wrapping around his suited arm and gripping forcefully, tugging his hand from your gentle hold. It's then Denise slides into your vision, offering you a soft smile before returning to scowl at her son.

“I've been looking all over for you! We’re running late, let's get you where you need to go love, come on.” she gently tugs his arm, Matty following wordlessly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor below him as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. “See you in there darling!!” Denise says cheerfully turning to you, winking with the biggest grin spreading across her features.

The oxygen in your lungs gets completely ripped out, and it suddenly feels like every limb in your body could collapse under you, he didn't answer. If it's not a yes, it's a pretty fucking clear resounding no. That means the past 12 hours were nothing but a slip backwards, something he regrets. You're something he regrets.

But before he reaches the top of the aisle, Matty calls your name lightly, wrenching his head as far back as he can, your eyes meeting his gaze immediately. It's then he nods, 3 times. Your sign. Whatever this is, is happening.

All of a sudden the anxiety comes rearing its ugly head, but now it’s nervous excitement fueling it rather than a gut-wrenching fear. A plan starts formulating in your mind of exactly what you need to grab, where you’re going, and how this is all going to unfold. Is this going to work? Will it actually be different? Has this experience changed you both enough to never let this go again?

Maybe you could go on their honeymoon? You're sure Matty paid every penny for it, so does that technically make it his? You could buy clothes when you get to Greece, the bridesmaid dress you're wearing now is comfy enough for a flight, plus you'll be too distracted to think anyway. The second he’s yours again none of this will matter, you can throw your phones in the ocean and forget it all. It can be fresh again.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

Anxiety-ridden feet tap against the stones as you wait by the back doors, fighting the urge to check your phone for the thousandth time since you snuck out of the venue. It takes a long time to ditch your wedding, it's not like the movies. Or that's what you tell yourself when it's been 15 minutes and there’s no sign of Matty, and no noises of commotion coming from inside.

You decide that if it gets to 20 minutes and Matty still hasn't come out, you'll intervene. That must be around the “does anyone object” bit right? Or maybe you can just cause a general drama, pretend to have a heart attack, just something long enough to let Matty slip out unnoticed. But if you're honest, you think that might be impossible when you’re the groom.

Tick, tick tick. 20 minutes pass, and still no sign, not even a buzz from inside. With a huff you decide to sneak in, tiptoeing through the kitchen readying yourself to peek your head through the door, maybe he just needs to see your face again, a reminder of what's waiting on the other side of the ruin.

“-sickness and in health” you hear Matty’s voice before you see him, the microphone shoved into his face by the priest, something your sister insisted on, makes him echo through the whole venue.

When you finally step out of the kitchen, your world suddenly collapses in front of you. There he is standing up hand in hand, with not a single sign he's about to run for his life. He feels you enter the room, the way he always has. It's what happens when you spend every waking second together, something in your brain becomes fine-tuned to knowing when the other is near, and the tug between you starts.

But he flicks his eyes for only a second, avoiding any chance of seeing the look on your face, even though he could see it every time he blinked. Suddenly his tie felt tighter, tugging at the skin of his neck rougher than it was before, strangling him. The air felt thinner like he was climbing Mount Everest without an oxygen tank, his body starved of air. But he had to keep pushing, he couldn't look.

“Matty?” the priest prompts, and it's then Matty realises in his panic he’s missed some kind of prompt, looking around helplessly as if it's going to be written on the officiant's forehead.

“Your personal bit, honey” your sister hisses at him, quickly swapping her face for a calm grin and a giggle as she turns to the crowd, performing for them as she always does. She doesn't spot you standing in the corner wishing the ground would open up and swallow you, drag you down to the depths of hell that you’re sure would feel better than standing here watching your universe crumble.

“Oh right, um” Matty coughs awkwardly, his head darting to the side rapidly, fighting the urge to stare at you as he speaks, desperate to ditch the vows and instead blurt out an apology.

“You are my closest friend, my warmest love, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You are part of me, and you know me better than anyone I've ever met. Thank you for knowing me the way you do, thank you for loving me,” his voice breaks as he speaks, a gentle cough coming up as he tries to fix the waver in his voice.

The crowd coo at his emotion, Isn't he so sweet getting choked up over how much he adores her? But that's not the emotion clawing at his throat. Its guilt. It’s regret. It’s knowing he is honestly confessing his devotion, but he’s confessing it to the wrong person. It's knowing if he turned your head, he'd be facing exactly who he wants to speak to. But he can't. His head is glued exactly where it is, and if he moved it even one degree, he wouldn't be able to live with himself because of the look on her face, on your face.

The rest of the ceremony sounds like you're underwater, dragged under by the cold waves and forced to listen to muffled voices and cheers. Watching helplessly as he nods three times after saying I do, and studying the way his mouth meets hers when they say “You may now kiss the bride!”

Well, sometimes time changes everything. Sometimes it changes nothing at all.

#matty healy angst #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 angst #wedding angst #or maybe non wedding... you'll have to see ig!!!#if you hate this dont tell me it will be my final straw #im so fragile #this has taken me like 5/6 months so

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