#i imagine them writing notes to each other like they are in school as they enter and exit the birthing cabin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jakesimfromstatefarm · 6 months ago

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no doubt ── s. jy

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || angstttt, fluff, crack

↳ ✎ᝰ. 23.7k [never beating the allegations of getting too attached to my works and having too much fun writing i fear...]

↳ contains ── angst! very angsty but only after a lot of fluff...the cheesy cringe type but then it goes downhill real quick...but happy ending i swear!, mentions of insecurities, maybe one or two curse words, fic starts with jake dating og character named jenn, the use of pet names, jungwon practically plays therapist, jake is absolutely whipped for reader but is terrible at communication and a certified idiot . also jungwon is reader's best friend so the beginning sets up the context for that lolz

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── she's DONEEE [do u hear me crying in the background]...so some backstory lore abt this fic—basically two years ago i had a dream about the ~angsty scene~ of this fic and ever since then, i've had this itch of putting it into words. and when i finally decided to do it, no doubt came out and i thought it was literal fate since the lyrics match the vibe so well...don't tell me it isn't fate guys :') anyways..this is a little different than my typical writing style even though of course i had to include summm crack..but i am still nervous abt how it came out so i really really hope you guys like it :') thank u for all the support and love always <3

↳ update .ᐟ ── check out the sequel series of this fic here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

You and Yang Jungwon were literally born to be best friends.

Like, there was no other option.

Your mom? Their high school's poster child for academic perfection—top of her class, president of every club imaginable, a certified teacher's pet.

Jungwon's mom? Their high school's unofficial social chair—life of the party, karaoke queen, probably responsible for half the faculty's headaches.

Nothing alike.

So naturally, of course, they were inseparable. By their junior year, they'd already started planning their futures together, including one very specific and totally realistic goal that all teenage girl best friends make when they're young:

"We should have our first kids around the same time and force them to be best friends!"

"Oh my gosh, yes," Jungwon's mom agreed enthusiastically. "Like, we'll make them share everything! Matching outfits, playdates, joint birthday parties!"

But what your moms didn't realize as they were giggling over the playful promise that probably didn't hold any meaning to them at the age of 17?

The universe was taking notes.

So fast forward a couple decades later, and there you were, baby best friends from birth, fulfilling the shared dream of your mothers—the true puppeteers in this scenario.

All your moms had to do was execute their promise as planned, but the rest of it? The rest of it was easy.

You and Jungwon clicked before you even knew what words were, communicating in a series of shared giggles and unintelligible baby noises. By the time you turned two, you were finishing each other's sentences in your made-up gibberish language, and by preschool, the bond was unshakable.

You two—just like your moms—were inseparable.

By high school, everyone knew you were a package deal—where you went, Jungwon followed, and vice versa. So, when he announced your sophomore year that he was leaving to compete on a televised idol survival show, you were, understandably, skeptical.

"Are you sure it's not a scam?" You had asked, rolling lazily around on his bed while he scrambled around his room, packing his bags.

"It's not a scam," Jungwon laughed, carefully folding his clothes.

"Did they ask for your social security number?"

"Y/N."

"Exactly. I'm just saying—if you end up on one of those exposé documentaries about fake talent shows, don't say I didn't warn you."

Despite your teasing, you knew how much this meant to him. Jungwon had been dreaming about being in the music spotlight since he figured out how to work a karaoke machine at the age of six.

So when he eventually did make his debut with his group, you weren't surprised at all—it was inevitable, written in the stars, just like how your friendship with him was.

What did surprise you, though, was how seamlessly you got roped into his new world.

Sure, Jungwon's life got infinitely busier overnight, but there is no universe that exists in which he'd forget about you—his non-conjoined twin, ride-or-die, and ultimate life-long nuisance (his words, not yours).

And so naturally, you became an honorary member of this new life of his. The boys' practice studio might as well be your new home—the endless days camping out on the floor of their dance studio with your head in your textbooks while they drilled their choreography for the hundredth time proved that. Or maybe how you crash on their dorm couch so often that Sunoo coined you your new nickname: their unofficial eighth member.

Which brings you to now: a marketing major by day, unofficial idol by night, and, as always, a certified magnet to chaos.

Case in point? Whatever madness was happening around you at this exact moment.

"Okay, but hear me out," Heeseung says, gesturing dramatically with his pizza slice—one of many scattered across the coffee table everyone was sitting around. "Pineapple is the perfect combination of sweet and savory—"

"It's a crime against humanity," Sunghoon cuts in.

Tomorrow? The boys leave for their five-month tour.

Tonight? Tonight is tradition: the pre-tour pizza bash.

Naturally, it's chaos, as no one has bothered with the last-minute packing they're supposed to be doing.

Not a single bag is packed.

"It's fruit on bread," you scrunch your nose, taking a bite of your own normal pepperoni pizza. "This isn't dessert, Hee."

"Thank you!" Sunghoon reaches across the table to high-five you.

From the couch behind you, Jake chuckles and nudges your back with his knee, "Big talk coming from someone who claims pickles belong on everything."

"Uh, because they do," you whip your head around to glare at him. "Pickles are versatile."

"Versatile my ass," Jungwon mumbles from his spot beside you. "I love you, but you're deranged."

"Look who's talking, Mr. 'I-put-hot-sauce-on-everything'," you shoot back, eyes narrowing at your best friend. Everyone chuckles from around the table at your dramatic, yet endearing, overreaction.

"Hot sauce is different," Jay chimes in without even looking up from his phone. "It's an enhancer."

"Pickles enhance flavor too!"

"By making everything taste like vinegar," Sunoo deadpans from your other side. "Gross."

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "You're all uncultured."

"And you're a menace," Jake quips from behind you, his voice dripping with amusement. You don't even have to turn around to see the smirk on his face—you can hear it loud and clear.

"Careful, Sim," you say with a sly glance over your shoulder. "Keep talking, and I'll start adding pickle juice to your coffee."

The room fills with laughter, but before Jake can fire back, his phone buzzes aggressively against the couch. You watch him glance down at his screen before his playful smile instantly fades.

"I'll be right back," Jake mutters, getting up and heading towards the kitchen without another word.

You frown as you watch him disappear around the corner, the sudden shift in his mood gnawing at you, and you can't help but wonder what's gotten under his skin.

After a few more minutes of heated debates over pizza toppings—and yet another round of everyone ganging up on your weird pickle obsession—you decide it was time for a drink refill.

Excusing yourself, you step into the kitchen, only to find Jake leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the empty wall in front of him. His phone sits abandoned on the counter, screen dark.

"Jake?" You call out softly, approaching slowly.

Your voice breaks through his haze, his expression flickering as he registers you standing in the doorway, your brows furrowed in concern.

"What's going on?" You ask, moving closer to stand in front of him.

"Nothing," Jake says too quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You give him a look and he knows that you know he's lying, "Jake.."

He exhales, his expression crumbling as he runs a hand through his hair, "Just...Jenn called."

Ah. Of course. Jenn.

You almost flinch at the sound of the name, the weight it carries instantly souring your stomach. Jake's on-again, off-again girlfriend of two years was a constant source of heartbreak—not just for the poor boy, but for the entire group who helped pick up the pieces of his broken heart after every messy break-up…and even messier make-up.

"She broke up with me," Jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For real this time. Something about me leaving for tour and how it wasn't going to work out."

Your heart hurts at the sight of him in front of you—shoulders slumped, hands nervously twisting the hem of his shirt, as if trying to distract himself from the conversation.

"Oh, Jake...," you murmur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as you lean against the counter next to him.

"I'm fine," he insists, waving it off, but the expression on his face clearly betrays him.

"No, you're not," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "And that's okay."

Jake lets out a shaky breath, finally looking up from the ground to look at you, before shrugging, "I don't even know why I’m surprised. We've been...really off for a while now. Like, more than usual. But still, it sucks."

“Of course, it sucks," you nod, agreeing softly. "You guys were together for a long time. You cared about her."

For a moment, the two of you sit in a heavy silence with an unspoken understanding, the only sounds coming from the muffled chatter and laughter in the other room. You stay close, letting him process without pushing further.

Still, you can't entirely suppress the annoying flare of emotions bubbling in your chest—a tangled knot of sympathy and…something else. Relief, maybe? Not that you would ever wish any sort of pain on Jake—but you hate the way Jenn always leaves him like this: drained, doubting himself, and trying to piece together what went wrong, where he went wrong.

"Come back to the living room," you say finally, nudging his side gently. "Ni-ki is freaking out over which hoodies to pack. And I swear, they're all the same black hoodie."

Jake lets out a small, tired laugh, "You don't need me for that. He's gonna end up packing all of them, just watch."

"You don't know that," you tease. "Besides, I need someone's back up to help me convince him he's not actually going through an emo phase."

His eyes carry a faint smile as he looks at you, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to remind you of the warmth he usually carries.

"Okay," he says in a whisper, pushing himself off the counter.

You start towards the doorway, forgetting about your drink refill entirely, but his voice stops you.

"Y/N?"

You turn to find him still standing there, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation.

"Thanks," he adds, a small smile on his face. It's such a simple statement, but the way he says it—soft, sincere, and maybe just a little desperate—makes something twist in your stomach. "For just...always being here."

You smile back up at the boy, "Of course, Jake. I'll always be here for you. You know that."

For a moment, he holds your gaze, as if taking a mental note of something. Then he nods, his shoulders relaxing.

"Okay," he says, exhaling as he gestures toward the doorway. "Let's go.”

You follow behind the boy back to the living room, silently hoping he knows just how much you mean your promise to him.

Jake's body is on autopilot at this point.

Another city, another show, another string of flashing lights and deafening cheers. It's a month into tour, and the endless loop of responsibilities has left him no room to just breathe.

And he loves this life—he really does. But tonight, for reasons he can't explain, the adrenaline that usually keeps him afloat isn't enough. Pure exhaustion lingers in his bones, heavier than the applause and screams echoing in his memory, and he just can’t seem to shake it.

When his head finally hits the stiff hotel pillow, Jake exhales with a heavy sigh. The city around him is alive, the neon lights brightly dancing against his windowpane, but he feels none of it.

Instead? He just feels the weight of homesickness and the ache of being alone.

Normally, he would push through, shove these thoughts into the back of his mind, call it a night. But tonight, the ache feels different—sharper, louder—and before he knows it, his phone is in his hand before he can talk himself out of it, his thumb hovering over your name on his screen.

A familiar battle wages in his mind, one he’s been battling more recently ever since tour became a little heavier on him. Slowly, the quiet yearning has been creeping in, and he’s been missing home more and more, craving the feeling of familiarity. But it isn’t just the physical places or the comfort of his regular routine that he craves.

It’s something else, something harder to name.

And for some other reason he can’t seem to explain, he thinks it’s you.

Jake doesn’t know when it started. Maybe it was hearing the sound of your voice through the phone whenever the guys called you to check in every now and then. Or maybe it was the way you would text in their shared group chat, your messages always tinged with humor or a sense of calm that somehow made everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Whatever it was, it stuck with him. He finds himself craving that unexplainable comfort only you seem to bring. He tells himself it’s nothing special, just the natural pull of familiarity. You’re back at home, the place he misses the most, so obviously, through association, it makes sense.

It’s logical. Nothing more.

That’s what he tells himself as his thumb hovers over your name. It’s not about you specifically—it couldn’t be. It’s just the connection to home. The grounding warmth of your voice. The way you somehow make the distance feel a little less suffocating.

Obviously. Nothing more.

He presses call.

Two rings. That's all it takes before your voice cuts through all the static in his head. Groggy, soft, and achingly familiar. Like home.

"Jake? It's late, is everything okay?"

Jake glances at the clock. 10:13PM where he is. Much later for you, he imagines. Guilt stirs, but...

He doesn't want to hang up.

Hearing your voice feels like the first breath of air after surfacing from deep water. He instantly feels more comfortable despite the heaviness in his chest.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice quiet. "I'm okay. Just...needed to hear a friendly voice, I guess."

"Wow, are the boys that bad that you need to call me?" You tease warmly, despite the sleepiness lingering in your words.

Jake chuckles, the sound low and tired, "Nothing against them, really. It's just...sometimes you need someone who reminds you of home, you know?"

The other end of the line goes quiet for a moment. He can hear you shuffle, and he braces himself for a teasing comment about him being sappy and sentimental. But instead, your voice softens.

"Well, I'm glad I could be that for you," your voice telling him you're smiling brightly on the other side of the screen. "Though if I had a private jet, I'd send it right now. Bring you back instantly."

"A private jet, huh?" Jake's eyes flutter close as he's engulfed into the usual, playful rhythm that's always there between the two of you. "You'd do that for me?"

"Only if you bring back goodies, preferably snacks," you quip back, and the warmth in his chest grows.

There's another pause, the kind that feels comfortable rather than awkward. Jake shifts in his spot and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make everything feel...lighter. Like, I can’t explain it, but just hearing you makes me feel like I’m not carrying all this stuff by myself.”

Your voice softens at his sudden vulnerability.

“Because you don't have to carry it all on your own, Jake. You know that, right? That’s what friends are for."

Jake hums in response, a low sound of acknowledgement as he keeps his phone pressed close, your voice instantly soothing the heavy emotions he's been carrying.

"You sound exhausted," you say after a beat, your tone cautious but filled with genuine care. "How are you holding up? With everything—the tour, the...break-up, just...you?"

Jake lets out a low groan, his fingers brushing through his hair. "You sound like my mom."

"Well, someone has to," you tease lightly, a relieved laugh slipping into your voice, as if you'd been afraid you overstepped. "Seriously, Jake. Are you doing okay?"

Jake hesitates, the question catching him off guard. He hadn't let himself think too much about Jenn or the breakup since leaving for tour a month ago. The boys knew better than to bring it up, and Jake had been grateful for that—for the distraction.

But now, with you, it feels different.

Safer, easier. Natural.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he sighs, the sound heavy through the phone. “Some days it feels like I’m fine, like I’ve moved on, and other days...it’s like I’m stuck in this loop of ‘what ifs.’ Like, what if I did something different? Or..."

He trails off to a pause, his throat tight, before he finally admits to you, and himself, "...what if I just wasn't enough?"

“Jake,” you say gentle but firm, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “You are enough. You've always been enough. Jenn...she just wasn’t the right person for you. That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

He swallows hard, your words settling into the cracks he didn't even realize were there.

"Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. It's just...hard, you know? Haven't really talked about it since it happened. But talking to you helps—a lot."

“I’m glad." He can hear the quiet sincerity in your words. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an amazing job. With tour, with...everything. You've got this, Jake. I’m really proud of you.”

Jake lets out a breathy laugh, the warmth in your words settling something in his chest—a knot he didn't even realize was there.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“It’s a gift,” you easily reply, and he can hear the grin in your voice, the easy banter making him feel lighter.

"I missed this," the words tumble out before he can stop himself. Then he quickly adds, as if to explain himself, "It's weird not having you around. The boys are great and all, but you give the best advice. Don't tell them that."

You giggle on your end, the sound making Jake's lips curve into a small smile and his heart twists.

In both a comforting and terrifying way.

"I miss it too," your voice quieter now. "But I'm here. You know that, right? Even if you're on the other side of the world, or if you call me at four in the morning like you're doing right now."

Jake lets out a chuckle followed by a sleepy groan, "Sorry about that. But...thank you, Y/N. For picking up."

"Always," you reply, and he hopes you mean it.

A beat passes. Jake knows he should hang up, that he should let you sleep. He tries to convince himself that you need the sleep more than he needs this call.

But he can't help himself.

"You'll yell at me if I don't sleep, won't you?"

"Absolutely. Go to bed, Jake. Or at least try. Zombie mode doesn't suit you."

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes feel heavier and he knows he's falling asleep, the tension in his body from before easing away. "But only because you scare me sometimes."

You laugh. "Good. Now get some rest. And call me whenever you need to, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbles into his phone quietly, his mind already slipping into a deep sleep.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Jake."

"Don't you have a bedtime, Sim Jaeyun?" You tease, answering the call. The clock reads 1:27AM, and you should be asleep—you really should—but you smile anyways when Jake's name appears on your screen.

"Bedtime? I don't know her," his voice slightly groggy, but as usual, still warm. "Besides I knew you'd be awake. You don't sleep like a normal person either."

You roll your eyes, knowing fully well he can't see it, "Yeah, well, I don't have to dance around a stage for two hours tomorrow."

"True, but you do have to deal with my constant calls and keep me entertained. That's way harder."

"Oh yeah, obviously," you say with mock seriousness. "Being your emotional support human is a full-time job."

“Emotional support human,” Jake repeats, chuckling softly. “You’re right. I guess I really owe you, huh?”

“Oh, 100%,” you shoot back, a grin in your voice. “I want one of those tour hoodies you guys keep posting with.”

“Done. What size?”

"The oversized one."

Jake pauses. “Let me guess—so you can sleep in it?"

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish at how he knows you too well, “Hey, it's only cozy if it's oversized!"

You hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line.

“Cute. I’ll make sure to steal one for you.”

You try not to overanalyze the way your stomach flips at the word cute, and the easy way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You shake the thought off immediately. This wasn't new, after all, Jake's always warm and easy to talk to. But lately—over the past month of phone calls—the way he says certain things, the tone he says them in, and the way they make you feel? It carried a weight you weren't sure how to hold.

In both a comforting and terrifying way.

“So, how was your day?” you suddenly bring up, trying to redirect your thoughts.

"Tiring," Jake sighs, his voice muffled as he shifts around in bed. "And Jungwon keeps beating me at Mario Kart during our break time. My pride is in shambles, Y/N."

"Let me guess," you smirk, repeating his words from earlier. "He picks Yoshi, and you keep picking Toad because you think he's underrated."

"Excuse me," Jake scoffs. "Toad is underrated. But, for your information, I choose Toad because your go-to character is Toadette."

Your heart does that stupid flip again. His words are light—I mean, you guys are talking about Mario Kart for god's sake—but it's stuff like that that keeps you questioning the true meaning behind his words.

You ignore the feeling, instead, a laugh bubbles up in response, an attempt to sound unaffected.

"You're so weird."

“But you like it,” he quips, voice dipping just slightly, like he’s testing the waters.

You're caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, but you recover just as quickly.

"Debatable."

“Liar.”

His tone is teasing, but there's something softer behind it, “You wouldn’t still be on the phone with me if you didn’t like me at least a little.”

“Maybe I’m just bored,” you shoot back, though your cheeks are burning at his sudden forwardness, questioning if he’s serious or just messing with you.

You hear him hum in response, "Then I guess I'll have to work harder to keep you interested."

“Oh yeah? How are you planning to do that?” You try to match his teasing tone, but internally, you feel unsteady under the implication of his words.

“By being my usual charming self, duh,” he says, his voice dropping into a smooth tone. “And, you know, calling you every night so you don’t forget about me.”

Your heart squeezes. "You already do that, stupid. You think I'd forget about you?"

“Never,” Jake's reply is immediate, almost instinctive, leaving no room for doubt. “But just in case…I like hearing your voice. Makes me feel like I’m not a million miles away.”

His words linger in the space between you, heavier than the playful banter from earlier. You swallow hard, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

“You’re not a million miles away, Jake.”

“Feels like it,” he murmurs. You hear a pause in his voice, as if he's thinking hard about his next words. “I miss home. I miss...you."

Your chest tightens, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you, as if the fabric could somehow ground you. Your heart is doing that thing again—the erratic, terrifying thing that makes you want to believe in something you're not sure is even real.

And at the same time, your thoughts are scrambling to say something lighthearted before the conversation steers into that dangerous, dangerous territory you were sure you weren't ready for.

Not yet.

"Well, you better win at least one round of Mario Kart for me while you're out there," you force a laugh, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.

Jake laughs, the sound genuine, "I'll try. But if I lose, just know I'm dedicating every race to you."

"Wow, I'm so honored," you try to deadpan, but he can sense the grin in your voice.

"You should be," his voice softens again. "Thanks for picking up tonight, by the way. I know it's late."

He never fails to thank you every night, as if you haven't been picking up every day for the past month and won't be picking up tomorrow, and the next day...and the day after that.

And, somehow, the same, genuine appreciation makes it so hard for you to ignore that weird, warm, fluttering sensation growing inside you every time you talk to him.

But, regardless, you always give him the same reply:

"Always," your voice matching his softness. "Call me whenever, okay?"

"Don’t say that," Jake warns, the teasing edge creeping back into his tone. "I'll actually do it."

"Fine," you giggle. "But if you call me at four in the morning again, I'm putting my phone on Do Not Disturb."

"Deal." He pauses, then adds, "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Jake."

As you hang up, you stare at your phone for a moment longer than you should have, your room feeling oddly quiet and too empty without his voice.

It's just another call, Y/N. Just another call between two friends.

But deep down, a part of you tells you it isn’t that simple anymore.

And maybe—just maybe—he knows it too.

“Are you busy?” Jake’s voice sounds more tired than usual, heavy with an overwhelming amount of tension.

“Never too busy for our calls,” you easily reply without hesitation as you lay back in your bed, phone close to your ear. Your voice is light, a stark contrast to the weariness laced in his, and when he doesn’t respond with his typical chuckle, you immediately sense his mood. “Hard day?”

He exhales slowly, the weary sound answering your question. Today was a lot. Hours of rehearsal followed by a concert, the adrenaline rush of performing, followed by the chaos of having the guys’ hotel information leaked. Crowds of paparazzi and fans swarmed the entrance, the relentless flashes of cameras breaking through whatever little pieces of calm he had left within him. The noise, the pressure, the endless cycle—all spiraled into a mental mess he doesn’t seem to shake.

The second he settled into his hotel room, all Jake knew was that he needed to talk to you—the one person who could steady his racing thoughts.

"I just...I didn't think this would get to me, you know? The cameras, the people, the flashes in my face—I'm just—it's like I'm never alone."

Your heart twists at the vulnerability and rawness in his voice, as if he’s admitting something for the first time—not just to anyone else, but to himself.

"I—I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, just for a little while. Just to breathe, you know?"

You close your eyes, your grip on the phone unconsciously tightening as if it could anchor him somehow.

"I know it's not the same," your voice steady, even as you internally ached for him, "but...you can disappear with me, Jake. Even if it's just through the call. No cameras. No noise. Just...you and me."

He lets out an exhale—shaky, but relieved.

"You're really good at this. Making me feel like it's all gonna be okay."

"Because it is going to be okay, Jake," you reply softly. "You're not alone, Jake. Not with me."

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, and he wishes more than anything else in this moment that he actually was with you. “I know.”

"Jake," you groan, sitting cross-legged on your bed, staring at the flustered boy through your laptop screen. "I'm begging you—just wear the black jacket. It's literally impossible to mess up black."

"But what about the beanie?" He whines as he pops back into view, his face scrunched up in genuine distress. "Do you think I can pull it off, or will I look like I'm trying too hard? Be honest, Y/N."

What started as a simple fashion-advice-question over the phone turned into a two-hour wardrobe emergency—all because Jake couldn’t figure out what to wear to the airport the next day (because, apparently, airport fits matter—his words, not yours).

"Jake, you could wear a literal trash bag to the airport and fans would still lose their minds," you tease, biting back a laugh.

He rolls his eyes at you, but the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.

"Okay, but seriously, you’re trying too hard. Just go with the jacket, no beanie," you add on, just to end this two-hour long madness.

"Hmm," Jake plops on his bed and turns towards his phone camera, and you swear you can see the pout forming on his lips. "But I already posted a preview of the jacket last week. Isn't that, like, repetitive?"

"Jake,” you blink at him, "it's an airport. Not a fashion show."

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out a dramatic sigh, "Fine! Jacket, no beanie. But if I see even one criticizing comment calling me basic, I'm blaming you."

You laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness, "Deal. Now go to sleep, Sim Jaeyun."

His grin softens as he adjusts the camera to fully look at you, pout gone, eyes glistening.

"Only because you said so."

"Hey," you say softly, answering the call as you snuggle deeper into your blanket, letting it engulf you completely.

The familiar sound of Jake's quiet breathing fills the space between you, and before he even says a word, you already know.

"Rough day?" You ask gently when he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual, almost drowned out by the low hum of background noise. "I just...I don't really feel like talking right now, if that's okay."

"Of course," you reply without hesitation, your tone gentle, no questions asked.

On the other end, Jake presses the phone closer to this ear in an attempt to feel closer to you, instantly feeling better from your pure understanding of how he’s feeling, and he thinks—not for the first time—that you might be his favorite person in the world.

The warm silence engulfs the both of you like a shared blanket, unspoken yet understood. You can hear the faint echoes of his surroundings: the muffled laughter of the boys somewhere nearby, the distant honk of traffic outside his hotel, and then the quiet shuffle of Jake shifting positions in his hotel bed. You catch his breath catching slightly, like he's finally allowing himself to relax—to just be.

You don't try to fill the silence. You know that he needs this—a moment of peace in the chaos. Instead, you similarly press the phone closer to your ear, as if doing so can somehow bridge the miles between you, hoping he can sense your presence reaching out for him.

Minutes pass like this, and for a moment, it’s so quiet you begin to wonder if he's falling asleep. But then, a deep exhale breaks the stillness.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says finally, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your heart clench.

"You don't have to thank me, Jake," your voice matches his softness. "You know that."

"Still," his voice is low, so quiet, it feels like a secret meant only for you. "I appreciate you. More than you probably know."

You smile to yourself, your heart aching in the best way possible, and you desperately try your best to ignore it, no matter how much excitement it brought you.

"Always, Jake."

“Tell me something about you that I don’t already know,” you challenge him, your voice carrying that light and endearing tone over the phone that Jake’s come to crave.

“Hmm,” Jake hums thoughtfully as he lies in his bed, eyes closed, just simply treasuring the small moments, like this one, with you.

Even though it’s definitely 3AM where he is right now. And he definitely has to be up in a few hours for rehearsal.

Oh well, completely irrelevant. Talking about everything and anything with you just felt so right.

“I don’t know,” he eventually exhales, his brain too foggy to think of anything logical right now. “I feel like you know me better than I know myself at this point, Y/N.”

“You’re so corny it physically hurts, Jake,” you scoff, and Jake swears he can feel your exaggerated eye roll from thousands of miles away.

“Oh—wait, wait! I have one,” he perks up, his eyes shooting open as he turns towards the phone in excitement.

“Hit me,” you say, unconsciously smiling at how cute he sounds.

“I’m allergic to flowers.”

The line falls silent for a beat before you erupt into a storm of giggles so wild it makes Jake feel sick from how fast the butterflies in his stomach start fluttering.

“That’s your fun fact? That’s so tragic, Jake,” you gasp through your giggles. “Like, depressingly tragic.”

“Hey! It’s not that sad, it could be worse,” Jake hopes you can hear his pout over the phone (you can).

“So you’re telling me you’ve never bought a girl flowers before?” You tease, smiling to yourself as you stare at your ceiling.

“Guess not,” Jake lets out a laugh, which surprises himself. “Jenn used to always get mad at me for never getting her any, but what am I supposed to do? Show up with a bouquet and an epi-pen? I literally start tearing up whenever I’m around any kind.”

You lose it all over again, your laughter spilling through Jake’s phone like sunshine, and Jake doesn’t even realize he’s smiling so widely until his cheeks start to ache.

But what Jake does realize is something unexpected: for the first time in forever, he can talk about Jenn without a single pang of…anything. No weird tension, no lingering sadness—just a casual mention and then…nothing.

It’s freeing, this feeling of lightness, like an invisible weight he didn’t know he was even carrying has suddenly lifted. He wonders if this is what moving on really feels like, if he’s found his emotional freedom. He wonders when it changed.

He wonders maybe it’s not when—maybe it’s who.

And he wonders if it’s you.

Today was supposed to be Jake’s day off. The golden ticket to rest, recharge, and not think about anything.

Key term: supposed to be.

Instead, Jake found himself knee-deep in the trenches of emotional warfare—and losing spectacularly.

The morning started innocently enough. No alarm, no schedule, just the soft promise of freedom that was so close within his reach. But by noon, Jake came to a harsh realization.

Freedom was a lie.

Because every step, every sight, every breath, was haunted by one inescapable thought: You.

It started with a boutique. Him and the boys had wandered down a cobblestone street in a city that Jake had already forgotten the name of—city number ten or eleven of tour? He barely knew anymore. But then his gaze caught on a mannequin in the window.

Big mistake.

The outfit on display—similar to his mind—had you written all over it. Immediately, his brain spiraled.

Y/N would love that. She'd probably drag me and all the guys in and force me to hold her bag while she tried it on.

He had to physically stop himself from dragging the group inside to purchase it on the spot.

Next? A coffee shop. And there it was: a poster featuring some limited-edition iced peach latte. Jake froze, staring at it like it held the answers to life itself.

You’d love it. You would order it, (well, you'd make Jake order it, because you hate talking to cashiers), sip it, smile, and probably rant about how overpriced it was—even though Jake would pay for it—yet you’d still finish the entire thing.

And then, you'd steal half of his drink, too.

Because you always did.

And Jake always lets you.

The final straw? A cat. Just a random stray, peacefully lounging on a sunny part of sidewalk, looking like it had zero interest in the world around it. And even that didn't escape Jake's you-obsessed filter. Without even thinking, Jake whipped out his phone.

It was instinctual at this point.

Jake [1:06PM]: (attached - one image) Jake [1:06PM]: thought you'd like this one :)

Because obviously, you needed to see that cat. Immediately.

By the time Jake collapses onto his hotel bed that evening, he feels like he’d run a mental marathon—except instead of a finish line, every road led back to you.

He flops onto his bed, hoping sleep would save him from the storm raging in his brain.

Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

Instead, it leads him to the complete opposite. He stares at your name on his phone, your contact picture, your last messages to him.

You texted him two hours ago—a sweet goodnight message that ended with your usual, 'Don't hesitate to call if you need me.'

Casual. Normal.

But it probably didn't mean, 'Hey, please interrupt my sleep from the other side of the world so we can discuss your ongoing emotional crisis over me.'

Don't do it, Jake. The remaining rational brain cells within him beg him to stop. You're being dramatic. She's not the air you need to breathe.

But at the same time, deep down, Jake really thinks you are.

The worst part? You two already had talked on the phone earlier—when Jake had another fashion crisis and couldn't decide what to wear for his day off exploring with the guys. Of course, you laughed at him, teased him, but then helped him pick something out anyways. Typical.

Personally, if it was up to him, he'd spent his whole day off on the phone with you. Talking about everything. Or nothing. Whatever you wanted, Jake would've done it, no hesitation.

Don't do it, Jake, his brain warns him again. What kind of obsessed-lunatic calls the same person twice in one day?

Answer: Jake.

But as Jake lies in his hotel bed, thoughts heavily clouded with the image of you and the sound of your voice, he realizes...this wasn't just a phone call thing. No, this was deeper, worse. And somewhere between staring at the same patch of ceiling and replaying every memory of you on a mental loop, Jake tries to rationalize it.

She’s just a good friend, Jake. A best friend, even! You think about her a lot because she’s cool and funny and…and she has the laugh of a Disney princess...But it’s normal to think about your friends, right? Right??

But the more he tries to downplay it, the clearer it becomes. This was something else.

And then it hits.

Like, really hits.

Oh my god. I like her.

Jake shoots upright, widened eyes filled with horror, as if the realization itself just physically smacked him across the face.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Jake buries his face in his hands, groaning. But the groan quickly turns into a muffled scream, because the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

Because he thinks you're going to be the death of him. He really, really likes you. Not in the vague, 'Oh, she’s cute' way, but in the write-her-name-in-a-heart-and-doodle-little-stars-around-it kind of way. The stare-at-her-texts-like-they’re-poetry kind of way. The imagine-her-laughing-at-your-dad’s-jokes-and-enjoying-your-mom’s-meals-forever kind of way.

And this feeling? It's new. It's terrifying.

It's exhilarating.

Jake realizes in this very moment that he's never experienced this heart-pounding, face-flushing, breath-taking kind of feeling towards anyone. Sure, his past relationship had been meaningful in its own way, but now Jake is realizing that the foundation of his past relationship was tangled up in obligations and unspoken expectations. A tightrope act of Jake having to be the perfect boyfriend, the perfect idol, the perfect...everything. He never realized how suffocating it was until now—until you. Because this feeling with you?

This was pure. Simple, clear, and undeniable.

Your sheer existence proved that it's possible for someone to understand him better than he understands himself. Your laugh had a way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world had been momentarily suspended. Just one look from you alone somehow always manages to make him feel like he was still worthy even on his worst days.

With you, Jake felt...himself, for once. Not Jake Sim, global popstar. Not Jake Sim, the boyfriend of so-and-so. Just...Jake.

Jake's heart pounds as the realization sinks in. He's now transitioned from screaming into his hands to his poor hotel pillow.

Because as clear and strong as this feeling is, the doubt is just as overwhelming. What if you don't feel the same? What if this ruins everything?

But at the same time...what if you do feel the same way?

What if this is his chance? The butterfly effect that changes everything? What if you're it? You have to be.

And so, like an idiot possessed, Jake's finger is one millimeter away from pressing call on your name again.

Because, obviously, the best way to deal with overwhelming feelings is to confess them from a hotel room five countries away.

Obviously.

Because what if he didn't call? What if he spent the rest of his night spiraling into an endless pit of unspoken feelings and overthinking, arms flailing as he knows the only way out of the pit is with your help?

What if his brain explodes with the sheer amount of feelings he has for you and he never has the chance to tell you ever again?

He presses call.

The line rings twice before you answer.

"Jake?" Your voice is soft, laced with surprise and just the faintest trace of sleep. "It's late for you, is everything okay?"

Jake's brain short-circuits. What time even is it for him? He has no idea, and frankly, he doesn't care.

"Yeah," he blurts, far too quickly that he winces at himself. He clears his throat before trying again, "I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. I just...couldn't sleep."

"Oh," you hum softly and Jake swears the sound alone could single-handedly resolve global wars.

Yeah, he definitely likes you.

"Is something stressing you out?" The genuine concern in your voice makes his chest tighten.

"No—well, nothing like that," Jake rushes to assure you, sitting up straighter in bed now, as if you could see him. His voice lowers, almost shy, "I just...I was thinking about you."

Silence. Jake's heart pounds so loudly, he's sure you can hear it through the phone.

"About me?" You finally tease, light and playful, but there's something softer underneath. "What did I do to deserve such an honor?"

Jake lets out a nervous, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair, “You exist. That’s what.”

Another pause. He hears you exhale softly, and the sound alone sends his heart into overdrive.

"That was smooth," your voice is quiet, soft, as if teetering on the line of teasing and nervousness at the same time. "Ten out of ten, Jake."

"I'm serious," Jake tries his best to keep his voice from cracking, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. "I was lying here, thinking about everything, and I realized something."

"And what's that?"

Jake's throat goes dry. His heart is screaming at him to say it, but his brain begs him to reconsider.

But Jake's sure he's lost all his rational brain cells for sure at this point, so he swallows hard, and braces himself for impact.

"I like you, Y/N."

The words spill out, raw and unpolished, but so utterly true.

“I mean, I really like you," Jake continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. "More than a friend, more than anything.”

The line goes silent, and for a split second, a lifetime of pure awkwardness and torture of not having you in his life anymore flashes in his vision, and he rushes to fill the void.

"I know this is probably the worst timing ever, and probably really scary...and it's okay if you don't feel the same way," his voice definitely cracks this time, laying everything bare, but he doesn't care anymore. "But I had to tell you. I can't pretend around you, not when being around you feels like the only time I'm really me."

Then, you let out a soft exhale—a disbelieving, breathless sound that makes Jake's heart skip a beat.

"Jake..."

"You're...you're everything, Y/N. You make life better just by being in it. And I haven't even seen you in four months, but you're all I think about," Jake lets out a small laugh, swallowing the remainder of all his pride and dignity. "I promise, when I'm back...I'll prove it to you. I'll show you how much you mean to me. Anything it takes. "

For once in his life, Jake feels completely vulnerable—and yet, strangely, it feels right.

Because he means it, every word.

He's never meant anything more.

The line had gone quiet after Jake’s confession, his words echoing in your ears.

“I like you, Y/N.”

No, not like. Really, really like.

You spent the last few days replaying his words over and over, dissecting every syllable, every tiny inflection in this voice. At first, it didn't even seem real.

A part of you still thinks it isn't—that this is all a cruel dream and you're going to wake up any second now back in the real world. The one where Jake Sim, the boy who turns heads and steals hearts without even trying, didn't just confess his deepest, most vulnerable feelings for you in a single phone call.

But no. He said it, alright. Clear as day.

First, all you felt was pure happiness. Maybe it was hearing his voice everyday, or maybe it was seeing how his face lit up through the screen when you picked up his video calls—but somewhere along the way, you knew it was something deeper.

Something that made your heart skip when his name lit up your phone, something that left you craving his voice to make your day feel complete. And now? Now the boy who’d effortlessly become your favorite part of every day was telling you you’d done the same for him.

But then, came the fear.

Because what if this was just a rebound? What if you were just a soft landing for him, a way to patch up the holes left behind by his past? Here you were, standing at the edge of something terrifyingly real, wondering if you were just a step in his recovery process—a way to fill the cracks, but not the kind of permanence you were beginning to crave.

You weren’t naive enough to see Jake’s past relationship didn’t still linger in the corners of his mind. You’d seen him struggle with it before, how hard he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. What if you were just the next step in his healing, rather than something real—a Band-Aid for a wound that wasn’t even yours to heal?

And worse—what if you let it happen? What if you let yourself fall, only to hit the ground at an alarming speed, and...splat. Not just a regular, embarrassing tumble, no. But the kind that leaves you flattened on the pavement like a cartoon character who ignored every warning sign.

Because that’s exactly what it would feel like, wouldn’t it? Giving it, letting yourself hope—only to crash and burn spectacularly.

Deep down, you knew you weren’t just risking a little heartache. Because Jake? Jake had quietly claimed a permanent spot in your heart at this point.

You were risking everything.

And the worst part?

You were already halfway there.

That was the reason why you told him you needed time. The reason why all you could manage to respond was a meek, 'I just...I need to think about this.' And to his credit, Jake hadn't pushed. Of course, not.

But now, three days later, you were no closer to an answer. If anything, the time apart had made everything worse.

Because as the days stretched on, with every passing hour, every text you didn’t send and every call you didn’t make, one thing became gut-wrenchingly, undeniably clear:

You were already his.

You miss Jake’s voice, his laugh, the way he rambles about the most random things late at night. You miss how, somehow, he made you fall asleep with a smile on your face from the other side of the world. You miss him, that even in his absence, he was still your first thought in your mind when you woke up and the last before you drifted to sleep.

And no amount of overthinking or second-guessing could change the truth that finally settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t ready to admit to yourself:

You were his. Completely.

The only question now was whether you’d let yourself believe he was yours too.

"Y/N?"

"Jungwon," you groan helplessly into your phone. "Help me."

A pause. Then, "Are you sure you meant to call me? It's Jungwon, not Jake," he teases lightly. "I can go get Jake if you meant—"

"Jungwon!" You cut him off, panicked. "I'm being serious. It's about Jake, dummy."

"Oh," his tone shifts instantly as he senses the seriousness in your voice. "Did something happen? Because I swear, for the past three days, Jake's been moping around like a kicked puppy, and I was gonna ask you about it because I know you guys have been talking a lot more, but I didn't want to push, and—"

"That's exactly it, Jungwon!" You wail into your pillow, your voice muffled. Great, now you feel even worse, knowing Jake is moping around, waiting for you.

"What's exactly it?" Your best friend presses, voice curious. "I need specifics, Y/N."

You hesitate, the words clinging to the back of your throat like they're too heavy to admit. Finally, you take a deep breath and force them out.

"Jake told me he likes me, Jungwon. Like really, really likes me. He gave this whole monologue about how I'm all he can think about, and it was so cute, and it made me want to explode from joy and fear all at once, and I don't know what to do!"

A beat of silence.

Jungwon sucks in a dramatic breath and then, "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. First of all, this is not news to me."

You blink, as if he can see your look of shock over the phone, "What?"

"This was obvious, Y/N. The guy's been smitten with you for months. You guys literally have been talking every day since we left."

Your jaw drops, "So what? You and I talk every day! How is this any different?"

Jungwon snorts, "Y/N, we text every day. About minuscule things. Like me reminding you not to forget your keys and you ghosting my last text. But you and Jake? You guys talk for hours—into the illegal hours of the night, mind you. Trust me, I know. Hotel walls are thin."

You feel your cheeks flushing, "That doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" Jungwon's voice is laced with amusement. "When's the last time you called me just to hear my voice?"

"Jungwon."

"Exactly."

You groan again, "But Jungwon, what if…what if he's not over Jenn? What if I'm just a rebound?"

Jungwon goes quiet for a moment, his tone softening when he finally speaks, “Jake’s not like that, Y/N. You know that. He wouldn’t tell you he likes you unless he meant it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look," he interrupts. "Jake’s a lot of things—annoyingly loud, for one—but he’s not the kind of guy who’d use someone, especially you, as a rebound. If he said he likes you, he likes you.”

You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a warm blanket—because you know they're true.

“And for what it’s worth,” Jungwon continues, “I think you like him too.”

“I..,” you falter, your heart hammering in your chest. “I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves coiled in your stomach, “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”

“That’s okay,” Jungwon says gently. “But don’t let fear stop you from something that could make you happy. You deserve that, Y/N. And so does Jake.”

You close your eyes, letting Jungwon's words sink in. Deep down, you know he's right, he always is.

"Thanks, Jungwon," you say, your voice softer now, tinged with gratitude.

"Anytime," he replies, and then, with a teasing lilt, "But seriously—you should probably tell him soon. I can't stand watching him mope around like a sad, abandoned puppy. It's seriously tragic, like, to the point where I’m gonna have to start letting him win at Mario Kart."

A small giggle escapes you, light and genuine for the first time in three days, "I know, I know. Eventually."

"Y/N," his voice turns playfully stern, like a parent lecturing their toddler. "Eventually isn't a time. Just call him. You've been thinking about him nonstop, haven't you?"

Unfortunately, Jungwon knows you too well. Your silent response betrays you, and Jungwon lets out a triumphant hum.

"Thought so. Well, you should go. You have a call to make."

You sigh, a mix of nerves and a new determination bubbling, "Okay, okay. But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."

"It won't. But deal," his tone is reassuring, confident, like he already knows how this story ends. "You got this, Y/N."

The call ends, and the quiet still of your room taunts you. For a moment, you sit there, staring at your phone, the little icon of Jake's contact picture—a selfie the two of you took together many years ago—staring back at you like a challenge.

Your fingers hover. Your heart races, your palms feel clammy, and your stomach twists.

But then you remember Jungwon's words.

You deserve this.

And so does Jake.

You take a deep breath, then you press down on his name.

The phone doesn't even reach the second ring before he picks up.

"Y/N," Jake’s voice is rushed, a little breathless.

"Hey," you say softly, suddenly unsure where to start. "Um, were you busy?"

"No, no," he quickly responds. "Not at all. You could call me at 3AM, and I still would’ve picked up."

"That's unhealthy, you know," your lips twitch as you lay back in your bed, taking a deep inhale. You missed this—you missed him.

"For you? Worth it," you can hear the smile in his voice, but along with the slight tension just beneath it—the faintest tremor that tells you he's been waiting for this call, maybe agonizing over it just as much as you have.

You swallow hard, gripping the phone tight, "Jake, about...our last call..."

"Take your time," he says gently, though you don't miss the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. "I mean it, Y/N. There's no pressure."

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes, “I’ve been thinking a lot, too. About you. About…us.”

Jake stays silent, but you could hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he was bracing himself.

You squeeze your eyes hard, as you let the words finally come out, "I like you too, Jake. A lot. So much, honestly. It's just..."

"It's just...?" Jake's voice repeats softly, as if that's all he can manage to let out in the midst of his nervousness.

You hold your breath, scared of what you're about to admit—to Jake and to yourself.

"It's just...I'm scared," your voice comes out barely above a whisper, "I'm scared that this is too good to be true. That you're saying all of this because...I don't know—you're trying to move on...from the past, or because you're lonely on tour, or—"

"Y/N,” Jake's voice cuts through firm, but gentle.

"You're not…a rebound, or a distraction, or anything like that," he starts quietly, each word deliberate. "And this isn't about...Jenn, or me being lonely, or whatever else you think. This is about you."

Your breath hitches as you take in his words and open your eyes, hoping that staring at the ceiling above you could somehow ground you.

“You’re the one who makes me laugh when I’ve had the worst day,” Jake continues. “You’re the one I want to talk to, even when I’m running on zero sleep. You’re the one I think about when I’m on stage and wish I could just look into the crowd and see you there. It’s you, Y/N."

His words are overwhelming, too much, and you're unsure how to even process them. Your throat tightens, and you can feel the subconscious tears prickling at the corners of your eyes without even realizing they were forming.

"Are you sure, Jake?"

"More than anything else, Y/N," he says immediately, like the words have been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "And I want to do this right, Y/N. No rushing, no expectations. Just...tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You can picture him on the other side of the line, sitting in some unfamiliar hotel room, his brows probably furrowed in that adorable way they always do whenever he tries to find the right words.

You bite your lip, a small laugh escaping despite the tears sliding down your cheeks, “You’re so cheesy, you know that?”

Jake lets out a small laugh, immediately easing from the tension that hung in the air.

"Only for you," he mumbles, his voice soft but steady.

You sigh, the sound reaching Jake on the other side. There's a pause, a moment of mutual understanding in silence, just listening to the quiet, peaceful hum of each other's breathing.

“Jake?” You say finally, your voice trembling.

“Yeah?”

“I think…” You take a deep breath, and you think your heart is about to break out of your chest. “I think I want to try too.”

The silence on the other end was electric, and for a moment, you think maybe the call dropped. Then, you hear the unmistakable sound of Jake’s laugh—soft, relieved, and filled with so much warmth that it instantly makes your own heart feel lighter.

“You're driving me crazy, Y/N,” he says, his voice almost breathless, but tinged with humor.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, a smile clear in his tone.

“I hope I am,” you quip, and it makes him chuckle, the sound warm and full of relief. “Guess I’m stuck with your cheesy lines now huh?”

“Stuck with me?” Jake repeats, pretending to sound offended. “No way. I’m stuck with you, Y/N. And trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

His words are so simple, yet so full of promise, and it leaves you feeling a little breathless.

“Good,” you whisper, your cheeks warm. “Because I don’t want you to.”

“Hi Jake,” your voice bright as you immediately pick up his call and see his face appear on the screen, his expression softening when he sees you.

“Hey pretty,” he replies, without missing a beat, his voice laced with a soft fondness that never fails to make your stomach flip.

You roll your eyes, failing miserably to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, “Oh, so now I’m pretty, huh?”

Jake smirks at your words, leaning closer to his phone, “Nah, you’ve always been pretty. Just didn’t have the guts to say it to your face before.”

You groan, dramatically planting your face into your pillow as an attempt to bury the smile on your face, your voice muffled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Jake.”

“Stop that, don’t hide. Let me see your face,” his tone dips somewhere between playful and pleading, and you give in, lifting your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your red cheeks.

“Cute,” he says with a knowing grin, leaning back against the headboard of his bed.

“Whatever,” you murmur, but the smile on your face remains. “How was your day today?”

“Mmm, it was good,” Jake says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Busy, but good. I forget how loud the fans get each time. But it’s nice. Makes it feel worth it, you know?”

“I’m glad,” your smile grows as you watch him speak, feeling nothing but proud of him. “You deserve all of it, Jake.”

“Stop,” now he’s groaning, throwing a hand over his face to cover his shy expression. “You’re going to make me blush.”

“Mm, looks like you already are, Jakey,” you shake your head, laughing softly.

“Maybe a little,” he admits as he peeks at you through his fingers, his grin boyish and infectious, and you can’t help but laugh again.

The call falls quiet for a moment, but it’s not awkward—just comfortable, like a shared breath. Jake shifts, turning on his stomach and propping his phone up against some pillows to make sure you can still see him.

“I miss you,” he says suddenly, and there’s something raw in his tone, something unguarded that catches you off guard.

Your heart stutters.

“Jake, I literally called you this morning,” you tease, your tone light and sweet. But still, you can’t resist, “I miss you too.”

“You don’t sound convincing enough,” his eyes narrow at you, the pout forming on his lips quickly turning into a small smirk. “Say it like you mean it.”

“Fine,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “I miss you so, so much Sim Jaeyun, that it’s physically painful and I might conbust on the spot if I don’t see you soon. Happy?”

“Very,” he grins into the camera, making your heart beat faster. Ugh. "But please don't combust for me. Who else am I supposed to call every day?"

"Oh, please, you'd survive," you shoot back, smirking. "I'm sure anyone else would be more than happy to fill the spot."

Jake clicks his tongue, shaking his head dramatically. "Nope, no one could keep with you, Y/N. You're a handful."

"Excuse me?" You scoff, mock offense all over your face. "You're calling me a handful? Jake, who's the one that texts me random song lyrics at 3AM and expects me to interpret their deep meaning like it's poetry?"

"Okay, first of all, they are deep," he argues, his grin widening into something boyish and utterly unfair. "And second of all, I know you secretly love it."

You let out a laugh as you roll onto your side, propping your phone against the pillow next to you.

"Maybe I do," you admit with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant despite the smile on your face. "Or maybe I don't. That's up to you to find out."

Jake shakes his head, laughing softly, his eyes twinkling as they linger on your face.

"You really are a handful, Y/N," his voice teases while his eyes remain on you through the screen, as if studying you, and it makes your stomach flip.

You glance away, suddenly feeling shy again under his unwavering gaze, "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" His voice is innocent, his eyebrows lifting in feign obliviousness.

"I don't know—like you're trying to memorize my face or something," you mutter, your cheeks burning.

"Maybe I am," his voice dips, low and soft. "Honestly wouldn't complain if that's the last thing I ever got to remember."

His words hit you square in the chest, and despite how ridiculously corny they are, they manage to take your breath away. You don't know if you'll ever get used to this newly discovered side of Jake—the one that speaks so candidly, so sweetly—like you're the only person in his universe.

But honestly? You love it. You love how he makes you feel, how his words wrap around you perfectly like they were tailor made just for you. But as much as you love it, you fear it too.

Because the more you fall into this feeling, the more you wonder if there's anything solid beneath it. Despite all the soft words shared and sweet nothings exchanged, at the end of the day, deep down inside you can't help but ask yourself if his words, if he, is even yours to begin with.

"Jake..."

"Hmm?" His voice is gentle now, the teasing edge in his voice fading.

"You really mean it, don't you?" You ask, your voice quieter now, the question laced with your vulnerability. "You're serious about...this? About us?"

"Of course I am," he answers without hesitation. His soft eyes stay trained on you as he sits up in his spot in bed, as if to show just how serious he is. He lets out an exhale, as if mentally encouraging himself to continue, "I know we're not...whatever this is, officially yet. But I do know that I like what we have."

He brings his phone closer, a small smile on his face, his expression earnest, "And that I like you. A lot."

You swallow hard, his words settling in your chest in the best way possible. Because despite everything—the doubts, the undefined boundaries—you can't deny the truth of how you feel.

"Me too," you admit, your voice steady and honest. "I like what we have too. And I like you."

You pause, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you feel the remainders of your walls crumbling down, "You make me happy, Jake. Like annoyingly happy."

"Good. Because you make me happy too," His smile spreads wide, the kind that is contagious and could light up an entire room. "Annoyingly happy, if we're being specific."

You roll your eyes again, though you're smiling just as much, "We really are insufferable, aren't we?"

"Oh, completely," Jake nods, his tone playful. He's more relaxed, back to leaning against his headboard as he looks at you with a softened gaze. "We'll figure it out, Y/N. I promise. Whatever this is, or whatever it becomes, I'm not going anywhere. And honestly? I just can't wait to see you. Finally."

"Me too," you perk up, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you bring your phone closer, "It feels like it's been forever. This tour feels so much longer than the other ones for some reason."

"It does," Jake hums in agreement, his eyes thoughtful. "But you know what? I think It's because, this time...I actually have something waiting for me. Something—or someone—I want to come home to. And that makes every day feel so much longer."

You think, at this point, you should check yourself into the emergency department for the sheer amount of times you thought your heart was going to pound out of your body from Jake's words alone.

“You're ridiculous," you laugh, the sound bubbling out so naturally you couldn't hold it back even if you tried. "It's getting kind of out of hand how cheesy you are, Jake."

"And yet," he fires back with a smirk, "you love it. Admit it. I've cracked the code."

"Maybe I do," you tease, repeating your words from earlier as the corners of your mouth tug up into a smile you can't suppress. "But don't let it get to your head."

"Too late," he grins. "It's already there."

Jake [2:15AM] : can I call you? Y/N [2:16AM]: jake isnt it like 2AM for you? Jake [2:16AM]: well…yea but I was thinking about you so…

Your feet are kicking before you even realize, and before you can type up a response, your phone lights up with Jake's name and contact picture.

“Hi,” you answer softly, trying not to let the giddy smile growing on your face take over.

“Hey pretty,” he greets, voice warm and easy as he brings a hand through his messy hair. The lights in his room are off, and the dim glow of his phone screen casts a soft light over his features, making him look unfairly good for someone who should be fast asleep.

“You have two seconds to give me a good reason why you’re here talking to me instead of getting a good night’s rest before your concert tomorrow,” your eyes narrow in mock disapproval as you give him a knowing look.

Jake laughs lightly, “Hey! Okay, hear me out. I couldn’t sleep, so I did something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You did something? That sounds ominous, I’m scared.”

“Yeah. For you,” he states plainly, leaving you even more confused for a second more before he continues. “I made you a playlist.”

Your brain stalls at how simple he says it—so casual, as if not packed with so much meaning.

“A playlist? You—wait, why?”

Jake shrugs, “I don’t know—I guess I just wanted you to hear what I hear when I think about you. Which, by the way, is a lot. So..”

You blink at the screen, your mouth slightly agape at the boy who's watching you with that lopsided grin that makes it practically impossible to function. You scramble to collect yourself, but the more you try, the worse it gets, and by now, you think he definitely took some secret class on how-to-make-Y/N-completely-flustered.

And aced it.

And of course, he notices—because Jake always notices.

“You okay there?” His voice breaks you out of your overwhelming thoughts, his teasing tone laced with curiosity.

“Define okay,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your face in an attempt to cool down the warmth spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. “Because if it means not feeling like a complete fool over a guy who’s halfway across the world, then no, I’m absolutely not okay.”

Jake lets out a low laugh, the sound affectionate as he leans closer to the camera, the light reflecting off his shining eyes, “If it helps, you’re not the only one losing your mind here.”

“Oh yeah?” you arch an eyebrow, “What’s your excuse, Sim?”

“My excuse?” He tilts his head with a small, exaggerated frown, pretending to think. “Hmm…let’s see…I’m hopelessly into this girl who somehow makes being teased fun, who makes me smile just by hearing my name come out her mouth, and who—“

“Okay! Stop, stop, enough,” your voice strangled as you try to talk through the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold down. “You’re gonna kill me, Jake. Like, actually. I’m not strong enough for this.”

Jake laughs at your flustered reaction, holding up a hand of surrender, “Fine, fine. But seriously, look.”

You hear the sound of faint typing in the background before your phone buzzes with a text containing a link.

“It’s called Songs That Remind Me of Y/N. Creative, right?”

You open the link, and your thoughts are dazed at the sight of the endless playlist of songs. Some new to you, some you recognize—all of them feeling like little pieces of Jake's heart he's handing to you.

"I think it's perfect," you murmur softly, scrolling through the titles, the warmth and appreciation for him now feeling almost too overwhelming.

"Yeah?" Jake's eyes shine with a mixture of pride and hope as he watches your reaction.

"Yeah," you repeat, switching your phone screen back to his face and giving him a genuine smile. "I love it. Thank you, Jake."

Jake hums in response, the look on his eyes gentle as a beat of comfortable silence falls between you two.

"Well, I should probably sleep for real now, but...listen to it when you miss me, okay? Because chances are, I'm probably doing the same."

You pause, letting the weight of his words settle over you—vulnerable, yet undoubtedly honest. "Deal. I'll listen to it right now, then."

"Good," his smile grows, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Because I am too. I miss you, too."

You both linger for a moment, neither wanting to end the call just yet, simply enjoying each other's pure, raw presence.

"Sweet dreams, Jake," you finally say, your voice gentle as you slowly let sleep take over.

"Only if they’re about you," he quips, grinning.

You roll your eyes, your chest feeling lighter, "Go to bed, Sim."

"Yes, ma'am," he winks, and with one last fond look, he ends the call, leaving you smiling at your screen like the absolute fool he's turned you into.

"I can't believe you're finally coming back tomorrow," you murmur into the phone, your voice soft but buzzing with excitement as you take in the sight of Jake sprawled out on his bed. The dim glow of his phone highlights just enough of his face to remind you how impossibly cute he is—even with the pillow creases on his cheek.

"I know," Jake sighs dramatically, flopping onto his side. His head sinks into the pillow, and you hear a soft fwump as he shifts to find a comfortable spot. "I just wish I wasn't landing so late. If I could, I'd come see you the second I land. Like, bags in hand, running to your door."

"You'd probably trip and knock yourself out with your carry-on, Jake," you snort but then smile, the imagine of Jake rushing to get to you playing in your head.

"First of all, I'm very athletic," Jake raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Second, that's exactly what would happen, but at least I'd be unconscious on your doorstep, which is still closer to you than I've been in months."

Your heart does a little flip at the sound of the sincerity in his voice as you try to keep your tone casual, "It's okay, Jake. I'm not going anywhere. We'll see each other the next day? If you're free, maybe."

Jake's face softens in that stupidly adorable way he always does when he knows you're just trying to play it cool. "Free or not, I'll find a way. Nothing's stopping me from seeing you, Y/N. Not jet lag, not my schedule, not even my manager if he tries to barricade me in the building."

A giggle escapes you, partly at his sheer determination and partly to cover up the butterflies constantly causing the havoc in your stomach when it comes to him. And Jake, of course, looks all smug, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. Typical Jake—sweet, determined, and impossibly endearing.

But as much as his words make your cheeks warm, there's another reason why you're holding back your smile.

Because, despite what Jake thinks, you're going to see him much sooner than he expects. All thanks to a message you got earlier from the group's manager:

Y/N! Hope you’re doing well! We all miss you and can’t wait to see you soon! As you know, the boys are returning tomorrow late at night, but the staff and I want to plan a little surprise party at their apartment, they have no idea. The team’s already prepping everything. We’d love for you to come—it wouldn’t be the same without you. 10 PM! See you!

You're practically vibrating with excitement, each passing minute on the call with Jake making it harder and harder to not just blurt it out and tell him you'll be seeing him in less than 24 hours. And, somehow, hearing his sleepy voice on the other side of the call, completely oblivious, just makes it even harder to contain yourself.

Jake's brows furrow as he watches you try (and fail) to suppress your grin, "What's up with you? You're smiling so much, and I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything that funny."

"Me?" You blink innocently, even though your heart skips a beat. But you shrug casually, masking your smile with a feigned yawn. "Nothing's up, you've just been acting too cute tonight. That's all."

"You're lucky you're cute," Jake narrows his eyes at you, but even you can see through the dim lighting the red creeping across his face, "And that I'm tired. Or else I'd call you out for how you're gaslighting me right now."

"Gaslighting?!" You sputter out, breaking out into laughter. "How am I gaslighting you for calling you cute?"

"Because I know you're hiding something—" Jake replies, his pout audible in the way his voice drags. He yawns mid-sentence, the soft sound and the image of his eyes fluttering closed making your heart melt. "—and you're using my sleep-deprived state against me. It's not fair."

"I'm not hiding anything!" You protest, your face one second away from cracking into a guilty smile. "Go to sleep—you're barely holding it together over there."

"Like I'd ever fall asleep on you," he mutters, his voice heavy with drowsiness. "You're way too important for that."

His words hit you like a train, and you have to physically restrain yourself from squealing, burying your face in your pillow before you let out a strangled, "Okay, enough sap for one night, Romeo. Go to bed."

"Mmhm, fine, fine," Jake hums before he yawns again. "Goodnight, pretty. Dream sweet dreams, okay?"

You let out a breath, losing the last remaining bits of your composure at this point—but in the best way possible, of course.

"Goodnight, Jakey. I'll see you soon."

The day flies by in a whirlwind of anticipation and sheer chaos, the emotional hurricane brewing up inside you rooting from one source and one source only.

Because ever since you woke up this morning, every step, every sight, every breath was haunted by one inescapable thought:

Jake.

The morning was a blur of pacing around your room like a Sims character who was glitching after being told to "Go Here", overthinking every possible scenario for how tonight—when you finally see Jake in person—could go down.

Because, really—how exactly do you approach the boy you've been friends with for years, who you've fallen for, in a room filled with people, including yours and his closest friends, all while pretending your heart is trying its hardest to not control, alt, delete itself?

Not exactly something you can Google.

Like, do you hug him? Does he hug you? What if he doesn't hug you? (Unacceptable, you decide, before pacing faster.)

By the time afternoon rolls around, you're about 78% sure you've developed three-and-a-half migraines from the sheer pressure of it all. Not to mention, the borderline illegal amount of caffeine coursing through your veins isn't helping—why did you think drinking four cups of coffee was a good idea? (You didn't. Your brain has officially gone rogue.)

And now, here you are. The buzzing apartment of the boys is alive with the sounds of laughter, the crinkle of party streamers being hung up, and two staff members arguing about where to put the over-dramatically large "WELCOME HOME" banner. You, along with everyone else, await for the signal, passing time by keeping up small conversation with the friends and staff you've gotten to know over the years—all the while you desperately try to keep your nerves from causing a mental crash out right here and now.

Eventually, one of the staff gets the alert that the group has landed and is minutes away, the energy immediately shifting, both in the apartment and mentally. You settle in place in the back of the crowd, near the door but not too near the door—because 1) you're 99.99% sure you're not emotionally stable enough to be front and center, and 2) the staff and camera crew are already hogging the entrance as if this was the world's greatest comeback (and spoiler alert—to you, it really is.)

The lights dim, the chatter fades, and the room hums with anticipation. And meanwhile? Your heart won't. Stop. Pounding.

Any second now.

Your nerves bubble up even more than you thought is humanly healthy, and you're not sure if you're about to a) pass out, b) puke, c) or both.

Simultaneously.

The sound of multiple footsteps echoes faintly in the hallway, followed with muffled voices—one of them the unmistakable sound of Jake's laughter. Your breath catches.

And then the door swings open.

"SURPRISE!"

The boys freeze in the doorway, their suitcases still in hand, the looks of genuine, yet pleasant, confusion plastered on all their faces. Sunghoon's eyes dart to the snacks table, Jay looks like he's deciding whether to laugh or roll his eyes, Sunoo is on the verge of tears, and Jake—Jake looks beautifully, stupidly confused.

Your eyes immediately find Jake's face, like some natural gravitational pull you can't fight, and suddenly it hits you: he's here. In front of you. No blurry video calls, no glitchy Wi-Fi interruptions—just Jake.

It feels surreal, like you're living in a sugar-induced dream that you aren't sure of is real yet or not. Last time you saw him in person, he was merely just Jake, one of your best friends, your go-to guy for bad jokes and late-night rants about life. But now? Now he's Jake—the boy who's somehow become the main character of your life (and brain capacity) over the past five months.

Every memory of your late-night calls, every teasing smile, every time his sweet, groggy voice promised he'd prove himself to you—it all comes rushing back. Like those cheesy montage scenes in a rom-com, except instead of a whimsical romantic song playing in the background, it's the sound of your brain, and heart, screaming WHAT NOW Y/N?!

But then, finally, his eyes land on you.

The moment your eyes meet, you think your lungs give up on life. Breathing? Never heard of it. It's like someone hit the pause button on the entire universe, and you're convinced that the only thing to ever exist is Jake looking at you with that soft, unreadable expression.

But you manage half a second of calm—half a second—before that softness on his face disappears. Just as quickly as it appeared, it's replaced by...something else. Something you can't quite put your finger on. Something you've never thought could exist on his face. A flicker of...conflict? Hesitation? Like he's staring straight at you…but also from miles away at the same time.

His jaw tightens slightly—so slightly only you would notice with how intently you're looking at him—and for a split second, his hands fidgets at his side before he quickly clasps it over the handle of his suitcase. And right as you process it, right as you're about to convince yourself it's just the million grams of caffeine rushing through your blood that's making you hallucinate and see things—

He looks away.

He looks away. As if you're not even standing there, as if he didn't just short-circuit your entire brain. His attention shifts to the nearest staff member, greeting them with a quick nod, and suddenly he's smiling and laughing at something they're saying like nothing just happened.

And just like that, the universe hits the play button again, and you're left standing there—staring, blinking, wondering if the last thirty seconds of your life was, indeed, a caffeine-induced hallucination after all. Surely. Right?

Because Jake definitely didn't avoid you on purpose. Nope. Because that would be insane. Insane, you think to yourself, as the invisible angel on your shoulder continues to whisper into your ear the same sweet words Jake's been telling you the past five months about how much he cares for you, how much he likes you—remember all those times he said it?

Right. Right. Of course, he does. But still, you stand there frozen, trying to ground yourself, even though your hands start fidgeting at your sides anyway. Great. Fantastic. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine.

You mentally curse yourself for not being closer to the door after all, and then, you mentally curse every single person in this room for not magically gaining telepathic powers and knowing that you, personally, were trying to have a moment.

It's fine. You'll find him again. He's just too preoccupied with all the staff members and people to greet. Busy Jake. Social Jake. You're just imagining things. Definitely.

Trying to distract yourself, you glance around the apartment, everything suddenly feeling suffocating. Maybe a snack. Maybe a drink. Maybe a portal to another dimension.

Shaking your head out of your spiraling thoughts, you bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself and turn away from the crowd, quickly settling yourself near the beverage table, pouring yourself a cup of...whatever this is—your mind too cloudy to even bother looking at the sign on the table.

You don't know how much time passes, and frankly, you don't even know if you're fully conscious. Your mind is still living in the past, lingering in that moment where you locked eyes with Jake for the first time in five months, and despite all the overthinking you did this morning of all the possible scenarios that could happen—this was not one of them.

You're about to pour yourself a second drink just to keep your thoughts busy when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Y/N!"

Before you can fully turn around, you're engulfed in a warm hug, the familiar scent of Jungwon's cologne immediately grounding you, "Oh god, I missed you. Took me forever to find you with all these people."

"Jungwon!" You exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up your face despite the emotional tug-of-war in your chest, because, of course, leave it to your best friend to immediately ease your inner panic. You squeeze him back, playfully ruffling his hair as you pull away, "I can't believe they made you grow out your hair. Now you actually look older than me for once."

He stares at you, blinking. "Y/N. I am older than you."

"Literally by a week. We all know I'm mentally older," you deadpan, crossing your arms.

"Okay, I take it back. I didn't miss you after all," he scoffs as you laugh, pulling him into another hug for good measure just to annoy him.

"I'm so glad you guys are back," you say as Jungwon grabs the drink in your hand and takes a sip himself as he listens to you. "I was dying of boredom without you guys."

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, "Uh-huh. Definitely didn't sound like boredom all those nights you called Jake at 2AM."

You freeze. Oh. Great. The one topic you were trying to avoid (how you were going to avoid it—given you're at his literal apartment, with his literal group members, and literal staff members that all work for him—you're not sure. Avoidance was a doomed plan from the start, I fear).

But before you could answer, Jungwon continues, "So...are you guys, like, a thing now? I know you guys were just talking this whole time, but now that we're back, are you guys gonna be in a relationship and all that stuff? Because if so, I need a heads-up. As much I love you both, I don't know if I can stand you two being all couple-y right in front of me—oh, and also—"

"Jungwon."

"—if he hurts you in any way, I swear to god I will not hesitate to—"

"Jungwon!"

He stops, wide-eyed, before flashing you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. But seriously, what's happening? You haven't given me any updates!"

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. Because if he had asked you yesterday—or even an hour ago—you would've been able to answer confidently. But now? After Jake's apparent Olympic-level avoidance of you? You're not so sure anymore.

"I...I don't know," you mumble, the words barely audible. Jungwon tilts his head, leaning closer to catch them.

"What do you mean, you don't know? You guys haven't talked about it?" His brows furrowing as he studies your face, clearly picking up on your hesitation in true best friend fashion.

"I, uh, I haven't...seen him yet," you admit, hoping the crack in your voice doesn't reveal the real reason you haven't approached the boy in question. "Everyone's busy, and I didn't want to get in the way."

Jungwon gives you a look like you just said the earth is flat.

"Get in the way? Y/N, you're insane. This is the guy who's been counting down the days to see you. If anything, everyone else is in his way."

You give him a helpless shrug, but Jungwon isn't having it. He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pointing across the room to one of the other snack tables past the crowds of people.

"Look. He's right there. Alone. Perfectly free to talk to you. Go."

Your eyes land on Jake, back facing you and Jungwon, casually scooping chips into a bowl. You hesitate, scanning his relaxed posture, and the knot in your stomach tightens. Because that's exactly the problem. He's perfectly free. And if he's so excited to see you, how come he hasn't spoken to you yet?

But before you can voice your doubts, Jungwon gives you a not-so-gentle nudge forward, "Go talk to him before I carry you over there myself."

And next thing you know, Jake's right there. In front of you. His back is to you still, his eyes scanning the various snacks lined on the table, completely unaware of the full-on mental breakdown occurring just behind him.

This is your moment, you tell yourself, despite the endless alarms going off in your brain. Every single nerve in your body is on high alert, screaming at you to abort mission, abort! But before you can give in to your panic, your hand is already reaching out, lightly tapping his shoulder.

"Jake!"

Jake turns around, and for a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—you catch it. The way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The way his lips part as if they're about to break into that familiar smile you've missed for months. But just as quickly, similar to earlier, it vanishes, replaced by that flicker of hesitation, and it's enough to make your breath catch.

"Y/N."

Your name on his lips used to sound like a warm promise. Now?

Now it feels like an afterthought.

His voice is calm, steady—too steady, stripped of every ounce of emotion, and not at all like someone who's been counting down the days to see you. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to the crowd behind you before reluctantly meeting yours, "It's been so long."

Your stomach sinks. That's all he had to say? You were completely wrong. You spent precisely 23 minutes of your morning debating if he was even going to give you a hug—but now? Screw the hug, he won't even give you a full sentence. Something's off, and your mind races to figure out what happened, as if you missed a major chapter of your own life.

Trying to ignore the sharp pang of something lodging itself in your chest, you offer a small smile, hoping to break the tension.

"Are you...okay? I thought...I don't know, I thought you'd be more excited to see me," the words spill out before you can stop them, and you want to crawl into a self-dug hole from how raw and vulnerable you feel.

Jake shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the floor, then at you, "No, yeah, of course I am. I'm just...really tired. The flight, you know. And all this," he pauses to gesture at the environment around you two, "it's a lot."

You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for him to crack—silently begging for some sign of the Jake you thought you knew. But all you get is a shrug.

A shrug.

Suddenly, his words feel like a punch to the gut, let alone the way he can't even fully look you in the eyes. In just those few seconds, the invisible angel on your shoulder—whose voice sounded just like Jake's—whispering those promises into your ears suddenly disappeared with no trace in sight, as if it was never there—as if it was never yours—in the first place. Every late-night call, every whispered promise, every shared laugh.

As if they never belonged to you.

You swallow hard, trying to keep the growing lump in your throat from choking you, hoping your emotional turmoil isn't blatantly obvious to the boy in front of you.

"Right," you murmur, nodding as if his excuse makes perfect sense. But it doesn't. "That's...understandable."

The silence that follows is suffocating. Not the comfortable kind of warm silence you two used to share, but the awkward, unbearable kind that makes you claw at your own skin and makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right then and there.

Jake shifts again, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours. There's something there—but before you can grasp it, a voice from the crowd calls his name.

"I—I should go," he mutters quickly, stepping back. His voice is quiet, his tone almost apologetic, but his words feel like he's hammering the nails to your coffin. "I'll...see you later though, yeah?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's gone before you can say anything, before you can process his words, and for the second time that night, he leaves you standing there with your heart in pieces and your thoughts in chaos.

For a moment, you swear you're paralyzed. You can't move. Can't breathe. Your vision blurs as every doubt you'd buried for months comes rushing back, screaming in your face louder and crueler than ever. You've never felt smaller, more foolish.

Your heart beats erratically now, fighting against the realization of the truth settling in your chest—a heaviness so suffocating it threatens to take you under. The Jake who stood in front of you just now—guarded, distant, a stranger—was so unlike the boy who had made you laugh until your sides ached, who'd stayed up with you on countless late nights, sharing secrets no one else knew.

The Jake who made promises.

Your mind spirals. Maybe...maybe those promises were never meant to be kept. Maybe they were just words to fill the time.

Maybe you were just someone to fill the time.

Your breath starts to pick up and you're frantically scanning the room, desperate for an escape from your thoughts through any familiar face. Your eyes finally land on Ni-ki and Heeseung casually sitting on one of the couches, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to your inner implosion. You beeline to them, forcing a smile on your face as you plop down beside them.

"Y/N!" Ni-ki grins the moment he spots you, scooting over to make room. "Where've you been hiding? Thought you ditched us for good."

"I've been here,“ you give the boys a small smile, praying they don't notice the way your hands tremble as you sit down, “just...mingling."

Heeseung raises an eyebrow at the faint crack in your voice, but doesn't push further, "Well, we all missed you. Pizza pig-out sesh and games tomorrow? You can tell us everything we've been missing out on."

You laugh, trying to keep the conversation light, but it comes out shaky, your voice tight under the weight of your hidden emotions, "I think it's you guys who need to catch me up."

Ni-ki tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you, "Are you okay? You look...off. What—did someone spill punch on you? Lemme guess, was it Jake?"

At his name, the knife in your stomach twists even deeper, and you look away, hoping they don't notice the way your face falls.

But Heeseung notices. Of course. His gaze sharpens, the playful teasing in his expression replaced with a softened concern, "Y/N...what's going on?"

"I'm fine," you reply a little too quickly, your voice a little too high. You plaster a smile on your face, turning back towards the two boys, concern written all over their faces. "Just tired. Long day."

Neither of them look convinced, but before Heeseung can say anything else, Ni-ki nudges him and gestures towards something across the room.

"Hey...isn't that—"

You follow Ni-ki's gaze, and you immediately wish you didn't.

Because just like that, your world crumbles.

There she is—Jenn.

You're not even wondering when she got here, how she got here, or even why she's here in the first place. No, not even.

Because all that's occupying your mind right now is the way she's there, perched comfortably on Jake's lap on one of the couches in the distance, her arm draped casually over his shoulder.

The way she's laughing freely at something he says, her hand lightly brushing against his as if it's second nature, her fingers briefly pushing a strand of hair away from his face.

The way Jake doesn't even flinch, the way he doesn't pull away.

The way he smiles at her.

That same smile—the one you've spent weeks convincing yourself was yours—now feels like a cruel joke.

And that does it. For the first time that night, despite all you endured, you shatter.

You force yourself to look away, but it's too late. Your chest hollows out deeper and deeper with every passing second, until all you're left with is a final realization:

Maybe you never really had him at all. He was never yours in the first place.

Ni-ki and Heeseung exchange glances before looking at the expression on your face—all the color drained, as if you were merely just a body, paralyzed. Both of them open their mouths, but nothing comes out, clearly unsure of what to say, but you don't give them the chance. You're already standing, grabbing your bag at your side with trembling hands.

"Y/N, wait—" Heeseung starts as both him and Ni-ki stand up with you, but you shake your head, his voice distant and muffled as if he's speaking to you underwater.

"I need some air," you mumble, but you're sure neither of them hear you, your voice barely above a whisper.

Before they can stop you, you're already weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring as you fight the overwhelming urge to break down. You stop at the door, your eyes quickly scanning the cluttered floor for your shoes. For a moment, you think you've made it—escaped the suffocating air and heartbreak clawing at your throat—but a mistake you didn't mean to make stills you.

You glance over your shoulder, and there he is.

Jake's eyes meet yours, and the world comes to a stop. His easy smile slips from his face and is immediately replaced by a flicker of panic, his brows drawing together as if he's just realized something, but you don't stick around to analyze it.

Not when your heart is already in pieces on the floor.

You quickly look the opposite way, fighting the sting of burning tears threatening to spill over as your fingers fumble desperately with the zipper of your coat when you hear a concerned voice from behind you.

"Y/N?" Jungwon's familiar voice cuts through your haze, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "What—where are you going?"

"Home," you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you finally manage to get your coat on, turning towards the door.

Suddenly, Jungwon steps in front of you, a firm frown on his face, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Talk to me—"

"Jungwon, I need to go," you look up at him as your voice cracks for the nth time that night, feeling Jake's set of eyes on you still, "Please, Won."

He hesitates, clearly confused but more worried over anything else, "Okay, but I'm driving you."

You sigh, shaking your head, "No, it's fine—"

"I'm driving you," Jungwon repeats, leaving no room for argument as he's already grabbing his coat and walking out the door.

Not bothering to look behind you to see if Jake's still watching, you follow Jungwon out to the hallway, the chill of the air feeling like a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you all at once: embarrassment, anger, heartbreak.

You're too caught up in your spinning thoughts to even notice the sound of frantic footsteps behind you until a voice cuts through the silence.

"Y/N."

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago.

But still, you hear it anyway—because of course you do. Because it's him. And no matter how much you wish you didn't, you'd silence the entire world just to hear that voice.

And you hate it.

You hate how your entire body freezes mid-step, you hate how every nerve within you comes alive at the sound of his voice, you hate how your heart stumbles, as if trying to root itself in the pain you've been trying so hard to outrun.

You turn around slowly, against every ounce of logic telling you to keep walking. And when your eyes land on him—on the raw, desperate, almost broken look on his face—you hate yourself even more.

Because even now, even after everything, your heart still sinks at the sight. And you hate how you give him the power to break you with just one look.

“Can we talk?” Jake asks, his voice low and unsteady as he takes a small step towards you.

From beside you, Jungwon hesitates, his gaze flickering between you and Jake. After a beat, he nods, "I'll get the car. Wait here."

He spares Jake a final look of warning before nudging you for comfort and stepping into the elevator.

The elevator doors close, leaving you and Jake alone in the hallway, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.

You swallow hard, your throat tight, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter.

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation, his heart breaking at the way your tears are a second away from falling over.

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt finally bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…”

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll break if he gets too close. "I was nervous."

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest.

You let out a hollow laugh, the bitter sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.”

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."

"Then why was...," you look at him, your eyes still stinging from all the unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?”

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting him deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you were afraid of.

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you’ve tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you like waves, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true.

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said—I meant it."

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see the way your tears finally spill over.

"You promised," you let out softly and slowly, through your sniffles. “You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you...you hurt me anyways."

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate as he shakes his head. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing against yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one."

You shake your head again, the tears now freely rushing down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I—I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I want to, I really, really do. But tonight..."

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes turning glassy themselves. The sight of you—broken, because of him—cuts deeper than he thought was humanly ever possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.”

You look at him—at the boy who became your safe space these past few months—and all you feel is the ache in your heart.

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out through your broken voice as you take a step back. "I think I just need space."

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in the face, "Y/N..."

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay—to give him the chance he's yearning for. But your brain knows better.

"I have to go," you murmur softly, as you take a final step back, turning away before more tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he lets you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.

To Jake, the sounds of the party are now far in the distance, drowned out by the pounding in this ears. Instead, the hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps—a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.

The car ride starts in complete silence, the only sound between you and Jungwon the soft hum of his engine and the faint sound of whatever playlist he was playing in the background. You stare out the window, watching the city lights blur together, your coat clutched tightly under your grasp as if it's the only thing keeping you sane.

Jungwon glances at you out the corner of his eye, his hands steady on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything at first, but you know him well enough to sense the storm brewing in his head.

"Okay," he finally says, as if on cue, breaking the silence. "Spill."

You don't respond, your eyes still fixed on the surrounding city breezing by you, as if the passing view could somehow erase the memory of him. Your fingers dig further into the fabric of your coat, your knuckles going numb.

Jungwon gives you a few more moments of silence, but when you don't make any sign of responding, he speaks up again.

"Y/N," his voice softens, but the edge of his concern cuts through. "Don't do that thing where you shut people out. Especially me, you know I hate that."

"I'm not—" you start, but your voice wavers, and the lie dies on the tip of your tongue.

“You are," he exhales sharply from beside you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Look, you don't have to tell me everything, but don't pretend you're fine when you're clearly not."

The words sit heavy in the air as you swallow hard, your throat burning as you finally whisper, "It's stupid, Jungwon."

He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but his tone is firm, "I'm sure if it's got you looking like this, it's not stupid."

You want to argue, to tell him to just let it go, but the hurt pressing down on your chest is too much. The ache in your body threatens to take over again, and you hate it. You hate how the tears form again, how you can still see Jake looking at you like that, like you were breaking right in front of him and he didn't know how to stop it.

Jungwon waits. He doesn't push, because he knows you. He knows you're just hurting, struggling to grasp your overwhelming emotions, so he gives you the time you need. But his quiet patience is unbearable, like he's peeling back every layer of your resolve just by being there, and eventually, you give in.

"It's Jake," you finally choke out, the name tumbling from your lips like a curse.

Jungwon doesn't respond immediately, but you can feel the shift in his demeanor. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex against the wheel, "I figured as much honestly, after what I saw in the hallway, but what exactly happened, Y/N?"

You shake your head, your voice shaky, "It doesn't matter. I—I just feel so stupid, Won. Like, how could I think..."

You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Jungwon gives you a softened glance, signaling you to continue whenever you're ready to.

You take a deep breath before you speak up again, "How could I ever think I was good enough for him, you know?"

There's a silence that follows after your words and you hear Jungwon take in a deep inhale.

"This isn't on you, Y/N. This has nothing to do with whether you're enough or not," Jungwon's voice is steady, but there's a firm edge to it now. "Look, I don't want to overstep or anything...and I definitely don't want to vouch for him—especially right now but...are you sure he's not just freaking out?"

You tilt your head over at the boy next to you, "Freaking out about what?"

"You," Jungwon says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"That doesn't make any sense," you start shaking your head. "Why would he—"

"Because you're you," Jungwon interrupts, his tone matter-of-fact as he keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of him. "And Jake's a complete idiot, but even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."

You blink, Jungwon's words sinking into all the cracks formed within you, "You really think he cares about me that much?"

“Are you kidding?” Jungwon scoffs, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung his moon and stars. Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

And you don't know what comes over you, but Jungwon's words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the tears you've been holding back come rushing forward, hot and relentless. You cover your face with your hands, your body shaking as the sobs you've been swallowing all night finally make their way out.

Jungwon quickly looks over at you and, without hesitation, glances over his shoulder to pull over to the side of the road, the soft clicking of the hazard lights mixing in with your cries. When he finally puts the car in park, he doesn't say anything and just leans back in his seat, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder—close enough to remind you he's there, but not too much to smother you.

"I'm sorry," you manage to gasp out between sobs, your hands going up to wipe your face as all the overwhelming emotions finally take over you.

"Don't," Jungwon says firmly, "Don't apologize for feeling like this."

You take a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together as your sobs eventually start to slow down, "I just don't understand. If he cares so much, why does this hurt so bad?"

"I don't think it's about how much he cares," Jungwon sighs, as if carrying your pain alongside you. "Sometimes...sometimes people care so much that they don't know what to do with it. They panic. They overthink. And they mess up in the worst ways because they don't know how to handle what they're feeling."

You look up at him, your face still wet with tears, "So you're saying it's an excuse."

"No," Jungwon replies, quickly shaking his head fervently. "Definitely not an excuse. Jake screwed up, Y/N. Big time. And it's 100% on him to fix that, not you. But—"

He pauses and thinks for a second, his words deliberate, "—it doesn't mean his feelings aren't real. Or that he doesn't care about you."

You look away, glancing down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with the hem of your coat as you take in Jungwon's words.

"It's just feels like...like I'm the only one who got hurt here, Won. Like I'm the only one who..," you trail off, unable to form your thoughts into a coherent sentence, but leave it up to Jungwon to always fully understand you.

"You're not the only one," he says softly. "He's hurting too, Y/N. Maybe not in the same way, and maybe he doesn't deserve any sympathy, but I can see it. I've seen it. Jake...Jake isn't Jake without you. And honestly? That idiot is probably tearing himself apart right now."

Your lips part, but the words don't find you. Instead, you let the weight of Jungwon's words sink in, unsure what to do with how true they may be.

"You don't have to forgive him right now," Jungwon adds after a moment. "Hell, you don't even have to forgive him at all. Honestly, that might satisfy me just a bit. But maybe...maybe you owe it to yourself to hear him out. Not for him, but for you."

You turn to Jungwon, your lips forming into the smallest pout, "But what if it just makes everything worse?"

He gives you a faint, grounding smile, equal parts reassuring and honest.

"Then you walk away knowing you did everything you could—for yourself. And if it does come to that," he shrugs lightly, "we'll figure it out together."

You're quiet for a long moment, the thought of walking away from Jake and everything he means to you terrifying you…but you know Jungwon's right. You owe yourself the chance to try—even if the unknown outcome fails you.

With a shaky breath, you nod, brushing away the last of your tears, "Thanks, Jungwon."

"You're welcome," Jungwon hums in acknowledgement before his lips curve into a small grin, the atmosphere lightening slightly, "but, uh, could you at least use the tissues in the glove compartment before my seats turn into a snot rag?"

You manage to let out a small scoff of disbelief as you roll your watery eyes, "You're the worst."

"Nah," Jungwon replies with a cheeky grin as he shifts the car back into drive, but not before he reaches over to ruffle your hair playfully. "C'mon. Let's get you home."

The knocking at Jungwon’s door comes at the worst possible moment.

He’s halfway through organizing his desk—something he only attempts when he’s too frustrated to sit still—and the last thing he expects to see when he swings the door open is Jake, standing there looking like he hasn’t slept a millisecond all night.

Jungwon makes no sign of saying anything or making a move, just staring at the older boy in question. Jakes shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his messy hair, not used to seeing Jungwon in this sour, expressionless mood.

"Hey," Jake finally says, his voice hesitant.

“What do you want?” Jungwon deadpans, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He knows he sounds harsh, but, frankly, he doesn’t care.

Jake falters for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I...I need your help."

Jungwon's eyes narrow, "With what, exactly?"

He knows what, but he's not letting Jake off that easily. Not after last night.

"With Y/N," your name hangs in the air between them as Jake's voice cracks, and Jungwon clenches his jaw before he lets out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't think you're in any position to be asking me for help right now."

"I know," Jake says quickly, his hands raising in surrender. "I know, okay? I screwed up big time. I—God, I don't even know where to start, Jungwon. I just...I don't want to make things worse."

Jungwon lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, stepping back and motioning his head to let Jake enter his room, "You've already got a good head start on that, I see."

Jake steps inside, awkwardly hovering near the door as Jungwon moves to sit on the edge of his own bed. He doesn't offer Jake a seat, and Jake doesn't ask for one.

"She cried, you know," Jungwon says after a few moments of silence, his voice stone cold. "I had to pull over because she couldn't even hold it together long enough for me to get her home. I've known her my entire life, and I don't think I've ever seen her cry that hard, Jake."

Jake flinches, the words physically hurting him, "I didn't mean to—"

"Yeah, I know," the younger boy cuts him off, his voice sharp, his anger rising on behalf of you. "You didn't mean to hurt her. But you did. And now you're asking me to help you fix it like it's that easy."

"It's not easy," Jake mutters quietly, his hands fumbling with the edge of his hoodie. "Nothing about this...none of it is easy. But I know I messed up, and I—I can't just leave things like this, I can't lose her, Jungwon. I care about her too much."

Jungwon deadpans at his friend, fighting back the urge to scoff in his face, "If you cared about her, you wouldn't have let her walk out of that party looking like her entire world was falling apart."

Jake looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with something Jungwon can't quite name...desperation, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.

"I didn't know what to do," Jake finally admits, his voice still barely above a whisper, as if admitting to himself for the first time, too. "I saw her, and she looked so...broken. And I—I panicked, I didn't know what to do, and by the time I realized, she was gone."

Jungwon leans back, groaning as he runs a hand over his face. The anger bubbling within him hasn't fully faded, but he knows there's something else now—something softer, something that makes it harder to keep his protective guard for you up.

Because he knows Jake isn't lying.

"You don't get to half-ass this, Jake," Jungwon finally says after he thinks to himself. "She's not some random girl you're trying to impress, she isn't Jenn. This is Y/N. If you want to fix things, you have to be ready to own up to everything. No excuses, no backing out. She deserves that much."

Jake nods quickly, his eyes wide and hopeful at Jungwon's slight change in demeanor, “I will. I swear, I will.”

"And don't think she's going to forgive you right away," Jungwon adds. "She's hurt. You have to give her time. This isn't about what you want—it's about what she needs."

Jake swallows hard, nodding again, “I just want to talk to her. To explain. To tell her I’m sorry and—”

His voice cracks, and he looks down, his hands trembling slightly. Jungwon lets out a sigh, his mixed feelings turning more into something closer to pity. Because as much as he wants to stay mad for your sake, he's known Jake long enough to know that he's a good guy—and that his heart is in the right place.

But even more than that, he knows you. And he knows how much Jake means to you, even if you won't admit it, especially not now more than ever.

"You're actually an idiot," Jungwon says after a few beats, his voice carrying a lighter tone now. "But for some godforsaken reason, knowing her, I think she might actually miss you."

Jake looks up from his hands, his eyes searching Jungwon's face for any flicker of doubt, "You really think so?"

Jungwon shrugs, standing up and moving towards his door, "I think you've got a lot of work to do if you want to earn her trust back. But...I think you still have a chance."

Jake doesn't say anything as he follows Jungwon to the door, but the look on his face says enough—there's a new slight look of hope. It's small, but he's clutching onto it like it’s his lifeline.

“You know," Jungwon says when he reaches the doorway. "Y/N’s not the type to let people in easily. She puts up walls—but with you…she let them down. You’re special to her, Jake, even if she doesn’t say it. Don’t throw that away. For her sake, and yours.”

“I won’t,” Jake promises, his voice steady now. “Thank you, Jungwon.”

Jungwon nods at the older boy before giving him a faint smile, "And just so you know, I defended you yesterday. So don't prove me wrong or I'm actually going to deck you."

Jake lets out a weak laugh as he hangs outside Jungwon's door, "Noted. I promise I won't let her down again."

Jungwon doesn’t respond, just closes the door with a soft click, and hopes—for all their sakes—that Jake means it.

Jake [5:12PM]: hi Y/N Jake [5:12PM]: i know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now. and i don’t blame you at all Jake [5:13PM]: but i cant just stay silent and let this sit between us, and i value you too much to not respect you needing space and just show up at your door Jake [5:14PM]: even though it’s killing me to stay away Jake [5:14PM]: after you left the party last night, i went back inside. i told jenn that whatever we had in the past is exactly that, the past. and i swear to you, Y/N, there’s nothing between us. there hasn’t been for a long time. and it’s my fault for making it seem otherwise. Jake [5:15PM]: and as for how i acted…i don’t even know where to start. i fucked up extremely. nothing will excuse my actions and i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need to apologize properly, you deserve that much. Jake [5:17PM]: please let me see you, Y/N. i don’t deserve it, and i don’t deserve you. but you mean everything to me, and i hate that i hurt you. and i promise, if you let me, i’ll do everything to make it up to you.

You stare at the phone in your hand, the messages feeling like salt to an open wound. The words on the screen begin to blur together as tears prick your eyes, spilling over before you even realize it. You don't bother wiping them away—the sting in your chest too raw, too heavy. Each word feels like Jake is standing right there in front of you, his voice soft and broken, tangled with regret.

You tell yourself to stop reading. You've already gone through the same messages at least a hundred times in the past ten minutes, overanalyzing each syllable as if they hold the answers to all of your questions.

And yet, you can't stop.

You want to be angry. You are angry. Or, at least, you think. Because beneath the flame of your anger that's already threatening to die out? There's an ache you can't ignore—a small, stubborn part of you that refuses to let go to the sincerity in his words, clinging onto the hope that he's telling you the truth.

You mean everything to me, and I hate that I hurt you. I promise, if you let me, I'll do everything to make it up to you.

The ache twists harder, curling into doubt. What if he means it? What if he's telling the truth?

But of course, the fear rises just as quickly. Because what if he's not? What if you let him back in, and it all falls apart again? What if you let yourself believe in him, giving him the second chance he's asking for, only to have your heart shattered worse than before?

And then, there's Jungwon's voice, soft but steady, cutting through the chaos brewing in your mind: "Even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."

Your breath catches.

Because that's the worst part. Knowing that maybe—just maybe—Jake really does care. Knowing that maybe he's telling the truth—and you're the one too afraid to take the risk, ready to build up the walls Jake's managed to get through.

Your phone screen suddenly dims, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. You blink rapidly, wiping at your face, your mind a mess of emotions you can't untangle or describe.

Fear. Hope. Doubt.

And something else—something you're afraid to admit, but you know is unmistakably real.

And it's stronger than the fear churning in your chest—it's something that's pulling you forward.

Your heart pounds almost out of your rib cage as you let out a shaky breath, the weight on your shoulders pressing harder and harder with every second you hesitate. The ache doesn't let up, but neither does your hope.

So you stop thinking altogether, letting your heart take control instead.

You shut your eyes, as if bracing yourself for a crash, take a deep breath, unlock your phone, and let your fingers fly across the screen, each word feeling like a leap off a cliff.

You hit send.

Y/N [5:30PM]: hi jake Y/N [5:30PM]: you can come over

The soft knock at your door startles you, even though you know it’s coming.

“Y/N?”

His voice. Jake’s voice.

Your heart clenches painfully, a conflicting mix of longing and hurt washing over you all at once. It hasn't even been a full day since the party, but the weight of his absence has already hollowed you out, leaving a hole you can't ignore. You know he's the one who caused it—that the cracks in your heart are his doing—but at the same time, the stubborn part of you whispers that he's also the only one who can mend them.

You make your way to the door, your movements hesitant as you crack it open, peek out, and...there he is.

"Hi," Jake says softly.

He's a mess. A beautiful, saddened mess—his hair messy, like he's been running his hands through it all day, his eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that isn't just physical. One hand is buried deep in his jacket, and in the other—

"Flowers?" You ask, raising a brow in surprise.

Jake's ears turn red. "Yeah. Uh, I didn't know if you had a favorite, so I got—"

You open the door wider, revealing the full bouquet—daisies, tulips, roses, all wrapped together in crinkled tissue paper.

"—a little bit of everything," he finishes awkwardly, his voice trailing off, pausing for a second before holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.

Your lips twitch subconsciously, despite everything.

"Jake, you're literally allergic."

His mouth opens, then closes, the redness from his ears now spreading to his cheeks.

"Well, yeah, but—," Jake mumbles, shifting on his feet. "—not, like, deadly or anything dramatic like that."

He pauses, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable, "I just wanted you to have them. That's all."

You feel your insides tighten, the sincerity in his voice getting to you. For a moment, all you can manage to do is stare at him—at the way his eyes are silently pleading, wide and unsure.

You hesitate for a second, then step back and open the door wider.

"Thank you," you say quietly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the bouquet, sending a flicker of warmth through you. "Come in."

Jake hesitates, his eyes searching yours like he's not sure if he's actually allowed to. When you turn away and walk towards your kitchen, he finally steps inside, kicking off his shoes quickly and hovering by the door like he doesn't know what to expect next.

You set the flowers down on the counter, adjusting them carefully before turning back to him. He's still standing there, stiff and uncertain, the distance between you feeling larger than ever before.

"So..." You say, crossing your arms tightly across yourself, shifting your weight as a way to ground yourself—though the lump in your throat makes it feel impossible.

Jake exhales shakily, his hands fidgeting by his sides and gaze darting to the floor before finally landing on you, "I came to apologize. Properly."

You blink at him, expression unreadable, "You already said sorry."

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprising even yourself, but the words leave before you can stop them. Jake flinches, just slightly, but he nods, knowing he deserved that.

"Not like I should have," he says, stepping closer, his voice low and careful, like he's afraid you'll run out of your own apartment. "I know I messed up. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough or that someone else could ever compare to you, Y/N."

Your arms tighten around yourself as if the words might knock the breath out of you as look away, unsure if you can meet the rawness in his eyes.

"Last night," Jake continues, his eyes filling with guilt, "I didn't handle last night right. And not just how I handled Jenn, but I let my own insecurities and stupid fears of being perfect for you get in the way. I let it happen and mess everything up. I let you think that you didn't matter to me, and I will never forgive myself, Y/N."

His words hang in the air, heavy yet sincere, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him as you process his words slowly.

"And I don't expect you to forgive me either, Y/N," Jake's voice wavers before he continues, "but I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry. No excuses. For all of it—for making you feel like anything less than everything, for making you feel like you weren't my first choice. Because you are. You're my only, Y/N."

His words hit you with a force that crashes over the walls you tried so desperately to build. They're overwhelming yet tender, like rediscovering a piece of yourself you hadn't even realized you lost. And you want to let them comfort you, you do. But the pain from last night lingers deep down, reminding you of why you built those walls in the first place.

For a moment, the silence stretches on longer than you intend, the weight of his words settling in the air between you. Jake doesn't look away though—his gaze unwavering, vulnerable, and raw.

As though he's laid himself bare before you, giving you the power to either accept or shatter him completely.

When you finally find your voice, it trembles despite your best efforts, "Jake...I don't know if I can just forget what happened."

"I'm not asking you to forget," he says quickly, taking another step closer until there's only a few feet left between you. "I just want the chance to fix us. I can't lose you like this, Y/N."

Your breath catches at the proximity, his presence pulling you in like gravity. The pain from last night tries to claw its way back into your heart—sharp and bitter—but his warmth reminds you of something else that refuses to be ignored.

That flicker of hope that's demanding your attention, screaming at you to just let him in—not just for his sake, but for you.

You take a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Jake, I don't need you to...to be this perfect person. I don't need you to prove anything to me."

You pause, pushing past the lump in your throat, "Because since the beginning, I always believed you. And...I think I still do. Even after last night, I still believe you, Jake. No matter how hard I try to."

Jake lets out a breath he thinks he's been holding in for hours, "Really?"

"Yeah," you nod slowly, as if reassuring yourself as much as him. "But I don't need any of your promises or proof or any of that. I just...I just need you as you."

His eyes soften at you as he nods so quickly it's almost desperate.

"And I need you to be honest with me, Jake," you continue before he can speak. "If we do this, I need to know I can trust you. Because I don't know if I can do this...this waiting game anymore."

"You can," he says immediately, closing the distance between you two, making your breath hitch. You can see the way his hands are trembling, the slight quiver in his lips. "You can trust me. No more hesitation. I'm all in, Y/N. This is it for me, you're it."

You search his face for any sign of doubt, any speck of hesitation. But all you find is his sincerity—so hopeful and so real—the kind that makes you want to let him in fully and let your walls crumble all over again.

So you do.

"Okay," you say softly, almost as if you're testing the word.

Jake's eyes widen, the relief and hope flooding his features. Slowly, as if asking for permission, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours tentatively.

"Okay?" He whispers, his voice barely audible to you as his eyes flicker between your hands and your face.

You nod, your own hand turning over so your fingers curl around his in an instinctive gesture that feels so natural it makes you want to scream. The warmth of his touch feels like the first real comfort you've felt in forever, and it's enough to make your resolve slip.

"But," you add softly, your eyes not leaving the way his hand wraps around yours so perfectly, "this doesn't mean everything's fine. We need to talk. We need to figure out where we stand, and where we go from there."

Jake nods again, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, "We will. Whatever it takes, Y/N, I'll do it. I need you to know how much you mean to me and I'll never stop trying to show you that."

You let out a shaky breath as you take in his words, finally looking up from your intertwined hands to meet his eyes, your own slowly filling with the tears you've been holding back.

"You really hurt me, Jake," you say quietly, your voice breaking from the sheer weight of your vulnerability being laid bare.

Jake's face crumbles instantly, guilt etched into every line of his expression. Without hesitation, his free hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb light brushing away the tears that fall, as if he's afraid you might pull away.

Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his hand, and despite the emotions raging inside you, you let yourself lean into him. It feels both reckless, yet inevitable, like free-falling and trusting—knowing—he'll catch you.

"I know," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion he can't swallow down. "And I'll spend as long as it takes to deserve you, Y/N. I'll never make you feel like that again."

You nod weakly, and before you can think too much, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the safety of his chest, his chin moving to rest on top of your head as his warmth envelops you completely.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself break, burying your face into his chest as the tears flow freely, the weight of everything finally breaking free as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace.

It's not perfect. It's not a fix-all.

But as Jake holds you close, whispering quiet reassurances into your hair, you know it's a start.

And a start is all you need.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

epilogue:

“Hi, pretty.”

“Hi, Jake.”

On the other end of the call, Jake lets out a playful scoff. Even with the slight lag, you can see his lips twitch into that familiar pout—the one that still gives you butterflies, no matter how many times you've see it now, even a year later.

“After all we’ve been through, you still won’t give me a cute pet name?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, “What do you want me to say? Hi, my handsome, perfect, kindest, funniest, boyfriend in the whole wide world?”

Jake leans closer to the camera, his expression completely serious as if you should already know his answer, "...Yes."

Giggles burst out of you, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re too cute to be doing all that, Jake. Pick a struggle.”

He clutches his chest dramatically, “You know, what? You’re my struggle—I fly across time zones, run on three hours of sleep, and you still won’t give me a crumb of your affection?”

“You’re exhausting.”

“And yet…,” Jake trails off with a teasing smirk, his voice dropping into that playful, yet low lilt that still makes your stomach flip to this day. "Here you are, calling me at 1AM in the morning.”

Your cheeks flush as you glance away from the screen, trying to ignore the way his teasing gaze makes you feel, "Don’t' get confused, it's not like I wanted to or anything. I just figured someone should remind you to go to bed or else you'll look like a zombie tomorrow at the fanmeet."

Jake laughs softly, the sound grounding you in a certain way only he ever can. "You're so thoughtful, babe. My number-one hater and number-one fan, all at once. I'm so lucky."

You send him an air kiss, the teasing grin on your face mirrored by the fond one tugging at his lips. He looks at you like he did in that first-ever call way back then—like you're his whole world, and he can't believe you're real.

"How's the jet lag this time?" You ask, steering the conversation to safer ground.

"It's not so bad," he shrugs, despite the clear exhaustion in his voice. "At least this trip is only for a few days. Then I can come back to the comfort of our bed."

You raise an eyebrow, "My bed."

Jake's eyes narrow, "Our bed. Just admit it—you miss me."

You pause. "Maybe. Just a little."

His grin widens, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, the conversation lulling into an easy silence—the kind of warmth that only comes with knowing someone so well.

Finally, you shift under your blanket, getting comfortable as Jake watches you through this screen, his gaze tender, as though memorizing the curve of your smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear.

"You should sleep," you murmur, holding your phone closer to your face. The glow of your phone reflecting off your soft features sends palpations to Jake's chest so loud he almost doesn't hear your words.

"Mm, I really should," Jake sighs, though he doesn't move an inch. "I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you hum, your eyes closing at the softness of his voice.

“Sleep tight. I love you,” his says, voice soft and deliberate, making sure you feel every word.

“Goodnight, Jakey,” you tease, letting the smirk creep into your voice, peeking an eye open just to catch his reaction.

Jake groans dramatically, running a hand down his face, “Y/N…not this again.”

You giggle, the fondness within you growing tenfold as you take in his face—the slight pout of his lips, his messy hair, his eyes shining with unwavering adoration for you.

“I said I love youuu,” he whines, dragging out the last word, his lips tugging into the tiniest of smiles, his entire universe reflecting from his eyes.

Finally, you give in, smiling sweetly.

“I love you, too, Jake. You already know.”

And you’ve never meant anything more.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Songs that Remind me of Y/N:

From the first call to forever—you've always been my favorite melody. Yours, Jake <3

"As I Am" – Justin Bieber (ft. Khalid)

"Daylight" – Taylor Swift

"DIE 4 YOU" - Dean

"Psycho, Pt. 2" – Russ

"Heaven" – Bazzi

"Every Kind of Way" – H.E.R.

"Off My Face" – Justin Bieber

"Before You" – Benson Boone

"Sunflower" – Post Malone & Swae Lee

"Pink + White" – Frank Ocean

"No Doubt" – Enhypen <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

update! if you enjoyed this and want more of no doubt!jake & y/n, check out my sequel series linked here for drabbles of their relationship <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it all the way, this is for you:

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

p.s. i wanted to leave the ending kinda up to interpretation—hence the time skip to a year later..but lowkey what if i wrote short drabbles/scenes of things jake does to gain Y/N's trust again, from small to big gestures etc etc..lmk if that's something anyone would wanna see !! (update — linked above now!)

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list (love you all <3):

(i hope it let me tag everyone!)

@thesassy-mia @ikeulove @renaishun @xylatox @puma-riki @blackberryrains @dreamiestay @junislqve @lamin143 @dreamy-carat @etherealhan @vvenusoncasual @belovedsthings @somuchdard @sumzysworld @mirouie @almondtofu006 @fancypeacepersona @vivimura @hollxe1 @missthang600 @sugarikiz @sanasour @enhamonsterghoul @etherealriki

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choco-bites · 4 months ago

Text

Thinking of aYandere!Popular boy with a Creep!Fem!Reader

Part two: here

notes: english is not my first language, if this contains errors, please let me know. warnings: mentions of dead animals, reader is also a yandere?, mentions wanting to cut someone, stalking, non-con photographs. idk if I miss anything, let me know too.

Yandere!popular boy known for being the richest in the school, yet despite that, he offers a kind smile to everyone. Wherever he goes, he is greeted and invited to all the parties. If you want to boost your popularity level, just a minimal interaction with him is enough. His great size and strength make him ideal for the school’s football team.

Creep!reader surrounded by rumors. who has been seen collecting dead animals for an anatomy research in biology and a serious face what seems strange to everyone; remains unfazed—except when, with an old digital camera and a strange smile, takes pictures of her deceased pets. Others move away when she sits at their table during lunch, excluded from group projects, and make she the target of ridicule. Yet, maintains an unshakable façade of seriousness.

Creep!reader who notices him first. Accidentally walked past the playing field during practice and stared at each student on the team. When saw the brute strength with which Yandere!Popular played, swore her heart stopped for a moment. Now, had a new reason for her lips to curve into a smile.

Started to spent her free time researching him, taking photographs, drawing him, writing about him, and imagining what it would be like to break someone so radiant down into nothing but a puddle of tears and misery.

Yandere!Popular who one day caught you stalking him, taking pictures while he walked home, decided to let you be. Soon, he would find out why you was watching him so closely.

The next day, Yandere!Popular sneaked into your classroom to snoop through your belongings, eventually finding your diary. He flipped through the pages, finding nothing truly interesting—until he came across a drawing of himself alongside several written passages.

"I wish I could get closer to him. I wish I could grab his strong arms and open them up. I wish I could see his beautiful lips twist in pain. I just wish I could have him."

Yandere!Popular heart ignited in a way he could not bear. He had never felt so flattered before. He shut the notebook and tucked it away desperately before rushing to the bathroom.

Locked in a stall, he read and reread the diary, a foolish smile adorning his now deeply flushed face, feeling as if he might cry from sheer emotion. No one had ever taken such an interest in him before. Sure, he was popular and all, but no one ever looked beyond that. But you—

You didn’t just stalk him to get to know him better. You wanted him so much that you wrote about him, drew him so majestically, and, most of all, desired him only for yourself.

Yandere!Popular decided to give you exactly what you wanted. After finding out your address, he skipped school that day to sneak into your room, only to discover that you had his photos plastered all over your wall. His heaving chest could hardly take it.

You were made to worship him.

You entered your room after a few hours, only to find the boy you had recently obsessed over sitting on your bed, sniffing your pillows. You weren’t entirely surprised—you had already noticed your beloved diary was missing and suspected he had caught you in the act of taking pictures of him.

A choked gasp escaped him at the sight of you, and you stepped closer, grabbing his cheeks with one hand, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

The only thing he could manage to say was a sweet:

"Make me yours, please."

#yandere x reader #yandere boy #yandere male #male yandere x you #male yandere x reader #male yandere x female reader #yandere x female reader #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere x you #mari escribe :3

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littlebluebird2000 · 3 months ago

Text

Twirling Hearts- part 4

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, smut, mature language, sexual harassment/assault, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime...

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy-especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates...

author's note: this chapter contains sexual content. if you are not comfortable with that, it's okay, i'll see you in the next story. the smut is contained to the very last part of this chapter, just to warn y’all.

word count: 10k+ ( i knnnoowwww)

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on the story. for some reason, my tags aren't working :

part: 1., 2., 3., 4., 5.

Eunjang’s first morning bell echoes dully through the hallway, warning students to start heading to class.

Sieun sits at his desk, slouched but focused, one hand twirling a pen between his fingers. He looks half-asleep, but his notebook is already open, his handwriting precise. He’s not smiling, but there’s a quiet stillness to him—like something heavy inside him has finally shifted, even just a little. The classroom door bangs open.

“Morning, lover boy.” Baku announces as he walks in.

Gotak trails behind him, dragging his feet with a yawn, and Juntae walks in last, eyes scanning the room before flickering over to Sieun—then away quickly, as if pretending he didn’t look at all.

Sieun doesn’t glance up.

Baku slides into the seat beside him and leans in with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “Slept well this weekend, huh?”

Sieun tenses. His pen stops spinning.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He mutters, eyes on his notebook.

Baku whistles low, teasing. “Right, right. I must’ve imagined you not answering your phone for two whole days!”

Gotak flops into his seat. “You spent the whole weekend at her place?”

Sieun doesn’t answer right away. He can feel their eyes on him, expectant. He exhales through his nose—quiet, controlled, but clearly annoyed—then gives a small nod, just enough to make them stop asking.

Juntae shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t expect it, but… good for you. You deserve to be happy.” His voice is quieter, awkward but sincere. He offers a small smile, eyes flicking to Sieun and back to his desk like he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Baku smacks Gotak lightly on the arm. “See? What did I say? You two are clueless.”

Gotak frowns. “I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“You didn’t think, period,” Baku shoots back, grinning. “I’m the only one here with a brain. I knew something was going on.”

Juntae scratches at his temple, half-smiling. “Yeah, okay. You were right.”

“You should’ve seen the way he looked at her after the recital. Man was done for.”

Sieun kept his eyes on his notebook, continuing writing. “Are you finished?”

Baku grins wider. “What? I’m just happy for you.”

Sieun exhales through his nose, leaning back in his chair. The usual apathy lingers in his expression, but something softer slips through—just for a second. He knows Baku’s an idiot…But he also knows Baku means well.

The silence barely lasts a beat before Baku leaned in, voice low but playful.

“So… what’d you two do all weekend?” he asks, grinning. “Just stayed in? Don’t tell me you didn’t even leave the apartment.”

Sieun finally looks up. His eyes meet Baku’s. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his gaze. Not enough to bite. Just a warning.

Baku’s eyebrows lift. “Wait—seriously? You stayed in the whole time?”

Gotak turns around again, curious. “Not even to grab food or something?”

Sieun exhales through his nose. “It was raining.”

Baku leans back in his chair dramatically, hands on his mouth. “It was raining, he says! So you just stayed holed up in there, all cozy and domestic? Unbelievable.”

Juntae smiled quietly. “Kinda sounds nice, actually.”

Baku ignored him. All his attention was on Sieun. “And here I thought you’d be all stiff and awkward, sitting on the floor five feet away from her like some kind of monk.” Sieun didn’t take the bait, but his eyes narrowed just slightly.

Baku’s grin sharpens. “You weren’t, huh?”

Sieun let out a quiet breath, clearly done with the conversation. “Stop talking. You’re too loud.”

Baku snorts. “And you’re suspiciously quiet. Which tells me everything.”

Sieun says nothing, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears doesn’t go unnoticed. Before Baku can comment, Mr. Yoon steps in the classroom, dropping a stack of papers onto the front desk. “Settle down.” He says, not looking up as he adjusts his glasses. “Take out your homework. If you didn’t do it, don’t waste my time with excuses.”

Chairs scrape and groans ripple through the room. Baku took his usual place in the back of the class, just across Sieun, a smile of amusement still on his face. The classroom buzzed with faint background noise—rustling pages, low whispers, the dull scrape of a chair leg dragged half an inch too far.

The class moved around him. Gotak was stretching until his chair creaked, Baku was half-asleep with his chin in his hand and Juntae was flipping his eraser between his fingers. Sieun’s pen moved steadily across his notebook. No pause, no wasted motion. His handwriting was tidy, spaced just right. He didn’t need to think about it. Before he knew it, first period was over. The bell rang, sharp and familiar. Mr. Yoon capped his marker mid-sentence, muttered something about finishing the equation next time, and walked out to get his second cup of coffee.

Students stretched and shifted, the atmosphere loosening like a breath held too long. Notebooks shut with soft thuds. A few laughed. Someone played music too loud for three seconds before being told to turn it off.

There was a ten-minute break between classes. It was enough time to stretch, go to the bathroom, talk or sleep. You usually arrived during this break. You would always slipped in before the bell rang, quiet and breathless, but on time.

He glanced at the door out of habit. Empty. Not strange. Not yet. Five minutes passed.

Sieun opened his phone. Not to text. Just to check.

Nothing.

Around him, the room stirred lazily. Baku was talking too loudly in the corner, throwing jokes at anyone who’d listen. Gotak was chewing something crunchy, and Juntae was scrolling through his feed.

Sieun looked at the door again. Seven minutes. Still no sign of her.

He leaned back slightly in his chair. Not tense. Not relaxed. Just waiting. Maybe she was running late. Maybe she forgot something. He checked his phone again.

No messages.

His fingers hovered over the screen before he locked it again, jaw tightening for a brief moment. Nine minutes.

His gaze hadn’t left the doorway in a while now. The voices around him faded into background noise. He wasn’t listening.

Then the second bell rang.

He found himself looking at her empty seat, then his gaze flickered toward the door, just one last time. Sieun exhaled, slow and quiet, a barely perceptible shift in the tension of his posture. Something was off. She hadn’t come.

Behind him, Baku’s voice broke through the quiet murmur of the class. “Where’s Y/N?” His tone was light, but there was a hint of concern in it.

“Yeah, she’s usually here by now.” Gotak frowned. “You think she’s sick or something?”

The silence stretched out, heavy and thick. Juntae glanced at Sieun again before looking away, his voice quieter than the others, almost as if he were thinking aloud. “Maybe… maybe she’s uncomfortable showing up today? With… well, you know…Maybe it’s just a lot?” There was no accusation in his voice. Just a gentle suggestion, like he didn’t want to believe it either.

Sieun’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t show any other outward reaction. He could feel the weight of Juntae’s words, the subtle reminder of the tension between him and you after everything that had happened. Could it be that you were avoiding him? The thought slipped into his mind, unwelcome but persistent. He immediately pushed it away, not allowing himself to dwell on it.

“Don’t jump to conclusions.” Sieun muttered, his tone flat, his eyes still fixed on the door. He couldn’t let the thought linger, not now. He knew you weren’t the type to just avoid things, avoid him. If you had a problem, you’d say it—or at least show it. And this morning, you had been completely normal. You had even kissed him goodbye…

“Y/N wouldn’t just ghost.” Baku said, backing him up. “Sieun’s right. She’s a bit late for one class and we’re acting all weird? Maybe her ballet teacher held her back? They probably had to go over the recital or something…She could’ve missed the bus.”

Before anyone could respond, Mr. Yoon walk back in, five minutes late himself, a new coffee in hand . “All right, quiet down. Let’s get started with math.” He said, out of breath. The class stirred reluctantly back to life. Chairs shifted, textbooks opened, and the murmur of voices fell into silence.

Sieun moved mechanically, flipping open his notebook, but his mind wasn’t on the lesson. He stared at the margin of the page as Mr. Yoon began writing on the board.

Ten minutes late. Then fifteen.

Around him, Baku, Gotak, and Juntae exchanged glances. They didn’t say anything, but he could feel it—the tension, the worry. It pressed against him from all sides. He could hear the lesson, the scribbling of pens, the clicking of keyboards, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

No text. No message. Something was wrong.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

By lunch, the mood had shifted completely. Phones were out. Fingers scrolled. Tapped. Redialed. Again and again. Still nothing. No texts. No answers. No signs of life from you.

“She didn’t even open my messages.” Baku muttered, frowning at his screen.

Sieun sat silently at the edge of his chair, phone in hand, screen blank. He hadn’t said much, but it was clear he wasn’t just waiting anymore. He was calculating.

“She never skips school.” Juntae said softly. “She would have told one of us at least…” A long silence followed.

Then, quietly, Sieun stood. “I’m not staying here. The others looked up at him. “I’m going to her apartment.”

“I’m coming.” Baku said immediately, grabbing his bag.

“Me too.” Gotak added. Juntae stood up to follow.

The four of them walked out before the next bell, slipping through the gate like shadows. A bus ride later, they were climbing the familiar steps to your building. At the door to your unit, Baku gave a dry laugh, but it didn’t carry much humor. “Of course you have the passcode.” He said, nudging Sieun.

Sieun didn’t respond. He keyed in the numbers. The lock clicked and he opened the door. Inside, everything was still. The air felt untouched. A glass sat by the sink where you’d left it earlier. It looked exactly the same as when he’d left this morning. Sieun stepped in farther, scanning the room like something might leap out at him. His chest felt tight. “She didn’t come back to the apartment.” He said quietly. He pulled out his phone again, brows drawing close as he searched something quickly.

“Who are you calling?” Baku asked.

“The ballet academy.”

It rang twice before someone answered. A woman, polite, professional. “Hello? I’m calling to check… did Y/N attend class today?”

“Yes.” Came the reply, clear and certain. “She was here for morning practice. She left a while ago to go to school.” Sieun’s grip tightened around the phone.

“Thank you.” He said, then hung up.

He turned to the others, expression blank. They waited for an explanation. His voice colder than before. “She left ballet. She was on her way to school.” Sieun stood still, jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed.

Gotak rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe… maybe she stopped somewhere? Like a café? Or her phone died—”

“Then she’d be here by now.” Sieun cut in, his voice flat. “She’s not just late. She never made it.”

Juntae hovered near the doorway, his face pale. “Do you think something happened… on the way to school?”

“She wouldn’t just wander off.” Baku added. “Not without texting someone. Not after this weekend.”Everyone looked at Sieun. His hands had curled into fists at his sides.

“She was fine this morning,” He finally said to reassured their suspicion. “She kissed me goodbye. She was happy.” The room went quiet again.

Baku’s voice dropped. “So something must of happened…” Then—Baku’s phone buzzed in his pocket. A sharp, sudden vibration that broke the stillness. Everyone froze.

“Y/N?” Juntae asked quickly, almost too fast.

Baku stared down at his screen, heart stammering in his chest, but his expression dropped. “It’s… not her.” He said quietly. Sieun was already at his side. Two messages. From an unknown number.

[Unknown Number]: She’s with us. Don’t do anything stupid.

[Unknown Number]: If you come talk with us, we can make some arrangements.

Sieun was dead silent, his face unreadable. The rest of the boys stood frozen, waiting for someone to speak.

Then Baku exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “…Shit. It’s the Union.”

Gotak looked stress. “The Union? I thought it might’ve been Hyoman or one of his guys.”

Baku shook his head. “Hyoman was in class all day. This is bigger. Way bigger.”

Sieun’s gaze sharpened. “What’s the Union and why would they want Y/N?”

“They don’t.” Baku said. “They want us. Eunjang.” He continued. “The Union is a network. It’s an organization made from three high schools around here: Yeoil, Hwayang, and Dalseong. Each school has its own leader, but the real boss is Na Baek-jin. He runs the whole thing.”

Sieun listened without interrupting. Not a single change in his face.

Baku stepped back, pacing once across the small living room, voice tight. “The Union’s been trying to pull us in for months—stealing from our guys, cornering us after school, starting fights.“

“They tried jumping Junseok last week.” Juntae muttered. “Took his phone and wallet.”

Baku nodded. “They’re organized. Real business-like. They do cons, sell stolen bikes, flip phones—whatever keeps the cash coming in. Baek-jin runs it like a company.”

Baku’s voice dropped, bitter now. “They tried to pull Eunjang in too. Again and again. But I said no. Every time. I’ve been the one keeping them out of our school.” He paused, his eyes darkening with guilt. “And that’s why they took Y/N.”

Sieun stiffened.

“She’s close to me. Friends with me. That makes her a target. They’re sending a message.”

Sieun’s gaze dropped to the phone again.

“Do you know where they’re holding her?”

“No,” Baku said. “They’ve got a few spots they use—abandoned buildings, storage places—but the headquarters? No one outside the Union knows.”

Sieun stood perfectly still. “Then, ask.”

Baku nodded, fingers flying over the screen. One short message:

[12:23]: Where?

Three seconds passed. Then four. The typing bubble appeared.

Sieun didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

[Unknown Number] : Bowling alley. Back entrance. 5pm. Come alone.”

Baku read it out loud, his voice heavy with frustration. “They’re at the bowling alley. They must be using it as a front to go under the radar. That’s probably where they saw us two weeks ago… We were in their territory without knowing…”

Sieun’s gaze remained cold, sharp. His mind was already moving, calculating the angles, thinking through every possibility. It was a public place. A cover for the Union’s operations. Risky, but smart. There’d be layers—lookouts, runners, maybe even fake employees. He wasn’t the best fighter—not by a long shot—but he was good at understanding people. Their weaknesses. Their routines. The patterns.

“They want me to go alone,” Baku muttered, jaw tight. “It’s obviously a setup.”

Sieun finally spoke, voice calm and steady. “Then don’t go alone.”

“They’ll be watching,” Baku said. “They’ll know.”

“They won’t know” Sieun replied simply.There was something unsettling about the way he said it. No fear. No hesitation. Just quiet conviction.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The room was small, suffocating. Dimly lit by the flickering overhead light and the pale glow from the desk lamp, it looked more like a converted storage closet than an actual office. The air tasted like smoke and dust. A stained couch sagged against the wall, further there was a scratched-up metal desk.

You sat on the floor, tucked into the corner. Your knees were drawn to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them. Your weren’t tied up—but the presence in the room made it clear that running wasn’t an option.

The man in the orange jacket sat sprawled on the couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the stale scent of old furniture and engine oil. He glanced at you from time to time, amusement flickering in his eyes like he thought this was funny. You had come to know that his name was Seongje. He was one of the guys that brought you here. He had the dragged you with that fake, mocking kindness.

At the desk sat another man. This one looked cleaner. His black hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. He hadn’t said a word to you since they brought you in.

“You’re not much of a talker, huh?” The man on the sofa said, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “I figured ballerinas were supposed to be shy, but this is something else.”

You stare at the floor. You want to speak, maybe even scream, but your throat feels tight, like something’s wrapped around it.

“Aww,” Seongje smiled, leaning forward, flicking ash to the floor. “You’re cute.”

You flinched and you hated yourself for it.

His eyes return to you, and they’re darker now. “You know, it’s kind of sweet. The way you’re sitting there, quiet and shaking. Makes you look even smaller. Makes me want to see just how much noise you can make.”

“Enough.” Said the man behind the desk. His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the room like a knife. He’s colder than the others. More dangerous in a way you couldn’t explain. “She’s not here for your amusement. She’s here to make sure Baku listens.”

Seongje laughed, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Come on, Baekjin. I’m just trying to make her feel welcome.” He relaxed completely against the couch, leaning back with his held tilted back. His next words were low, as if he was speaking to himself: “I’ve always liked fragile girls. They break the prettiest.”

Baekjin finally moved. He opened a drawer, took something out—a phone—and placed it on the desk in front of him. “Five o’clock.” He says. “Let’s see what Baku decides.”

You press your forehead against your knees, trying to steady your breath. If he comes in without thinking…

Seongje’s voice slices through the air again, taunting. “Hope he hurries.” He said. “Wouldn’t want us getting bored while we wait.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting. You’re scared—terrified—but you won’t let them see you break. Not yet.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The neon sign flickers overhead, casting the entrance in a sickly red glow. Laughter echoes from inside, hollow and distant. A few teens loiter near the front doors, tossing glances at Baku like they recognize him—and know better than to say anything.

Behind him, Sieun is quiet. Still. But there’s something brewing under the surface. He’s been like this since they got the text. No questions, no hesitation. Just that calm, unreadable expression. The kind of calm that warns of a storm behind the eyes.

“There’s a side entrance. Loading zone. I saw it last time we were here.” He started, voice calm. “I’ll wait for you to get inside first. I’ll sneak in through that door after.”

Baku looks at Sieun now, more serious than he’s ever been. “You don’t have to do this, Sieun.”

Sieun keep his gaze forward. “I’m not walking away.” He adjusted his black cap.“You keep them looking at you. I’ll find her.”

“And if you can’t get her out?” Baku asked.

Sieun looked at him. His voice was quiet, steady. “I will.”

A few seconds passed in heavy silence before Baku spoke, his voice edged with bitterness.

“Baekjin and I used to be friends. Before he joined the Union. Before he started playing mob boss with high school kids.” He let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll try to talk to him first—see if there’s anything left of the guy I used to know. But if that doesn’t work…” His gaze hardened. “We fight.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The music swells as Baku pushes through the doors. A few heads turn his way. Recognition flickers across the faces of nearby Union kids—some he remembers from past fights. Their eyes lock, but he doesn’t look away. He stands firm, unfazed. He heads straight for the hallway that leads to the back office, just like Sieun had described, over and over again during the past hour. He walk towards the door and turned the knob slowly and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him—and then, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Well, look who finally showed his face.” Seongje was slouched against the wall, spinning a butterfly knife between his fingers, the blade flashing in the dim light. Baku looked at him for a second, then his gaze went to the man who once was his best friend.

Baekjin sat behind a desk, legs crossed and sleeves rolled. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile. His gaze met Baku’s like they’d spoken yesterday.

“Didn’t expect you to come alone.” Baekjin says.

“You told me to.” Baku replies flatly. “Figured we could talk.”

Baekjin gives him a thin smile. “We always could.”

Baku scanned the office, his chest tightening with unease. “Where is she?” he demanded, voice low but urgent.

Seongje clicked the knife shut and shoved off the wall, walking a slow circle toward Baku. “Moved her somewhere else. She’s sweet, that girl.” He said with a smirk. “Bit too quiet, though.”

“She’s not part of this.” Baku said, jaw tightening. Gaze hard on Baekjin.

“She is now,” Baekjin said, settling back in his chair. “Because you made her part of it. You let her get close. That’s on you.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sieun moved through the dim corridor like a shadow, his steps light, his breath tight in his chest. The deeper he went, the more the sound of bowling pins and cheap arcade machines faded behind thick walls. Over the last two hours, he’d searched every public record he could find. Construction permits, outdated blueprints, utility schematics—until he found the layout of the bowling alley tucked away in the files of the old company that had built it over a decade ago. It showed everything.

The public lanes. The hidden stairwell near the loading dock. The walled-off section in the back that didn’t show up on Google Maps. Perfect for a gang like the Union to operate from. He passed a locked supply room. Then another door slightly ajar.

And that’s when he heard it.

A voice, cocky and cruel, echoing from around the corner. “ ‘Don’t touch me.’ ” A boy mocked in a falsetto, laughter following behind him. “She looked like she was gonna cry. Soft little girl.”

Sieun stopped dead in his tracks.

The Union kid—maybe sixteen, seventeen—walked past the hallway Sieun was hidden in, still laughing with his friend. “Boss said not to mess with her, but damn, the attitude on that girl…” Their footsteps faded.

He didn’t twitch. Didn’t breathe loud. But behind his cold, blank stare, his mind was racing fast and sharp. He continued on foward, slipping past a broken bench, down a hallway with metal doors…Until there was a noise.

He froze. It was faint. Fragile. A sound that didn’t belong here. A breath catching. A choked sob. The kind someone tries to swallow down before it escapes. It came from the third door on the right. Sieun stared at it, unmoving. That was you, and you were crying.

He knelt down and pulled the multitool from his pocket, breath shallow, hands steady. The lock was rusted—old, but stiff. It took longer than he liked.

Click.

He slipped inside, closing the door behind him. The light inside flickered, casting long shadows across the stained floor. You sat in the corner, knees to your chest, fingers gripping your sleeves, eyes squeezed shut as if you were trying to disappear.

“Y/N.” He said quietly.

Your head snapped up. “…Sieun?”

He nodded once, stepping toward you. For a second, you didn’t move. Then your body sagged just slightly with relief. He crouched in front of you, gaze intense. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I don’t think so.” You trembled.

He nodded in relief. He offered a hand, and you took it. “We have to move. Now.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The air in the office was thick with tension. Baekjin lounged behind his desk, calm as ever, like he was hosting an old friend for drinks, not a confrontation over a kidnapped girl.

Baku stood across from him, unblinking. “I’m not doing anything until I see proof she’s safe.” Baku said flatly.

Baekjin gave a slow, practiced nod. “Fair. We’re civilized, after all.” He glanced to his right. “Seongje. Escort him,” Baekjin said smoothly. “Show him she’s unharmed.”

Seongje flicked his cigarette to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot. “With pleasure.”

The halls they walked through were dim, narrow. Seongje kept his hands in his pockets, sauntering ahead like he was guiding a tour. “So tense.” He drawled. “Still trying to play hero, huh?”

Baku didn’t answer.

Seongje chuckled. “You should’ve joined when Baekjin offered. You’d have a throne by now instead of babysitting punks at Eunjang.”

As they rounded a corner, a couple of Union members spotted them—then immediately veered away, pretending to be busy. Baku noticed. So did Seongje. The fear wasn’t just from Baku’s presence. It was him, too. Even the Union kept their distance from Seongje. The man was unhinged.

They reached a hallway lined with unmarked doors. Seongje pulled out a keyring, whistling under his breath as he stopped at one near the end.

“She’s in here.” He said lazily, unlocking it. The second he swung the door open, the grin vanished from his face.

The room was empty.

No sign of Y/N.

“What the—”

Seongje took one step into the room—and that’s when Baku struck. A clean elbow to the jaw. Seongje stumbled, stunned. Before he could react, Baku slammed the door shut and snatched the key from the lock, twisting it hard and locking Seongje inside.

“BAKU!”

The door shook as Seongje threw his full weight against it, but it held—at least for now.

Baku turned. Three Union members were rushing down the hall. They paused when they saw who it was. He didn’t hesitate. The first went down with a solid punch to the gut. The second tried to grab him from behind—he flipped him over his shoulder and slammed him into the wall. The third backed up, reconsidering his life choices. Baku didn’t stop. He stormed down the hall, fists ready, eyes sharp, pushing toward the exit before the entire Union realized what had happened.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You followed close behind Sieun, your heart hammering in your chest. The hallway was dim, stretching endlessly in both directions. You’d barely said a word since he found you. There hadn’t been time.

Sieun moved with surprising precision—checking corners, listening for footsteps. His hand hovered near his pocket, gripping the multitool like a blade.

You watched him from behind. He looked calm. But that calm was the scariest thing you’d ever seen. Like something inside him had clicked into place.

“Did you come with Baku?” You whispered after what felt like an eternity.

“Yes.” Sieun replied without turning. “He’s distracting them. He’ll be okay.”

You two reached a junction where two hallways split. He paused and checked the wall. There was faded arrows scratched into metal:

MAIN FLOOR →

LOADING DOCK ←

Sieun pointed left. “That way. It’s a service exit. Less cameras.” You nodded and kept close, moving quickly, silently.

The hallway curved again, and finally—at the far end—they saw it. An old steel door, dented and rusted. A red EXIT sign buzzed faintly above it. Your knees nearly buckled with relief.

You picked up speed.

Then—

A voice behind you.

“HEY! STOP!”

Sieun didn’t turn around. He shoved the door open and yanking you out with him before slamming it shut. You were outside, but it wasn’t over. Not yet. The lot behind the alley lay empty. Sieun’s eyes darted left. “There. The fence.”

You both took off, feet pounding against the pavement. Sieun reached it first, hoisting himself up and over in one swift motion. He turned, arm outstretched. “Come on!” You grabbed his hand just as the heavy door behind you screeched open. Multiple voices shouted from the alley, but you were already over, landing hard on the other side.

Sieun didn’t let go of your hand as you both disappeared into the night.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The cold air bit at your cheeks, but you didn’t feel it—not over the throb of your heart or the rush of blood in your ears. Your hand were still wrapped in Sieun’s, your legs still shaking from the sprint. Your breath came in short, panicked gasps.

Then— A low whistle.

Sieun froze. He shifted in front of you instinctively, his hand tightening around the multi-tool in his pocket.

“Over here.” Baku stood at the mouth of a narrow alley, chest rising hard with every breath, blood on his shirt, a dark bruise spreading along his jaw. He looked like he’d gone through hell. When his eyes landed on you, something in his face cracked open.

“Y/N.”

You rushed to him. He caught you without a word, arms closing around you in a tight, grounding hug. You just clung to him, pressing your face against his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You nod, even though you’re not sure. Your voice comes out hoarse. “I’m okay now.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“I’m so sorry.” Baku whispered. His voice cracked. “This is my fault. You got dragged into this because of me.”

You shake your head. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s not your fault,” You said. “It’s not your responsibility how other people act.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Then he pulls you into another quick hug. “I’m just glad everyone’s okay.” You whispered firmly. When you step away, you return to Sieun’s side. He doesn’t say anything, but his presence steadies you. Just standing beside him makes it easier to breathe.

“We have to go.” Baku said already checking the corners. “Juntae and Gotak are waiting by the corner store. That’s our meetup point.”

“Gotak’s only calling the cops if we don’t show by the forty-five-minute mark.” He said. “It’s already been half an hour.” All three of you started jogging towards your usual meet up spot. Your lungs were on fire, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning. The adrenaline’s thinning, leaving behind too many questions.

You glance at Baku as you slow just slightly beside him. “Why didn’t you guys call the cops from the beginning?” Baku doesn’t answer right away. He looks ahead, jaw tight, eyes tracking every shadow.

“What they did was illegal.” You said, your voice more brittle than you intended. “They kidnapped me.”

He exhales through his nose, sharp and bitter. “There’s someone over Baekjin.” He mutters, not looking at you. “Someone powerful. With money. Influence. The Union’s not just a gang—it’s a business. And the guy backing Baekjin knows how to keep it protected.”

The pieces click together slowly in your head. “So… even if you called…”

“There’s no guarantee the cops would’ve even shown up,” He says. “Not for us. Not for this.”

You don’t want to believe that. But the way he says it—it’s not anger. It’s experience.

“That’s why Gotak’s call was going to be about something else. Not the Union. A fake story. Something loud enough to get a patrol out without raising red flags.”

“But you didn’t know if it would work,” You whisper.

“No,” He says. “It might’ve backfired. They could’ve shown up late. Or worse—tipped someone off.”

You shiver. Not from the cold. Sieun glances back at you, just briefly.

Baku’s voice lowers again. “We couldn’t risk it. Not with you in there.” You nod, not because it makes you feel better—but because you understand now. This whole thing runs deeper than you thought.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The small corner store glows under a flickering streetlight, its windows dark, shutters pulled halfway down. You spot them before they see you—two figures huddled near the alley wall behind it. Juntae is pacing. Gotak leans against the bricks, checking his phone.

Your group’s footsteps hit the alley gravel, soft at first, then louder as you draw closer. Gotak straightens immediately, snapping his head toward the sound. Juntae freezes mid-step. You see their shoulders tense, eyes wide. Then they see you. For a moment, there’s nothing. Just stunned silence.

“Oh my God,” Gotak mutters, stumbling forward with wide eyes. “You’re—holy shit, you’re here.”He runs both hands over his face and starts pacing again, this time out of pure adrenaline. “I thought you were dead. I thought—” He laughed breathlessly through the panic that hasn’t fully left his system. “I was this close to calling. This close.”

Juntae walks toward you slowly, almost cautiously. His eyes shimmer in the dim light, mouth opening like he wants to say something, but no words come out. Then he breaks. His shoulders shake, tears sliding down his cheeks before he can even pretend to stop them. “I thought we were too late.” He says, voice barely more than a whisper. “I thought they hurt you.”

Your chest twists. You step into his arms, pulling him close. “I’m okay.” You murmur. “We made it.”

Behind you, Sieun stands still—quiet and unreadable. His gaze is sharp, watching the ends of the alley like he’s expecting something to crawl out of the dark. He hasn’t relaxed, not even now.

“Ok. Let’s go.” Said Baku, glancing around as well. Your footsteps echoed softly, crunching over scattered gravel as the five of you moved in a tight formation—tense, alert, every shadow a possible threat. Gotak glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, nerves on edge. Juntae kept his gaze on you, as if afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

The bus stop is up ahead, dimly lit, empty. When the bus finally arrives, it hisses to a stop, the lights buzzing too bright against your tired eyes. You climb on in silence. There’s a long bench seat running across the rear, and without even needing to speak, you all settle there together, shoulder to shoulder. Baku squeezes in next to you, still quietly shaken. Gotak slumps on the other side of him, head tipped back against the window like it’s the only thing holding him up. Sieun takes the seat next to you while Juntae slides next him.

As the bus rolls deeper into the city, Baku finally breaks the silence. “We’re not splitting up tonight.”Everyone looks up. He turns slightly in his seat to face you. “You okay if we crash at your place?”

You nod before you’ve even fully thought about it. “Yeah. Please.” It’s not just about safety. You don’t want to be alone either. You glance at Sieun. His jaw is clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead, but there’s a distant look in them, like he’s not fully present. His posture is rigid, every muscle wound tight, yet his hand rests loosely on his thigh.

You slip your hand into his and slowly rest your head on his shoulder. Even if his body stays stiff, there’s something in the way he leans just slightly toward you that makes your chest ache. A long minute passes like that—maybe two.

Then, from the far end of the bench, you hear a whisper:

“…Is it bad timing if I point out—once again—that I totally knew they had a thing?”

All you managed was a slow blink, thrown slightly off guard.

Baku’s eyebrow were raised, eyes fixed forward with faux innocence, but there’s a smug smirk tugging at his mouth. Gotak snorts beside him, and even Juntae manages a tired laugh.

The tension cracks, just slightly.

Sieun doesn’t say a word—but you catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Seriously?” You mutter, not even lifting your head. “You’re the worst.”

“I told you it was obvious,” Baku says, nudging Gotak with his knee. “You owe me fried chicken. For real this time.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

By the time everyone made it back to your apartment, it was nearly 7:30 p.m. The sky outside had dimmed to a soft blue-gray, streetlights flickering on one by one. The boys had rushed home to grab a few essentials—chargers, a change of clothes, something to sleep in. You were surprised how quickly they came back.

Now, the smell of instant ramen fills the small living room, and the low murmur of conversation hums like background music. You’re all gathered on the floor around your tiny table—cross-legged, tired, but finally breathing a little easier.

Gotak is halfway through his second cup of noodles. Baku is lying flat on his back, slurping dramatically while Juntae pretends not to be grossed out. Sieun sits beside you, chopsticks in hand, though he hasn’t eaten much. He hasn’t spoken in a while. Not even to you. Still, when you reach for his hand, he lets you take it. He doesn’t squeeze back, but he holds on.

You pulled out blankets and pillows for the boys, grateful your couch unfolded into a bed. You laid the futon mattress beside it, making quick work of the setup. Baku and Gotak flopped onto the couch bed with exaggerated groans. Juntae immediately claimed the futon for himself.

You sit back beside Sieun, your shoulder brushing his. His face is still unreadable. Not cold just… somewhere else. His hair still messy, his clothes still the same ones from earlier, his eyes dull around the edges.

“Hey.” You gave his arm a light nudge. “Go wash up first. You’ll feel better.” You told him gently.

He blinked slowly, then gave you a slight nod and pushed himself up. His movements were heavy, like it took effort just to make his limbs work. You watched as he shuffled toward the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

While he was gone, the boys stayed sprawled across the living room. The television played quietly in the background as they talked among themselves—about what had happened earlier, about Seongje and Beakjin, about what they could’ve done differently. Their voices were low, occasionally interrupted by tired laughter or quiet sighs. Relief was in every breath, even in their exhaustion.

Ten minutes later, Sieun emerged again, steam following him into the hallway. His hair was damp and clinging to his skin, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t name. He didn’t say anything—just sat back down, cleaner but still quiet.

You grabbed your clothes and headed into the bathroom. In the bathroom, under the warm stream of water, the adrenaline finally began to fade. Your hands trembled slightly as you washed. Everything that had happened replayed in flickers—the cornering at the studio, the locked room, Seongje’s eyes, Beakjin’s quiet threat. You let the fear run its course.

You stepped out of the shower, dried off, changed into your pyjamas, and returned to the living room. They were all wrapped up in blankets now, only half-awake—except for Juntae, who was already fast asleep. The TV was still playing.

“Finally.” Baku muttered from his spot near the edge of the couch bed. “We were about to send a search party.”

“Shut up.” You shook your damp hair at him. Baku and Gotak grinned, tossing you a pillow.

“Goodnight guys.” You said, smiling at them all—until you reached for Sieun’s hand.

“Come on.” You whispered.

He followed when you tugged softly, his body slow to respond, but his feet moved.

Immediately, Baku perked up. “Whoa, whoa. Look who gets special treatment?”

Gotak snorted. “They’re officially disgusting.” You only rolled your eyes at him as you walked away.

You just glanced back at Sieun. He was still quiet. Still somewhere far away. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as you led him down the hall toward your room. He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t let go. The door closed behind you with a soft click, muffling the sounds from the living room. The quiet in your room was deeper—denser somehow.

You stepped out of your slippers and climbed into bed, the sheets cool against your skin. You didn’t try to fill the silence. You simply waited, understanding that Sieun would speak when he was ready. Instead, you looked at him, meeting his distant eyes as he stood there unmoving. “Come here.” You said softly, barely above a whisper.

Eventually, he moved. His steps were slow and mechanical, like his body was running on leftover instinct rather than intention. He climbed into bed beside you without protest, his limbs stiff, breath shallow. When you gently pulled him closer, guiding him to lie across your chest, you felt him tense. His entire body locked up, a sharp inhale catching in his throat. He stayed like that for a moment…

Then, his breath shuddered. Just once.

His shoulders started to tremble.

The first sob was silent, but you felt it—deep and ragged, pulling through him like a wave. His fingers clutched the fabric of your shirt, and he buried his face against your chest as the shaking took over. His breathing grew uneven, shattered, tears soaking slowly through the cotton between you.

You held him without speaking, one hand moving slowly through his hair, the other resting on his back. You didn’t try to stop him. You just held on, steady and quiet, as he cried.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You didn’t know how long the crying lasted. His body trembled with every breath, and you held him through it all. Quiet, steady, grounding. At last, the shaking began to slow. His breathing grew quieter, broken now and then by uneven exhales. He stayed pressed against you, his cheek against your chest, his fingers tangled in your shirt like he was still afraid to let go.

Then, in a voice so raw it barely sounded like him, he murmured: “It should be me comforting you.” You felt his shame in the way he tensed again, in how he couldn’t quite lift his head. “Not the other way around…”

You pressed your hand lightly to the back of his head, threading your fingers deeper into his hair and hushed him softly. “Don’t say that.” You spoke softly, but firmly. “I feel blessed that you trust me enough to give yourself to me like that.” You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “You’re always holding yourself together for everyone else… I like that I get to be here for you.”

He went still in your arms, like those words struck something deep.

“I like comforting you.” You added affectionately.

Sieun didn’t respond right away. But the guilt in his silence slowly gave way to something softer as you continued to hold him. He finally exhaled, all the air he’d been holding in slipping out of his chest.

“I thought I was going to lose you too…” He whispered, voice small and broken. Tears were still slowly falling down his eyes.

And you understood.

His best friend was still in a coma, and that wound hadn’t healed. It would never heal. Watching you get pulled into danger today, hearing you cry through the walls, thinking for even one second that something could happen to you too—it broke something in him.

You pulled him closer, if that was even possible. “I’m here.” You whispered. “I’m safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed like that for a while, one hand gently tracing circles along his back. Even now, red-rimmed and glassy, his eyes were achingly beautiful. They always had been. There was something haunted about them, a kind of sadness that ran deep, but they held the truth too. Depth. Silence. Fire. You loved how expressive they were, even when he said nothing. And now, staring into them in the dark, you saw something fragile and raw staring back.

“I was scared earlier.” You whispered softly.

He didn’t move, but you felt the faint shift of his attention.

You took a slow breath, fingers trailing gently over his back again. “I knew you’d come for me. With Baku. I never doubted that. And that was the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down. But even while I waited… I wasn’t just afraid for myself. I was afraid for you.” Sieun stirred at that, his hand twitching slightly where it gripped you.

“I was so scared they’d hurt you. Baku as well, but if something would happen to you because of me. And…” You hesitated. “I felt awful too.”

Now he shifted, just enough to lift his head and look at you—eyes still red-rimmed and tired, but focused.

“I didn’t go to school this morning,” Your voice barely above a whisper. “I know it wasn’t my doing, but I know what that might’ve looked like to you. I know you overthink. I know how hard it is for you to trust that people won’t disappear. I kept thinking about how you might of felt in that moment….”

Sieun’s jaw tensed, and he dropped his gaze for a second.

“The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.” You said. “Not after everything. You matter to me. A lot.”

Sieun looked up at you. His eyes were glassy again, but not from pain. Something softer, deeper, rested there now. “You matter to me too.”

A small beat passed. You felt your heart stammer in your chest, but this time, not from fear.

You reached up, your hand resting gently against his cheek, brushing the damp skin beneath his eyes with your thumb. “I love you, Sieun. And I don’t say that because I think tonight was terrifying… I say it because I mean it. I’ve meant it for a while.”

You gave a small, shaky smile. “I know you’re going through a lot. And you don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

He flinched, so subtly it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But you saw it. Felt it. And then something in his expression cracked. For a split second, you saw it…Something younger in his face. The echo of a little boy who had gone too long without hearing those words. A boy who learned to survive on silence. A boy who was never held gently, never reassured enough that he was worthy of being loved.

And then, just like that, he started crying again.

Not like before. These weren’t sharp or panicked sobs—this time it came like a release. Quiet. Slow. A grief melting into something softer. His chest hitched against yours, the sound of his breath shaky as tears spilled freely down his face again. You stayed like that in the dark, his breath uneven against your skin, his tears still falling, slow and silent.

But little by little, his body began to settle.

The shaking stopped. His breathing, though still heavy, found a rhythm. His grip on your shirt loosened, though he didn’t let go completely. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, slow and soothing. You kissed his forehead gently. Not because it would fix everything. But because it told him: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Eventually, you felt the weight of him begin to shift slightly. The way his breath deepened, the way his body melted a little more into yours.

He had fallen asleep on your chest.

You watched the shadows shift in the room. Listened to the soft hum of the television through the wall. Your hand moved slowly through his hair one last time before resting gently at his nape. You exhaled, eyes fluttering closed, the rhythm of his breathing lulling you. And before long, you followed him into sleep.

Held together by the quiet, and everything that hadn’t needed words.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You woke to the feeling of warmth. Sieun’s weight was still against you. His head was tucked beneath your chin, one arm slung loosely around your waist, fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid it might disappear in his sleep. His breathing was slow and soft.

You didn’t move right away. You didn’t want to wake him. His face looked younger in the morning light. No more tear stains. Just peace. You brushed your fingers lightly through his hair, breathing in quietly, trying not to disturb the calm.

From the muffled rustling outside the door, you could tell the others were already awake. There was the soft clang of dishes, the groan of someone stretching, and a quiet whisper that sounded like Gotak grumbling about the cold floor.

You stayed where you were a little longer, letting yourself have this—this stillness. This comfort. This proof that you’d made it through the night.

When you stirred a little bit, Sieun blinked slowly awake, his brows twitching like he was still unsure of where he was. His gaze met yours, sleepy and confused. Then he blinked slowly as if memories from last night came back to him.

“Morning.” You whispered.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.” He murmured, voice hoarse with sleep and something deeper.

“I’m glad you did.” You replied. “You needed it.”

He closed his eyes again for a moment, breathing you in like he still wasn’t convinced any of this was real.

“I’m staying here today. I’m gonna call the ballet academy and the school. Let them know I won’t be coming.”

Sieun lifted his head slightly. “You are?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I need the break. I’m ahead in most of my classes anyway. Math is the only one giving me a headache.”

Sieun was quiet for a second, then murmured, “I’ll stay too.”

You blinked.

“I can help with math… if anything.” He added sleepily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That pulled a soft laugh from your throat. You tightened your arms around him a little. “Of course you would.”

His lips barely curved, but it was there—a small, real smile.

You gave his forehead a kiss and suffled to get out of bed. “I’ll be back” You said gently.

You slipped out of the room and walked to the living room. You found the others slowly getting ready—pulling on jackets, slinging bags over shoulders.

“I’m not coming in today,” You said slowly, voice rough with sleep. “I’m gonna rest. Yesterday…” You trailed off, rubbing your arm. “Fear drains you like nothing else.”

Gotak gave a slow nod. “Of course.” His lips pressed together in understanding. Juntae’s expression softened, and Baku smiled as he adjusted the strap on his bag.

They lingered in the doorway.

You turned back to them, frowning faintly. “What are you guys waiting for?”

Juntae adjusted his glasses. “We’re waiting for Sieun.”

You hesitated, then answered, a little awkwardly, “Oh. He’s not coming either. He’s staying with me. He’s… exhausted too. From the stress.”

There was a beat of silence.

Baku opened his mouth—already leaning into one of his usual teasing remarks—but Gotak smacked the back of his head lightly. “Don’t.” He muttered.

Baku groaned, rubbing the spot. “I wasn’t gonna say anything bad.”

You rolled your eyes, lips tugging into a faint smile despite everything.

“Be careful.” Juntae said softly as they stepped out. “Text us later, okay?”

“I will.” You promised, and closed the door behind them, the apartment quiet once more.

You quickly made your calls and padded softly back to your room, the apartment now hushed and still.

Sieun was lying exactly where you’d left him, eyes fixed on the ceiling, blinking slowly. The blankets were pulled halfway up his chest, one arm bent behind his head, the other still resting where your body had been.

You crossed the room and crawled back onto the bed. He turned his head to look at you, eyes heavy but clear now.

You slid under the covers beside him, resting your head on the pillow. “They left.” You murmured. “I told them we’re staying home.”

He nodded faintly. “Good.”

You laced your fingers through his under the covers, your bodies still facing one another, only inches apart. The morning light filtered faintly through the curtains, soft and pale, wrapping the room in stillness.

“Do you wanna sleep a little more?” You whispered, your voice quiet, hesitant. “We don’t have to do anything yet.”

Sieun blinked slowly, his gaze resting on yours. His eyes were still shadowed from everything, but there was something gentler now.

He gave a small nod. “Yeah… if you stay here, then yeah.”

He inched closer until your foreheads nearly touched and your legs brushed beneath the blanket. His breath mingled with yours, warm and steady, grounding. With your fingers still laced in his, you closed your eyes and let sleep take you, quiet and undisturbed.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You woke to the softness of morning light spilling faintly through the curtains, warm sheets tangled between you and Sieun. He was facing you, still close, his breathing slow and even. For a moment, you just watched him. His face was softer than you’d seen it in weeks, the shadows under his eyes were lighter, his jaw no longer tight with tension.

He looked… rested. Like sleep had actually touched something deep in him.

You leaned in just a little and brushed your nose gently against his. His eyes blinked open slowly, hazy with sleep at first. His gaze locked on you, and something in it melted. You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek with gentle fingers. His skin was warm, familiar. Comforting. A sight left him.

He mirrored the motion, his own hand rising to touch your cheek, his thumb grazing softly along the edge of your jaw. His eyes were still on you, and this time, they sparkled with something bright and warm. Like he was looking at you and seeing something precious.

A lazy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You know…” He started, voice low and rough. “I’ve never said this to anyone before.”

You waited, your heart beating a little faster.

He didn’t rush. He never did. But the silence between you was alive with something unspoken.

“I thought I knew how to live with being alone. I got used to it.” He said quietly. “Used to not being wanted… not being seen. Even before everything with my friend, I was already disappearing.”

His eyes flicked down for a second, then found yours again. “I didn’t think someone like you could care about someone like me.” He said, a small, breathless laugh escaping him, almost in disbelief. “But I kept falling. Every time you talked to me, every time you looked at me like I was worth something… I kept falling.”

His voice broke just slightly—just enough.

“I’m in love with you too” he whispered. “I didn’t say anything last night. But I wanted to. I just… didn’t know how.”

Your eyes stung suddenly, but all you could do was smile—because Sieun was looking at you with eyes that always carried a storm, and now, somehow, there was sunlight in them too.

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you gently closer, his forehead resting against yours.

The kiss was soft—barely there at first, a brushing of warmth, then firmer as Sieun leaned in with more certainty. He kissed you like something fragile and precious. His hand stayed at the nape of your neck, anchoring him to you.

There was a small smile on your lips, the kind that came from somewhere deep, somewhere safe.

“So…” You whispered, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Am I officially your girlfriend now?”

Sieun blinked, and then a slow, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah.” He said softly. “You are.”

He looked a little surprised at himself for saying it out loud, but he didn’t take it back. If anything, he looked proud—like the words tasted good.

You smiled wider, your chest feeling light for the first time in days. “Good.” You said, quietly teasing. “Because I was starting to wonder how long I had to wait.”

Sieun let out a soft laugh under his breath, then leaned in and kissed you again—still slow, still tender. As you pulled back just slightly to look at him, your heart fluttered at the sight. His eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He looked so soft in that moment.

You leaned in again. This time, you let your lips move with more intention. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss just enough to draw a small breath from him. His mouth opened under yours, responding now, but letting you lead. His breath was warm, his body pliant, and you felt him tremble slightly

“Can I… try something?” You whispered, barely above a breath.

He didn’t answer at first. He just blinked at you. For a second, you saw the shyness flicker through him, like he was still learning how to accept being wanted this way.

But then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’ve honestly lost count of how many times you’ve saved me.” You said, your voice quiet, a teasing lilt curling at the edges. “I really have to find a way to repay you… for being such a gentleman.”

Sieun’s ears flushed instantly, a deep red crawling up to his cheeks. But he didn’t look away. His eyes stayed on yours, soft and full of wonder, and something else—something that made your chest warm. He blinked slowly, clearly overwhelmed, but his voice came out, low and sincere: “You don’t owe me anything…”

You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough to feel him sigh into it.

“I know.” You whispered. “But I want to.”

His eyes widened just slightly—his whole body still, waiting—but behind the shyness, there was trust. And maybe, even anticipation.

You smirked, just a little. “Turn over. On your back.”

Sieun blinked, slightly breathless. He nodded, quiet and obedient, and shifted slowly onto his back, the blankets rustling softly around him. You sat up beside him, brushing some hair from your face as you looked down at him.

“Just relax.” You said gently, your voice light but with a teasing edge. “Let me take care of you.”

He swallowed hard, but didn’t resist—just watched you, his fingers twitching slightly on the comforter.

You leaned over him, letting your fingertips trace softly along the line of his jaw. “If anything feels uncomfortable… tell me. Okay?” Your voice was sincere, grounding. “I mean it. We stop the second you want to.”

Sieun nodded immediately, almost too fast. “I know.” He murmured. “I trust you.”

That look in his eyes made your breath catch. You leaned down, brushing a slow kiss over his cheek, then his jaw. His breath caught as your hand flattened over his chest, feeling the fast rhythm of his heart.

You pressed your lips to the side of his neck now. The skin there was soft, warm, and you couldn’t help but linger, letting your kiss trail along the curve of his neck. He shuddered slightly at the sensation, his body stiffening for just a moment before he relaxed again under your touch. His hand found its way to your back, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that made your pulse quicken. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling faster.

Sieun’s eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his head just slightly, silently offering you more. A quiet breath escaped him. You let your mouth linger, lips pressing just firmly enough to draw a soft gasp from his throat. When you finally pulled away, his skin was faintly flushed, and a delicate bloom of red marked the spot where your mouth had been.

Your fingers moved gently along the hem of his shirt, your touch featherlight—asking, not taking. When your eyes lifted to meet his, you found him already watching you. His cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted, but he only nodded his head at your silent question.

You slowly slid the fabric up, revealing the pale skin beneath. You moved with care. This wasn’t about rushing, it was about seeing him and taking care of him. Sieun’s breathing hitched as your fingers traced his collarbone, his chest rising and falling beneath your palm. You kissed down his chest and took on of his nipple into your mouth and bite it gently. Sieun responded with a sound in the back of his throat that sent shivers down your spine.

You continued your way down, pressing soft kisses along the waistband of his pajama bottoms. His hands clenched the comforter tightly, knuckles paling with tension. “Still okay?” You asked, pausing, your fingers already hooked around the band of both his joggers and underwear.

“Y-Yeah.” He responds shakily. “Please…”

You slowly remove his bottom, feeling nervous yourself. Your lips parted in surprise when his dick sprang free, mouth already salivating. You took your time and ran your hands up his legs, mesmerized by how soft his skin felt as your thumbs rubbed circles on his inner thighs.

Sieun squeezed his eyes shut when you delicately took a hold of him. He was heavy and hard in between your hand. Pre-cum was slowly dribbling down his length. A quiet exhale slipped from Sieun’s lips. It almost sounded like a curse.

You rubbed up and down him tentatively, testing how much pressure seemed to be getting the right reaction. The muscles of his thighs tightened as you focused on the head of his cock and more fluid leaked down to his base. A soft, involuntary moan slipped from his lips.

“You’re so pretty.” You couldn’t help but whisper in awe. His dick twitched in your grasp in answer.

Gathering your courage, your tongue timidly darted out to lick him. Sieun mouth opened, but no words came out. He raised himself on his elbow to look down at you, surprised. You could see the blush spreading across his cheeks, a shade you’d never seen on him before, making him look so vulnerable, so beautiful.

Under his gaze, you simply continue to lick his tip, your tongue flattening over his slit, slurping on his pre-cum. A whimper left Sieun’s mouth and you look up to see his face contorted in pleasure, features softening into an expression of pure bliss.

He let himself fall back on his back when you decided to take him fully. Your hand wrapped around the parts of him you couldn’t reach. You moaned around him, the vibration causing to him gasp. Your eyes closed a moment in concentration as you greedily took more, gagging around him a little bit. Sieun’s head tipped back against the pillow, exposing his throat fully. His hands were still by his side, clenching and unclenching uncontrollably in the sheets.

“Y/N I’m—“ He interrupted himself, bringing his forearm over his face, trying to hide—whether from the intensity or from how exposed he felt, even he didn’t know. His lips parted, and a quiet, helpless sound slipped out. His body became tensed.

Suddenly, a growl left him as hot cum shoot down your throat. You continued sucking as spurt after spurt came, taking everything he gave you. Sieun’s chest was rising and falling erratically. His whole body was shaking in satisfaction. Soft whimper escaped his lips now as you sucked him dry and finally released him.

When you rose, breathless, you gently reached for Sieun’s forearm, which had still been shielding his eyes. With a soft touch, you moved it away, revealing the rawness in his expression. His eyes fluttered open, still clouded with a mixture of vulnerability and bliss. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. His gaze softened, meeting yours, but there was something almost frantic in the way his hands reached for yours, seeking reassurance.

For a moment, he didn’t speak, just leaned into your touch, as if grounding himself with the connection between the two of you. His lips parted, but no words came out—only a quiet, shaky breath as his body trembled slightly beneath you.

You gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin in a slow, soothing motion. Your heart ached a bit at the rawness in his eyes, the vulnerability he was letting slip through. A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in a little closer, your voice lighter than before.

“So, are you okay?” You asked, your tone playful, but the concern still lingering in your eyes. “Or do I need to keep checking on you to make sure I didn’t break you?”

For a moment, Sieun just stared at you, his expression unreadable. But then, a flicker of something crossed his face, and his lips twitched, almost as if he wanted to smile but was too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions.

“I’m fine.” He said, his voice hoarse but earnest, though it still held a quiet vulnerability. “Just… didn’t expect that.”

You raised an eyebrow, still teasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.“

Sieun blushed, his eyes flickering to the side, and for the first time since everything started, he looked like he was finding his footing again. You could feel the tension in his body start to loosen, a soft chuckle escaping him in response.

“I’ll… I’ll be okay,” he said again, this time with more conviction. “Just… give me a minute.”

You giggled then nodded, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss against his forehead before resting your head back on his shoulder. “Take all the time you need,” You whispered softly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

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sully-s · 5 months ago

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Open in a different window to zoom in. So this is just a deep dive behind all the stuff I put in my last post I rolled back my picture before I did all the lighting and color changes to make certain details more visible. Fun fact I almost scrapped this whole picture at this stage because A. I was just burned out; this piece took me forever. B. As I kept getting more and more "neat" ideas to stuff in, I lost any real focal point, especially with the color scheme. After hours of trying to fix it in PS and failing, I was about to give up. I was like fuck it make it a night scene. Let me tell you all a world of lighting makes lol.

Anyways, enough about my struggles, let me give you the tour.

I love the idea that this corkboard was originally Phoenix's mood board in the beginning it just had his childhood pics from like the yearbook and that one time Larry got a polaroid camera. Then, a new year clipping about Edgeworth being Demon Prosecutor which led Phoenix to make his thesis about court drawings just so he could watch and see with his two eyes how much Edgeworth changed. - Then, later, he added Mia because she was his mentor. then Vinny (from the movie "My Cousin on Vinny") because like Vinny, Phoenix never understands court procedure but has very good instincts; and last Elle Woods who also went to law school for a boy basically his spirit lawyer lol. - Later, after Maya joined, she thought it would be funny to replace Phoenix's real reason to Steel Samurai. Also, it was fun because Will Powers was their client, so he should be their reason. Phoenix let them stay because it made Maya happy, and Phoenix knew that with Mia's death, she needed it. - I was going to add a sticky note from Miles that he approved, but I do like that Miles will never admit out loud or in writing that he enjoys the show. - A year later, Pearls tries to replace all the Steel Samurais with her drawings of Maya. Which Phoenix encouraged her to make during Maya's disappearance because facts. - Tid Bit: I was sad to cover up Will Powers' signature I really liked how it came out

Moving away from the mood board idea, I like that the cork board just became Phoenix's catch all. So his Law Degree which isn't the original it's just a sad printed-out version of what should've been his fancy embossed one. I like the idea that Phoenix never went to graduation. (Can't be bothered he's on a mission to save his childhood bff.)

Lastly are postcards from Edgeworth, his way of making up for all the years he couldn't write back to young Phoenix. - Also, this picture takes place some time after the 3rd game but before the disbarment.

Calendar whiteboard that I forgot to add the last row too so I guess in Japaniforina the months are only 25 days long.

I spent a frustrating amount of time trying to figure out the logistics of this paper trail. It really doesn't need to make sense It just has to make the room messier. - You can imagine Phoenix is looking over phone records or court stenographer's record.

So Edgeworth is a nerd; we all know this. But it annoys me just a tad that his nerd-isum is always just Steel Samurai (like I get it, it's canon), but all geeks have many fandom loves, okay. - So I just love the idea that Phoenix and Edgeworth (who are in a relationship at the time of this pic ) watch Better Call Saul, and they both bought each other a little plushie of the character they joke is them. -Edgeworth bought Saul for Phoenix (because of Saul's heart, not because he does shady practices), And Phoenix bought Kim (because she a really good lawyer who seems cold and is a workaholic who would break the rules for their Saul (used phoenix's badge in the third game )) - They keep each other's plushies in their offices, and if one of them stops by when the other isn't in, they put a sticky note on it. - Which we can see that Phoenix did need reminding because, as you can see, the date is 18th, and no mention of a dinner ;)

7. Now the whole reason I drew this picture was too show off my headcanon that Phoenix has a Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law action figure that you know Gumshoe got him after Edgeworth vs. State happen because of Polly. And we all know that man would be a fan of old Hanabara cartoons. - I've loved this stupid tid-bit of a headcanon that it's been haunting me for years. That's it; that's all I really wanted to say with this piece, and look where it got

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #my art #fanart #shop talk #Thanks For Coming To My Ted Talk

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qinche-cvmslvt · 4 months ago

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Forbidden

Content Warning: NSFW, MDNI, fluff, romance, taboo, Professor Sylus, AU Sylus. Slow burn, sexual and emotional tension. Power dynamic relationships.

Summary: You’re in your final years of schooling. Sweet and freshly 18, Professor Sylus has always made you feel something. But you feel it more now that you’re an “adult”. Perhaps, there’s more to this connection than meets the eye?

A/N: Helloooo, yes I have a problem but I love this concept and I’ve been wanting a professor Sylus fic for a very long time. I am collabing with my sister. She’s a seasoned Kpop fanfic writer hahahah. Anyways, don’t freak out. Every main character in this fic is at 18 and up.

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Chapter 1: After Class

The late afternoon sun slanted through the high classroom windows, bathing the rows of desks in a golden haze. You slid into your usual seat near the front, smoothing your skirt and laying out your notebook with steady, practiced movements. Despite your composed exterior, your heart gave a traitorous flutter the moment your gaze found him at the front of the room. Professor Sylus stood with one hand resting on his mahogany desk and the other writing the day’s lesson title on the chalkboard. Dust motes danced in the sunlight around his tall figure. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing toned muscles that flexed subtly with each stroke of chalk.

At 18 years old and in your final year of high school, you were technically an adult – a fact that emboldened and unsettled you all at once. Yet, sitting in Professor Sylus’ classroom, you felt small and young, as if the mere presence of your teacher could lay bare the schoolgirl inside you. You bit your lip and forced your eyes down to your notebook, fighting the heat rising in your cheeks. Get a grip, you chided yourself silently. It was just another literature class, and he was just your English teacher – confident, brooding, and far too mesmerizing for your own good.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Sylus began, his baritone voice easily commanding the murmurs in the room to hush. You dared a glance upward through your lashes. He surveyed the class with calm authority, jewel-like eyes scanning over students with a measured patience. His gaze passed over you briefly, and for a heartbeat your eyes met. A spark – real or imagined – skittered through your chest. Quickly, you looked back to your blank page, your pulse thudding in your ears.

Sylus cleared his throat and turned toward the chalkboard. On it he had written a line from the poem they’d been studying: “…somewhere between right and wrong, there is a garden. I will meet you there.” The quote hung in the air like a daring secret. “Today,” he said, “we continue our discussion on forbidden themes in literature – the allure of crossing lines that society has drawn.” His voice was smooth but there was an undercurrent of intensity when he spoke of the subject, as if the topic resonated with some private part of him.

As he launched into the lesson, you tried to focus on your notes, not on the man delivering the lecture. Your pen scribbled dutifully, but your attention drifted to him in spite of yourself. Professor Sylus moved with a restrained energy, pacing slowly in front of the chalkboard. The afternoon light caught in his crimson eyes when he turned just so, making them gleam. There was a certain heaviness to his brow – a brooding intensity that made him appear deep in thought even as he taught. He was relatively young for a teacher – you guessed not much older than thirty – and there was a vitality in the way he spoke that held the class rapt.

“Can anyone tell me what the poet might mean by that line?” he asked, tapping the chalk gently under the quote he’d written. His gaze traveled across the room expectantly. A few students shifted in their seats, avoiding eye contact. You knew the class well enough to predict that silence would follow; most were either too indifferent or too intimidated to volunteer an interpretation.

You inhaled quietly, gathering your nerve. This was your favorite subject, and despite the tremor of nerves around you, you couldn’t resist engaging – if only to impress him. Lifting your eyes, you found Sylus already looking your way, as if he anticipated you might speak. The thought sent a little thrill through you.

You raised your hand. “It’s about a place beyond judgment,” you said when he nodded for you to answer. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you swallowed and continued more clearly. “The poet is saying that outside of right and wrong – beyond the rules and expectations – there’s a space where two people can truly be together. A… a secret meeting place, free from consequence.”

As you spoke, Sylus’ expression shifted almost imperceptibly. The stern line of his mouth eased, and the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Something warm flickered in his eyes – pride? admiration? – that made your chest tighten.

“Very good,” he said, and that rich voice of his wrapped around the praise in a way that felt personal. “A thoughtful interpretation.” His gaze held yours a second longer than it needed to. In that moment, the rest of the class might as well have not existed.

Your cheeks burned at his approval. You managed a faint smile back before looking down again, hiding behind a curtain of your hair. You could still feel the weight of his eyes on you for a moment more, and the knowledge sent a sweet, forbidden thrill through your veins.

While Professor Sylus went on to elaborate on the poem’s historical context, you dared to steal another glance. He had turned away to address the rest of the class, but there was a new tension in his posture – a stiffness in his shoulders, as if your answer had affected him too. He ran a hand through his silver hair, the fingers briefly tugging in a gesture that might have been subconscious. For an instant, you allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to run your own fingers through that hair, to soothe whatever turmoil made him look so distant and haunted when he thought no one was watching. The fantasy was as intoxicating as it was inappropriate, and you banished it with a quick shake of your head. Your braid brushed against your neck, grounding you back in reality.

Minutes passed, and you diligently copied down the notes Sylus put up on the board, punctuating them with a few stolen looks in his direction. Each time, your eyes seemed to find some new detail to fixate on: the way the veins in his forearm stood out when he gripped a book to read a passage aloud; the precise cut of his jawline; or the way his voice gentled when he recited a particularly poignant line from the text. There was such passion and nuance in his teaching that you found yourself entranced, hanging on to every word despite the turmoil of attraction stirring inside you.

At one point, as he circulated around the room to check on the students’ annotations, Sylus approached your desk. You straightened your spine, heart drumming. He stopped beside you, close enough that you became hyperaware of his presence—the faint scent of cedar and spice from his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body.

“Do you see how the second stanza reinforces that idea?” he asked softly, leaning down to glance at your open textbook. His face was suddenly much nearer to yours, and you hoped he couldn’t hear how loudly your heart was pounding.

“Y-yes,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. The air between you felt charged. As you shifted slightly, your shoulder lightly grazed his arm. The contact was barely there, but it sent a jolt of electricity across your skin. You froze, and so did he.

Sylus drew in a slow breath, his gaze flickering to you. Time seemed to slow in that small moment of accidental touch. You dared to meet his eyes. Up close they were an endless crimson sea, stormy with something unspoken. His jaw tightened as if he was waging some internal battle. Then he straightened, politely putting a safe distance between you once more.

“Good,” he said, clearing his throat. His tone was steady, betraying nothing, but his adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “Keep up the good work.”

You nodded silently, and he moved on, continuing his rounds. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your hand trembled slightly as you underlined a phrase in your book, attempting to appear engrossed in the text while your mind raced. Had you imagined that intensity in his eyes? The way he’d gone still when you touched? Don’t be ridiculous, you tell yourself. He’s your teacher. He was just making sure you understood.

But no matter how you tried to dismiss it, you couldn’t shake the memory of that brief flash in his gaze – like a wild, caged thing peering out. It made your stomach flutter with equal parts excitement and nervousness.

By the time the lesson drew to an end, the sun had deepened to a warm orange, and long shadows stretched across the floor. Sylus returned to the front to wrap up, assigning a short reflection on the poem for homework. The shrill ring of the final bell for the day made several students jump up eagerly, the spell of the class broken as backpacks were slung over shoulders.

You closed your notebook slowly, reluctant for this enchanted, torturous hour to end. Around you, classmates chatted as they filtered out of the room, their sneakers squeaking on the polished linoleum. Normally you would be rushing off as well, joining the after-school buzz in the halls. But today, you lingered, pretending to carefully organize your papers as your mind raced with an idea – or rather, an excuse.

Sylus busied himself at the teacher’s desk as the students departed, stacking essays neatly and wiping a stray chalk smudge from his fingers. His movements were measured, outwardly as composed as ever. Inside, however, his thoughts were anything but calm. Throughout the class he had maintained his usual professional demeanor by sheer force of will, yet now that he was alone… well, almost alone… he exhaled slowly, releasing a tension he hadn’t fully acknowledged until this moment.

He risked a glance upward through his dark lashes. One student remained, hovering at her desk near the front – you. He immediately felt his pulse kick up in response, an unwelcome surge of awareness. She should go, he told himself firmly. Being alone with a student after class was unwise under any circumstance, and with this particular young woman it was downright dangerous to his hard-won self-control.

Sylus had noticed you the very first week he started teaching at Linkon High. How could he not? You were bright, attentive, and disarmingly sincere in your love of literature – a rarity that had drawn his interest initially on a purely intellectual level. But then there were the other things: the way your smile lit up your eyes when you grasped a concept, or the soft tuck of hair behind your ear as you concentrated. Little details that had etched themselves into his mind against his better judgment.

He had brushed off his fascination as simple pride in a star student, nothing more. He was your teacher, after all. Lines existed for a reason, and he was determined never to cross them.

Yet today, when you had given your interpretation of the poem… something in your voice, earnest and a touch vulnerable, had struck a chord in him. Your words about a place beyond right and wrong had felt directed at him in ways you couldn’t possibly know. In that moment, he’d almost forgotten where they were. He had looked at you and seen not just a diligent student but a young woman on the cusp of adulthood – an adult, he reminded himself, albeit a very young one under his care. The realization had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

And then that brief contact – your shoulder brushing his arm – even now he could recall the heat of it. It was nothing, a pure accident, and yet it had set his nerves alight. For the rest of the class he’d struggled to keep his focus on the lesson and not on the memory of how close you’d been, how your perfume—something subtle, with cherry or floral—had left him slightly lightheaded.

Now, as the last of the other students slipped out the door, Sylus forced himself to appear at ease. Calm and collected, he reminded himself, like it meant nothing. With a quiet click, he capped his pen and slid the graded papers into his leather briefcase. Any second now, you would head out as well, and he would be safe to breathe normally again.

But instead of the expected sound of your retreating footsteps, he heard your voice, gentle and hesitant,

“Professor Sylus? Can I ask you something?”

Sylus’s hand paused on the briefcase buckle. He lifted his eyes to find you standing a few paces from his desk, notebook clutched to your chest. Most of your classmates had already disappeared into the hall, leaving an expectant quiet in their wake. The overhead lights were off, and only the honeyed dusk light from the windows illuminated the space, casting half of Sylus’s face in shadow and half in soft, gold light.

For a heartbeat, he simply looked at you, taking in the sight. You looked nervous, biting the corner of your lip in that way he’d come to recognize whenever you were grappling with a thought. The warm glow of sunset danced in your eyes. Why did it feel like the air between you was charged again, now even more intensely than during that fleeting touch?

He cleared his throat, reminding himself to speak. “Of course,” he replied, his tone measured. He leaned back against the edge of his desk to appear relaxed, crossing his arms loosely. “What do you need help with?”

You stepped forward into the aisle between desks, closer by a cautious half-step. You, your mind whispered traitorously. I need you. You banished the illicit thought and drew a slow breath. “It’s about the poem,” you began, willing your voice to sound steady. “Something you said about forbidden themes… it got me thinking.”

In truth, you hadn’t really needed clarification on the lesson – he had been very clear, as always. But the idea of walking out that door felt unbearable when a hundred unspoken questions and feelings swirled inside of you. This was your chance to linger in his presence just a little longer, to maybe confirm if you'd imagined the connection you thought you felt. Even if all you got was a few more minutes of conversation with him, it would be worth it.

Sylus nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Which part are you wondering about?”

You came a step closer, until you were right in front of him, the desk between them the only barrier. You set your notebook down atop his desk, open to the page of notes you'd taken. It took all your willpower to keep your hand from trembling. “Here,” you pointed to a bulletpoint in your careful handwriting. “You mentioned how, in literature, forbidden relationships often serve to challenge societal norms. I was just… well, I was curious if you think the writers romanticize those relationships. Do they make it seem more attractive because it’s forbidden?”

Your question hung in the air. In the quiet that followed, you heard the ticking of the classroom clock on the wall, counting the seconds of silence.

Sylus regarded you thoughtfully. He knew literature theory well enough to answer in academic terms – to talk about narrative devices and the human fascination with taboo. Yet as he gazed at your earnest face, framed by a stray beam of golden light, the purely academic answer didn’t seem to be the one caught in his throat. Instead, what came out was a gentle counter-question.

“What do you think?”

You hadn’t expected that. A soft breath escaped you. He often turned questions back on students to encourage critical thinking, but right now the way he asked felt different – almost personal. His voice was lower now, almost intimate in the quiet room. Was it your imagination, or had he inched just a little closer over the desk?

Your fingers fiddled with the spiral binding of your notebook as you gathered your courage. “I think…” you began slowly, searching for words that wouldn’t betray the full depth of what you felt. “I think authors do make it attractive. The risk, the secrecy… it adds excitement.” Your throat felt dry, and you pressed on. “When something is forbidden, maybe it makes every small moment, every glance or touch, feel more meaningful. Because you know it could be taken away.”

As you spoke, your eyes remained locked on the open notebook, tracing the indented lines of your writing rather than looking up at him. It felt safer to voice such things to a page than directly to Sylus’ face. Even so, your heart hammered at your own boldness. You were no longer talking strictly about poems or novels, and you both knew it.

There was a brief rustle, and you realized Sylus had moved. Gently, he reached out and closed your notebook, his long fingers resting for a moment on the cover just beside your own hand. You froze at the proximity – his knuckles only inches from your skin. Your gaze lifted on instinct, drawn by the magnetic presence of him.

Sylus’ eyes met yours, and you saw it again – that flicker of conflict, of heat, carefully restrained behind a composed mask. The dying daylight outlined the strong planes of his face, but his eyes were soft as they searched yours. “Literature isn’t the only place where that happens,” he said quietly. “Sometimes real life mirrors the stories.”

Your breath caught. The desk suddenly felt like an insignificant separator; the space between them crackled with something unspoken. Did he mean… could he possibly be referring to the two of you?

You tried to speak and found your voice had fled. In the silence, your uncertainty must have shown in your face, because Sylus’ expression gentled further. He seemed to be choosing his next words with great care.

“What I mean is,” he continued, tone still soft, “there’s a reason readers are drawn to those stories. A reason we sometimes find ourselves…” He paused, as if debating how frank to be. His gaze flickered down to their hands – his still resting near yours on the closed notebook – and then back up. “…drawn to things we know we can’t have.”

Your heart skipped a beat. There it was – the spark, the admission veiled in careful words but so plainly there. The world seemed to narrow until it was just him and you in that dim classroom, the air thick with everything you weren’t saying. You felt a flush rise in your cheeks and didn’t know if it was from joy, fear, or the dizzying combination of both.

“Sylus…” you whispered, his name slipping out before you could stop yourself. The familiarity of using just his first name hung between them. You weren't even sure why you said it – perhaps to confirm that this was real, that this was him speaking and not a beautiful daydream conjured by your hopeful mind.

At the sound of his name on your lips, something in Sylus broke subtly – his carefully maintained distance wavered. His hand inched forward just a little more, fingertips almost, almost brushing the back of your hand. He caught himself at the last second and withdrew slightly, curling his fingers into a loose fist instead.

“This…,” he said, so softly it was almost a breath. The single syllable carried a world of meaning. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

You both knew what he meant: this connection, this delicate, dangerous tension humming between you. Acknowledging it was risky, but in that stolen moment neither of you looked away.

Your lips parted, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. You could scarcely believe this was happening – that the longing you'd harbored might not be one-sided. He feels it too… The realization lit you up from the inside. It also terrified you. He is the one person you aren't supposed to want, and the only person you desperately did.

Outside in the hallway, a locker slammed shut, jolting you back to reality. The distant chatter of students reminded you both of where you were – teacher and student, standing on the edge of a line that, once crossed, could change everything.

Sylus drew back slightly, straightening. A shadow of regret passed over his face as the spell between you broke, but the tenderness remained. He lowered his voice, though there was no one else to hear: “You should head home,” he said gently. “It’s getting late.”

You nodded, realizing suddenly how close you had leaned in toward him. You hadn’t even noticed your own body swaying nearer, drawn like a moth to a flame. Flushing, you stepped back, clutching your notebook to anchor yourself. “Right. Of course.”

He walked you to the classroom door, a careful distance between you now. Your mind was still reeling at what had just passed between you—subtle and yet undeniable. At the threshold, you turned back to face him. The corridor behind you was nearly empty now, just a straggler or two heading for the exits. In here, in the golden half-light, Sylus stood with one hand braced on the doorframe, looking down at you with an expression you could only describe as conflicted longing.

“Thank you for answering my questions,” you said softly. It felt like an inadequate thing to say after everything, but it was all your overwhelmed mind could supply.

A faint smile touched his lips. “Anytime,” he replied. “You know you can always come to me if you need help.” There was a quiet emphasis on those last words, as if they held layers of meaning. His dark eyes flickered with the warmth of an unspoken promise before he masked it with a polite smile.

You clutched your books to your chest a little tighter. “I… I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Your voice wavered, and you couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through, hope and anxiety warring in your chest.

Sylus nodded, but just as you were about to turn, he spoke again, voice low and earnest. “Wait.”

You paused, heart leaping into your throat. “Yes?”

For a moment he hesitated, as though walking right up to the edge of that line again. His gaze held yours, steady and searching. Say something, part of you pleaded silently. Admit you feel it too.

“I—” He stopped himself, then tried again, his words measured. “I just want you to be careful.”

Your brow knit in confusion. Was he scolding you? Warning you about staying late at school? Or was there a deeper meaning? “…Careful?” You echoed softly.

Sylus’ jaw tensed, and he let out a slow breath. His next words came out barely above a whisper, meant only for you: “This is uncharted territory. If we’re not careful, someone could get hurt.”

It was both a caution and a confession. He was acknowledging that something was indeed happening between you, even as he tried to protect you both from it. The weight of his words—and the vulnerability in them—hung in the air.

You felt a sting of emotion in your chest, a mix of reassurance and ache. Reassurance that you hadn’t imagined everything; ache that he was already pulling back into propriety. “I understand,” you whispered, your throat tight. “We’ll be careful.”

Silence settled again. His hand still rested on the doorframe, just above your head now. The way he loomed there was not threatening at all—in fact, you felt shielded, cocooned in the alcove of the doorway with him so close. His gaze traced over your face as if committing it to memory.

Then Sylus inclined his head in a slight nod. The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, more an expression of gentle resolve. “Good night,” he said softly at last. There was a slight hesitation, as if he’d been about to say more.

You caught that tiny falter—had he almost said your name? The thought sent a warmth fluttering in your stomach.

“Good night, Professor Sylus,” You replied, equally soft. Your fingers lingered on the door for a second, unwilling to break the last bit of eye contact between you. His eyes looked almost black in the dim light, and they were filled with so many things you wished you could decipher.

Finally, you forced yourself to step out into the hall. The spell had to be broken for now. With every stride down the corridor, your body felt lighter and more heated all at once, as if you were walking on air while adrenaline thrummed in your veins.

Before turning the corner, you glanced back one last time. Sylus was still there in the doorway, watching you go. The golden light behind him cast him in silhouette, but you could see the outline of his broad shoulders, the slight tilt of his head. You wondered what he was thinking in that inscrutable moment.

Hidden in the shadows, Sylus allowed himself a single, forbidden indulgence: he smiled – just a faint curve of his lips – as he watched you disappear around the corner. The empty hallway echoed with the fading sound of your footsteps. He let his head rest back against the doorframe and closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling a breath he felt he’d been holding all day.

What are you doing, Sylus? he chastised himself silently, even as that ghost of a smile lingered. His heart was still thudding in his chest. He knew this was dangerous ground – more dangerous than anything he’d ever felt. But the way you had looked at him, the way your voice trembled with hope… it made him feel alive in a way he’d nearly forgotten.

He would have to keep his distance, he told himself firmly—for both their sakes. Yet as he switched off the lights and darkness fell over the empty classroom, Sylus realized he was already counting the hours until he would see you again.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus smut #sylus x you

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eviesaurusrex · 5 months ago

Text

Harry Styles x High School Sweetheart!Reader (x Wife!Reader)

summary: Harry and YN were high school sweethearts and are celebrating their 15th anniversary.

faceclaim: Selena Gomez

warnings: none, pure fluff, not entirely proofread because it's late over here and I wanted to finish this before bed

author’s note: My first smau in a very long time. Please bear with me ;_; Disclaimer: The used manips are not mine, and I have not created them—the credits go to the creators (the creators’ names are on some of them). The reader is a classical music composer. Enjoy!

CelebrityStoryWatcher harrystyles just uploaded a new story of him and yourinstagram cooking at their family home in London, England, before deleting it again.

2,318,991 likes | 665,001 comments

ynfan1 How can she be so stunning???

ynandharold the way he made her laugh. "you sure you don't try to feed an entire army, love? who is supposed to eat all of that??" in that over-dramatic tone of his ;_; <3

hsfangirl Who still wants to be YN even after all these years?

Liked by 362 people.

yngirlboss Exfuckingcuse me while I try to process this. I'll be forever grateful for Harry because he makes her so bloody happy

hsfan2 i'm pretty sure this video was meant for his finster :x

↳ ynfan2 oh, definitely. It was gone so fucking fast, I barely could click on it lol

harryisdaddy He's such a simp for his wife. If he could, he would spam Instagram with her pretty face, can't tell me otherwise

ynismommy i love how cozy they both are at home. you can see how comfortable they are around each other ;_;

↳ hs_fineart that just comes naturally when you've been besties since 14, a couple since 16, and married since 26 <3

styles_spotter They have their anniversary tomorrow, don't they???????

annetwist Today, we celebrate your special day. Thank you for making my son the happiest boy ever since the day you two met. Happy anniversary, my loves ♡

978,351 likes | 35,227 comments

hsfan1 not anne making me cry in the early morning hours ;_; look at these two cuties going strong for 15 years! happy anniversary mom and dad!!!!

hs_ynfandom Happy anniversary!

ynfan1 Anne shipped them from the very first day, YOU CANNOT CHANGE MY MIND

hsfan2 my single-heart cries in both happiness and envy. how does someone find their soulmate??? yn really need to write a guide for all those singles out here

harry_and_yn Power couple since day 1!

yourinstagram Thank you so much, Anne <3 It's easy when your son is a literal angel walking this earth

Liked by harrystyles, pillowpersonpp, and 12,886 others.

↳ annetwist You helped turn him into the man he is today ♡

yn_and_harry_haven The way they both started as cuties and grew into the most handsome/gorgeous people on this planet is INSANE. We, as a society, are not ready for their daughter to grow up.

gemmastyles MY FAVORITE SISTER IN LAW. I am forever thankful for having you as my sister—perhaps not by blood, but we are as close as they come. Happy anniversary, lovies! Make him treat you like a queen today

↳ harrystyles I obviously treat her like a queen every single day she walks on this earth.

↳ yourinstagram G ;_; ♡ I love you so much! And he really does <3 I love you too, H

Liked by annetwist, gemmastyles, and 5,209 others.

harrystyles_fangirl this family loves each other so much, i want what they have.

hanszimmer In our years working together, I not only had the pleasure of getting to know yourinstagram both creatively and personally, but harrystyles as well. In those years, I witnessed their love grow in the most beautiful of ways, and not just once have they been my inspiration for certain pieces. I wish you all the happiness for the next 15 years. Happy anniversary to our music power couple!

948,990 likes | 45,628 comments

ynfan1 Being besties with this century's mastermind of film music composition (because he taught you everything) is certainly a flex

yn_fandom imagine mr hans zimmer congratulates you on your anniversary because he grew so fond of you during all the years you were his protégé. AND he likes your husband. my life would be completed. happy anniversary, yn and harry!

hsfan1 Hans Zimmer likes Harry. Love that for our music king!

harrystyles Your words mean so much to me—to us. Thank you! I hope we can dive back into our discussions someday soon. I know YN would love to see you again. x H.

↳ yourinstagram I only can agree with my husband, Hans. Thank you for your wonderful and loving words—and for every moment you gave your all when it came to my training and education. Without you, I wouldn't be where I am today. You're always welcome in England!

↳ hanszimmer I'll never say No to a Styles invitation x

ynismommy for everyone who doesn't know: mr zimmer is the godfather of their daughter! that's how close they are. it's insane when you think about it. this girl (and any future children) will grow up with so much music and love and talent in their genes, they'll conquer the world.

↳ harry_and_yn And their children will probably the loveliest human beings because their parents are (I once met them on a stroll through London and they were THE NICEST, I still think about their kindness)

↳ ynismommy they definitely will! and truuuue, i only met yn, but she's such an angel. harry is probably the exact same because i can't see her being with someone unkind and uncaring

Liked by harry_and_yn, ynfan3, hsfan5, and 56 others.

ludovico_einaudi No one has ever spoken truer words, my friend. Happy anniversary, YN and Harry! May the next 15 years be as wonderful as the last.

↳ yourinstagram Why is everyone trying to make me cry today? ;_; Thank you so incredibly much, Ludovico

Liked by ludovico_einaudi, hanszimmer, and 4,815 others.

harrystyles My best friend. My wife. The mother of my sunshine. My darling love. You have collected so many titles in our time together, but either way, you will be, first and foremost, the love of my life. My soulmate. My muse. The essence of my happiness. You are the light of my life, the sun around which I orbit, the center of my universe, and the guiding star I look for in the sky in moments I am lost. I will forever be grateful for every second of your attention you grant me, for every tired I love you whispered in the darkness before drifting off into sleep, for making me a father and giving me something I have always wished and hoped for.

Thank you for the past 15 years, my love. Happy anniversary. x H.

4,686,998 likes | 1,329,750 comments

hsfan1 The way I am sitting on my couch now, contemplating this post, and knowing I will cry myself to sleep tonight.

yn_stylesforever no one has won in life as much as YN LN-Styles <3

ynfan1 Uhm... A NEVER BEFORE SEEN YN PHOTO?! She looks so happy T_T <3

↳ yn_and_harry my thoughts??????? Harry is feeding us

gemmastyles You, my beloved brother, are absolutely and entirely gone for this woman (and I don't want it any other way). Happy anniversary, baby brother. You deserve nothing less.

↳ harrystyles Don't make me cry, Gemma. YN will never stop teasing me about it. I can feel her watching. x

↳ yourinstagram Oh, you mean like I never forget to mention your tears at our wedding? <33

↳ harrystyles Exactly. xx

↳ gemmastyles To be quiet honest, you weren't any better that day, YNN. And why do I only get one kiss?!

↳ yourinstagram I don't know what you mean.

↳ styles_spotter these three are literally everything ;_;

mitchrowland Congratulations, H. And YNN, of course!! A life without your love can't be imagined ♡

jefezoff Congrats to my dream couple and one true shipping! To more beautiful children and wonderful years

↳ yourinstagram Not too many and not too soon, mind you. Or do you want to babysit Darcy? She loves to keep you awake for the majority of the night :3

↳ jefezoff ... I appreciate my sleep.

↳ hsfan2 poor babies ;_; but we need more beautiful styles babies!

ynfan2 Not me sobbing over those pictures and the fact how fast little Darcy is growing T_T

yourinstagram I love you more than life itself, H.

↳ ynfansite after all this time <33

pillowpersonpp Happy anniversary to my favorite singer and favorite composer!

yourinstagram Harry. Ever since the day Mrs. Merryweather put me on the seat next to you, I knew it was destiny. I knew you'd be my best friend; I knew you'd be my love if I had the courage to act on my feelings, and I knew I'd marry you someday. I just knew. And I was right. You gave me more than I could have ever hoped for; you loved me more than I could have ever hoped for. You, my love, are the best thing that could have ever happened to me, and I thank the universe every single day for allowing me to love you—and be loved by you. Thank you for making me a mother, being the incredible father you are, and raising our children together—with love and kindness.

Happy anniversary, H. To more love, more anniversaries, more happiness ♡

2,701,632 likes | 998,582 comments

annetwist I am so proud of you both for being such wonderful parents to Darcy and always supporting each other ♡

ynfan1 Gosh, today is an emotional day.

↳ gemmastyles My thoughts exactly

↳ hsfan1 Gemma is here D:

harry_and_yn i love how much they love each other

hsfan2 Both treat us with never before seen pictures of each other and I can't handle it. Mustache!Harry still is a sight to behold lol

harrystyles Oh, my love xx

↳ yourinstagram Come upstairs as soon as that call is over. I want to kiss my husband

↳ harryisdaddy YN decided to see the internet burn

ramindjawadi_official Happy anniversary to my favorite composer! Please bring little Darcy and your husband to our next meeting

↳ yourinstagram <3 Will do!

↳ ynfan2 Everyone loves Baby Styles so much

taylorswift I hope Harry is taking over some of those night shifts! Happy anniversary, you two, and let me play auntie as soon as you both need some time alone <3

ynfan3 Seeing them kiss still makes me blush because even on pictures, you always feel their burning chemistry ;_;

harry_and_yn_fandom On the anniversary of our favorite couple, we need to have a throwback to YN's Instagram story of their road trip to Italy a few years ago.

2,681 likes | 548 comments

hsfan1 I was so freaking anxious because I didn't know who was driving holy shit

↳ hsfan2 lol same. Until I realized they were stuck in a traffic jam at the Swiss border xD

Liked by hsfan1 and 21 others.

ynfandom The way her eyes always softened when looking at him <33

hsfan3 Harry felt the playlist on that day—and YN was just happy to be in his presence :3

yn_and_harry to be honest, her story made me realize they would be together forever and ever. Until death do us part and all that

↳ harry_is_fineart Definitely. And the way he took her hand after his solo of Another One Bites The Dust and how he asked her if everything was okay and if she was happy. He's the stuff women write about in romance novels.

ynfan1 Fun fact: I met Harry at a Subway right after the Italian border because YN got hungry and craved a sub and a cookie (and he was pretty tired and wanted a coffee). He stood in line while YN snuck to the driver's seat to drive their remaining route. It was so cute seeing him stand on the driver's side, sighing with a head shake, and submitting to his woman's decisions :D

↳ hsfan4 no way! That's so cute T_T

harrystylesfangirl "You know, I always get to hear you sing without paying for concert tickets." - "I'll always sing for you, my love. Doesn't matter where and when. You're my favorite audience." - "And you are mine, H." Heart eyes ensuing. This video and their conversation lives rent free in my head :D <3

↳ ynismommy I'm sure they are each other's first listeners, even before the crew and their labels.

↳ pillowpersonpp They are. Always.

;

As always: Thank you so much for reading and enjoying my silly little writing. Please consider leaving a like, a comment, and a reblog! <3

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x you #harry styles smau #harry styles social media au #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles fake social media #harry styles

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unlicensed-queer · 1 year ago

Text

Study Session

Summary: Donnie and the reader are childhood friends going to college together and feelings run hot one night working on a biology project

Warnings: Shmut (sub! Donnie and unprotected sex, wrap it up folks, unprotected is only fun in fiction and monogamous relationships!)

Pairing: Donnie Darko x Fem! Reader

Notes: so like the smut was fun but I loved writing the dialogue between reader and Donnie, it was so fun to imagine them being tired and frustrated with their assignment and blaming the flies. First smut post hope y'all enjoy! (I did not proofread this have mercy on me). Divider by @saradika-graphics

Donnie and you had been friends as long as you could remember. You had grown up next door neighbors, running around the neighborhood, poking salamanders and making mud castles. Then later as soon as you got your license, the two of you drove around looking for anything to do in your sleepy Iowa town. You'd been together forever, always had each other's backs and been there for each other through your darkest moments. You knew almost everything about Donnie, except one thing. What you didn't know was that he had been pining after you since he could recognize the difference between girls and boys. You didn't know that he had picked the college he did simply because you were going there and he couldn't stand the thought of not being able to see you. And you didn't know that every night Donnie lay awake with his hand in his pants and his eyes closed, thinking of the way your hair smelled and how the sun shone off your skin. He was addicted to you, obsessed. One time you left your hoodie at his dorm, he had cherished it. He kept it in a box in his closet, secluded and safe, taking it out to bury his face in your scent as he rutted helplessly into his bed. The poor boy wanted you so bad it hurt. Of course it wasn't just that he thought you were hot, a lot of girls were hot, no it was the fact that you never treated him like a bomb about to go off, never looked at him like he might snap and run at you with a broken glass. You treated him like a normal friend, even after the shit show with the flooded school and the inspirational speakers house. But the fact that you were everything he ever wanted in a girl, strong, confident and forceful, didn't hurt.

Now Donnie was smart and Donnie was brave but he was terrified to admit any of this to you. He was so scared of ruining what you had that he held it back, content with his fantasies and his right hand, left if he was feeling adventurous.

One night you were sitting together, chewing your pencils and scratching your head over a biology project. The results of your trials weren't lining up the way they were supposed to and you just couldnt figure out what was going wrong. Donnie sat back with a sigh and stretched his cramped back.

"I dunno man have you considered that maybe the flies are just fucking stupid or something?" He asked, to frustrated to think of any actual ideas "maybe tomorrow we can print off an instruction manual of what they're supposed to do and they can read it with their weird ass little eyes"

You huffed a distracted laugh as you looked over the spreadsheets for the millionth time

"Sure let's tell them that they're giving they're larvae the wrong birth defects and that they need to try harder" You let your head fall, thumping against the textbook on your mattress

"I don't know what's going wrong, maybe the dosages in the food is wrong?" You asked, voice muffled. Donnie looked down at you. Your were laying on your stomach and your shirt had rode up, exposing the dip of your back. He swallowed, funny how an inch of exposed skin and the curve of your ass in shorts could make his brain short circuit.

"Yeah uh, we could try that"

You looked back, frowning slightly.

"You good Donnie? You look all sweaty are you sick?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. Donnie gave a bright and only slightly forced smile and gave you a thumbs up. As soon as you turned away he hurriedly grabbed a throw pillow and held it on top of his lap. He groaned internally, why did he always feel like this in the most inconvenient times? He didn't want to be one of those gross guy best friends that only spend time with a girl because they want to fuck her, but he needed you so badly. He could have drooled over the sight of the how your clothes hugged your body, how your shoulder moved as you turned pages.

Donnie took a deep breath, he couldn't stand it anymore. Even if you rejected him it would still be better than this halfway hell of agonizing over you day and night

"Y/N, I..I wanna..I gotta say something" Donnie mumbled, twisting the tassels on your pillow. You sat up and looked at him.

"Is it why you been acting so weird for the last 20 minutes?" You asked, pushing your hair back "do I have something stuck in my teeth?" You lifted your hand to your mouth in worry.

"Nonono, your teeth look great, you look great , I-" Donnie flushed with nerves. He could string together a rant about smurfs or rabbits or why he hated fakey VHS messiahs but as soon as he wanted to just say he liked you it was all jumbled up. You were so close to him, he could see the faint freckles on your nose. He didn't think about doing it, he just knew that a moment later his lips were pressed to yours and it was everything he ever wanted. He didn't care if you slapped him and never wanted to speak again, it was worth it for a moment of feeling your plush lips and being enveloped in your scent. He broke away, lips parted and pupils blown wide.

“Sorry uh-" he didn't even get to finish his sentence before you had pushed him back onto the bed, kissing him hard. Donnie moaned and threaded his hands into your hair. You were both inexperienced and the kiss was all tongue and teeth but still the heat pooled in your core. You pulled away for a moment to breathe, looking down at Donnie. His lips were swollen and pink, his hair messy and his cheeks flushed.

“Y/N, fuck, need..need you" he whimpered, tugging at your waist band. He felt like his brain was melting, you were so pretty and he was so hard and he needed you so badly it hurt.

“Please-please I-” Donnie felt you wrap a hand around his cock and he gave a whimper that sounded like he was about to cry.

"Need what?” You teased. You knew full well what he wanted, your pussy warm and wet around him. But you weren't going to let him have it that easy, he'd get spoiled.

“Wanna fuck you, please Y/N, I'll make you feel so good I just need you, needa be inside you.." Donnie begged, pressing kisses to your neck and face. “Please" he whispered into your skin, drunk on the strawberry scent of your body wash.

“So polite aren't you?" You murmured to Donnie as you cradled his face in one hand. You shifted your legs to pull off your shorts. Donnie looked down with wide eyes and swallowed dryly.

“Cat got your tongue?" You laughed as you tugged down his pants and boxers to his knees. Donnie looked back at you. His eyes were huge, they always were but this time they seemed almost glassy with awe.

“You're so pretty" he whispered, lifting his hands to your hips. You smiled and kissed him slowly as you sank down onto him. Donnie groaned into the kiss, his hips bucking unconsciously. It felt so much better than he could have imagined, tight and hot and velvet soft, rippling around him. He bit his lip trying not to cum instantly. A shock of electric pleasure shot through him when you started to ride him. He couldn't control the sounds he made. He didn't know if he was talking or whimpering or what but his mouth was open, praise and pleasure dripping from his lips.

“Feel so good inside me" you panted, hips raising and falling, the obscene sound of your skin together filling the dorm. Your hips burned but the pleasure was enough you couldn't stop. You were lost in the pleasure when you felt Donnie grab your hips, halting your movement. You looked down in confusion, seeing Donnie with his eyes clenched closed.

“Donnie? Are..are you ok?" What if he wanted to stop? Had you done something wrong?

“Just..just gotta..hold on for a second" Donnie mumbled, face flushing red. His cock throbbing, desperate to cum. You looked down at him, a knowing grin spreading across your face

“Were you about to cum?" You asked, mirth in your voice. Donnie flushed even redder

“Not my fault you're..fucking good at this!" He protested, taking a few deep breaths to back himself away from the edge. You laughed, your head tipping back. Donnie couldn't believe how beautiful you were. He gripped your hips again, thrusting his hips up. The tight wet heat was intoxicating, he felt like he could drown in your scent and die a happy man. You were his goddess and his altar and he would worship any way he could. As you started to move again Donnie bit back a whimper as his cock throbbed.

“So pretty, so fucking pretty" he whispered, pressing his lips to your neck. Your lips pressed together in a messy and desperate kiss. Donnie fucked you like he wanted to be part of you, whimpering desperate pleas and praises as he thrust his hips up automatically. He could feel his climax building, rushing up on him and he gripped your hips tightly.

“Can’t-nnh-can’t stop-Y/N-” he grunted, he could feel your hot breath panting on his neck as you bounced above him. He reached down and pressed two fingers to your clit, rubbing in a circular motion, entranced by how wet you were. The additional stimulus made your brain short circuit and you gave a breathy moan, Donnie wanted to record that and play it on loop until he came dry.

"hh-fuck-hh” Donnie couldn't string together a sentence as he held himself back from cumming. He didn't want to cum before you, he wanted to serve you, to be good. Above him he felt you seize, your pussy rippling around him as you gasped. He felt a gush of slickness over his hand and he couldn't help himself, cumming hard with a whimpering moan of your name. As he lay, panting and sweaty with you laying on his chest one thought crossed his mind.

“Best fucking study sesh ever"

#jake gyllenhaal #donnie darko #donnie darko x reader #donnie darko x you #smut

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bingbongsupremacy · 22 days ago

Note

Hi,I saw your requests are and I’m a Bradshaw girlie. Would you write something about him growing up hearing about his parents being soulmates and him hoping for his,even though his hope waned each year until he met her? Bonus if she’s Mav’s daughter and Maverick being long-suffering in the back.

thank you! 🙏

A/N: Np! Tysm for requesting! I hope you enjoy this! Lmk if you have any more requests in the future.

Airplanes

Pairing: Rooster x Fem Reader

Warning: Cursing. Y/N use

Summary: Bradley's hope for finally finding his soulmate has faded as the years have gone by. When you show up out of the blue, his dreams come true.

*Not Proofread*

No description of reader's weight/body type or race.

Bradley Bradshaw grew up on stories of soulmates.

His mother used to tell him about the morning she turned eighteen, how she woke up to a tiny outline of piano keys inked into her wrist. The same keys had appeared on Goose's arm when he turned eighteen, a perfect match. Proof they were meant for each other, that some higher force had designed them to find one another no matter what.

When Bradley was little, he would crawl into her lap at bedtime and trace the fading lines on her wrist with his small fingers. She always smiled, even when her eyes turned misty, and she'd tell him stories about how his father played piano to make her laugh, how he'd hold her hand and tap his fingers along her mark like he was playing a private song only for her.

Over the years, Bradley noticed the mark on her wrist growing lighter, the ink softening and fading with each year after Goose's death, as if her soulmate was slipping further and further away. He never asked about it; he just held her hand a little tighter whenever he saw it.

As a teenager, he carried those stories like a talisman. He watched couples at the beach and in the diner, catching glimpses of their matching tattoos, the way they looked at each other with something deeper than love. Something destined.

Something he was so excited to have.

And each year, as his eighteenth birthday crept closer, that longing inside him grew sharper. He imagined waking up and finding a mark that meant someone out there was waiting just for him. Someone who'd look at him like his father had looked at his mother, someone who might understand all the quiet parts of his heart. Someone who was his to love and to be loved by.

As a teenager, he wondered who it would be. A classmate, someone he'd grown up with and known for years? Would that be awkward? Would it be a stranger? What if he didn't have a soulmate at all? He'd heard stories of the rare unlucky person who never got their mark. He hoped that wouldn't be him.

The night before his birthday, he hardly slept. His mind spun with possibilities. Would it be a music note like his parents? A constellation? A plant?

When the sun finally rose, he sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. His heart hammered as he rolled up his sleeve, breath caught in his throat.

And there it was.

A tiny outline of a plane, simple and elegant, resting on the inside of his wrist. The wings curved just slightly, as if caught mid-flight.

It was beautiful.

His chest ached with relief and something bright and electric. Hope. He pressed his fingers against it, as if to make sure it was real, his mouth pulling into a wide, incredulous grin.

For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at it. He thought of his mother's stories, of how she'd said her mark felt like a promise. A map to the person she was meant to find.

And now, he had his own.

A promise that somewhere, someone carried the same tiny plane, waiting to find him.

His excitement and curiosity stayed with him for years. Very quickly, he discovered his person wasn't at school.

That's okay, maybe they go to another school.

Wherever he went, he found himself hoping to meet the person destined for him. The grocery store, the gym, the doctor's office. And every time he got home, he was filled with a little disappointment.

He tried a few soulmate finder websites. He put his mark online, hoping that someone somewhere would respond or tell him how to find his person. All that came from it were attempted scams or spam messages.

As time passed, the disappointment grew, and his hope began to fade. He stopped looking as hard. He knew he'd just be disappointed again and again.

He watched as his friends eventually found their soulmates. He tried to be happy for them, he really did. But he couldn't help the bitter taste of jealousy that bubbled up in the back of his throat whenever another one of his friends shared how they found their person.

It wasn't fair.

Why did they get to find their person, and he didn't? What had they done that made them worthy and not him?

Where was his person?

He tried to completely block the subject of soulmates out of his mind, a very difficult task. The world is full of soulmates, this soulmate that. Everywhere he looked, there was something about soulmates. The world is just as much obsessed with soulmates as he is.

His mom told him not to worry. That he'd find his person someday when the time is right. He just needs to be patient. It'll happen someday. He wouldn't have a mark if he didn't have his person somewhere out there waiting to be found.

Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder. Was his mark a mistake? Did he not have a person waiting for him? Could the universe have made a mistake?

What if he did have a person and something happened to them?

That terrified him.

Every year that passed he'd find himself looking down at the mark, waiting to see if it was beginning to fade. If it'd confirm his worst fears.

But it never did. It stayed boldly marked against his skin, the same intensity it had been when he first discovered it.

The year Mav pulled his papers was one of the most frustrating years of his life. He still hadn't found his soulmate, his mom got sick, and now he couldn't do what he'd always wanted to do.

Bradley was angry. He didn’t understand.

Mav had known better than anyone what his dreams were. He knew that Bradley had grown up wanting nothing more than to sit in that cockpit, to feel the sky open up around him like it had for his father. He knew that flying was the closest Bradley ever felt to his dad. The closest he ever felt to himself.

And yet Maverick tried to crush it.

Bradley replayed it in his head over and over again. The rejection, the setbacks, the confusion that twisted into betrayal. He couldn't help but ask himself why. Why the man who was supposed to look out for him, who promised to watch over him, would be the one to hold him back.

He didn't know about the promises Mav had made to his mother. All he saw was a man standing between him and the life he'd fought for, and maybe… between him and finding whoever wore that matching mark.

Some nights, when it got too heavy, he'd stare at the little plane inked into his wrist and wonder if his soulmate was out there waiting for him to make it. Waiting for him to become the man he was meant to be.

So he fought.

He pushed himself harder than anyone else. Every obstacle, every delay only fueled him more. He trained longer, studied more, flew better. He clawed his way back, step by brutal step, waiting for the chance to prove he belonged up there.

And finally, he did.

When his orders came in, a chance to fly with an elite squadron on a high-stakes mission, he thought he'd made it. He thought he'd finally stepped out from under every shadow that had ever loomed over him.

Until he saw the roster.

And there it was, like a punch to the ribs.

Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell.

The same man who pulled his papers. The same man who, for better or worse, had shaped his entire life.

Now Bradley had to look him in the eye every day. Had to take orders from him. Had to pretend he wasn't still carrying years of disappointment and anger like a second skin.

But he had no choice. He had worked too hard, waited too long to let anything stop him now. Not even Mav.

And deep down, under all the bitterness and hurt, that mark on his wrist stayed exactly the same. Unfaded. Waiting.

-----

Bradley had just finished briefing prep when he stepped out into the hangar, shoulders tight, jaw set. Being around Maverick again felt like holding a live wire in his hand. Every interaction was laced with things unsaid. The betrayal, the hurt, the unsteady respect that refused to die, no matter how hard he tried to smother it.

He rubbed at the plane tattoo on his wrist absently, a habit he'd picked up whenever he was lost in thought. The mark had never faded, but sometimes he wondered if that meant he just hadn’t looked hard enough.

Or if the universe was playing some long, cruel joke.

He didn't notice her at first.

She came through the side entrance, a file tucked under one arm and a badge clipped to her shirt. A civilian contractor badge, he realized absently. She was talking to one of the mechanics, her laugh echoing faintly across the hangar, bright and warm.

And then she turned.

It hit him all at once. A sharp pull in his chest, like the first drop on a rollercoaster. His lungs stalled, and for a second, the whole hangar seemed to tilt.

She looked so different from the last time he'd seen her at twelve years old, before her mother moved her across the country. Now she was… wow, she was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that knocked the breath out of him and left his heart scrabbling to catch up.

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

His gaze snapped to her wrist, almost on instinct.

And then he felt it.

A tingling warmth crawling across his own wrist, as though someone had brushed a feather over the mark. His fingers curled reflexively, eyes wide.

She froze too, halfway to Maverick, her eyes locking onto him.

"Bradley?" she breathed, shock laced into every syllable.

His name sounded different in her voice. Softer, sweeter, something that sliced right through the anger and the walls he'd built over the years.

"Y/N?" he managed, though it came out more like a croak.

A slow smile spread across her face, her own hand flying to her wrist. He saw it then. The same tiny plane tattooed on her skin, a perfect mirror of his own.

Maverick, who'd been watching from the other side of a nearby F/A-18, let out a low groan. He dragged a hand over his face like a man preparing for impact, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "God help me."

For a second, none of them moved. Bradley couldn't take his eyes off her. The girl he barely knew as a child, who had somehow grown into the woman his soul had apparently been waiting for all this time.

She looked equally stunned, her eyes wide and glassy. And then, she laughed. The same bright, infectious sound that echoed through his memories of summer days long ago.

"You got tall," she blurted, eyes sweeping him up and down as if she couldn't quite believe he was real.

"And you…" He took a step forward, his voice low and reverent. "You're… you're beautiful."

She flushed, her free hand hovering over the tattoo again. "I- I can't believe it's you."

Bradley wanted to say a thousand things. That he'd looked at this mark and wondered if she was out there. That he'd almost given up hope. That somehow, she was even more than he could have imagined.

She was perfect.

But all he could do was stare at her, caught somewhere between laughing and crying.

Behind them, Maverick crossed his arms, eyes rolling toward the ceiling like he was begging for divine intervention. He looked like a man who had just realized he was going to have to watch his little girl fall in love. His protective dad instincts were flaring, combining with a little frustration for Bradley.

"Great," Maverick muttered to no one in particular. "Just great."

Deep down, though, he felt a bit of relief. He'd heard his daughter on those late-night calls, voice small and sad, worrying she'd never find her person. And he knew Bradley. Knew he was a good man, even if they butted heads like crazy.

It was just hard to let his little girl go. The same little girl he used to cradle, spoil rotten, and take to daddy/daughter dances is now the same young woman who'd found her perfect match.

That was hard to take in, to accept.

He knew this day was coming. That someday he'd have to let go. He'd just hoped it wouldn't hurt this much.

His kid was grow-no. She was grown up now, and he had to accept that.

Y/N stared at Bradley, eyes wide. She felt the tingle on her wrist again, hot and electric. She took a shaky step forward.

"Bradley?" she said, her voice cracking halfway through.

His mouth opened and closed like he was trying to find the right words, but nothing came out. His eyes dropped to her wrist, and then back up to her face, like he was making sure this wasn't some cruel joke.

He couldn't believe it. After all this time, he'd finally found her.

"Is that really you?" he finally got out, voice rough, almost disbelieving.

She let out a laugh, nervous and breathless, and held up her wrist. "I… I guess so," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "Holy shit."

Bradley laughed too, a choked, disbelieving sound. "Holy shit," he echoed, shaking his head.

She took another step forward, and he reached out, like he couldn't stop himself even if he tried. His hand wrapped around her wrist first, thumb brushing over the tiny plane tattoo, like he needed to feel it to believe it.

And then she was in his arms.

She felt him pull her in tight, his face buried against her hair, his body practically trembling against hers. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, fingers gripping the back of his flight suit like she'd drown without it.

"You're real," he breathed, voice muffled against her. "Holy shit. You're really here."

She pulled back a little, enough to see his face. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks pink, a crooked, awestruck smile on his lips.

"You got tall," she managed, trying to laugh through the tears on her cheeks.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "You… you look… wow, you're beautiful," he said, his voice dropping low, reverent.

"Okay, okay. Can we not do this in front of me?" Maverick cut in, gesturing wildly between the two of them. "Can you two at least… I don't know… say hi like normal people before you start planning the wedding?"

They both turned to look at him, and she burst out laughing, covering her face. Bradley ducked his head, a shy grin breaking across his face, the kind she hadn't seen since they were kids.

Bradley cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other still clung to her wrist. "Hey, Mav," he said, trying and failing to sound casual.

All he wanted to do was talk to her. To learn about her life and dreams. Where had she been all this time? Was she happy?

He had so many questions.

Maverick just groaned, tossing his hands up. "Oh, great. First, you hate me, now you steal my daughter. Fantastic. This is just… fantastic."

She snorted, stepping closer to Bradley again. He looked down at her, that soft, stunned expression still there, like he couldn't believe he got to touch her.

"Hi," she said, quieter this time, eyes searching his.

"Hi," he echoed, smiling so wide it almost hurt.

Bradley cleared his throat, trying to steady his breathing. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he was running through a dozen different sentences and none of them felt right.

Finally, he let out a shaky laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Look, I know this is... a lot," he started, his voice low and warm. "And we probably have, uh… about a million things to talk about."

She let out a small, breathless laugh, nodding quickly.

"But—" he said, cutting himself off with another quiet chuckle. He looked down at their wrists, then back up at her face, his eyes impossibly soft. "I'd really like to start somewhere simple."

She tilted her head slightly, waiting, her breath caught in her throat.

"Would you…" He hesitated, then gave a shy, almost boyish smile. "Would you want to go on a date with me? Like, an actual date? Maybe dinner… or… whatever you want. Just… me and you."

Her eyes went wide, and then her whole face lit up. The kind of bright, unstoppable smile that made him feel like the sun had just come up inside his chest.

"Yeah," she said, her voice warm and sure despite the tears still shining in her eyes. "Yeah. I'd really like that."

Bradley let out a relieved laugh, pure and unguarded, and leaned his forehead against hers again.

"Okay," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Okay… good."

Behind them, Maverick watched, hands on his hips, shaking his head with a long, theatrical sigh. "God help me," he muttered for probably the tenth time that day, but even then, a tiny, helpless smile tugged at his mouth.

But even as he grumbled, she could see it. That reluctant, protective softness in his eyes. He looked at the two of them, shook his head like he was cursing the universe, and finally, finally let a small, defeated smile tug at the edge of his mouth.

Bradley didn't look away from her. His hand tightened gently around hers, and for the first time in years, the mark on his wrist felt like a promise finally coming true.

He finally had his soulmate.

And now, he'd never let her go.

209 notes · View notes

cyberjam · 2 years ago

Text

E!42 MILES DATING A SHY!SOFT READER . . . ☆

warnings - black fem!reader in mind but you can imagine it however you'd like, miles having a soft spot for you, pink coquette vibes from reader, profanity, slightly suggestive.

word count - 2.2k | lowercase intended.

main masterlist | proof read?: kinda😭

song rec for fic?: yo love - from "queen and slim: the soundtrack - vince staples, 6lack, mereba <3

ᘏ⑅ᘏ

. . HOW YOU FIRST MET . .

ఇ . . . you two were assigned as partners for a science project that would play a big part in your final grade. you knew of each other but never fully interacted until now.

ఇ . . . miles knew you as quiet, only speaking when spoken to. you were an approachable person with a warm smile. you carried yourself well, and treated others kindly, even if they were undeserving. he was entranced by you to say the least. with how things were currently going in new york, he was surprised that the city hadn't dimmed your light. miles wanted to know more about you and this project gave him the perfect opportunity to do so.

ఇ . . . you knew of miles as well. he had the reputation of being an unapproachable person. easily intimidating others without trying, and keeping his circle of people small. you took a small interest in him as well. you'd catch yourself glancing at him every now and then, trying to break down his character. he didn't seem as mean as everyone claimed but now was finally your chance to see for yourself.

ఇ . . . that project was only the beginning of your and miles' relationship.

ᘏ⑅ᘏ

. . CRUSHING STAGE . .

ఇ . . . miles protectiveness increases the more your relationship grows. he'll cut into situations and defend you before you can fully form a thought. he never hesitates to step in-front of you as a human-shield and tell someone off with a simple phrase.

"ay, watch yo mouth." | "huh? repeat yo'self." | "i know you not talkin'-"

ఇ . . . he starts eating lunch with you. his friends get on him for being a simp but he brushes it off every-time. he enjoys the convos you two have during lunch and would rather sit next to you than a rowdy group of boys who use the lunch food as science experiments.

ఇ . . . he seeks you out. during school, after school, on his nightly patrols, etc. without even fully knowing it himself, miles is always looking for you no matter where he is. he just naturally gravitates towards you. you bring something to miles life that he hasn't had in a long time. peace.

ఇ . . . let's you mess with his hair. when he's over your place he'll let you put your cute baby pink hair clips in his braids and even tie in some hair bo-bo's at the end of them. but only if you take them out as soon as you're done and don't take any pictures. (you still take pictures)

ఇ . . . let's you draw on him. you can't remember when it exactly started but it's became a routine for you to doodle and write on his hands in every class you two share. he'll return the favor, if you ask nicely. he copies whatever drawing you did on his hand to yours so you'd be matching. (he dreams of getting matching tattoos with you.) <3

ఇ . . . scares classmates away. whether it be a glare from across the room or an arm slung around your shoulders, miles is always scaring your classmates away. even if they show the smallest romantic interest in you.

ఇ . . . maintains eye contact. he's always looking for your eyes and trying to remain in contact with them when you talk. he just loves staring into your pretty doe eyes while you ramble about something you like.

ఇ . . . nicknames. miles doesn't want to scare you off by being too forward, so he'll limit his nicknames. the ones he does call you while crushing on you are ma and princesa.

ఇ . . . passes notes in class. he's a bit of a "model student" in class (not talking back, not interrupting or disrespecting classmates, turning in his work early on time. he just wants to be left alone lmao) but he's more than willing to pass notes with you throughout the entire period. you'll catch him up on the newest gossip and he'd update you on the stuff him and his homeboys get into.

ఇ . . . he'll help you study. if you don't know spanish or you're just a struggling student, he'll teach you everything you're having a hard time with at a comfortable pace. he'll quiz you every once in awhile just to make sure you fully understand and don't feel behind in anything. if you've shown a significant amount of improvement he'll treat you by taking you out for your choice of dessert. (it's really just an excuse to take you out on a date without using the word date)

ఇ . . . there's an unspoken rule that you are his. classmates know, your friends know, his homeboys know, hell, even the teachers know. you're the only person miles gives the time of day. you're the only one who gets to walk around with his arm on your shoulders, have his undivided attention, as well as be the reason for his smile. you are his and he is yours.

ᘏ⑅ᘏ

. . DATING STAGE . .

ఇ . . . late night facetime calls. you two are truly never apart. when you're not together physically you're on facetime with each other. he loves when you call him and showcase the cute things you bought for yourself using his card. he also just loves the comfort those calls bring him. seeing you engulfed in a warm blanket fast asleep while he's doing his own thing just makes him feel content. you're able to be there for each other without physically being there and that's enough for him to wait patiently until he's able to hold you again.

ఇ . . . clingy as hell. although, he'll never voice out his wants for your touch he will initiate it. miles will be the one to commence 80% of affection. partly because you're shy and mainly because he can't keep his hands off of you. miles is always touching you in some way. whether it be an arm around your shoulder, a hand resting on your thigh, or a hand rubbing your ass while you're cuddling. he can't resist kissing you either. his lips always finding any available part of your skin to kiss when he feels like it.

ఇ . . . compliments. every chance he gets he'll remind you how good you look. always hyping you up and telling you how beautiful you are. whenever you get overwhelmed by the flow of affectionate words that smoothly flow out of his mouth, you'll cover your face with your hands and turn away from him. it only gives him more fuel in the long run because he loves to see his girl get all shy and cute for him. sometimes he doesn't even use his words. a simple look up and down while licking his lips will leave you weak in the knees.

"that's all mine right there."

ఇ . . . genuinely hates arguing with you. he hates when you're upset with him. there are plenty of times where miles has provoked you to the point you've gotten upset with him and that's usually when he knows he's gone too far. you're his girl, his everything. he can't have you sulking because of him. although, miles does have a bit of a short-temper, he remains calm throughout these situations. he lets you both voice your sides and he won't let the situation go until you come to an agreement. he tends to avoid arguments at all costs. usually murmuring a "you got it, ma." before it turns into something more. after settling long disagreements, he'll engulf you in a hug and give you a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"love you. don't want my girl goin to bed mad at me."

ఇ . . . nicknames! his nicknames will consist of mi vida, mi reina, ma, mami, baby, etc. any term of endearment you can think of he's most-likely called you. usually consisting of 'my/mine'. he's very possessive. your contact name in his phone is 'mi corazon 💘' and you're the only one with an emoji next to your name.

ఇ . . . spoils you. you want it? you got it. although, miles isn't incredibly wealthy, he does have money. he uses it to take care of you and his mom, providing help for the both of you. he helps rio with actual necessities, while with you he provides you with gifts. ranging from shoes, eyelashes, lace fronts, plushies, clothes, or electronics. the most expensive gift he's gotten for you is an ipad and apple pencil. it was for your birthday and he knew he had to get it for you after hearing you fangirl about it nonstop.

ఇ . . . lets you do his hair. he usually only lets rio do his hair, he's a major mama's boy. so, when you were granted the privilege to do his hair you felt honored. he also just loves when you take his braids out and give him scalp massages. he's fallen asleep on occasion because of how gentle and soothing your hands are. he's also tender-headed as hell so, please be careful or you'll get a earful of him complaining.

"damn, ma. why you gotta pull so tight?"

ఇ . . . buys matching sets. he buys you both matching shoes, clothes, and jewelry. he likes the simplicity of being able to match with you and show everyone you're his without voicing it. you two are the couple that matches on christmas. matching christmas tree pants, and santa hats...rio thinks it's adorable. for your 5 month anniversary you were gifted a gold necklace with his name written in cursive and once he helped you put it on he revealed the necklace that was under his shirt that had your name in gold written in cursive. only time you two take it off is when you're in the shower/pool. he'll take it off during prowler business as well, he doesn't want to disclose any of his personal business at work, it's very dangerous for the both of you.

ఇ . . . cant sleep without you. once miles gets a taste of what life is like keeping you close and holding you to sleep, it's hard for him to go without it. he loves cuddling with you and if there were any instance where you two wouldn't be together he would toss and turn all night and look at the ceiling until his body physically shut down itself. it's not the healthiest way to go by so when he starts to show up to school with deeper eye bags than usual, you decide to give him a plushie of his own. he'll buy the plushie little clothes and change them every now and then. he names it after you, and he even bought the exact perfume you wear and sprays it on the stuffed animal before going to bed and cuddling it. he's embarrassed to admit it, so he'll never tell you how much he pampers it. (you don't need him to tho, you've caught him kissing the top of the stuffed animals head before cradling it in his arms and murmuring 'goodnight, mi vida.')

ఇ . . . will go to the barbie movie with you. he'll thrown on a pink hoodie, black jeans, and pair it with some jordan's while you're decked out from head to toe in pink. he's gonna cry at one point during the movie and you have to pretend you didn't see. when you ask him if he liked it he'll shrug his shoulders while sniffling. he def gave his mom a big hug when he got back home. :')

"yeah, yeah...it was alright, i guess."

ఇ . . . talks about you to his mom. mile's didn't speak much of you when he had a crush on you, but he really didn't have to. his mom knew there was something or more so someone occupying his mind whenever he'd come back from school with a slight dazed expression and the tiniest smile.

ఇ . . . graffiti's your initials together. whenever he's bored and has a little extra time on his hands he'll graffiti his and yours initials together. sometimes replacing your last initial with an 'M' for Morales..

ఇ . . . treats your stuffed animals like they're your children. he scolds you if he catches one of them on the floor, he'll name them future child names he has in mind because he def wants to get married and start a family w/ you, he gives them hugs and buys cute little tutu's for them. lowkey will throw a fit if he finds out you gave some of them away.

ఇ . . . buys/sends things that reminds him of you. he'll buy you your fave bag of chips if he sees it in the store, he'll pick up a keychain with your name on it and attach it to his bookbag, he'll send you memes or recommend a tv show because the character reminded him of you. you're really on his mind 25/8.

ఇ . . . bakes with you. he loves baking with you. you two will bake the hell out of some chocolate chip cookies or some brownies. nothing that takes too long or a lot of preparation though, he'll get antsy and kinda touchy which leads to burnt products and a ruined cake pan.

ఇ . . . shows you off/brags about you. his friends and close family members know all about you and your achievements. if you play sports he'll cheer you on and brag about your wins, if you're an artist he'll post your artwork, if you have a small clothing brand he'll wear it and tell people to buy from your store if they ask, if you knit/crochet he'll ask you to make him a bucket hat or a mini version of you and him, if you dance he'll stay up all night on the phone while you show him your new choreography. it doesn't matter what you do, miles will continue to support you and brag about any and every achievement you accomplish. big or small.

ఇ . . . miles morales loves his sweet soft significant other.

currently re-writing my miles morales fic that was 6k words because tumblr decided to randomly delete it 🥲 i'll try to get it out soon! <3

also sorry for inactivity, i've been busy w/ school and work but i'll try to shoot out fics faster when i get the time :) !!

#miles morales headcanons #miles morales fluff #e42 miles #earth 42 miles fluff #miles morales x reader #prowler miles fanfic #miles morales x black!reader #prowler miles x reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x y/n #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles 42 x reader #miles morales x you #prowler miles #miles morales prowler

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laceyhearts · 1 month ago

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✶ SO HIGH SCHOOL ; LUKE HUGHES !

➪ summary: going into sophomore year she had no expectations, but when luke hughes sits in front of her during trig, suddenly her sophomore year turns into a mission

➪ pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

➪ warnings: none ( i think ? ), not proofread per usual

➪ word count: 7.5k

➪ emma's notes: NOT BASED ON SO HIGH SCHOOL. i just listened to it a lot while writing it so that's what i named with. but it is a little based on what happened to me my sophomore year. i hope you guys enjoy this fic because honestly it took me way too long to write and yeah. for the sake of this fic, they're close to detroit - pls go with it for the plot thanks. UHHHH apologies if some of the scenes are short, they were important to the plot but i just didn't know what else to write. OKAY ENJOY :)

She had no expectations for high school, let alone for her sophomore year. She never thought about meeting Prince Charming and having a cheesy homecoming proposal, never thought about late nights out with a guy that made her giggle at just the mere thought of him, never thought she’d have a press conference about a guy she liked with her favorite teachers.

And she was right, for the most part. She’d be lying if she didn’t say she stayed in bed, minutes from sleep, eyes fluttering close before opening seconds later, thinking about the guy she had seen in the hallway for a brief second. But she didn’t expect any of those things to happen, and none of those things did happen. Well, except for the press conference.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She met Ms. Wilsher and Ms. McCroix bright and early on her first day of sophomore year. It was first period, all of her friends were in AP Human Geography or AP United States History, but not her. It was a new class, not many people were in it, and she felt like an outsider as a bunch of the students high-fived the two teachers like they’d known each other for years.

“I’m Ms. Wilsher, and I’m assuming you’re y/n, right?”

She flushed, wiping her hand against her skirt before holding it out, nodding, “Yeah, hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And I’m Ms. McCroix, but you can just call me Croix. We’re not too formal around here.”

“Around here?” She questioned, head tilting in curiosity as she set her things down.

“Uh yeah, a lot of the kids kind of hang out with us, our classes intertwine sometimes, so most of the time it’s the same kids. Us and Mr. Carlson across the hall. Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in.”

And she did. Sure, it took a few days, but she slowly allowed herself to feel comfortable, share things with the two teachers that she’d come to trust and rely on more than she could imagine. Soon, this classroom would become her safe space.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Trig was next, a subject she felt comfortable in, a class she could just be and do her work where no one would bother her, and she didn’t have to second-guess everything she did. And while she thought it was going to be peaceful, she was proven wrong.

She took her seat in the back of the class, somewhere near the middle of the row, so she could still see the board easily, her go-to spot in any class. One by one, people she knew from middle school trickled in, some more people she didn’t, and one by one, they took their seats.

She shifted anxiously as guys who were deemed popular two years ago when they were in the height of their middle school years, guys who talked to her during a group project but now couldn’t tell you what her name was, sat next to her. She took a deep breath; she could get through 10 months with them, maybe, hopefully.

He was the last one to walk in, and at first, she didn’t know who he was. She hadn’t seen him around, she didn’t know his name like she knew the rest of the people around her, didn’t know what he could make her feel with just a small, awkward smile, not yet anyway.

She didn’t talk, didn’t introduce herself, she just gazed at him, shrinking in her seat, acting like her friend just texted her life-changing information as he sat in front of her, dapping his friends up like they didn’t just see each other a few weeks ago at the beach.

And it was like that for a few weeks, staying quiet because she didn’t know anyone in the class, making a connection with her teacher, Mrs. Cooper, laughing softly at the random things the boys around her said. Nothing happened, sophomore year was starting out as expected, and if she was lucky, it would stay that way.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Her friends were assholes, it was confirmed. Somehow, someway, she started liking Luke Hughes. She didn’t mean to, didn’t plan to, but her friends were insistent, and professional gaslighters.

The moment they found out that Luke Hughes was sitting in front of her in trig, they knew they had to get her to like him.

“You guys would be so cute together.” Chloe started, opening her lunchbox.

“Yeah, you know who else would be cute together? Me and a cow.”

“Luke kind of looks like a cow, a cute one. Like one of those highland cows that stick their tongues out.” Her friend, Stephanie, offered, shrugging as she took a bite of her sandwich.

Y/n stared at her, a blank expression on her face, before throwing her napkin at her, “Shut up.”

“Seriously, y/n/n. You guys would be cute, he’s nice and funny, and he likes hockey, which you do too. You should at least try. I know the last guy you liked didn’t end up well-”

“I asked him a question and he didn’t respond, he left me on heard. Only my mom does that.”

“Was she on her phone?”

“Yeah, what is with that? They can’t be mad at us for not being able to multitask, and then once they’re on their phone, they forget their ability to hear-”

“Hey! Focus, guys.”

Stephanie and y/n shut up, eyes snapping to Chloe, who gave them a look, “We’re sophomores-”

“Exactly, I have time to experience the high school romance life.”

“But how often are you going to have a class with Luke Hughes of all people?”

“Seriously, guys. I’m fine where I am, I don’t need to like anyone, I’m barely 16, stop acting like I’m 32, and if I don’t find someone now, I’m going to end up lonely forever.”

“Just trust me, you and Luke would break the school. You guys are adorable.”

“I haven’t even said a word to him.”

“You will, with our help. Now c’mon, let’s do this chem homework.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It took y/n until the week after homecoming to say something to him. It didn’t even happen on purpose; they were talking about hockey, and her mind was moving a million miles per hour as she tried to keep up in their conversation. And one off-handed comment later, she found herself snorting in amusement as she kept her eyes trained on her paper in front of her, filling out the unit circle in front of her.

“What?”

She looked up, face dropping and cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “I- oh, nothing, sorry.”

Charlie, the one sitting directly next to her, raised an eyebrow. “Well, obviously something we said got you to laugh, so I want to know what it was.”

She wasn’t good at this, talking to people she barely knew. She was an introvert, the kind of girl who went through high school quietly, the kind of girl no one noticed until they were paired up with her for a group project.

“Seriously, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about something-”

“It’s okay, really. Just say it.” She could feel herself relax at the tone of his voice. He’d always been loud with his friends, stealing their phones and laughing like he had heard the funniest joke in the world. She didn’t know why it changed when he talked to her.

“I just- you guys were talking about the Calder, right? I don’t think Dahlin is going to get it, if I’m honest.”

Some of the boys looked at her like she had grown two heads, not expecting her to know what they were talking about, some of them looked at her like she had no idea what she was saying, but Luke? Luke gave her a curious look, a small spark in his eyes as he stared at her, a smile tugging at his lips.

“And who do you think will be?”

“Petterson. Plays for-”

“Vancouver, yeah. My brother just got drafted there.”

Her eyes narrowed before recognition lit them, “Right. Quinn. I watched the draft, congrats.”

“Thanks… Um, you are?”

“Y/n.”

“Luke.”

“Uh, yeah, I know.”

He grinned, holding his hand out to which she took carefully, their hands lingering for a moment before they pulled away.

Luke turned around, his friends laughing at the slight blush on his cheeks that she didn’t dare to believe was real. She made eye contact with Mrs. Cooper, a knowing smile on her lips that caused y/n to roll her eyes.

It was nothing, just a fleeting moment that happened because she couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself, and that’s all it would be.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

November came quicker than she anticipated. She hadn’t talked to Luke since that day, and if she did, it was brisk, one-word answers that left both of them wanting more.

She’d been studying until 2 in the morning when it happened; she could feel herself grow exhausted quicker than usual, her nose started to run, and her cheeks flushed even if it was only 60 degrees in her room and the fan was on.

It got worse in the morning when she woke up, the pounding headache, the twist in her stomach, every symptom of sickness hitting her like a freight train. She tried to get up, tried to take a shower and get ready for the day, but as soon as she lifted herself off the bed, she fell right back down.

And that was the start of a long week of no school. She completed her homework in bed, binge-watched whatever new show was out, listened to music until she got bored, texted her friends who caught her up on all the random drama she missed, and before she knew it was back at school, sitting through first period with Ms. Wilsher and Ms. McCroix.

“Yeah, I don’t know, it was long, tiring. Probably just a bad flu or something.” She explained off-handedly, focusing on her work they had given out.

“You know, if you’re not ready to be back, you can go home.”

Y/n looked up at Ms. Reed, her social worker, who had stopped in to ask her how she was doing. She shook her head, “I’m going to get anxious if I miss anymore, it was already a struggle to get through today.”

“Well, you know where to find me if you need to talk. Now… how about that boy?”

“What boy?” Ms. McCroix walked over, a smile growing on her face.

Y/n flushed, “No one! There is no boy.”

“Really? Because I went to sub for Cooper the other day, and I overheard a certain someone asking about where you were.”

“As if.”

The three of them gave her a look, one that made her shrink in her seat because she knew she was going to have to talk about it, whether that was now or never.

“Fine, maybe there is, but it’s nothing. They were talking about hockey and I stated my opinion, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Uh huh. Do you like him?”

“No!”

“Do you think he’s cute?”

“Maybe…”

“Do you-”

The bell rang, effectively cutting off Wilsher from asking another question, y/n grinning at the interruption, “See you later.”

“Have fun in trig!” They sang, watching her rush out of the classroom.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She took a deep breath as she entered her trig classroom. There was no one there yet, no one besides her teacher.

“Hi, Mrs. Cooper.”

“Y/n, welcome back. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, better than last week, felt like I was constantly getting hit by a bus.” She explained, taking the small stack of papers Mrs. Cooper had given to her.

“Don’t worry about getting caught up right away, alright? You can take the test you missed whenever, just make sure to do it before next Friday.”

“Yeah, thank you.”

She took her seat without a second thought, riffling through the papers as more and more people filed in. The boys sat down first, none of them batting an eye at her as they talked about their game the other night, all of them going on their phones to play a game.

Luke came in with a few seconds to spare, halfway to his desk when the bell rang, and plopped his backpack down as the announcements started.

His eyes fell on the girl in the seat behind him, eyes lightning up once he saw her figure, “Y/n.”

She jumped, slightly startled, looking up at him, “Hi?”

“You’re back!” He exclaimed, sitting down and turning to face her, coughing to lower his voice, “I uh- I mean you’re back. You sick or something?”

“Uh, yeah, the flu.”

“He was really worried about you, you know?” Charlie piped in, leaning over the side of his desk to ruffle Luke’s curls. “Kept asking us if we thought you were okay.”

“I did not, shut up.” Luke huffed, batting Charlie’s hand away and fixing his hair.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to agree with Luke on this one.” Her voice was soft, tentative, a stark difference from the usually snarky tone she had when she talked to them.

“Why’s that, y/l/n?”

Her eyes narrowed at the use of her last name, casting a sideways glance towards the red-headed boy before letting it settle on Luke again, “Him? Worried? Yeah, sure.”

Luke felt her words low in his stomach, like she was implying that he was incapable of worrying about her. And, to some extent, he couldn’t blame her. The two hadn’t talked before the first day of school this year, hadn’t even made eye contact in the hallway before sitting next to each other.

But somehow, that didn’t matter to him. Something about her captivated him: the way she talked about hockey, the way she smiled at her phone when she was texting her friends, the way she completed her work with speed and precision, the way she offered help to the girl who sat next to her when she asked.

So yeah, he did care that she was out of school for a week without prior knowledge - not like it was his place to know in the first place.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It was later in the day when she saw him again, waiting for her friend in the stairwell as she came down from her eighth-period class. She hadn’t even noticed, not until Stephanie approached her, wrapping her in a hug because she hadn’t seen her in a week.

“Hi.”

Luke’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice, picking it out from the hundreds of other voices, eyes immediately finding hers, stopping in the middle of the staircase. He stumbled as people bumped into him, almost tumbling into the two girls but missing them by a few inches, “Dude, you good?”

Y/n and Stephanie had already started to make their way down the stairs by the team. Luke answered his friend’s question, both of them talking animatedly about their after-school plans, “I uh- yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure, bro? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“It’s nothing.”

And if Luke wasn’t about to combust at that moment, the distant sound of y/n squeaking his name out was enough to do it.

“Luke! No way.”

“He totally does, y/n/n. He could’ve been listening to any other conversation up there, but as soon as he heard your ‘hi’, he stopped in his tracks.”

“It’s just a coincidence.”

“Puh-lease. He’s into you, like head over heels into you.”

“We’ve talked like twice,” Y/n replied, pushing open the doors into the November air that was growing colder by the second.

“Doesn’t matter, his heart eyes are so obvious, it’s actually sickening.”

“Why don’t you date him then if you’re so intune with his eyes?” She teased, heading towards her mom’s car.

“Shut up, I'm not. I’m just making sure he’s good for you, duh.” Stephanie started walking the other direction to find her sister.

“Whatever, later loser.”

“Bye, dweep!”

Y/n climbed into her mom’s car, throwing her backpack in the back seat as she buckled her seatbelt, “Hi.”

“What was that about? Was that about that boy?”

“Mom.”

“What? Isn’t that him?” She pointed to the entrance of the school, where a group of boys were piling out as they hit each other.

“Mom! Put your finger down.”

“He’s cute.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” She dragged her hands down her face, slumping in her seat to avoid any stares.

“He’s looking at you!”

“He is not, would everyone stop with that?”

But curiosity got the better of her, and she sat up slightly, peering through her fingers to see Luke, their gazes meeting for the third time that day.

“Drive, please.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

The following week, everything seemed to slow. Luke talked to her more, his fleeting glances behind him, turning in his seat to “face his friend” when in reality all he wanted to do was talk to the girl who seemed to know hockey like the back of her hand.

Maybe he was growing feelings for her, maybe he liked it whenever she would try to hide her laugh whenever he or one of his friends said something ridiculously stupid, so what if he did? It’s not like anything was going to happen; she barely paid attention to him, acted as if he were just another one of the annoying guys who didn’t care about his academics.

But he was determined to change that.

He walked into second period with a plan formulating in his head, nodding to his friends as he took his seat, already taking his pencil case out. He glanced behind him a few times, failing at covering it up, unable to keep the smile off his face as he saw her focused on their homework that was due by the end of class.

“Y/n.”

He watched as her head popped up, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at him, “Luke.”

“What’d you get for number 10?”

“Uhhhh, 43.”

He nodded, turning back to his work, waving his friends off when they made snide comments in his direction. He scribbled down work that he wasn’t sure was correct, but made sense in his head, which at least counted for something.

His pencil tapped restlessly as Mrs. Cooper started teaching, something about the law of sines, spacing out with every word said.

It wasn’t until halfway through class that he started focusing again, noticing the stack of two papers that were placed in front of him, sheepishly turning around to hand one to the girl behind him, who was already giving him a tired expression, “Sorry.”

Y/n didn’t say anything, just nodded and grabbed the paper, knocking her pencil off in the process. She sighed inwardly, eyes darting to the writing utensil on the ground, trying not to direct Luke’s attention to it.

Her cheeks flushed as her foot reached for it, accidentally hitting his foot just as she was about to kick it closer. She buried her head in her hands, avoiding his gaze, unbeknownst to the wide grin on his face. She felt a tap on her desk, peeking through her hands to see him holding out her pencil, “Here, gorgeous.”

His voice was soft, low enough that only she could hear his exact words. She was sure she couldn’t get any redder.

She took the pencil from him, their hands brushing as she did so. It was innocent, nothing more than a guy being nice to her, but still, she had butterflies erupt in her stomach, a shy smile on her face as she thanked him, watching as he turned back to the board.

It was only a few minutes later when Luke spoke again. Mrs. Cooper had walked out of the room to talk with another student, leaving the class to their own devices, in some cases literally. He turned just slightly, facing Charlie and Brandon and a few other guys that he was teammates with, “So game tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, bro. Let’s hope we don’t get our asses whooped like last time.”

Luke shot him a look, as if he was trying to hide how badly they had been crushed in the previous game from y/n. She didn’t even bat an eye at the conversation, her face back to its normal color, pulling out her phone to check something or to do anything but her work.

He sighed, “Y/n.”

“What?’ This time, she didn’t even look at him, keeping her stare on her phone. She wasn’t sure where Luke’s sudden insistence to talk to her came from, and she wasn’t sure how she should feel about it. Giddy? Put off? Annoyed?

“You should come to the game tonight.” His voice was smooth, cool, and collected, like whatever her answer was going to be, he’d be indifferent about it, but the way his eyes moved around her face, searching for any hint as to what she was about to say, betrayed his attempt to hide his nerves.

“Yeah sure.” She snickered, finally tearing her gaze from her phone. “Let me get right on that, Hughesy.”

He frowned, his hand stilling from where he was spinning his phone around, “Why not?”

Charlie shot him a look, but once he caught whiff of his friend’s intention, he played along, “No, really, y/n. You should come. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, 1. Since when do you talk to me, Charles?” Charlie blinked, caught off guard by her sudden tone change, “And 2. Need I ask again, why do you want me to come to this hockey game of yours? I have a million other things to do tonight.”

Luke shrugged again, “Just think about it.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She ended up skipping third period, who needed to go to chemistry anyway?

She wasn’t sure what she should do, go to the game or not? Think something of Luke being worried about her and her absence, or don’t? Keep thinking about the way Luke called her gorgeous, like he was sure of it, or block it out of her mind forever?

Wilsher and McCroix were hanging around in their classroom when she entered, the room void of students, and Ms. Reed sat in the back. She spent more time in here than in her office, which only concerned y/n the tiniest amount.

“I need your guys’ help.”

The first thing the two teachers noticed was the soft blush to her cheeks, the way she seemed out of breath even though her trig classroom was a few doors down. The first thing Ms. Reed noticed was the smile that tugged on her lips, acting like she wasn’t in a full-on mental crisis.

“What happened?”

“Luke. Happened.” She breathed, sitting in one of the chairs, the other three gathering around the front of the table.

“Spill.”

She stared at them for a second, trying to gather her thoughts, “Why does it feel like I’m at a press conference right now and I just had a great game?”

“Y/n.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Her cheeks heated, overcome with embarrassment, she reached for her water bottle to have something to fidget with. “We brushed hands.”

“Stop, you did not.”

“That’s lame, this isn’t middle school or a high school romance something, give us something good.” Wilsher interrupted, looking at her expectantly.

“He wants me to go to his game tonight? And he might’ve, sort’ve, maybe called me gorgeous.”

She shrank in her seat as the three adults gasped and squealed, “Can we not make this a big deal?”

“Oh no, we are absolutely making this a big deal, what do you mean?”

“You have to go to the game, right? Please tell me you’re going.”

“I don’t know, it’s a Thursday, I got homework-”

“We all know that’s bull. You have no homework, I didn’t give you homework, you always finish your trig homework, you have a test in two of your other classes, and in the other classes, you never get homework.” Wilsher gave her a blank stare, almost daring her to say no to the invitation.

“Guys-”

“You’re going.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Can we move on from the game? Let’s talk about how he called her gorgeous.” Reed sighed, conveying how much his words meant more than the game.

Y/n flushed again, her cheeks in a permanent state of red.

“She’s blushing.”

“You like him.” McCroix teased, patting her shoulder.

“So what, maybe I do!”

“Knew it.” “Called it.”

Y/n just rolled her eyes, picking her bag up, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Go to the game!”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She ended up going to the game. Chloe and Stephanie went with her, well, more like they dragged her out of the house into the back of Stephanie’s sister’s car.

What was even the point of going to this game? She’d make sure they would sit far enough back, out of sight from Luke and the rest of his team, so no one would know she was there. She’d follow the puck lazily, not really caring who scored or who won, but deep down, she knew she’d want to see Luke hit it into the net, celebrating with his teammates. She’d spend time outs and intermissions on her phone, acting like it was a chore even to be there at all.

Chloe and Stephanie looped their arms through hers, the three of them making their way into the arena. She shivered slightly at the temperature change, pulling her sleeves down to cover her hands as they walked to their seats, y/n narrowing her eyes when she saw where they were leading her.

“We’re not sitting behind the bench.”

“Y/n-”

“No, I’m not. Be lucky I agreed to come anyway.”

“She’s got a point.”

Chloe just huffed, allowing the two to redirect their path, heading towards seats that were higher up and out of the line of sight of anyone sitting on the bench.

As much as she tried not to, the whole game her eyes were focused on him; wherever he went on the ice, wherever he sat on the bench, wherever he came out after intermission, that’s where her eyes would be. She didn’t admit it, not even to herself, but her friends knew, smirking every time she would lean forward when he got close to scoring.

“You know, you make it too obvious,” Stephanie murmured, wrapping her arm around y/n’s shoulder, walking out of the arena a little after the game ended.

“Make what too obvious?”

“You like him. Please stop trying to convince us, and yourself, that you don’t.”

Y/n only sighed, fidgeting with her fingers, “A little.”

“A little?” Chloe scoffed.

“This is a conversation I need to have when I have some food in me. Can we please stop to get food?” She begged, slightly pouting.

“Fine. But you’re not getting out of this conversation this time.”

They waited a while before Stephanie's sister arrived, and right when they were about to climb into the car, she heard a voice behind her, one that she only heard within the walls of her Trig classroom, “Is that y/l/n?”

Her eyes widened, Stephanie and Chloe grinned and turned to face the voice, but not before they were pulled into the car, y/n already pressuring Sam to drive.

“You guys are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope.” “Not one bit.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She woke up groggy that morning, moving through her morning routine with the speed of a sloth, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, bleary-eyed, walking through the hallways. It was moments like these where she was thankful to have such a chill first period, a place where she could relax, and her teachers wouldn’t yell at her if she fell asleep 5 minutes in.

Wilsher looked at her with an amused look, handing her a water bottle from the small fridge she had in the corner of the room, “Have fun last night?”

“I’m never letting you talk me into going to a game on a school night. That was brutal.” She plopped down in her seat, the condensation from the water bottle already seeping into the wood of her desk.

“Did you see him?” McCroix walked in next, that stupid grin she got whenever something interesting was about to happen in one of her students' lives.

“Yes.”

“Did you talk to him?” She looked up as Ms. Reed passed through the door like she’d been waiting for her moment to enter.

“No. Who do you guys think I am? It took me weeks to even tell you guys my favorite food is pizza.”

“Besides the point. You’re never going to date him if you just stare at him longingly.”

“I do not stare at him longingly!”

“I walked in there one time to hand Cooper some papers, and you were drilling holes in the back of his head with your eyes.”

“I was spacing out,” she defended weakly, chin resting in her hand.

“Mhm, whatever you want to tell yourself. Now… we talked to Cooper, and we came up with an idea so Luke can find out you were there.”

“You guys are way too invested in this.”

The three of them stared at her, blankly, blinking slowly before laughing, “Of course we are.”

“Get a life.” She grumbled but couldn’t hide the smile that was growing on her face.

They continued to talk for the rest of the period, about the plan and about whatever homework they had last night, barely noticing the time passing after the bell rang.

“Shit-”

“Shoot!”

“Right, shoot. I gotta go, bell’s about to ring in a minute and I am not going to be late.”

“To see Luke!” They all teased, before looking back at their computers when y/n gave them a look.

She gathered her things, heading out the door and down the hallway towards Mrs. Cooper’s room, stepping inside seconds before the bell sounded. She maneuvered her way through the desks, walking down the aisle to her own, passing by Luke before sitting.

“Oh- I was worried about you.” She furrowed her eyebrows at his statement, cocking her head more or less to herself as she pulled out her notebook.

“Why…?”

“I don’t know, you were going to be late. You’re always like the first person here.”

Charlie leaned over, tugging at her sleeve, “Yeah, he was really worried. You know, so worried that I think he likes you.”

Y/n paused midway through grabbing a pencil from her bag, peering up through her lashes to see Luke’s already red face, turning to face his phone in front of him. A light pink dusted her cheeks too, continuing her actions like the thought of her crush liking her wasn’t admitted out loud by his closest friend.

“Do you ever shut up?” Brandon called, eyes looking between the three of them, but no less amused than his two friends.

Charlie shrugged, already moving onto a new task, no doubt texting someone as his thumbs moved across the keyboard on his phone.

It was silent for a few seconds, everyone around them doing their work and chatting with their friends, but the back left corner of the classroom, sprinkling into the center, was quiet, unusually quiet. Y/n fiddled with her pencil, eventually reaching for her own phone to type a message, the three-person group chat with her, Chloe, and Stephanie, somewhat messy, filled with typos and grammatical errors the other two weren’t used to seeing.

“We ned ti alk assap at lunch!”

She could feel her phone vibrating in her pocket, but she paid no mind to it, eyes completely focused on the task at hand - do not do anything embarrassing.

“Y/n, come here.”

She got up, walking carefully through the backpack-littered aisle, trying not to stumble as she stepped over them. Luke watched her from behind, worry in his eyes like he was about to watch her get in trouble or be talked down to because of a test score, but all he could hear was her bright laugh, one that made his stomach flutter like a schoolgirl's giggle.

As she was walking back to her seat, she heard Mrs. Cooper’s voice, not loud but not trying to be quiet either, “How was the game last night?”

She only froze for a beat before continuing, calling out over her shoulder, “It was good. They won 5-2.”

She could hear three phones clatter as the numbers fell from her lips, looking back at the group of boys. Luke, Charlie, and Brandon stared at her, the few other guys in their friend group exchanging looks with each other, slowing their hands as they worked.

“See any cute boys?”

“Are we really talking about this in front of people?” Y/n flushed, more so than when Charlie’s stupid “You know, so worried I think he likes you” repeated through her head.

Mrs. Cooper just smirked as she went back to grading.

She only got halfway through a problem when she heard a cough, looking up to see Luke staring at her. “Hi?”

“So, you went to the game last night?”

She nodded, acting as if it was a casual thing to go to a random hockey game in the middle of the week, “Yep. My friends and I were bored, had nothing else to do.”

“Oh. So, did you see any cute guys?”

Y/n raised her eyebrow, “Maybe. What’s it to you, Hughes?”

He held his hands up in surrender, but jealousy swam in his eyes, “Nothing, nothing. Go back to your trig. I’ll stop bothering you.”

She smiled once he faced away from her, knowing that the stupid plan of her friends and teachers did work.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She did not want to be wearing this, okay, maybe that’s a stretch. When the idea of dressing cute today was brought up on the table, she was reluctant; she’d rather throw on a pair of sweats and her favorite hockey hoodie and go to school like she didn’t care what people thought about her. But then she put it on, and she felt cute.

Her jeans sat comfortably on her legs, the gray crewneck with “Canucks” written in blue lettering across her chest sat atop a white undershirt that peaked out along the color, and her hair tied up in a half-up half-down hairstyle with a blue ribbon Chloe had given her however long ago.

She knew this was a stupid, even useless, plan, but she went along with it. She couldn’t really be mad at how it turned out; she’d always favored being comfortable over cute when she went to school, maybe this was a nice change.

She walked the hallways of the school, her black Converse hitting the ground with each step as she made her way to Wilsher’s classroom, where they were already sitting, Chloe and Stephanie too.

She blushed heavily when she came in, eyes widening when they saw her outfit, “Look at you.”

“Okay, okay. You’re the ones who wanted this.”

“Do a spin! Do a spin!”

She did as she was told, dropping her bag so she could turn around. Chloe stood up, walking over to inspect her hair. “Is that the ribbon I gave you like two months ago?”

“Yeah, not my fault you never asked for it back.”

The other girl shrugged, twisting the fabric in her hand before letting go, taking a step back to look at her again. “He’s going to go insane when he sees you in this.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious!”

“Fine… I guess I look cute.”

“You guess? Girl, I’ve never seen you look hotter.”

“You guys are so annoying.”

First period flew by faster than she wanted it to, constantly fiddling with her crew neck as the nerves consumed her. She lingered in the classroom for a few minutes, waiting until the time between class starting and her arrival would be as short as possible.

She kept her head down as she entered the room, her eyes trained on her hands as she adjusted her rings before sitting down, unaware of Luke��s (and his friends’) gazes on her.

Charlie poked her side once she settled, hand extended over the side of his desk, “Y/l/n.”

“Yes?”

“You get dressed up for something special?”

She shook her head, not looking up from where she was tracing random shapes on the wood. They could see the small tint of pink littering her cheeks, causing them to urge Luke into saying something, anything. They were tired of him whining like a puppy every time y/n wouldn’t talk to him in class.

Luke didn’t know what to do. She looked beautiful, not that he didn’t think he was beautiful before this moment, but the way she seemed to have a softness about her today, like she knew she looked gorgeous but didn’t want to admit it.

He couldn’t deny that it flustered him; everything about her made him freeze up. She could brush her hair behind her ear, complete a problem in 30 seconds, or walk down the hallway, and he’d be in awe. He wasn’t sure if that should embarrass him or not, but at this point, he’d wear that like a badge of honor.

“Y/n/n.”

That caused her to raise her head, eyes widening at the nickname. Since when did he address me by a nickname?

She cleared her throat, nodding, “Yes?”

“You busy this weekend?”

“Uh, I don’t know-” she stuttered, eyes blinking fast as he watched her every movement, studying her as if he would have a quiz on her next period.

“We should hang out.”

Brandon coughed from next to him, giving him a look. There was no way this was how he was going to ask her out, not if he had a say in it.

“Right. Do you want to go on a date?”

If y/n was holding anything in her hands, the whole school could hear it clatter against the surface beneath her. She wasn’t sure what to say, if she should say anything, or nod her head. Luke saw the panic flash in her eyes, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to! I just thought-”

“No! I um- I would like that.” The two smiled at each other, stilling.

“About time.” Charlie rolled his eyes, typing away on his phone.

Luke hit him in the arm, y/n giggled softly, causing him to smile once again.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It was too cold to be standing out on the porch waiting for Luke to show up, but it beat having to sit with her parents awkwardly in the living room while they asked her questions about him. So here she was, in almost 50-degree weather, a light frost covering the ground as the leaves fell.

She hugged herself tightly, her jacket only providing her with a small amount of warmth. A similar pair of jeans adorned her legs, paired with a black long-sleeved shirt that did little to shield her from the growing cold weather.

She barely registered Luke’s car pulling into the driveway, too focused on shifting her weight from foot to foot, preventing herself from going frigid. It wasn’t until the door closed that she looked up, noticing his figure standing outside, a beanie on his head hiding his curls.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

They stood there for a few minutes, neither of them moving, just watching the other’s movements, studying their faces.

She snapped out of the trance first, walking down the few steps that led to her front door to where he stood, unable to keep the smile off her face, “Hi.”

“Hey.” He repeated, chuckling softly. “You ready to go?”

She nodded, allowing him to lead her to the other side of the car, opening the passenger-side door for her. He climbed in seconds later, turning the heat on full blast to calm y/n’s shakiness, pulling out of her driveway to head to wherever they were going.

“You going to tell me where we’re going?”

He shook his head, grinning, “Nope. Top secret.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Not enough to deter you from going on a date with me.”

“Touché.” She huffed, crossing her arms.

“How long were you standing outside for?” He stopped at the stoplight, eyes flicking over to her form, frowning when he noticed her hands still shaking.

“Uh, like ten minutes maybe? It beat waiting inside with my parents.”

He reached for her hand like it was second nature, as if they’d done it a million times before this moment, letting the warmth of his hand encompass the coldness of hers. He heard her sigh gratefully, continuing to drive as if nothing had just happened.

It was silent the rest of the way, y/n completely oblivious as to where they were going but paid no mind to it, watching as the trees passed, the lights changed from red to green or green to yellow, and the traffic decreased and increased.

“One question.”

“Shoot.”

“Does this involve physical labor because I’m not dressed enough for that, and I will not look cute once we’re done?”

“You might have to climb some stairs, but that’s it. And I beg to differ, I’m sure you’d look cute no matter what, gorgeous.”

She smiled as she rolled her eyes, going back to her window-watching and listening to the music that played softly in the car. She didn’t notice the fond expression he had, barely noticed the way his hand tightened around hers because he was scared that this, she, wasn’t real.

It didn’t take long for her to realize where they were once the building came into view, the lettering across it, and the red and white clothing the thousands of people standing outside in line were wearing. Her eyes widened, looking over at him, “Really?”

“Figured you’d like it,” Luke smirked, all too cocky, but neither of them cared.

“I wish you had told me! I would’ve worn my jersey.”

“Yeah, but then that would’ve given it away.”

The two walked hand in hand into Little Caesars Arena, y/n practically vibrating with excitement.

“You’re excited about this, huh?”

“Shut up, let me enjoy my hockey.”

He held his hands up in surrender, leading them towards the line, y/n curling into him as they waited in the cold.

It was the perfect first date. Nothing would ever compare.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It happened later that night, they were out at a small dinner after the game, sitting next to each other in a booth like a cliché high school movie. She didn’t mind; her head rested comfortably on his shoulder, and his hand was on her thigh. They’d finished their food ages ago, paid ages ago, but none of them had the energy to move even if they wanted to.

“Y/n/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m sleepy.” She murmured in response, curling into him more.

He laughed softly, resting his chin on her head, “Does that change your answer then?”

“Nope. I’d still say yes, but if I weren’t tired, I’d be a mess right now.”

“You still are one.”

“Say it again, and I'll take back my answer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked up at him, sleep evident in her eyes, but neither of them let it stop their lips from touching, Luke’s arm slipping around her waist to bring her closer.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She wasn’t sure when this tradition was established, all of them meeting in the morning in Wilsher’s room, her, Chloe, and Stephanie. And that wasn’t changing, not even when Luke’s hand was in hers as they walked down the hallway.

“Okay, so they might be a little overbearing-”

“I’ll be fine, I’m extremely charming.”

Y/n gave him a look, “Mhm.”

“I am too!” He gasped, offended, “That’s how I won you over.”

“I’m still regretting that decision.”

“No, you’re not.”

She grinned, looking up at him, “Fine, I’m not.”

He kissed her temple, the two of them coming to a stop right outside Wilsher’s classroom. She went in first, noticing how her two best friends were already sitting at a table, on their phones, and how her two teachers and her social worker were talking about something, most likely another student in their class.

“Hey.”

She watched as they did a double-take, looking at her and then noticing the figure behind her, the one who stood a few inches taller than she did.

“Okay, let’s not-”

“So this is the boy we’ve been hearing about.”

“Guys, seriously-”

“We’ve heard everything about you, Luke. Smart boy, mostly A’s.”

Y/n buried her head in Luke’s chest like she’d been doing it for years before this moment, like it was second nature. He laughed softly, his hands threading through her hair, keeping her head close to him. The five others smiled at them, exchanging looks.

“Treat her right.”

“Wasn’t planning on treating her wrong.” He admitted, looking down at her with a certain fondness.

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