#i will post a tutorial if u need | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aeyumicore · 1 year ago

Text

exclusive tutorial

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 7.6k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, pure pure filth, public sex, fingering with gloves, sex on a pool table, unprotected sex, creampie, cervix fucking, cum as lube, choking, rough sex, dom!zayne, kinda power play? not really zayne is just a daddy, teasing with a cue stick idk, lots and lots of dirty talking, just filth idk what else

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hiiii guys <3 this is my continuation on the new ‘exclusive’ tutorial memory with my fav zayneeee. i hope you guys enjoy, i miss feeding y’all with delulu thoughts. i wouldn’t say i’m back though, i haven’t wanted to write as of late, it was honestly hard to push myself to finish this one. i feel like because i write in such detail, it starts to feel really repetitive, like i’m just writing the same things from my other fics over and over.

i’ll try to write when i have inspiration! i love u guys pls enjoy <3

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

The sound of billiard balls colliding with one another pierces the brisk air of the empty billiard hall, save for you and the dashing surgeon eyeing you from across the table. You do your best to watch the colored balls scatter, and not the way Zayne’s gloved hands grip his cue stick, or how his muscles ripple under the blue tie he wears so devilishly handsomely.

You were a bit tipsy from the small bits of wine you’d drank at his alumni get-together, mostly to take the edge off from being in a room full of surgeons and doctors, all who knew Zayne in some capacity. It wasn’t surprising how well-liked, respected, and admired Zayne was amongst his peers, but it was a bit intimidating. Though Zayne never made you feel like it, sometimes it was hard not to feel small in his presence, and the presence of all his peers.

But he always took it upon himself to make sure you never felt out of place amongst all his med school friends and acquaintances, introducing you to everyone who approached him looking for a morsel of his time.

And there were a lot of people looking to be graced with even a second of Zayne’s time.

Even so, Zayne always made you feel like the center of his world. Always side glancing at you with a small, almost imperceptible, quirk to the corner of his lips when he spoke to his colleagues. Or his broad palm, ghosting the small of your lower back as he nodded along to their ramblings of surgeries you couldn’t fathom understanding. Sometimes, even taking it a step further, whispering huskily against your ear amongst the commotion of the reserved club, letting his breath tickle your exposed neck, as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

Honestly, you weren’t sure if he’d been purposely teasing you all night. But either way, combined with the wine, you were feeling tipsy, bold, and pent up.

And what better way to relieve that tension than a friendly game of pool?

At his silent observation of you and the scattered balls, you tease, "Did I do something wrong, sir?” You purposely drawl out the last word, knowing how much it affects him when you let him take a position of authority and power over you. It was the perfect opportunity to tease him back, if even just a little.

If Zayne is affected by your words, he doesn’t let it show, much to your dismay. "You have more than enough strength. If you adjust your posture you’ll see better results.” You almost want to roll your eyes at how professional and proper he’s being, even in the emptiness of the billiards room.

Feeling emboldened at his attempts at stoicness, you only grin at him, "I need you to help me identify my weak spots via "Hands-on” learning, sir.” You giggle as Zayne clears his throat, rubbing the exposed side of his wrist in his billiard gloves.

"We’ll work on your posture, then.” He makes it over to your side, leaning over the edge of the table to show you how it’s done. "Like this. Place your right foot back…” even in his demonstration, he looks so handsome and graceful in his black suit vest and dark blue tie. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to remind yourself that you’re the one teasing him. Attempting to, anyways.

You shake your head, doing your best to focus on the task at hand. You try to emulate his pose, but even without seeing yourself you can tell it’s not right.

Suddenly, his deep voice is right by your ear, "Relax. You’re too tense.” You force yourself not to yelp as the feel of his warm breath tickles the area under your ear. You don’t turn to face him, but you can tell he’s smirking faintly. You flinch when his fingers tap your lower back twice. Your body responds immediately, your back arching instinctively, almost provocatively.

Zayne’s grateful your back is turned to him, because his ears tinge at the sight of you bent over before him, your perfect back arching so sweetly. He holds back a groan at the sight, "Now you’re too relaxed.”

You’re acutely aware of his cool hand still resting on your waist, “...It tickles.” You try to deflect from the irritating way your body responds to even his most gentle and innocent touches.

"Relax your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally,” he uses his knuckle to tap your forearm, "Your head, right arm, and the cue stick should form a straight line.” You follow his instructions, tilting your head to the left to align your posture.

"How is it?”

"It…hurts a little.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, "That means it's correct.”

You turn your head so you can see him, giving him a questioning pout, "You’re so harsh, sir.”

Zayne looks undeniably amused, "Don’t tilt your head, you messed up your posture again.”

You sigh in defeat, "Is there an easier way? Like something I can do without much trouble?”

Zayne smiles smugly at you, "Yes. But are you sure you want to do it?” You fight the shiver that threatens to overtake you. You honestly wonder where the professional and stoic Zayne went, as the undertone of his words fills you with an anxious anticipation.

But you steel your voice, hoping you won’t regret your next words, "Bring it on.”

"Don’t move for now,” Zayne’s voice is husky as he repositions himself right behind you against the edge of the felt table, his hand coming down to cup yours. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, as he presses his hard chest into your back, skin exposed by the backless dress you wore for the occasion. Your breath hitches as Zayne once again regains the upper hand against your attempts at teasing him.

His breath is on your ear again, "Your rhythm with the cue stick isn’t quite there yet. You need more "Hands-on” training.” This time you actually shiver, as the double meaning of his words dawns on you. His crotch is pressed right up against your rear, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle. You’re sure Zayne is doing this on purpose, as he uses your joined hands to thrust the cue back and forth.

"Move the cue stick three or four times, then stop at the point closest to the ball.” You have a difficult time following his instructions as his gruff voice caresses your ear, his pelvis firm against your rear. Really, you can only concentrate on not folding completely underneath him, otherwise you might notice the hard bulge pressed snugly against you.

His gentle lips ghosting a kiss against the shell of your ear snaps you out of your reverie, "Did you get that, sweetheart?”

“...yeah,” you whisper underneath him, doing your best to imitate the thrusting motion with your hands. But as Zayne shifts slightly, you finally feel his erection behind you, and your mind goes blank.

"Snap out of it. Are you even listening to me?” You can hear the smug amusement in his voice.

"Um, yes…pull back the stick…”

"Very good,” his voice is smooth, almost a purr, above you, "Just like that. Now strike.” Your body trembles, basking in his praise, but you pull back your cue stick and let it fly. The clinking of balls colliding sounds as you watch the striped red ball sink into one of the pockets.

"It’s in!” You cheer, forgetting briefly about the compromising position Zayne had put you in as you both straighten up, "Did you see that? It was a great shot! I’m so cool.”

"I did. Your pool skills aren’t so much about technique, but rather, passion,” he teases, finding your excitement utterly adorable. He leans against the pool table, turning to face you, "All you need for pool is… a steady hand, precision, and a calm attitude.”

His hand reaches for your face, fingers grazing your reddening cheeks as he moves to tuck the hair that had fallen into your face when you were concentrating on the balls, tucking it neatly behind your ear and holding your jaw in his practiced fingers. The material of his gloves is smooth but deliciously rough against your burning skin, "Once you’ve locked onto your target, don’t let go.”

You quiver at his words, and can’t help but wonder if he’s possibly talking about something else. Your gaze wanders south when Zayne briefly glances away, and you eye the bulge that is barely noticeable through the dark fabric of his dress pants. Mischief and lust simultaneously overtake you.

"If a student does a good job, shouldn’t they get a reward?” You purr, gently batting your eyelashes as fiddle with the sleek wood of your cue stick.

You don’t miss the way Zayne’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, "And what exactly does my student want?”

You grin up at him, gently tapping the tip of your stick against his broad chest, "It might be difficult to hit this next ball. Help me.”

Zayne seems almost taken aback, but chuckles as he raises his eyebrows doubtfully at you, "Is that all?”

You take a step closer, only your arms wrapped around your cue stick separating your bodies, "What’s wrong, dr. Zayne? Are you scared?” You giggle internally watching Zayne scramble to maintain his careful composure.

"Provocation doesn’t work on me.”

You bite back your scoff, wanting to see him lose the slightest grasp on his calculated control. You walk to the other side of the table, where the white cue ball awaits, "Then come here.”

Zayne follows you cautiously, until he stands a foot to your right. You turn to him expectantly, reaching out to brush your fingertips along the exposed skin of his left hand, still clad in his leather billiard gloves, "Closer. Or else I can’t reach it.”

Despite Zayne’s sigh, you can see the way his green eyes gleam with amusement as his adoring smile reaches up towards them. He inches closer to you, "What exactly…” you use that moment to gently push Zayne backwards onto the billiards table. He catches himself easily, but allows you to push him backwards, until his back is practically resting on the felt table top. You step forward until you’re resting in between his thighs, standing over his hard body. He sits up, using his elbows to prop himself up against the table.

"Look, the ball’s so far away. I think it’s time to use a cue rest,” you giggle, bringing up your cue stick to playfully tap them on either side of his shoulder, making a dramatic show of deciding which of his shoulders to use as a rest.

Zayne’s voice is husky as he chuckles, "Using a cue rest would be overkill.” He sits up against your stick to stare at you with hooded eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a faint smirk. You smile innocently back, tracing the stick down to the middle of his chest, hooking it under his blue silk tie and pulling upwards, loosening it.

The man beneath you clears his throat, "And this is inappropriate.” But his words don’t quite match the timbre of his voice, eyes still twinkling with amusement under the dim fluorescent lights of the bar.

"But I think…you’re enjoying it, too,” you murmur softly, leaning forward until your body is flush against his crotch, your heat pressed right against his. You can feel him twitch underneath the restraint of his slacks, which subsequently causes your core to throb with an all-too familiar dampness.

Zayne chuckles, a rich and deep sound that rings in your ears, averting his heated gaze, "I shouldn’t have taught you so much.” You only grin at him, setting down your stick against the table, pressing your hands against his hard abdomen. You can feel his muscles flex under the material of his suit vest as he tries to sit up further. But you only push him down more firmly, with your hand on his naval right above where his erection sat, proud and wanting to be let out.

You glance up to be met with the rare sight of an absolutely flustered and reddened Zayne. His lips are parted, slightly damp as he pants against your touch, a noticeable blush painting his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. His breath is bated, eyes dark and hooded as they track your hands carefully. You reach up to grab his tie, tugging, but not hard enough to undo the soft knot. You use it to pull him towards him, shifting in between his legs and letting your body rub tortuously against his erection.

Zayne looks almost pained as he grunts out, "Who taught you to use your teacher as a cue rest?” His eyes are locked onto yours, dark, hazy, and demanding.

"Well, this cue rest’s heartbeat is going to affect my accuracy,” you tease matter-of-factly. Zayne arches his eyebrow.

"Is it my heartbeat that’s affecting your accuracy or yours?” You ignore him, slightly embarrassed that he knows your heart is pounding wildly, choosing to inch your hand down further in retaliation. It doesn’t take long for your fingers to reach Zayne’s erection, as its length stands incredibly tall against his abs.

Zayne sucks in his breath when your fingers wrap around him through his pants, "If you actually want to learn, I can teach you another way…” he trails off as he leans in closer to you, his breath fanning across your lips. As he closes the distance between your lips, you use your left palm to push him back by his shoulders, using all the willpower you have to deny his kiss.

Grinning cheekily at his dissatisfied grimace, "Sir, this…seems to be lacking ‘professionalism’.”

Zayne chuckles, "This is lacking professionalism?” He shifts, his dick twitching in your hands, as if reminding you who exactly was the unprofessional one between the two of you. It’s then Zayne decides he’s given you enough time to delude yourself into believing you have the upperhand. Before you can even blink, his gloved hand wraps possessively around your waist, pulling you down on top of him. Your feet dangle in the air as he holds you securely against his body. You yelp as your dress rides up and Zayne grips your bare thigh with his forceful fingers.

He chuckles huskily in your ear, your body resting atop his, "It’s a bit too late to back out now.” With that, he deftly flips both of you so that you find your bare back pressed against the soft felt of the billiards table, your knees propped up with Zayne standing smugly between them.

He smirks triumphantly, "Why don’t you let me show you?” He picks up his cue stick that had long been forgotten on the side of the table, expertly twirling it in his fingers so that it grazes your chest as he brings it up to rest against your exposed shoulder. You’re rendered a blushing speechless mess at the sight of him between your legs, towering imposingly above you.

His hand brushes against your bare thigh as he pulls back his hand to steady the end of the stick, "Watch closely. I’m only going to do it once.” You shiver as he bends down, so that your chests press together, his jaw clenched as he trains his eyes on the white cue ball. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch his handsome face concentrate, pull back the stick, and unleash his move.

You crane your neck awkwardly to see that he easily sunk two solid balls, leaving him just the black eight-ball and one other solid left. He smiles smugly at your dumbfounded expression, but remains between your parted thighs.

"No fair,” you whine, "You’re a surgeon so both your hands are sturdier.”

His eyebrows raise in amusement, "Do you really think I need both hands?” Something about the way he asks you makes you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer before shifting his cue stick, trailing it down your shoulder to your chest, skillfully grazing your nipples that had hardened in all of Zayne’s relentless teasing. The stick trails down to the hem of your dress, and then up your bare inner thighs.

You shiver uncontrollably at the foreign stimulation, "Z-Zayne, what are you – we shouldn’t…”

"Hah…all of a sudden you care about what we should and shouldn’t be doing?” He chuckles. "Besides, no one will interrupt us,” he murmurs as he finally ceases stroking your thighs with his cue stick, leaving behind a trail of blue powder residue. But before you can breathe a sigh of relief, his gloved hand snakes under your dress, gripping your thigh with his large outstretched fingers. The leather feels amazing against the sensitive plush of your inner legs, almost making you forget how very in public you were.

"Wh-what do you mean? How do you know?” You whimper almost pathetically as his cold fingers play with the lining of your panties, threatening to slip under and touch you where you want him most. You’re sitting up on your elbows, unable to shake his heated stare as he teases your body painfully slowly.

"I reserved this entire hall, in case you were feeling overwhelmed with meeting all my old classmates and you needed some time alone,” he murmurs, reaching his fingers under the flimsy material of your panties. Your heart swells at his thoughtfulness, always looking out for your well being, even when you yourself don’t think to. You’re snapped out of your adoration for the man before you when his fingers get dangerously closer to the wet mess you’ve been trying to ignore.

"But still, we shouldn’t – not on this table…” but your body betrays your words as you can’t stop from bucking into his fingers when they graze your weeping slit, eager to be filled by him, again and again. He’s careful to only touch you with the fingers not fitted into his gloves — just his thumb, pinky, and ring finger grazing your sensitive region. Even though you want more, Zayne wields his limited digits adeptly, already bringing you pleasure that you couldn’t even fathom. And with just 3 fingers, none of them even inside you.

"Why are you saying one thing, when she–” he dips his lengthy ring finger into your swollen lips, ghosting along your throbbing hole as his thumb presses at your clit. The sound of your arousal squelching against his hand is loud as it cuts through the thick sexual tension in the air. "Clearly wants something else?”

Your moans are unabashed as he expertly toys with you, but never quite entering you. Even so, you can feel Zayne’s fingers working magic on your clit, having you seeing stars as he rubs inexplicable shapes around it, thumb lubed from your copious slick. You find yourself desperate to be filled by him, spurred on by the excitement that just down the hall are dozens of people just waiting for your boyfriend’s return.

"Z-Zayne…” you plead, grinding yourself against the length of his finger.

"What is it, my love?” His alluring voice teases as his fingers continue on their tortuous journey, "Do you need something from your teacher?”

"You know what I w-want!” You whine like a brat, trying to angle your pelvis so his finger slips in. He only halts his movements, instead bringing down one of his gloved fingers to squeeze your clit against his thumb. You yelp at the feel of the foreign fabric against the sensitive bundle of nerves, the feeling of it a conflicting mix of pleasure and hypersensitivity, bordering on pain. You could feel yourself quickly becoming addicted to the feel of his gloves against your more sensitive regions.

"A good student should be able to tell her teacher,” he muses, the mischief and arousal evident in his own features. He’s hell bent on focussing his teasing on you, ignoring his thick erection that is still pressed into you, painfully restraining against his slacks and desperate to be inside you. Zayne bends down to ghost a kiss along the shell of your ear, "You’re a good student right baby?”

You shiver at the filthy implications of his words, hooking your arms around his neck as he breathes against your sensitive ear. Doing your best to form coherent thoughts in your brain, you mumble, "Y-yes I'm a g-good student. I’m a good girl.”

Unbeknownst to you, Zayne bites his cheek at your words, his erection twitching eagerly at them. You most certainly were a good girl, his good girl. You knew that fact to be true, he knew it, and his cock definitely knew it.

"Yes, you are,” he affirms huskily into your ear, his warm breath making you shiver, "Let me show you that I only need one hand to get the job done.” The confidence in his voice turns you on unbelievably more as you attempt to piece together the meaning of his words. As he reaches to grab his cue stick again, his bare ring finger simultaneously slips into you, and you realize he was not only referring to the fact that he only needed one hand to play pool, but one hand for you.

You whine out at the welcomed intrusion, bucking against his leather clad hand between your trembling thighs. You fall back gently at the sudden ecstasy, back arching deeply as it rests on the table top with your legs settled against Zayne’s body.

He hisses at the feel of your walls sucking his finger in at every pump, in awe of the way your body begs for him, "She’s so eager for me, look at her sucking me in. Does it feel good with just one finger angel?”

The slight condescension in his teasing words only turns you on more, your back arching deeper into his hand, "Zaaayne,” you pant, hands clawing at the felt, "Feels s-so good.” You’re hiccuping between your words, wanting more from him.

As always, Zayne knows your body even better than you do, because he slips his pinky in alongside his ring finger. His eyes never leave yours as he continues to pump himself into you. The stretch makes your eyes roll back, his thumb still pawing at your throbbing clit, threatening to burst from his expert touch. The sounds of his hands thudding against your wet skin cut lewdly into the limited space between you.

Zayne deftly twirls the cue stick in his one hand so that he rests it on your breast, perfectly aimed at the white cue ball. His fingers inside you pumps in and out in perfect rhythm, the length of them able to stroke your spongy g-spot at every thrust. Your eyes are screwed shut, your body trying to accommodate the pleasure, arousal spurred on from the risk of anyone bursting through the billiard hall doors.

You feel the tip of the stick tapping against your nipples, erect against the rough fabric of your cocktail dress. Your eyes fly open to find Zayne smirking down expectantly at you, his voice a deep seductive huff, "You need to keep your eyes on your teacher if you want to learn anything, Y/N.”

You force your eyes to stay and focus on his, though you can feel your eyelids droop as your brain fights to focus on anything other than the ecstasy Zayne is imposing on your trembling body.

"That’s it, my love,” he coos at you, speeding up his fingers in the process. Your head falls back as you moan shamelessly, feeling your gut tighten in response to his movements. You can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, and you silently pray that it doesn’t drip onto the pool table.

Suddenly, Zayne’s thumb presses harshly onto your clit. Your squeal filling the air as you sit up sharply, the sensitive ache bleeding into the immeasurable pleasure, only serving to intensify it further.

"What did I say?” He growls, "Eyes on me.” You nod obediently, desperate to please him. But you’re unsure if you’ll even be physically capable of following his demands. You watch the sharp jawed surgeon hovering over you, as he continues his assault on your core.

He positions his cue stick over your shoulder again, his thrusts increasing in intensity as he concentrates on the balls behind you. The sight of him, so precise in the way he pleasures you without a single care to whose prying eyes could possibly see, while simultaneously so handsome in the way he handles his cue stick makes the coil in your gut tighten quicker than normal.

"M-more, please,” you beg, feeling your release approaching and needing him to thrust you over the edge.

"I can feel you tightening, love. Are you close already?” Zayne murmurs, still lining up his stick meticulously. You’re careful to keep your eyes on him as you nod fervently.

Zayne smirks, "So quick, huh baby?” You ignore his teasing, grinding into his hand, desperate to release. He only chuckles in response, but curls his fingers inside you as he relentlessly strokes your clit. You can vaguely see him aiming his stick at the white cue ball, somewhere on the table by your head.

"Z-Zayne, m’so close,” you warn him, the friction between his hand and your core far too much for you to hold out any longer, "Gonna cum, gonna cummmm.” Your fingernails dig into his covered biceps as you grip his arms, aching to feel his skin under yours.

"Yeah?” He briefly glances at you, shifting his gaze from the billiard balls, his pace on your cunt never faltering, "You gonna make a mess for me, all over the table, like a good girl?” Without warning, Zayne brings his leather clad index finger down to pinch your clit between it and his thumb. Almost immediately you come undone over his hand, your moans and cries for him filling the billiard hall. You can vaguely hear the sound of pool balls colliding, the satisfying clack briefly entering your ecstasy clouded mind as you gush all over Zayne’s gloves.

Zayne talks you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing but not stopping, "That’s it, that’s my girl. Look at you, ruining my gloves, huh?” You can only whimper in response, your clit trembling in his careful grasp. "So beautiful on this table for me.”

You’re a wailing mess, tears streaming down your face from the hypersensitivity of your orgasm. Zayne watches your face contort in pleasure, in complete awe of how beautiful and unbelievably sexy you looked beneath him. His cock stirs uncomfortably, almost threatening to burst through the zipper of his pants. You don’t see the way his eyes light up in complete adoration of the woman he loves below him, making a mess all over his fingers, still inside you. He hadn’t planned to take you fully here. But the sight of you underneath him, in all your fucked out glory, slick dripping down your plush thighs, whimpering for him, he couldn’t hold himself back.

"I need to be inside you. You can take me right, my love?”

Before you realize what’s happening, Zayne’s strong arms are wrapped around your waist, flipping you effortlessly so that your stomach is pressed into the table, your ass molded perfectly into his crotch, his leaking cock pressed right into you.

"Z-Zayne?” You yelp in surprise, wincing slightly at the way your spend smears against your inner thighs and cunt. When Zayne doesn’t respond, you crane your torso backwards to see him bringing up his gloved hand to his mouth, shiny with your slick presumably coating them. Using his teeth, he brings his middle finger to his teeth and yanks them off his pale and scarred hand. All the while his heated gaze captivates your own, hooded with a need so dangerous your core ignites with excitement. The sight before you makes your knees weak, buckling in anticipation.

The sound of Zayne’s zipper being undone snaps you out of your shameless thoughts, and you watch as he undoes his pants just enough to pull his cock out from them. You gulp, licking your lips at the sight of him before you. His veins bulge, almost pulsing with the need to be nestled inside of your cunt, as his swollen angry head leaks copious amounts of clear pre cum, enough that it almost looked like he’d finished inside his slacks when he got you off with his fingers.

Zayne loosens his blue tie, tugging at it until you can see the gentle bobbing of his neck as his hungry eyes drink you in. You squeak when he taps his angry tip against your exposed pussy, smearing his slick against your own, the warm liquid making you shiver as it mixes.

You croak, using your last waning bit of rational thought, "W-what if someone comes looking for you?” You moan deeply when you feel Zayne move your wet panties to the side, exposing your dripping slit to his hungry eyes and the air conditioned draft of the billiard hall.

He presses his bare tip against your soaked lips, and your knees buckle under the sensitivity of your fading orgasm. Luckily Zayne holds you steady, his large hand wrapped securely around your waist as he teases his engorged tip up and down your exposed cunt.

"Well then we’ll just have to be quick, can you do that for me love?” He lines up with your throbbing hole but waits for your consent before digging himself into you. The feel of his burning cock nestled in your core is enough to make you throw all inhibitions out the window, and instead of responding verbally, you grind yourself back onto him, trying to fucking yourself onto him.

You revel in Zayne’s deep throaty moan, his voice hoarse with desire, "You drive me absolutely insane Y/N.” And with that, he presses his swollen tip into your waiting cunt. Your eyes screw shut and your fingers grip the wooden edges of the table top as your cunt does its best to accommodate his never ending girth. Your teeth bite down on your lips to try and keep your moans at bay, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

"Good girl,” Zayne grunts out, his large hands massaging your hips soothingly, "Perfect little pussy is sucking me in so well.” You flutter around him excitedly at his praises, to which Zayne hisses, digging his fingers into the fat of your hips.

"Not so tight, please,” he grits, stilling his descent into your warm cunt, "Let me in, my love.” He twitches inside you, wanting nothing more than to be buried to the hilt.

"M’trying,” you pant, looking back to see his cock stuffed halfway inside of you, "M’trying Zayne.” Keeping one hand on your hip, grip so deliciously tight there’ll surely be hand shaped bruises the next day, he shifts his other hand to your front. His fingers snake up and under your dress, pushing your panties further to the side to flick against your clit.

You gasp out, the tension in your gut being forced to release. You feel the rest of Zayne’s cock sink into you, brushing against your g spot as he gently hits your cervix. The delicious curve of his manhood causes his heavy cockhead to drag against all your sweetest spots as he begins to slowly move in and out of you. Your cervix is no stranger to the feel of his tip brushing right up against it, your body growing to love the feeling of his bruising pace against your deepest parts.

"Gripping me so tight,” he seethes, his hands weaving into your hair and pushing your face into the table, the smooth felt material rubbing against your cheek as he pounded you into the table. "You like it that much? Like the idea of someone walking in and seeing this beautiful little pussy wrapped around my cock?”

Your moans brokenly at his words, his pace intensifying. The threat of being caught coupled with the overwhelming way Zayne absolutely takes your quivering body is almost too much for you, definitely too much for you to form a response to his words. Your pussy can only tremble in response, as if not wanting to let him go each time he pulls out.

Zayne’s fingers grip your hair harder, but still gentle enough that it makes your eyes roll back at the addicting sensation, "Tell me baby.” His voice is low and demanding, making you want to please him at all costs.

"Want someone to see you fuckin’ me,” you whine, cheeks heating up in embarrassment, "See that m’all yours.”

Zayne groans at your words, driving himself harder and deeper into your womb, "They’d be disappointed to find out that this pussy already belongs to me, huh?” His fingers at your scalp grip your head as the intensity of his thrusts have your eyes leaking tears of utter fucked out pleasure. "Made only for me.” His words hold such a possessive tone, making your stomach stir with butterflies.

"S-so big Zayne,” you ramble, your voice coming out as a mere whimper.

"Just take it f’me, yeah?” His voice is low, his hand inching down from your scalp to your bare back, pressing your arched spine further into the table. "Feels so fucking good when you wrap around me like this.”

You’re a moaning mess as he drills himself into you relentlessly, held up only by Zayne’s firm hand pressed against your clit. Your mind is consumed with only thoughts of him and the ecstasy he rains down upon your body.

Zayne’s groans are vaguely audible over the deafening sounds of your ass rippling against his exposed pelvis, "Can never get enough of you, my perfect girl.”

"Should see how well she takes me, love. Sucking me in like she can’t get enough,” he rasps, hand leaving your back to press on your tummy. "Feel me here, princess?”

"Y-yes!” You gasp, "Feel you s’deep, need m-more Zayne.”

Zayne chuckles, his laugh so beautifully rich against the erotic sounds of his skin against yours, "You really think you can handle more, angel?”

"I can! I can!” You chant hazily, wanting nothing more than to please him as he drives into you intensely, his cockhead dragging against your g spot repeatedly. Your eyes have a hard time staying open as Zayne pushes you closer to your second orgasm of the evening.

His vigor increases impossibly, his hand leaving your stomach to gently grasp your neck, pulling you up towards his hard abdomen. You gasp when your arched spine hits his chest, as he effortlessly manhandles you into his body.

"Will never get enough of you. Of this perfect little cunt,” he groans into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. His hand presses down on your throat, holding you securely against him like you might disappear at any moment. The smooth material of his suit vest soothes the singed skin of your back, absolutely zero space between the two of your bodies. Molded perfectly together into one.

"She was made for me, huh? Made for me to stretch every fucking night,” Zayne grunts desperately as he thrusts up into you, your mind going numb from the pleasure of Zayne’s massive girth rearranging your guts, leaving you once again unable to form words. His hand against your throat tightens against your neck when you don’t respond, the fingers at your clit squeezing demandingly, "Answer me Y/N.” The leather brushing against your nerves forces your mind to clear.

"Yes!” You gasp out, doing best to see through the fog of intense ecstasy and form coherent words, "M’all yours Z-Zayne, p-please don’t stop.”

"Good fucking girl,” Zayne pants, softly digging his teeth into your neck, lips latching on and sucking for dear life. Your broken moans of pleasure fill the room when his teeth sink into your sensitive pulse point, and then his tongue lapping soothingly at the tender skin. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are so obscenely loud and erotic, serving to push you closer to your impending climax.

"I would spend my entire life buried inside you,” Zayne grits against your neck, absolutely drunk off you. "You can handle it right, my love? For me?”

His words drive you closer and closer to your release. His fingers are still wrapped deliciously against your neck, applying just enough pressure that you have to gasp for your breaths, "Y-yes! Yes!”

"Tell me what you want love,” Zayne demands in between sucking at your neck, leaving behind a string of hickeys and saliva. He glances down briefly to see the shiny slick pooling around the base of his length disappearing and reappearing inside your fluttering cunt. The sight of it makes him moan, gasping huskily into your ear. The sound of his desperation makes you clench around him, tip-toeing closer and closer to your release.

"Z-Zaayne,” you drawl, "M’so close. W-want to cum for you. Please let me cum f’you.” Zayne swears under his breath, grip releasing on your neck to hook around your waist. Zayne lifts you off his length and spins you around. You yelp, legs instinctively wrapping around his hard abdomen as he orients you to face him, ass resting on the edge of the pool table. Your elbows straighten behind you as your prop yourself up with your palms flat on the felt top.

"Need to see your beautiful face,” Zayne demands, his fingers reaching up to grip your chin, craning your face to meet his and bringing your lips to his. His lips are delightfully demanding against yours, tongue forcing its way in to claim your entire being.

To your dismay, he rips away, a string of saliva connecting your panting breaths. Zayne’s eyes pierce yours intensely, "Tell me how much you want it.” Your thighs clutch around him as his hand snakes down where your bodies are joined to rub at your clit again.

"S-sooo much Zayne,” you cry pathetically, tears forming in the corner of your eyes, "Please let me cum for you, m’a good girl, d-deserve to cum.”

Your begging drives him insane, the vigor of his thrusts reaching an all time high. The way Zayne thrusts up into your body makes you drool, feeling like his personal pocket pussy, and you love it. His hot throbbing length reaches all the deepest parts of your cunt, making your eyes roll back, your hands wrapping around his neck as his strong hands hold your thighs up against him, leaving finger shaped bruises. The undoubtedly expensive pool table underneath you shakes under the intensity of Zayne’s thrusts, slightly scraping and sliding against the linoleum floor.

"Okay my love, anything for you,” he muses, leaning in to kiss down your collarbone, "Not too loud okay? Can you do that for me?”

You nod fervently, though you’re not sure if you can keep your promise. His lips on your chest definitely make those words seem far fetched.

"I-I have to cum,” you pant, unable to keep your orgasm at bay any longer, "M’cumming Zayne, p-please don’t stop.”

Zayne’s lips abandon your neck, using the hand not on your thigh to cup your chin once more.

"I’m not gonna last much longer with you squeezing me like that,” he groans, "You gonna take it baby?” You do your best to nod, but that’s not enough for Zayne.

"Answer me, sweet girl,” he purrs, "Or do I have to teach you another lesson?”

"Y-yes, m’gonna take it all. Please Zayne,” you plead, needing to feel him fill you as you cum for him.

Zayne smirks, so devilishly handsome as beads of sweat form on his temple, "So damn gorgeous when you beg for my cock.” His lips capture yours again, tongue tasting every inch of you. You kiss him back feverishly, wanting to be filled with nothing but him.

He pulls away, instead kissing the tears that had fallen down your cheeks, "Who does this pussy belong to, Y/N?”

"Y-you! Belongs to you Zayne!”

"Good fucking girl. Now cum for me.”

The command in his words sends you toppling into the abyss as you cum all over him. Except this time it’s so much more moist than the orgasm you had when his fingers rearranged your guts. You can vaguely feel the gush of liquid against his expensive slacks as your mind goes blank, only able to accommodate the pleasure and no other senses.

Zayne’s eyes trail down to where your bodies connect, watching in awe as you squirt all over him. The feeling of your cunt pulsating so snugly around his length, almost too tight if not for your fluids coating every inch of him, drives him to his own orgasm. His cock trembles violently as he buries himself to the hilt, emptying inside of you, endless streams of cum coating your throbbing walls.

Once the last of his essence has been absolutely drained from him, Zayne languidly thrusts up into you, obsessed with the feeling of your collective spend against his softening erection. You whimper at the feeling, gently tapping against this chest, "N-no more. S’too sensitive.”

Zayne chuckles, slowing in his movements and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, "Sorry love. Just wanted to make sure I got it as deep as possible.”

You sigh contently, tightening your arms across the back of his neck and burying your face into him, inhaling the sweet scent of him. The two of you bask in the moment, with him still nestled inside of you.

"We should head back to everyone else Zayne. They’ll be wondering where you are,” you mumble into his shoulder, fingers stroking his soft raven hair. "There’s always a bright eyed doctor looking for you, wanting to sing your praises,” you tease.

"And yet the only person I want looking for me, is you,” he smiles faintly, rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, his large hands never leaving your body for even a second.

You blush at his words, trying to deflect, "You’re a flatterer.” And yet there is a sincerity behind his words that makes your heart thrum erratically. He only smiles warmly at you, nothing but adoration, happiness, and utter satisfaction clouding his hazel irises.

"For you, I'll be anything,” and with his glimmering eyes on yours, Zayne carries you off the table, gently setting you back on the floor after making sure you’re able to stand by yourself.

He chuckles as your knees wobble, "Do you need me to carry you for the rest of the night?”

"Now, what would your colleagues think if they saw the esteemed dr. Zayne carrying his female companion around in such a formal setting?” You tease him, wincing as your panties settles onto your soaked cunt, absolutely dripping and spent.

"I don’t think anyone would question me carrying you, if they saw the state you’re currently in,” he grinned, smoothing some of your undoubtedly disheveled hair behind your ears.

You teasingly smack his shoulder, to which he heartily laughs, holding your waist with his outstretched hands "Is it that bad?” You whisper worriedly, doing your best to smooth out your dress. However, there was nothing you could do about the slick dripping down your thighs until you found a restroom.

"It just means I did my job right,” he smirks at you, eyeing the plethora of hickeys littered against your soft skin. There’s a thoroughly ravished glow about you that he doubted anyone would not be able to notice. Above all, the smell of him and sex is so deeply etched into your scent, there’s absolutely no way people wouldn’t know where you two had disappeared off to. The thought of that fills Zayne with a deep sense of satisfaction and arousal.

You give him an unamused look in response. He chuckles lowly, holding his arm out for you to grab, ever the gentleman. It slightly irks you how annoyingly debonair, dashing, and collected he looks, not a hair out of place, even after your vigorous activities.

"Ready to go?”

You latch onto his outstretched arm, feeling exhausted but unbelievably happy to be here with Zayne. Hand in hand, the two of you head out of the billiard hall you were sure you’d never forget.

"Wait! We have to finish our game!” You exclaim, halting and dragging him back towards your table, where your cue sticks still sat.

Zayne only raises his eyebrow at you, letting himself be dragged along by you, "We already finished. I won.”

"What do you mean–” it’s then you notice all his solid colored balls are gone, along with the black eight ball.

"Wh-when did you do that!? I call foul play!” You whine, "I want a rematch.”

"Though i’d be more than happy to teach you another lesson,” his eyes shine with amusement, clearly referring to something else, "We need to make a reappearence before someone finds us in here. We look quite incriminating in here.”

You pout, knowing he’s right. Despite your best efforts, there’s no doubt you look like you’ve just been dragged through a wind tunnel. But you were so incredibly competitive. And an even sorer loser.

Zayne chuckles at your adorable grimace, your arms crossed over your chest. He gently pries your arms apart and holds your hands in his, "I’d be happy to take you home and give you a rematch of tonight. How does that sound?”

"Fine…” you sigh reluctantly, letting him guide you back to the main hall of the club, "Since when did you have a pool table at home?”

Zayne doesn’t turn to you, but you can see a slight upturn in the corner of his lip, "I don’t.”

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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jezebelblues · 7 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 | 𝐇.𝐒 | 𝟏 *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

pt 1, pt 2 (completed)

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐂𝐖: drug usage/selling, angst, college!harry, fem!reader, smut in pt2 if that’s what ur here for, allusions to violence, friends to lovers if u squint

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 13.8k

❏ i was trying to compress this into only being one part but i felt like each piece of them growing closer was too important to the plot to be deleted </3 but i’m posting pt 2 like right after this so !! btw this is so fratrry coded but bro is not in a frat. he’s just a broke college student that sells drugs fr

masterlist

off campus housing was a curse sometimes.

but, if you had the option between dorming it out or paying for an apartment yourself, maybe it could be categorized as both a blessing and a curse.

but for YN and harry, it’s just a curse.

a dorm wasn’t in the cards for them in general—it was hard enough drowning in loans for tuition itself, and adding thousands more for shitty campus housing was just overboard.

but still, the illusion of choice would’ve been nice.

they lived in carson hall, off campus apartments that were filled to the brim with students. there might’ve been a few tenants in the building that weren’t a student, but they were probably there for the same reason as everyone else—affordability.

$850 per month felt like a rarity, and it was pretty much unheard of in new york. so, if you were a broke student that couldn’t dorm, this was your saving grace.

if the walls in the unit weren’t brick, it was cheap drywall that had the paint chipping off. there was a radiator that broke every month like clockwork, sat right underneath a window with glass so thin it shook with the breeze.

there was no carpet except for in the main lobby, everything else was either tiled linoleum and creaky wooden floors installed in the 90’s. there was a communal laundry unit in the basement that required four quarters exactly, nothing else. sometimes it’d swallow the coins, sometimes it wouldn’t, and sometimes it’d eat their coins and wouldn’t turn on at all.

there was a maintenance man that lived on the first floor—living there for half the rent since he was on call 24/7 on the weekdays to fix anything the apartment complex needed—but you’d have to be the luckiest person on earth for him to respond. if the washer ate your quarters, chances are, you won’t be getting them back. and if the sink continued to drip water in rhythm with your heartbeat, you’d be better off watching a youtube tutorial on plumbing basics than calling for the maintenance guy.

but, it was four walls and a roof—not to mention, it was only a five minute walk from the dining hall (the heart of campus, obviously).

YN and harry didn’t know each other, not exactly. they lived on the same floor, and harry was the guy that was known for dealing to make rent and loan payments.

and YN was the girl that always had sleepy eyes and smelt of vanilla and cinnamon—sugar and spice.

but that was it between them, fleeting glances of acknowledgment and the lingering scent of vanilla laced with weed in the hallway.

all until the first knock tapped against his door at one-thirty in the morning.

it was one of those nights where the due dates of assignments pressed down heavy, like it was daring you to breathe under the weight.

harry’s radiator was hissing again, spitting steam into his tiny apartment, a kind of mocking applause for everything breaking down. his desk was cluttered with blueprints—half-sketched, smudged, unfinished—and on the counter, the last edible he'd cut sat wrapped in foil, waiting for whoever was desperate enough to buy it.

the knock was soft. hesitant. not the kind of knock that screamed cops or where's the party? harry almost didn't get up. whatever it was, it could wait.

but something about it—how it lingered, quiet but insistent—dragged him to the door. barefoot, wearing nothing but a ratty tshirt and sweatpants, he swung it open without bothering to check who it was.

YN.

the girl who always smelled like a fucking christmas cookie. she stood in the hallway like she'd been arguing with herself for hours, her arms wrapped around her torso to keep warm. she didn't say anything right away, just looked at him with wide, tired eyes.

harry leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "are y’lost?"

her voice came out softer than he expected. “i need…something.”

he raised an eyebrow, scanning her quickly—her pink sweatpants, the hoodie that was two sizes too big, the way she kept glancing at the floor like she hated being here. "that's specific. milk? a lightbulb? help moving a body?"

"for my roommate," she rushed, ignoring the bite in his tone. "she's—she's having a panic attack or something, some stupid argument with her boyfriend i think—and i don't have anything that can help."

harry stared at her.

her voice cracked, the desperation cutting through the cool front she was trying to hold. "it's late, and the pharmacies are closed, and i just—someone said you might have something."

"someone.” he repeated, pushing off the doorframe, his tone sharp enough to slice through her composure.

"please."

something about that word caught him off guard. not the word itself, but the way she said it—like she was embarrassed to use it, like it physically hurt to ask him for anything. harry sighed, stepping back. "wait there."

he crossed the room to the counter, digging through the shoebox that held the operation he kept as low-key as possible. the old baggie of edibles rustled faintly in his hands, and for a second, he thought about saying no. this wasn't his problem.

but he grabbed one anyway, turning back to find her still standing in the hallway, arms wrapped tighter around herself. he shoved the baggie into her hand. "take this and go."

she hesitated, looking down at it. "is it safe?"

harry's laugh came out sharp and humorless. "you knock on my door at one in the morning, asking for something t’fix a panic attack, and you're worried about FDA approval? yeah, it's safe. s’low-dose."

her fingers curled around the bag. "how much do i owe you?"

he shook his head, already tired of this conversation. "don't worry about it. just go."

YN started to turn, but her gaze caught on the cluttered desk in the corner—blueprints stacked in uneven piles, a half-empty coffee cup balancing on the edge. "what's all that?" she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

"none of your business."

he stepped forward and shut the door before she could ask anything else. the lock clicked, and for a long second, he stood there, staring at the closed door, wondering why the hell he'd helped her at all.

friday nights strained. not the kind that made you feel like you’d accomplished something. no, this was the other kind. the kind that made harry want to throw his phone into the east river and spend the rest of the weekend in bed, ignoring the world.

by eight pm, the texts started rolling in like they always did.

can u drop to sigma chi?

emergency. we need molly asap. paying extra if u can get here by 10.

it wasn’t glamorous. it wasn’t even fun. but it paid the rent.

harry sat at his desk, staring at the mess of blueprints he hadn’t touched all week, his phone lighting up next to him with another text. the math was simple: weed, molly, shrooms, lsd. nothing heavy, nothing messy, and no one under twenty-one.

he grabbed his backpack, already packed from the night before—a hollowed-out calculus textbook buried inside. it was beat to shit, but nobody looked twice at a guy carrying around a heavy book and a bookbag on campus.

the first stop was sigma chi. always sigma chi.

by the time he got there, the party was in full swing. the air reeked of spilled beer and too much cologne, bass pounding through the walls like a heartbeat that refused to die. harry slipped in through the side door, past a crowd of girls laughing too loudly and holding plastic cups like they were accessories.

the guy waiting for him was leaned against the fridge, his baseball cap turned backwards, a grin plastered on his face. “harry, my man!”

he didn’t answer. didn’t smile. instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small baggie, handing it over like he was exchanging a pack of gum. the guy shoved some crumpled twenties into harry’s hand, already too distracted by his phone to say anything else.

“you’re a lifesaver, bro.”

he left through the back door without another word.

weekends were always like this. frat houses, dorm rooms, random street corners. most fridays, he had ten stops, maybe more if people got desperate.

his phone buzzed constantly. texts rolling in every fifteen minutes:

can you meet by the bodega?

do u have anything stronger? asking for a friend.

the last one made him roll his eyes. he didn’t do stronger. stronger got people killed, got cops asking questions. harry wasn’t stupid. this wasn’t about partying or fun; it was money.

he started dealing during his first year at nyu. not because he wanted to, but because the scholarships didn’t cover everything, and student loans only went so far.

at first, it was just weed. his guy, jeff, lived in brooklyn—a family man with a college degree, a wife, and two kids. harry used to think guys like jeff had it figured out: the house in a decent neighborhood, the minivan parked out front, the soccer games on weekends. but his life was no more stable than harry’s.

jeff’s business wasn’t just selling weed—it was growing it, right in his basement. his wife knew, of course. they kept it far from the kids, locked up tight behind a door that might as well have been a vault.

he hadn’t started out as a dealer, either. he ran his own small business—some business marketing firm that couldn’t compete with the bigger guys. now, the basement was his fallback, extra income, and harry couldn’t help but see a version of himself in jeff. same fire, same hustle, same gnawing ache of more, more, more.

“this isn’t enough,” he had said one night, halfway through weighing a fresh batch. the house smelled faintly of citrus and pine, a scent jeff swore masked the weed smell. “you ever thought about branching out?”

harry frowned, leaning back against the workbench “branching out how?”

“psychedelics—shrooms, lsd. same crowd, bigger profit. no one’s getting hooked, no one’s overdosing. it’s clean.”

harry’s gut twisted. he didn’t like the sound of it—too messy, too big. “i dunno, mate. weed’s easy. i don’t want t’get in deeper.”

jeff leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “i get it. but you’re already in. and if you play it smart, you don’t have to worry about the cops, or junkies, or any of that shit. i know a guy in the bronx—mutual friend. you’d like him. solid guy, clean product.”

he hesitated, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table. “y’really think it’s worth it?”

jeff smiled faintly, shrugging. “depends on what you want. if it’s just enough to scrape by, keep doing what you’re doing. but if you want to breathe a little? yeah. it’s worth it.”

harry didn’t jump in right away.

it took a few weeks of thinking, weighing the risks against the reward. but eventually, he made the trip to the bronx. the guy jeff pointed him to was older, late thirties maybe, with a clean apartment and a habit of over-explaining. harry liked him immediately.

the product was good. better than he expected. shrooms, lsd tabs, packaged clean and easy to move. the kind of stuff that sold itself to the right crowd.

molly came later.

it started with frat guys asking for it at parties, offering triple what harry charged for weed. at first, he turned them down. molly was different—harder to control, riskier. but the money kept knocking at his door, and harry, tired of scraping by, finally let it in.

his guy in the bronx knew a supplier. harry kept it lowkey—low doses, clean product, no bullshit. but it still weighed on him, the way every step deeper into this life felt like standing on thin ice.

jeff always said this kind of hustle didn’t last forever. harry just hoped he’d find a way out before it swallowed him whole.

his voice stayed in his head more than he liked to admit—you can’t do this forever, kid. something’s gotta give.

but that was the problem, wasn’t it? harry didn’t know what would give first—his luck, his sanity, or the thin line he kept walking between survival and collapse.

the deeper he got into dealing, the more he saw how easy it was for people to lose themselves in it. not just the buyers—people like jeff, too.

there was this one night, months after harry started moving psychedelics. jeff had called him over, saying he had some fresh product he wanted harry to try. he drove out to brooklyn, expecting the usual.

but when he got there, he looked different. tired in a way that felt heavier.

“you good?” he had asked, leaning against the workbench.

he nodded, but his hands trembled slightly as he sealed a bag. “yeah, just a long week. car broke down, furnace is acting up… you know how it is.”

he did. too well.

when he left that night, the bag of weed tucked into his backpack, he couldn’t shake the thought—this doesn’t end well. jeff had everything harry thought he wanted—a family, a house, a life that looked solid from the outside. and still, it wasn’t enough.

he lit a cigarette as he drove back to the city, the smoke curling around him in the dark car. he couldn’t let this life be all there was. couldn’t let it pull him down the same way it was pulling jeff.

but even as he told himself he’d find a way out, harry’s phone buzzed with another text, another buyer, another deal.

just enough was never enough.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. he was tired. bone-tired. the kind of tired that lived in his spine and refused to leave, no matter how much sleep he got.

but he typed back anyway.

because this was life. grinding himself into the ground so someone else could forget their bullshit for a night.

and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t afford to.

the rain wasn’t letting up. the kind that soaked you through in seconds, cold and sharp like a thousand tiny needles stabbing your skin. the stairwell in the building was already a deathtrap on the best days—cheap tiles, no traction, old wood.

he was on the couch when he heard it. a thud, heavy and hollow, like someone had dropped a bag of bricks—or fallen. then the curses followed, muffled but furious, the kind of sound that pulled him out of the half-sleep he’d been drifting into.

he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. for a second, he thought about ignoring it. again, wasn’t his problem. but something about the sound got under his skin.

grabbing the sweatshirt hanging off the back of the couch, he pulled it on and opened the door, peering out into the dimly lit hallway.

that’s when he saw her.

sprawled on the stairs, her sweater soaked through, hair sticking to her face, and an armful of books scattered around her like shrapnel.

fucking christ, harry thought, leaning against the doorframe. he crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you always this graceful, or is it a wednesday night special?”

she looked up, and if looks could kill, he’d have been dead on the spot. her cheeks were flushed, probably from a mix of frustration and exertion, and her jaw was clenched tight enough to crack. “are you always this much of an asshole, or do i just bring it out in you?”

harry let the smirk grow into something closer to a grin. “you okay?” he asked, his tone half-mocking, half-genuine.

YN didn’t answer right away. she was too busy untangling herself, her knee hitting the step as she tried to gather the mess of books and papers that had spilled everywhere.

harry sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “hold on.”

he jogged down the stairs, crouching to pick up a book near her feet. the cover was soaked, the pages already curling at the edges. he flipped it over in his hand, inspecting the damage. “you’re gonna fail with this,” he said, holding it up. “this thing’s toast.”

she snatched the book from him, glaring. “you’re toast.”

he chuckled under his breath, bending to pick up another one. this time, it was a notebook—thick, overstuffed, with half the pages threatening to fall out. “what are you even carrying all this for?”

“this is college, is it not?”

harry straightened, stacking the notebook on top of the book in her arms. “you’re gonna wreck your back lugging all this around.”

“not everyone has money for a decent bag.” she muttered, not looking at him as she grabbed the papers from his hand.

that made him pause. his jaw tightened, his usual sarcasm flickering into something harder, heavier. he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it just as fast.

he shifted, handing her the last book. “here. try not to break your neck next time.”

she snorted, a bitter laugh slipping out before she could stop it. she pushed herself up, wincing as she shifted her weight onto her right leg.

“you sure you’re okay?” harry asked again, watching the way she was favoring her left leg.

“i’m fine.”

“right.” harry muttered, crossing his arms as she started up the stairs. he followed her halfway up, more out of habit than concern, and watched as she struggled to balance her books against the wet fabric of her sweater.

when they reached the landing, she stopped, glancing back at him. “thanks,” she said, the word sounding like it physically hurt her to say.

harry shrugged. “don’t mention it.”

as she turned to head toward her apartment, she added over her shoulder, “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked again, shaking his head as he watched her limp away. he didn’t respond, just leaned against the wall, waiting until she disappeared into her unit before heading back to his own.

he dropped onto the couch, dragging a worn notebook off the coffee table and flipping it open. but his focus was shot. all he could picture was her on the stairs—soaked, pissed, and too stubborn to admit she wasn’t fine.

her comment stuck with him, too. not everyone has money for a decent bag. harry hated how much that hit home.

the world didn’t give a shit if you couldn’t afford what you needed. if you didn’t have it, you improvised. it was why he was out here selling weed and molly to spoiled frat boys and girls with trust funds so deep they could drown in them.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. his phone buzzed on the armrest beside him, breaking the silence.

it was one of his regulars, some sophomore who thought a couple grams of shrooms would make her weekend transformative.

yeah. same spot. 9pm.

he tossed the phone onto the table, leaning back against the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. this was the life: fixing busted radiators, chasing down half-earned engineering credits, and grinding himself into the ground so some kid could take a trip they’d forget by monday morning.

later that night, he was back out, a ballcap sat over his curls, backpack slung over his shoulder, heading to the usual corner just off washington square park. it wasn’t raining anymore, but the streets were still slick, reflecting the city lights like oil spills.

he spotted the girl waiting for him, leaning against a lamppost with her arms crossed. she waved when she saw him, a little too eager.

the exchange was quick, the shrooms passing from his hand to hers, the cash tucked into his pocket in one smooth motion. no small talk, no lingering.

when he got home, the hallway was quiet, except for the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead. YN’s door was closed, no sounds coming from the other side.

he paused for a second, staring at it. he shook his head, unlocking his door and stepping inside. the idea that popped into his brain was stupid, irrational. he didn’t owe her anything. she was just the girl down the hall, who gave as much shit as she took.

but still, he dug into his closet, pulling out the old army surplus bag he’d stopped using after high school. it wasn’t much, but it was better than what she had now.

the next morning, harry slipped out of his apartment early, the bag in hand. he dropped it just outside her door, no note, no explanation, before heading out to his first lecture of the day.

when YN found it later, she stared at it for a long moment, her brows knitting together. she didn’t have to ask who left it. and even though she muttered asshole under her breath, she brought it inside with a faint smile.

because she needed it. and harry—whether he’d admit it or not—knew that.

the next time they saw each other, he was coming up the stairs, his backpack slung low, the smell of rain clinging to his sweatshirt. it was late—nearly eleven—and he was tired, the kind of exhaustion that sank into his chest and refused to let go.

YN was coming down, her new bag bouncing lightly against her hip. she was in scrubs and a college hoodie, hair tied back, but there was a tension in her face that hadn’t been there before. maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the unmistakable look of someone dragging themselves through another brutal shift.

they almost passed each other without a word. almost.

but as they crossed paths, she stopped, her hand gripping the railing. “hey.”

harry stopped mid-step, turning to look at her. “hey,” he echoed, noncommittal.

she tilted her head toward the bag. “this you?”

he leaned against the railing, shrugging like it was no big deal. “needed something better, right?”

her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. finally, she shook her head, letting out a dry laugh. “why, though? why do you care?”

he blinked, caught off guard. he didn’t have an answer for that—at least not one he could say out loud. instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging again. “call it charity,” he said. “or don’t. i don’t really care.”

YN stared at him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. then she nodded, her grip on the railing loosening. “thanks,” she muttered, her tone softer this time.

“don’t mention it.”

but before he could take another step, she smiled—the tiniest twitch upward. “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked at that, glancing back over his shoulder. “you’re welcome, cinnamon.”

her brows shot up at the nickname, her mouth opening to protest, but harry didn’t stick around to hear it. he was already heading back to his apartment, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

that should’ve been the end of it.

but the next day, when harry opened his door to grab the mail, there was a coffee cup sitting just outside, still warm, with no note or explanation.

he frowned, picking it up and staring at it like it might explode.

then, from down the hall, YN’s door opened, and she leaned out, raising an eyebrow at him. “drink it or don’t—i don’t care.”

he held up the cup, smirking. “what’s this? donations?”

“no,” she grinned, already retreating back inside. “just paying it forward, asshole.”

the door clicked shut, and he stood there, shaking his head, the faintest chuckle escaping him as he sipped the coffee.

their classes in south hall were evening ones, usually letting out at nine pm sharp.

YN stepped out of the biology lab first, tugging her sleeves down against the chill that crept into the building after dark. her bag was slung over her shoulders, the college crewneck rumpled from hours of sitting in the same chair. her jeans were stiff from the cold, her shoes scuffed with wear, and her hair fell loose around her face, sticking slightly to her cheek. she brushed it back absently, her eyes on the door ahead.

harry caught sight of her from the second-floor stairwell as he left his chemistry lecture—a rolling stones hoodie hung loose on his frame, sweatpants sitting low on his hips, his green sambas (that he bought second hand, his proudest find) practically falling apart at the seams.

he hadn’t planned on saying anything. hell, he wasn’t even sure she’d noticed him. but as he watched her push through the doors, her breath fogging in the cold, he felt something tug at him.

he hesitated for half a second before jogging down the stairs, his curls bouncing slightly as he caught up to her “hey.”

she glanced over her shoulder, her steps slowing just enough to register him. her brows furrowed when she saw him. “you’re in chemistry,” she said, like it was an accusation.

harry blinked, a bit confused as to what she was hinting at—but going with it anyway. “m’yeah. good observation, sherlock.”

“no, i mean,” she gestured vaguely behind her. “your class is upstairs. what’re you doing down here?”

harry shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “walking home. duh. our lectures must end at the same time.”

YN gave him a skeptical look, her pace picking up again as they stepped into the night. “you don’t have to do that,” she said quickly, her tone dismissive. “i’m fine.”

he fell into step beside her anyway, the straps of his backpack swinging slightly as he walked. “cool. didn’t ask.”

her jaw tightened, and she shot him a look. “seriously, i don’t need a babysitter.”

“good,” harry muttered, unbothered. “’cause I’m not volunteering.”

she sighed, tugging her bag closer to her body as they trudged through campus. the sound of their shoes against the pavement filled the space between them.

as they turned the corner, the streetlight flickered above, casting long, uneven shadows across the sidewalk. harry noticed the guy first.

it wasn’t unusual to be sketched out by randoms over here, their apartment was on the edge of campus—lots of stragglers where university police didn’t quite patrol.

he was leaning against a stop sign, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. his gaze was lazy, his posture too casual, the way people got when they wanted you to feel like they were watching you without actually looking.

harry stepped closer to YN without thinking, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved between her and the road.

“seriously?” she muttered, stopping mid-step to glare at him.

harry didn’t look at her, his eyes locked forward as they passed. “what?” he asked, voice calm. “said i’d walk with you. didn’t say i wouldn’t get in the way.”

she scoffed, but she didn’t pull away. he brushed it off, and in a way, she appreciated that—the way he acknowledged her nerves but didn’t say anything. the way he acted like it was just a miss-step rather than a reassurance.

when they reached the entrance of their apartment building, YN stopped, finally turning to face him. her arms were crossed now, her expression sharp. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“you’re welcome.” his eyebrows knit together in stifled laughter, looking straight past her as he opened the heavy door to their building, holding it open for her to walk through.

they went up the narrow stairwell quietly, each step creaking under their weight.

she pursed her lips, stepping past him to unlock her door. but just before she disappeared inside, she glanced back at him, her tone softer this time. “thanks, i guess.”

harry tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “don’t mention it.”

the door clicked shut behind her, and harry lingered for a second, staring at the empty hallway beyond. then he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, turned, and headed to his own door. his rings clicked against his keys as he unlocked it, the faintest smirk still on his lips.

the walk back from the hospital felt longer tonight.

the clock had just ticked past ten, but the streets were alive with people heading to bars, parties, anywhere but where she’d been. YN tugged on the sleeves of her hoodie, pulling them down farther, the fabric worn soft from too many washes. her scrub pants swished faintly as she walked, her badge clipped to her pocket, catching the glow of passing headlights.

her shift had been hell. the kind of night where you didn’t have time to think, let alone breathe. a kid came in after a bad bike crash, his face pale, his leg bent in a way it shouldn’t have been. then there was guy that coughed up blood over her sneakers—not to mention running around the er the entire rest of shift to do the work the nurses couldn’t get to.

her feet dragged as she pushed through the door to her building, climbing the stairs to the second floor one step at a time.

the music hit her first.

it wasn’t loud, just a faint rhythm seeping through the crack of harry’s door. something easy, mellow.

as she walked past his door, her steps slowed, her gaze flicking toward it. for a second, she lingered, her pulse ticking faster than it should’ve. but then she kept walking.

she tried to focus on her own door, just a few steps away, but her mind wouldn’t settle. work had been brutal. her roommate would be on a two hour facetime with her boyfriend, giggling about nothing. her friends were either pulling late shifts or at some frat house, three beers deep by now. and the quiet—god, the quiet—was going to eat her alive.

before she even realized what she was doing, she spun on her heel, walking back the way she came. her hand hesitated over harry’s door, her fingers curling into a loose fist before she knocked.

the door swung open after a moment, and there he was.

he stood there in loose jeans and an old band tee, his curls falling into his face like he hadn’t bothered to push them back. the rings on his fingers glinted faintly in the dim light behind him, chipped black polish catching her eye.

“cinnamon,” he grinned, leaning one arm against the doorframe. his voice was low, amused. “what’s up?”

behind him, she saw the room wasn’t empty.

lounging on harry’s couch was louis, a guy she vaguely recognized from her english lecture—he was always late, always cracking jokes that somehow landed. and in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter, was a tall guy she didn’t quite recognize.

she took the smallest step back, shaking her head. “sorry,” she mumbled quickly. “didn’t realize you had people over. never-mind.”

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from her to the empty hallway behind her. “y’sure? you look…” he trailed off, his lips quirking slightly. “rough.”

she glared at him. “thanks. really needed that.”

he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “you’re knocking on my door at ten o’clock, cinnamon. that’s gotta be for a reason, yeah?”

she hesitated, her fingers twitching at her side. the guy in the kitchen glanced over briefly, then went back to whatever he was doing, and louis didn’t seem to notice her at all. “forget it,” she muttered, stepping back again. “i’m fine.”

he didn’t move, his eyes narrowed as they locked onto hers. “bullshit.”

her jaw tightened, her shoulders straightening. “i was just gonna ask if you had anything. you know, to…” she gestured vaguely, avoiding his eyes. “take the edge off.”

his smile returned, slow and knowing. “didn’t peg you as the type.”

YN glared again, her cheeks flushing slightly. “for a dealer, you’re really bad at pushing sales.” she said flatly, spinning on her heel.

he chuckled lightly, stepping out into the hallway a bit. “hold on a sec.”

she paused, turning halfway back to face him.

he glanced over his shoulder, toward the couch and the kitchen, before meeting her eyes again. “come back in ten,” he nodded. “i’ll get rid of ‘em.”

she blinked, caught off guard. “you don’t have to—”

“i said ten.” he cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument.

before she could say anything else, he stepped back into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. YN stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door like it might open again. she bit the inside of her lip, fidgeting with her key and going inside.

and at exactly 10 minutes, she was back in front of harry’s door.

this time, she didn’t hesitate. she knocked twice, easier than before.

the door opened almost immediately.

harry stood there again, his curls pushed back out of his face this time. his expression was unreadable, somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “told you ten minutes.” he stepped back, leaving the door open for her. “c’mon.”

his apartment wasn’t what she expected, though she wasn’t sure what she’d pictured. it was small, dimly lit by a single desk lamp in the corner. the faint scent of weed hung in the air, but the room was surprisingly neat, except for a pile of papers and notebooks on the table.

lounging on the couch, louis was pulling on his jacket, his face lighting up in surprise when he saw her. “oh, hey. you’re…” he snapped his fingers, squinting. “chem lab, right? morning lecture?”

YN nodded stiffly, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. “english,” she corrected. “i see you there sometimes.”

“right, right,” louis said, grinning. he turned to harry. “new buyer? good taste, man.”

harry rolled his eyes, stifling his own smile. “out.” he muttered, shoving a hand toward the door.

louis smirked but didn’t argue. he grabbed his bag, tossing a wink at YN before stepping into the hallway. the guy in the kitchen followed, slipping past her without so much as a glance, the scent of cheap cologne trailing behind him.

he shut the door with a sharp click, locking it before turning to face her. “there. happy?”

she crossed her arms, leaning against the wall near the door. “i didn’t ask you to kick them out.”

“you didn’t have to.”

she sighed, her gaze shifting to the desk in the corner. the blueprints stacked there caught her attention—clean lines, precise calculations, a world that felt miles away from hers.

“you gonna tell me what you want, or are we just standing here all night?”

her eyes snapped back to his, the sharpness in his tone cutting through the haze of her thoughts. “got anything that’ll knock me out for a few hours?”

he raised an eyebrow, walking past her to the desk. he opened a drawer, rummaging around before pulling out a small baggie with a single edible inside. “low-dose,” he said, holding it up. “won’t knock you out, but it’ll take the edge off.”

YN hesitated, glancing between him and the baggie. “how much?”

harry shook his head, tossing it onto the counter. “on the house.”

“i’m not—”

“just take it,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “call it a favor. or a bribe. whatever makes you feel better.”

she stepped closer, picking up the baggie with careful fingers. her eyes flicked to his, searching for something she wasn’t sure she’d find. “thanks.” she muttered, her voice quieter now.

harry leaned against the edge of the counter, his arms crossed. “you look like shit, by the way.”

she huffed, shoving the baggie into her hoodie pocket. “and you’re still a dick.” she shot back, heading for the door.

“fair enough.” he muttered. but just as she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her. “hey, cinnamon.”

she turned, her brow furrowed. “what?”

harry’s smirk softened slightly, the easy confidence in his tone faltering just enough to feel real. “you ever wanna talk, you know where i live.”

YN didn’t respond, didn’t trust herself to. she just nodded once and slipped out the door, her footsteps fading down the hall.

the next day, it was closer to four pm when YN got home from work.

she barely noticed the faint buzz of her roommate’s call as she slipped into the bathroom, peeling off her scrubs and stepping under the hot spray of the shower. the water hit her like a reset button, the ache in her shoulders easing as the steam curled around her.

when she finally emerged, her hair damp and loose, she threw on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized sweater—something warm, something safe. the apartment was quiet now, her roommate having left a while ago, probably off to see her boyfriend.

it was around six when the knock came.

YN glanced up from her laptop, her brows furrowing. she wasn’t expecting anyone. she hesitated for a second, debating if she even wanted to answer, but curiosity won out.

when she opened the door, harry was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk softened into something more uncertain. he looked like he’d been pacing before this, his curls slightly disheveled, his hoodie hanging loose over a pair of black sweatpants.

“hey.”

YN raised an eyebrow. “hey.”

“you any good at chem?”

she blinked, “chemistry?”

he nodded, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “yeah. like, the basics. stoichiometry, balancing equations, all that shit.”

she tilted her head, leaning against the doorframe to mirror him. “i passed it with like an 85% so, i guess?”

he smiled, “fantastic. y’busy right now?”

“why?”

“thought maybe you could help me out. i’ve got a test coming up, and i’m…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “not great at it.”

“you want me to tutor you?”

he beamed, sarcastic, knowing. “sweet of you t’offer. let’s go.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. she sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “fine. but if i’m doing this, we’re going to the library. your apartment smells like weed, and i can’t think in there.”

he chuckled, stepping back as she grabbed her bag from the couch. “fair enough, cinnamon.”

the campus library wasn’t crowded, the usual sunday night stragglers scattered across the tables in hushed clusters. harry led her to a table in the back, far from the main entrance, where the buzz of conversation faded into the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.

he dropped his backpack onto the table, pulling out a battered notebook and a copy of the textbook that looked like it had been through hell. “alright, professor,” he said, smirking as he slid into the chair across from her. “teach me.”

“this is gonna be painful, isn’t it?”

harry grinned, flipping open the textbook. “probably.”

she sighed, leaning forward. “okay, first question—how the hell did you even make it to college if you don’t know the basics?”

harry shrugged, unbothered. “charm and good looks.”

she groaned, dropping her pen onto the table. “you’re gonna fail.”

“no,” he drawled with a smile, “that’s why you’re here.”

despite herself, YN smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the textbook. “alright, let’s see what we can do.”

the first twenty minutes were pure pain.

she flipped through harry’s beat-up textbook, squinting at the faint pencil notes scrawled in the margins. “alright,” she muttered, tapping her pen against the page. “let’s start with balancing equations. that’s pretty straightforward.”

harry slouched in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers like he was bored out of his mind already. (and he was. if he was honest, he didn’t need help with chem at all). “straightforward for you, maybe. i’m just here trying not to flunk out.”

she furrowed her eyebrows, shooting him a look. “you’re not gonna flunk out. you just need to—” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “try.”

“i’m trying right now. see? look at all this effort.” he gestured toward the open book in front of him.

she sighed, leaning across the table and grabbing the pen out of his hand. “no. this is you sitting there, being useless. pay attention, harry.”

“yes, ma’am.” he mumbled, sitting up slightly straighter. his voice carried the faintest edge of mockery, but he kept his eyes on her, watching as she wrote out a problem on a fresh sheet of paper.

after another ten minutes of stumbling through coefficients, YN thought she saw a flicker of understanding cross harry’s face. he pointed at the page. “so you just make the numbers match? like, both sides need the same amount of atoms?”

YN stared at him, deadpan. “yes. that’s literally it.”

he leaned back, running a hand through his curls. “jesus. why the hell does it sound so much harder in class?”

“because you don’t listen in class,” she laughed, “and i’m guessing you don’t read the textbook either.”

he grinned, leaning forward again. “why would i, when you’re clearly better at explaining it?”

she rolled her eyes, turning the page in the book. “charm and good looks only get you so far, harry. you’re gonna have to put some actual work into this.”

“oh, so you do think i’m charming.”

YN didn’t dignify that with a response. instead, she handed him the pen and pointed to the next problem. “solve it. no shortcuts, no guesses. i wanna see the work.”

he groaned but did as he was told, his brow furrowed as he scribbled on the page.

by the time the clock struck eight thirty, they’d managed to get through most of the chapter. YN had to admit—he wasn’t completely hopeless.

and all he could do was smile—she bought it. if engineering didn’t work out, he thought, maybe he could be an actor. or a pathological liar.

“see?” she said, leaning back in her chair. “you’re not terrible at this. just lazy.”

harry huffed a laugh, closing the textbook with a loud thud. “lazy? you wound me, cinnamon.”

“you’ll live. anyway, i think we’re done for tonight. unless you wanna keep going?”

they walked out of the library together, the crisp night air hitting them like a wall. the campus was quiet now, most of the students holed up in their dorms or off at whatever weekend plans they’d made.

as they reached the edge of the quad, he glanced at her. “thanks for helping me out.”

she shrugged, her hands tucked into her hoodie pocket. “no big deal. just don’t make it a habit.”

“what if i do?”

YN shot him a look, her brow furrowing slightly. “then you’re buying the coffee next time.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm in the cold air. “deal.”

they reached the entrance, and YN hesitated for a moment before heading inside. “night, harry.”

“night, cinnamon.”

as the door clicked shut behind her, harry lingered on the steps for a moment, lighting a cigarette.

he smiled to himself again, he couldn’t help it. he was proficient in math, one of his best subjects—bordering the edge of genius, basically. but she didn’t need to know that, not when he just stole a couple hours from her, not when it was the perfect excuse just to hang out with her.

it was wednesday when she next saw him.

the clock on YN’s laptop read 11:03 pm, the harsh blue light illuminating her tired eyes as she highlighted yet another passage in the dense textbook sprawled across her lap. the apartment was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle from her roommate’s room and the faint hum of traffic filtering in through the drafty window.

she hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch in over an hour, legs curled under her, a growing pile of sticky notes cluttering the coffee table. her focus was razor-sharp, though her back ached from the awkward position she’d settled into.

when the knock came, she didn’t flinch. didn’t even glance toward the door. she knew exactly who it was.

with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she set her laptop down carefully, nudging it closer to the stack of notes as she rose from the couch. her socked feet padded softly across the floor, her hand instinctively reaching for the lock. she swung the door open and leaned against the frame, her shoulder pressed into the wood as she tilted her head to the side.

“cinnamonnnn,” harry drawled, his voice almost melodic, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it had been hers all her life.

he stood there in a slightly oversized sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a pair of gray sweatpants that were smaller than the ones from the other day—joggers maybe. a green packers beanie was snug over his curls, though a few stray strands peeked out, curling against his forehead. his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, and he rocked back on his heels like he had all the time in the world.

YN narrowed her eyes slightly, the faintest smile ghosting her lips. “harryyyy,” she mimicked, dragging out his name in the same exaggerated tone.

“you busy?”

yes. “no.”

his dimples deepened as his grin grew wider, like he knew she’d lie. “hang out with me for a bit then.”

she let out a quiet laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. “to do what? it’s almost midnight.”

“come walk with me.”

her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as she gave him a hesitant look. he didn’t push, just waited, the silence between them comfortable, expectant. “you’re such a bad influence,” she muttered, shaking her head as she turned back into the apartment.

“oh, yeah,” harry said, stepping forward to catch the door before it closed. “terrible.”

she tugged a sweater over her head, the fabric swallowing her as she slipped her feet into an old pair of sneakers. they were loose, the kind she could slip on without bothering with laces.

when she stepped past him, harry held the door open before letting it fall shut behind them as they ambled into the narrow hallway.

“where are we going?” YN asked as they descended the stairs, the cool air of the building’s lobby settling around them.

“you’ll see.”

she huffed, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. he moved like the world waited for him, unhurried but purposeful, his long legs carrying him down the steps in easy strides.

when they pushed through the front door and into the night, the cold air hit her immediately, making her shiver as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

their path wound deeper into campus—the air quiet, save for the rustling of dead leaves underfoot and the occasional distant honk of a car. the faint glow of streetlights filtered through the thinning trees, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.

harry walked slightly ahead, shoulders hunched against the cool air. she walked beside him, somewhat, perhaps a step behind, though the edge of her elbow would brush against his arm every so often. it wasn’t an accident, not really.

their breaths puffed out in white clouds, swirling in the breeze before disappearing. the last of the dead leaves fell from the trees with a soft crackle, catching in the wind before tumbling to the ground.

his pace slowed slightly, letting her match him, and he nudged her with his shoulder—just enough to jostle her. she looked up, her brow furrowing as she glanced at him.

“what was that for?”

he smirked, his gaze flicking ahead. “thought you were fallin’ asleep over there.”

she rolled her eyes but let her shoulder bump into his lightly as they walked. “sure. ‘cause nothing screams excitement like following you into the middle of nowhere.”

he let out a low chuckle, his breath visible in the cold air. “you’re dramatic, you know that?”

“you didn’t answer the question earlier.”

“what question?”

“about where we’re going,” she said, her voice teasing. “you could be leading me astray so you can murder me without any witnesses.”

he turned his head to look at her, his brows lifting, “i did answer, you just didn’t accept it.” he paused, pursing his lips as if he was in thought. “it would be a good plan, though. quiet enough out here. no one’d hear a thing.”

she snorted, her steps faltering slightly as she tried not to laugh. “you’re a terrible murderer. you’d leave a trail of evidence a mile wide.”

“would not.”

“would too.”

he turned to her fully now, his eyes narrowing as he stepped backward in front of her. his hands were still stuffed in his pockets, his pace matching hers even as he walked in reverse.

“alright, then,” he said, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “if i were to murder you—and that’s a big if, by the way—how exactly would i screw it up?”

she bit back a smile, “well, for starters, you’d forget to hide the body properly. probably just leave me in the middle of the path, thinking no one would notice.”

he let out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking as he shook his head. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it?” YN countered, raising a brow. “you’re the one who thinks this is a good place to kill someone.”

his grin widened, the faintest dimple appearing in his cheek. “you’re paranoid, cinnamon. that’s your problem.”

“and you’re too cocky. that’s yours.”

they fell into a rhythm again, walking side by side as the breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of city streets and damp leaves. their arms brushed again, neither of them pulling away, the warmth of the contact lingering longer than it should.

harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the smirk on his lips softening slightly. “for the record,” he said, his voice quieter now, “i know exactly where i’m going.”

she smiled, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “good,” she said lightly. “cause i’d hate to have to come back and haunt you if you got me lost.”

their steps grew softer as the buildings behind them thinned out, replaced by clusters of trees swaying in the light breeze. the path curved slightly, the faint hum of traffic fading into the distance.

he walked slightly ahead, his head turning now and then to glance at the towering oaks that lined their path. the trees began to part, revealing the outline of icahn stadium in the near distance. the track and field stretched wide beneath the faint glow of a single overhead light, casting long shadows across the ground. the bleachers stood tall and imposing, their sea of blue seats reaching into the sky like a wave frozen in time.

harry slowed to a stop as they approached, the chain-link fence surrounding the stadium standing between them and the field. he didn’t guide her toward the gate, knowing it would be locked after hours. instead, he stepped closer to the fence, pulling his hand out of his pocket and giving one of the links an experimental tug.

she watched him, her brow furrowing slightly. “if you think we’re going on a run,” she said, her voice flat, “you’ve completely lost it.”

he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as his fingers curled around the chain link. he glanced at her over his shoulder, “shut up and c’mere, cinnamon.”

YN hesitated for half a second, then stepped forward, the grass folding beneath her sneakers. the light breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of earth and damp metal. he stepped back slightly, giving her room as she reached for the fence. without waiting for further instruction, she started to climb, her hands gripping the cold metal tightly as she hauled herself upward.

he watched her movements closely, his hands hovering near her hips in case she wobbled. “i got you,” he muttered, his voice soft enough to blend with the wind.

she didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pull of her arms as she reached the top of the fence. for a moment, she perched there, the view of the stadium stretching out before her, before swinging one leg over and carefully lowering herself to the other side.

harry gave the fence one last tug, then started climbing after her. his movements were quick and efficient, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. his sleeve bunched at his elbows as he reached the top, pausing briefly to glance down at her. “how’s the weather down there?”

she glanced up, brushing her hands off on her pants. “you’d better not fall. i’m not catching you.”

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he swung over the top and landed easily on the grass beside her. “wasn’t planning on it,” he breathed, brushing his hands off before shoving them back into his pockets.

they stood there for a moment, the quiet of the field settling around them like a blanket. the overhead light flickered slightly, casting their shadows long and thin against the ground.

she stared at him for a moment, then sighed, shaking her head as she followed him. “you’ve got way too much energy for this late at night.”

“and you were too stubborn t’say no.” harry shot back as he walked ahead, his steps light against the rubber surface. “used to hate running, y’know,” he breathed, glancing at YN as he spun around. he walked backward with an ease that made her slightly nervous, like he’d trip over himself any second but never actually would. “hated everything about it—your legs aching, your chest burnin’, that horrible feeling in your throat after.”

she caught up, her pace steady as she smiled faintly, her breath visible in the cool air. “now it’s your thing.”

he paused for a split second, his eyes catching hers in that unreadable way of his. then, to her surprise, he smiled. “yeah,” he nodded slightly. “now it’s my thing.”

the bleachers loomed ahead, their steel frame groaning faintly in the wind. harry reached them first, stepping aside to let her go up. “go on,” he muttered, gesturing upward with a nod. “all the way to the top.”

“what, you’re not going to race me?”

he smiled, his hand brushing against the cold metal railing. “wouldn’t be fair. your legs are shorter than mine.”

she narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help the faint laugh that slipped out. “wow. okay. guess i’ll just take my time then.”

she started up the concrete steps, her hands gripping the railings on either side. the cold bit at her palms, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of her feet against the uneven surface.

harry followed a few steps behind, his stride naturally longer than hers. “this is painful t’watch,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “are you always this slow, or is it just for me?”

YN stopped abruptly, her hands tightening around the railings as she shifted her weight. her hips jutted out slightly, throwing him off balance as he climbed.

he cursed under his breath, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady himself. his fingers found her hips, his grip firm but fleeting, as though he realized too late what he’d done. “jesus,” he muttered, pulling back as quickly as he’d touched her. “bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

she turned her head just enough to catch the faint flush creeping up his neck. she smirked, leaning her weight into the railing. “sorry—shorter legs and all.”

harry just blinked before the corner of his mouth twitched. he stepped back, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “you’re a child.”

she laughed softly, turning back to the stairs and continuing her climb. “yeah,” she called over her shoulder, her voice teasing. “but you’re still following me.”

they climbed higher, the steps echoing faintly beneath their feet, but harry's pace started to falter again—restlessness bleeding into his movements. "oh, for god's sake," he laughed, his patience snapping like a brittle thread. his fingers drummed against the railing briefly before he stopped altogether, grasping onto her wrist.

his grin was lopsided, dimples flashing as he let go of her hand and flung himself past her, his long legs taking the steps two at a time as he rushed toward the top. only a second and a half later, she met him up there, finding him standing there with a proud grin, his hands resting on his hips like he'd just conquered something monumental.

“impatience isn’t a virtue, by the way.”

he kept his smile, his dimples cutting deep as he lifted his hand in front of her face, palm out. his fingers wiggled dramatically, “talk to the hand, sista."

she paused, staring at him like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or push him off the railing. her expression cracked first, laughter spilling out before she could stop it. she swatted his hand away from her face as they leaned into each other, his own giggles breaking free in a low, rumbling sound that shook through him.

their laughter folded into each other, her shoulder pressing lightly into his chest as she tried to steady herself, his larger frame giving way slightly under the weight of their shared amusement.

harry’s laughter softened as he reached up, his fingers tugging at the edge of his packers beanie. his curls bounced free as he pulled it off, the cold air nipping at his now-exposed hair. without a word, he stretched his arm around her, carefully plopping the hat onto her head.

“what are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with with something delicate as she adjusted it, the oversized beanie swallowing her hair and tilting slightly to one side.

“you looked cold,” he said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. his fingers lingered at the edge of the beanie for just a second before he gave her forehead a gentle push with the flat of his palm.

it wasn’t hard—just enough to tip her head backward a little, like an afterthought, his grin barely contained as she blinked up at him.

“seriously?” YN smiled, tilting her head forward again, a faint laugh escaping as she fixed the hat and gave him a mock glare.

he didn’t reply, already stepping to his left with an exaggerated flourish, gesturing toward the narrow row of faded blue seats that stretched across the top of the bleachers. “c’mon.”

he slid into one of the seats first, his long legs folding awkwardly into the tight space as he leaned back and let out a contented sigh. he patted the seat beside him without looking at her.

she hesitated for a beat, brushing her hair out of her face before following him into the row. the cold metal of the seat pressed through her sweats as she sat down beside him, her knees brushing against his for just a second as she settled.

she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. harry’s beanie slipped forward slightly, brushing against her eyebrows, but she didn’t bother adjusting it. instead, she rested her chin on her knees, her gaze drifting across the empty field below as the wind whistled faintly through the bleachers.

he shifted beside her, digging into the pocket of his sweats. his movements were easy as he pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lime green lighter. sliding a cigarette between his lips, he leaned back, flicking the lighter once, twice

nothing.

his fingers were stiff from the cold, the wind catching the flame before it had a chance to hold. he tried again, his brows furrowing slightly as he muttered something under his breath.

YN turned her head, watching him with quiet curiosity. “you good over there?”

harry’s lips quirked around the cigarette. “just peachy,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he tried one more time.

without a word, she reached over, her fingers brushing against his as she took the lighter from him. “hold still,” she murmured, leaning sideways as she cupped her hand over the cigarette perched between his lips, shielding it from the breeze.

her movements were practiced, easy, like she’d done this a hundred times before. she flicked the lighter once, and the small flame sprang to life, steady this time. she lit the end of the cigarette, her hand still shielding it from the wind as she glanced up at him. “there.”

harry took a drag, the ember glowing softly in the dim light, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. his gaze flicked to her, an unreadable expression crossing his face before his lips tilted into a small, lopsided grin.

she shifted back into her seat and pulled the beanie lower over her ears, her chin finding its place against her knees again. they sat in the quiet for a while, the whispers of the wind weaving around them, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or harry’s exhales.

she looked him over, the way his curls danced around his face, the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette, how the ember’s reflection flickered in his eyes. she bit the inside of her cheek before she muttered softly, almost to herself, “you’re british.”

he let out a breathy chuckle, the sound slipping through his nose as he took another pull from the cigarette. he sighed slowly, the smoke curling up into the cold night air before he turned his head toward her, his smirk faint but amused. “good eye, sherlock.”

she kissed her teeth, rolling her eyes as she prepared to retort, her lips parting—

but harry cut her off before she could. “—cheshire,” he breathed, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that caught her off guard, soft and lilting. “born there, anyway. mum moved me and my sister here when i was thirteen.”

“for a job or..?”

he nodded, the glow of the cigarette tip briefly lighting his features as he took another drag. “she got an offer she couldn’t turn down. packed us up, left everything behind. started over.”

YN tilted her head slightly, watching the way his gaze lingered on the field below, distant but steady. “must’ve been hard.”

he shrugged, “it was… weird. missing home, trying t’fit in here. but she did what she had to do. mum’s always been good at that—doing what has to be done.”

there was a warmth in his voice, a quiet admiration that made her chest tighten. she didn’t push for more, sensing that he’d already said more than he usually would. “your accent is starting to fade,” she said instead, her lips curving into a small smile.

he smiled faintly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “guess so. comes back strong when i’m drunk, though.”

she laughed softly, shaking her head as she turned her eyes back to the field.

he shifted slightly in his seat, his arm brushing hers as he glanced over, his cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “what about you?”

she blinked, turning her head toward him. “me?”

“yes, you. where’s home?”

she hesitated for a moment, “about an hour north,” she mumbled, her voice carrying the faintest edge of something wistful. “right on the border between here and connecticut.”

he nodded, leaning back slightly as he tilted his head toward her. “family?”

YN huffed a quiet breath, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “brother’s in the army. mom and dad work all the time. and i’m just here.”

his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes studying her for a moment, thoughtful and quiet. “just here?”

she shrugged, hugging her knees closer to her chest as she rested her chin on them again. “yeah. they’re busy, you know? always have been. it’s not bad or anything, it’s just… how it is.”

harry didn’t respond right away, the glow of his cigarette catching the faint flicker of emotion in his gaze. “you don’t go home much, then.”

“no. they’re fine without me. and i’ve got everything i need here. school, this place… the occasional packers beanie to keep me warm.”

he chuckled gently at that, the sound low and warm as he reached out to tug the edge of the beanie further down over her ears.

YN tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the horizon as she broke the silence with a question that felt heavier than the moment. “ever fall in love?”

he turned to her, his brows furrowing slightly at the unexpectedness of it. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, cigarette still lit between his fingers. “once or twice.”

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips twitching into a faint, almost knowing smile. “yeah,” she said softly. “me too. once or twice.”

his eyes lingered on her, studying the curve of her profile in the dim light. “what happened?”

“life, i guess. we grew apart, wanted different things.” she paused, her fingers idly tugging at her sleeves. “it wasn’t awful. just… wasn’t meant to be.”

he nodded slowly, his eyes drifting to the field below as he leaned back again, stretching his legs out in front of him.“same here.” he sighed. “things got complicated. fell apart before it could really go anywhere.”

YN turned to face him fully now, her cheek resting on her knees as she studied him. “do you think it’s worth it?”

“what, love?”

she nodded.

he was quiet for a beat, his features softening as he mulled over her question. “yeah,” he said finally, his voice low but certain. “for the right person.”

silence.

“—he treat you right?”

“what?”

he flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “the guy you loved. did he treat you right?”

she hesitated before she nodded, check still flush against her knees. “most of the time.”

his jaw twitched at her answer, “most of the time isn’t enough, y’know?”

“think you could do better?” she teased lightly, though there was an edge of genuine curiosity in her tone.

harry turned to her then, his eyes meeting hers, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk. “yeah,” he said simply, taking another drag. “i know i could.”

her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t look away. instead, she lifted her chin off her knees, her lips curving into a small, sly smile. “yeah right, harry.”

“i don’t say shit i don’t mean, cinnamon. not like that.”

YN didn’t respond, just shook her head faintly as she turned her head back to the field, her chest tightening in a way she didn’t quite know how to name.

he stayed quiet too, the silence settling over them again, but this time it felt heavier, charged with something unspoken that neither of them was ready to unpack.

he let the cigarette drop to the concrete, the faint glow of its ember dying as he ground it under his sneaker. the scrape of rubber against stone was sharp in the quiet, and then he straightened, towering over YN as her gaze followed him.

“let’s go,” he mumbled, his voice even but lacking the warmth it held earlier.

something had shifted.

it was subtle—barely a flicker—but she felt it. the easy banter from earlier seemed to pull back, replaced by something quieter, something more guarded.

she didn’t question it, though. not yet.

harry gestured toward the steps, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he waited for her to stand.

she sighed softly, pulling his packers beanie tighter over her ears as she rose, the cold biting at her cheeks while she fell into step beside him as they made their way back down the bleachers.

when they reached the chain-link fence again, harry stepped forward first, gripping the metal links as he tested its sturdiness like he had before. he didn’t say anything, only nodded toward the fence as he stepped aside to let her climb.

YN rolled her eyes but moved toward it anyway, her hands curling around the cold metal as she pulled herself up. harry’s hands hovered near her hips just as they had earlier.

she glanced down briefly to meet his eyes before she swung her leg over the top and climbed down the other side.

he followed quickly, his movements smooth and quick, landing on the grass beside her with barely a sound. they fell into step together on the walk back, the cool night air nipping at exposed skin as the distant hum of traffic filled the silence.

harry’s hands stayed buried in his pockets, his head slightly lowered as his long strides matched her shorter ones.

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, sensing the subtle shift in his demeanor. he wasn’t closed off, not entirely, but there was a distance now, like he was holding something back. "you okay?" she asked softly, her voice cutting through the silence.

"mm-hm,” he hummed, his tone even, but distant. "you?"

she nodded, even though something about his shift made her chest feel heavier. "yeah."

she didn’t press, didn’t push. instead, she let the silence stretch between them as their footsteps echoed softly against the pavement.

by the time they reached their building, the city felt quieter, the world around them settling into the stillness of the late night.

and though neither of them said a word as they split, the weight of the unspoken things between them lingered, threading itself into the space they shared.

another few days passed, and the walk back to the apartment felt lighter than usual.

YN had just said goodbye to a friend before rounding the corner to the building, her smile lingering as she adjusted the strap of her bag. it wasn’t often she felt this at ease.

but that lightness disappeared the moment she reached the stairwell.

as she climbed to their floor, her eyes landed on harry. he was standing at his door, his shoulders tense, his head down. his key trembled in his hand, the metal scraping against the lock as he missed the slot for what had to be the third time.

it was wrong. harry was steady. always steady. whether he was handing off a bag of weed or walking down the street like the world revolved around him, he had this uncanny knack for keeping his cool.

but not tonight.

she slowed her steps, her brow furrowing as she got closer. “harry?” her voice cut through the stillness, sharper than she intended.

his head snapped up. for a brief moment, she saw something raw in his eyes—panic, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it came. his mouth twisted into a faint smile, the one he always wore like armor. “you’re back early.” his voice was rough, low, like he’d been grinding it against a wall.

she took a step closer, her eyes scanning him. “was about to say the same thing.” her gaze flicked to his hand, the one holding the key, the knuckles split and bruised.

“what happened to your hand?”

he stiffened, tucking the injured hand into his hoodie pocket. “nothing’.”

“bullshit,” she muttered, shoving her keys and phone into her pockets to free her hands. “let me see.”

he let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “don’t worry about it, cinnamon.”

the nickname barely registered; her focus stayed on him, on the tension in his shoulders, the blood crusting his knuckles. “harry,” she said, her tone firmer now. “you’re bleeding. just let me—”

“it’s fine!” he shouted, his voice cutting.

YN snapped her head back up, averting her gaze from his hidden hands, right to his eyes. his chest rose and fell, his breathing shallow and uneven. she didn’t speak, just stood there, watching the way his jaw tightened like he was trying to swallow something bitter.

he finally sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “fuck.”he mumbled, almost to himself.

she moved closer again, slower this time, her voice softer. “let me help.”

his eyes flicked to hers, guarded but not as sharp. his lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

inside her apartment, the air felt too still, too quiet.

harry sat stiffly at her small kitchen table, his hoodie now pushed back to reveal the messy curls tumbling over his forehead. he cradled his injured hand in his lap, his jaw set as YN dug through her cabinet for the first aid kit.

“you really don’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice low.

“yeah, well,” she sighed, pulling the kit down with a thud. “i’m doing it anyway.”

when she sat across from him, the silence between them grew heavy. she reached for his hand, but he hesitated, his fingers curling slightly.

“harry.”

he huffed but relented, letting her take his hand in hers.

the damage was worse up close. his knuckles were split and swollen, streaks of blood staining the spaces between his fingers. she inhaled sharply, her brows knitting as she reached for the antiseptic.

“jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “what the hell did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the floor. when he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “ran into someone.”

she paused, the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball hovering over his knuckles. “like?”

“someone who didn’t want to pay up front.”

her stomach twisted. she pressed the cotton to his knuckles, and he hissed through his teeth, his fingers twitching under hers.

“hold still.” she murmured, her voice softer, airy.

he didn’t respond, just watched her work. her touch was careful but firm, her hands steady as she cleaned the cuts.

“you can’t keep doing this.” she said quietly, not looking up.

harry’s lips twitched, a dry laugh escaping him. “you worried about me?”

YN shot him a look, her expression somewhere between annoyance and concern. “maybe, harry. you ever think about that?”

his smile faded, and for a moment, his eyes softened—just a fraction, but enough for her to notice. “it’s nothing.”

“it’s not nothing.’” she countered, wrapping a clean bandage around his hand. “you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“maybe.” he whispered, watching her tie off the bandage.

“and you’re okay with that?”

his gaze flicked up to hers, and for a moment, something vulnerable passed between them—something unspoken but heavy. “depends on the day.”

she swallowed hard, her fingers lingering on the edge of the bandage before she leaned back.

“you’re an idiot.” she grumbled, standing to put the kit back in its place.

he grinned faintly, flexing his fingers against the bandage. “yeah, but you’re still patchin’ me up, aren’t you?”

she glanced over her shoulder, her lips pressing into a thin line. “someone has to.”

he stood, his frame filling the small kitchen as he neared the door.

“harry?”

he glanced back, his eyes soft as he looked at her expectantly.

“please be careful.”

his jaw clenched before he managed a tight nod, and then the door clicked shut behind him, leaving YN alone in the silence, the weight of his words—and his presence—lingering in the air.

it was thursday again, and the walk back from their evening lecture became an unspoken agreement.

it wasn’t something they talked about—there were no texts exchanged or plans made. but every tuesday and thursday, as the evening classes let out, they’d meet by the lecture hall’s exit. sometimes harry would already be there, leaning against the wall, pretending he wasn’t waiting. other times, YN would hang back near the doors, scrolling through her phone until she saw him.

tonight was no different.

harry was already outside when she came out of her bio lab, her bag slung over her shoulder and her hair a little messy from tying and retying it during the experiment. he fell into step beside her as they turned toward home, his bandaged hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his backpack slung low over one shoulder.

“that bad?” he asked, glancing at her as she adjusted her strap.

she sighed, shaking her head. “some idiot forgot to label their samples, so the whole lab got an extra hour of let’s go over the basics again.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “you lot are a buncha losers, huh?”

“says the guy who’s probably failing chem,” she shot back, grinning.

he shrugged, unbothered—simply because it wasn’t true. “aggressively coasting.” he corrected.

what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

she rolled her eyes, giggling despite herself. the conversation drifted, easy and familiar, as they made their way through campus.

it was when they turned onto the last block before their building that harry stopped.

she noticed it immediately—the way his body went still, his eyes narrowing as they flicked to the other side of the street.

a man stood there, leaning against a lamppost, his hands shoved into the pockets of a heavy coat. he wasn’t doing anything—not technically—but there was something about the way he stared at the building’s exit that set harry on edge.

“go inside.”

she frowned, looking at him. “what?”

harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving the man across the street. “just go inside, YN.”

her confusion deepened as she followed his gaze. “harry, what’s going on?”

he turned to her then, his expression sharper than she’d ever seen it. “i said go the fuck inside.” he snapped, his voice low, biting—the words cutting through the cool evening air like glass.

she flinched, her eyes widening slightly. but before she could say anything, harry was already crossing the street, his shoulders squared and his hands shoved into his pockets.

she stayed where she was, her heart racing as she watched the scene unfold.

harry approached the man with a deliberate calm, his posture loose but his movements sharp. she couldn’t hear the first thing he said, but the man straightened immediately, his eyes narrowing as he looked harry up and down.

the conversation wasn’t loud, but it was tense—harry’s voice low, steady, while the man’s tone was sharper, more aggressive.

she could only catch snippets.

the man stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides, and for a moment, YN thought it was going to escalate. but harry didn’t flinch. he held his ground, his voice even as he spoke again.

finally, the man pulled something from his pocket—a small bag, crumpled and poorly sealed—and shoved it into harry’s hand. he gave him a look, muttering something under his breath before turning on his heel.

he crossed the street, his shoulders tense, his face hard as stone. when he reached YN, he brushed past her—his shoulder catching hers, a silent signal that screamed follow me.

she hesitated, but only for a second before trailing after him. he didn’t look back as he pushed through the front door of their building, letting it slam shut behind them.

the silence between them stretched thin as they climbed the stairs, harry taking them two at a time, YN struggling to keep up with his longer stride.

“harry,” she started, her breath slightly uneven, “what the hell just happened?”

he didn’t answer, his hand gripping the stairwell railing tightly enough that his knuckles whitened.

“don’t ignore me,” she pressed, her voice sharper now. “who was that guy? why were you acting like—”

“drop it, YN.” he muttered, his voice sharp and clipped, but she wasn’t having it.

“no, i’m not dropping it!” she snapped, her tone cutting through the empty stairwell. “you don’t get to just walk away from this without explaining. i saw the way you looked at him. you knew him, didn’t you?”

he reached their floor and stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall, his back still to her.

“you knew he was trouble the second you saw him,” she continued, stepping closer. “so tell me why, harry. what’s going on—are you okay?”

he turned then, spinning on his heel so fast that she nearly bumped into him. his eyes were clouded, sharp, and for a moment, the force of his glare made her breath catch. “s’not your fucking concern, YN.” he spat, his voice cold and low, each word biting like frost. “it’s not like we’re friends. so just fucking stop.”

she froze mid-sentence, her jaw slack as the words sank in.

harry’s breathing was uneven, his hands balled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t look away.

she closed her mouth, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes stayed locked on his. after a long pause, she gave a single, curt nod. “got it.”

her voice was quiet but sharp, like the edge of a knife.

she stepped around him, her gaze never wavering as she turned toward her unit. the weight of her presence lingered, heavy and unforgiving, even as she unlocked her door and disappeared inside.

he stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway. his chest felt tight, his fists still clenched, but he didn’t move. he didn’t look for her.

because if he had, he would’ve followed her. and he wasn’t sure what he’d say—or if it would even make a difference.

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