#the dude will go any length to get them

[eightmakesonebraincell]

and if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky

genre: poly doctors!ateez x doctor fem!reader, hospital romance, established relationship, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 39.7k

c/w: slow burn in reverse, work/life burnout, heavy medical themes (death, cancer) and mentions of medical procedures (medication, needles, chemotherapy, surgery), grief and crying, brief mentions of self-harm (hitting, pinching), mental breakdowns, workplace misogyny and nepotism, profanity, kissing, non-sexual nudity, m x m interactions

synopsis: after transferring during the last year of your residency program, you work alongside your eight boyfriends at kq hospital. it becomes harder to keep your relationship the same as it used to be as you all navigate the respective challenges of being doctors and nurses. you come to experience love and loss in both warmth and coldness, but only one of them will keep your relationship alive.

a/n: please read the tags carefully as this is probably my heaviest fic in terms of the themes and struggles being explored. mandatory shoutout @sorryimananti-romantic for putting up with my snail-pace writing speed the last five months :)

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

where white embodies the nature of christmas itself–joy, celebration, festivity, snow–it changes the moment you step through the sliding glass doors of the hospital’s entrance. white is the sterile and detached appearance of the tiled floors and coated walls. it is the bedsheets and linen of the ward beds which fall short of mimicking home. it is the authoritative coats of the doctors who are the arbiters between life and death; the very same coat that jongho currently wears over his scrubs.

you are reminded of this dystopian juxtaposition as you and five others gather around your phone from the brightness of the cosy living room in your shared apartment, talking to jongho over facetime while he hides in a storage room for five minutes of respite.

in the background of your video, the fairy lights blink rhythmically on the christmas tree and reflect off the glossy wrappers of the presents placed underneath its bottom branches. behind jongho, there are shelves of medication that you can recognise as the anaesthetics and anticoagulants solely from the colours of their labels, even in the hazy darkness of the storage room.

“you won’t fucking believe the number of grannies i’ve had to explain to today that no, they cannot go home for christmas because they literally just came out of open-heart surgery ten hours ago,” jongho rubs his temples.

yeosang laughs quietly from beside you, amusement poorly concealed behind his hands. you fondly admonish him with a light slap to his thigh but cannot deny the smile that tugs at your lips too.

rushing in for damage control, seonghwa asks, “how’s mingi?”

“tired as fuuuck,” jongho snickers whilst dragging out his words smugly, as if his own eye bags do not reach the middle of his cheeks. the way he lacks the self-control to police his language is also evidence of his utter exhaustion. “last i heard, he was dealing with a couple who had gotten a bauble ornament stuck up the dude’s ass because they wanted to try something ‘festive’ or some shit like that.”

the stories you hear from the emergency department never fail to amaze you with what the human mind can think of doing. it is natural selection at its finest–exhibit a, b, all the way to fucking z. wooyoung gets an absolute kick out of it every single time though, so there is that.

“plain stupidity,” hongjoong rolls his eyes in exasperation. “people need to stop adding to our caseload.”

you chuckle with agreement. “what about yunho? did you get to see him?”

“he’s in surgery,” jongho shakes his head. “not sure what for, but i haven’t heard from him all day so it must be a pretty complicated one.”

the conversation is cut short when his pager goes off. jongho curses, downing the last of his coffee in one large gulp and grimacing from the stale and grainy taste. he crumples the empty paper cup before he apologises, “i have to go. sorry we couldn’t spend christmas together.”

from over the phone, you and your boys refute him with comforting utterances of “don’t be”s, followed by warm exchanges of “merry christmas”s.

“i love you all,” jongho murmurs shyly, the end of a call the only time other than whispered confessions in the safety of a bed where he is comfortable enough to express himself so intimately.

you respond giddily, “love you too,” at the same time your other boyfriends also return the same spoken sentiments. then the youngest ends the call, rushing to attend to an abnormal ECG reading for a patient.

san lets out a sad little sigh as the screen of your phone turns off. his fingers continue to absentmindedly tousle the back of yours and yeosang’s heads whilst wondering, “when will we get to celebrate christmas together? i don’t think all nine of us have ever been free on the same day since we started dating.”

“most of you finish your residency in just over a year, and jongho in two,” seonghwa fondly pinches san’s cheeks, a bittersweet smile adorning his own face, “so maybe the year after that?”

piping up from your other side, wooyoung suggests to the oldest, “or, hear me out–you and hongjoong work while the rest of us stay at home.”

“and do what,” hongjoong narrows his eyes.

“look pretty,” you say in unison with wooyoung, twin grins of mischief flashing at the only registered doctor and clinical nurse specialist in your relationship.

seonghwa laughs endearingly as hongjoong pretends he is not. the rounds of your cheeks settle with warmth when seonghwa leans down to place a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth in between a teasing, “i wouldn’t mind that.”

it draws out a girlish giggle from you, forever unable to curb the feeling of butterflies in your stomach whenever you are with your boys, even more so with the intoxication of christmas itself–the season of love. wooyoung tilts his cheek out expectantly for his own kiss at the same time hongjoong scruffs the oldest by the neck with a playful chide, “they’re going to actually drop out from the residency program at this rate, hwa.”

but hongjoong is smitten, as you all are for one another, and contrary to his words there is adoration dripping from his gaze…only for it to immediately disappear when wooyoung punches his forearm.

“kiss me, peasant!” wooyoung demands.

“that’s it,” hongjoong snaps and the younger screeches as his neck becomes wrapped in a headlock. in retaliation, wooyoung bites the skin that is within reach, setting off a high-pitched yelp.

yeosang stands up so you take it as your cue to do the same, both of you tucking your chairs under the dining table as san and seonghwa step back from the commotion. you grab your phone then walk away with the three of them to the continued sound of petty slaps and childish bickering.

just another normal day.

“should we sleep in the main bedroom tonight?”

at your suggestion, san wraps his arms around you from behind. his voice rumbles with enthusiasm that you can feel against your back and you sink into his embrace as he agrees, “good idea, love.”

the main bedroom is quite literally a bed room. it consists of numerous platform beds pushed together to make–for lack of better description–an XXXXXXXXL bed. there is nothing else in the room, any and all visible space taken up by the beds as it is the only way to create a surface size comfortable for all nine of you to sleep together.

there are only double or twin beds in the remaining normal bedrooms because frankly, you all need quality sleep for your jobs. between all of your on-call shifts, leaving the house and arriving home at random hours of the day, it is just easier to sleep separately on most nights. plus, despite the fact that you are all earning more than the average salary already, there is still a fuckload of student debt to pay off and mattresses are fucking expensive. hence, you make do with the one room where you splurged your money.

“i’ll let the others know,” yeosang states. he pulls out his phone to send a text to the group chat. mingi and jongho were unlucky enough to have drawn the short end of the stick with a 24-hour shift, and yunho had apparently been placed on surgery. so although it is not the ideal nine of you, you have long learnt to accept that there will almost always be at least two absent at any one time.

seonghwa has already made himself comfortable in the centre of the mattresses when you walk into the bedroom. he lifts the edge of the blanket, arms beckoning for you to cuddle him. you toe off your slippers and crawl into his arms, slotting yourself perfectly against his chest as he tucks you under his chin and covers you with the blanket that is warm from his body heat.

the bed dips again from the weight of somebody else slipping in behind you. he curls around you, a sturdy arm gently cradling your waist with a comforting weight. you can immediately tell that it is san simply from the way his body feels against yours–you would be able to tell any of them apart simply from the way they held you, even if you were to lose your sense of sight.

slowly tracing a finger along the prominent veins on san’s forearm, the bed suddenly rocks with a gleeful shout before the three of you are crushed under an energetic mass. “wooyoung!” you gasp between exasperated fondness and he giggles whilst squirming to make himself space within the cuddle pile.

san moves over so the younger can slot in beside you whilst extending an arm out to his side. it wraps around yeosang to tuck him into the group, and hongjoong settles in last behind seonghwa on the outside edge. there is a bit of further wriggling as you all adjust yourselves comfortably, but eventually your arms and legs twist together snugly. with seonghwa’s fingers languidly combing through your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp with each repetitive motion, you drift off to the boys’ low whispers and enter a dreamy haze of cackling fire and fluttering snow.

it is well into the early hours of the next morning when one of the trio comes home. the soft click of the front door wakes you up, your body used to sleeping lightly from years of on-call shifts. your ears slowly drag you back into the realms of consciousness as you listen.

there is a dull thud and a muffled “ow” that tells you it is yunho, the only one who has somehow made it a habit of his to bump his head on the cabinet every time he bends down to put his sneakers away. as his soft footsteps pad down the hallway, you track his path mentally in your head; to the open dining room to place his messenger bag down on one of the chairs, to the bathroom to wash his face and his hands, then finally to the main bedroom.

to see his lovers.

yunho nudges the door open with bated breath in hopes that he does not wake anybody up. a smile immediately spreads across his face, unable to contain his fondness at the sight that greets him as his eyes adjust to the darkness. within the hands of slumber, you and the boys have slowly spread yourselves out across the mattresses. still, you somehow manage to find each other through the tangle of blankets–seonghwa’s fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist; the tip of wooyoung’s nose nudging your forearm–unwilling to completely separate even in your unconsciousness.

your body dips with the mattress under yunho’s weight when he carefully inches towards you. his sturdy arms hold his frame over your smaller one and you pretend to be asleep just to feel the protective tenderness with which he dips his head slowly to press the softest of kisses against your temple. his warm lips worship your skin with the reverence a butterfly would land upon the prettiest of flowers.

in the magical remnants of an enchanted pre-dawn, yunho whispers bittersweetly, “sorry i’m late, y/n. merry christmas.” then he tucks the blanket more snugly around you, cocooning you in both warmth and love before he pushes himself back off the bed to leave.

as much as he wants to hold you and his boys, yunho has not yet showered. he is exhausted to his very core, unable to bring himself to the arduous task of showering when he can barely keep his eyes open. so he retires himself to one of the other bedrooms instead even though it is the last thing any of you want.

but all of you are used to it. none of you are strangers to coming home in the ghostly hours of night, fighting off debilitating weariness long enough only to check on the others briefly before falling against a mattress away from the clean warmth of somebody's arms.

it is the career and life that you have all chosen. it is just another normal day.

and it is this exact self-sacrificial nature within the medical field that is easily forgotten and overlooked. you and your boys sacrifice your holidays with loved ones to ensure other people get to go back to their loved ones for the holidays. it comes with the price of time, freedom and memories.

but what can also happen is that sometimes…you end up sacrificing the relationships themselves.

for every rapid shuffle you make throughout the house, gathering your things to haphazardly shove into your backpack, mingi trails behind you easily with languid strides of his own.

“i can drive,” you reason half-heartedly as you focus on the stubborn front zipper. “you can be my passenger princess.”

his scandalised look that you would even suggest a thing goes unnoticed even as he protests, “or you be my passenger princess.”

“okay, and how will i get home? your shift doesn’t even end at the same time as mine.” you throw the door of the fridge open to grab your packed lunch, cramming it into the large compartment of your bag.

“yun’s shift does, so he can give you a ride home unless he gets called in for surgery again.”

“and if he does?”

mingi looks at the whiteboard calendar that is mounted on the wall beside him, squinting at the mass of colour-coded letters that are scribbled into the box marking today’s date. “then wait for hwa. his shift ends at five.”

“no,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly, “you know how often he picks up extra hours because he can’t bear to leave his PICU babies. i’ll just take the bus home.”

“no,” mingi mimics you as he holds out your coat for you to shrug on, “the correct answer is to then wait for hongjoong or call one of us. between the eight of your boyfriends, there’ll always be someone who is just ending their shift or is free to pick you up.”

you look up from your shoes to level him with a blank stare, “you know that isn’t feasible every single day, right?” despite your words, you do nothing to stop him from stealing your car keys out of your pocket.

mingi’s doggedness–all of their doggedness–in ensuring one of them will always be accompanying you to and from work is endearing, but the truth is that it is not feasible. there is a reason why you had been commuting by yourself the last three years of your residency, and along with the fact that the nine of you have different shifts that change each week, the logistics of it all will drive you insane, if not them.

“that’s besides the point. it’s your first day of work today so i’m doing my baby a favour,” mingi coos teasingly, pinching your cheeks because he knows it gets a rise out of you.

you swat his hands away with a grunt, jabbing his side for good measure in retaliation to his smug grin. “you talk as if we aren’t both fourth-year residents. and it’s not a favour if you have to go there anyway since, you know, we work at the same hospital.”

“it’s your first day at this hospital, so technically you’re still fresh meat,” mingi argues as he pulls the front door open. while you lock it behind you–everybody else already at the hospital–he continues, “plus, my shift doesn’t start until tonight so i’m sacrificing my sleep for you.”

you give him a little curtsy with exaggerated gratitude then hurry after him when he swivels on his heel, head held high like a noble king with you as his court lady. except, the roles reverse the moment you reach the car and he opens the passenger door for you with a bow.

“m’lady,” he beckons inside.

you snort but settle yourself into the seat, patiently waiting for mingi to get in from the other side of the car. as he starts the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, you suddenly look at him with suspicious clarity, head now clearing enough to wonder why the most rational of your boyfriends is being irrational. 

“you’re trying to get on my good side for something, aren’t you? did you spill coffee on seonghwa’s scrubs again?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“what?” mingi’s head whips towards you before he looks back at the road, chuckling nervously. “no? of course not. why would you think that?”

at your lack of response, he crumbles with a confession. “it was hongjoong’s idea! he said i should drop you off so i can size up whoever might try and chat you up on your first day.”

“god, you’re all hopeless,” you burst out into laughter.

prior to today, you and the boys had discussed how public you were all going to be at the hospital about your relationship. it had been decided that you would not deny it if questions arose, but at the same time, you were not going to go out of your way to make your relationship with one another general knowledge.

not everybody is going to be accepting of your polyamorous dynamic and neither do you need people questioning whether you successfully transferred into the residency program at this hospital through…favours. because despite the fact that it is the twenty-first century, it remains the harsh reality that the doctoral field is still predominantly male-oriented, with females automatically assumed to be the nurses–lesser in hierarchy, knowledge and skill.

a rumour as such might not affect the boys but it would be enough to tarnish your career.

as mingi pulls into the underground parking lot for employees, you rest a hand on his forearm to stop him from turning off the ignition. “mingi, i’ll be fine,” you reassure. “go home and get some sleep.”

“but hongjoong–”

“–will just have to stop being a big baby. we’re in our mid-twenties,” you chuckle, “not fresh eighteen-year-olds discovering the opposite gender for the first time. everyone’s going to be too busy on their first day to care about flirting.”

you lean over the console of the car and mingi relaxes easily under your hand that caresses his jawline. he melts once you press a soft kiss against his cheek, conceding, “alright.”

“i’ll see you at home before your shift.”

he nods and watches as you get out of the car. from out of the open window, he gives you a cute little wave, waiting for you to walk through the sliding doors before he leaves. you walk to the elevator doors to press the up arrow, fidgeting with your scrubs and hair with nervous restlessness until the sounding of a soft ding followed by the low groan of parting doors. you take a deep breath, then you walk in.

into kq hospital.

boasting over one hundred different core and specialised departments and home to some of the few fields in advanced medicine, kq hospital is the largest and most renowned hospital in seoul. your years of clinical experience in other hospitals and past visits to your boys during their shifts provide you with a sense of familiarity with the place, but it is still easy to feel overwhelmed by its formidable size and bustling urgency.

seeing the fresh interns and second-year residents gathered in the auditorium as you join them for the morning orientation reminds you of your own four years ago. never did you think you would have to undergo orientation again during your residency, yet here you are, having transferred to kq hospital in your final year for the clinical exposure and opportunities in career advancement that it has to offer.

you sit towards the back of the auditorium, a few seats away from a girl who has the nerves of an intern. you give her a polite smile then face the front, not exactly ready to make small talk unless you have to. yunho always jokes that as an introvert you really picked the wrong job–you have no defence as you pull out your phone and pretend to be occupied.

somebody slides into the seat next to yours a few minutes later. however, your saving grace comes in the form of several people walking across the front of the stage, so you do not have to do much more than dip your head in courteous greeting before everybody settles into silence.

a woman in thin-rimmed glasses steps up to the podium. “welcome, interns and residents. my name is doctor heo and i’m the program director of the paediatric residency program here at kq hospital.”

the hours of the morning quickly blur together into a multitude of faces, names and information. you and a few of the other senior residents had only been required to attend half of the general welcome talk, your orientation much faster and tailored to your pre-existing experience. by the time you have gone through the policies, patient populations and workflows of the paediatric department, your head is reeling to digest it all.

only at twelve do you converge with the interns again, this time at the cafeteria. there is a generous spread of catering of finger food and drinks before the joint lunch you will have with the other faculty members from your department.

“this will be a good opportunity for all of you to meet the residents, doctors, nurses and department heads. get to know your colleagues because they will be the ones you are learning from,” dr. heo advises.

your ears perk up, wondering whether you will be able to see some of your boyfriends. san is already a fourth-year resident in the paediatric department, wooyoung one of the nurses, and even though seonghwa works mainly in the paediatric ICU, his position as a clinical nurse specialist likely makes him important enough to at least show his face.

everybody starts to make their way over to the tables to fill their plates as they mingle and chat amongst one another. you have always had a sensitive stomach that often disagrees with food–the very reason why wooyoung makes your lunch most days, which currently still sits inside your bag–but you do not want to appear ungrateful or picky. so you head to the drinks to at least keep your hands filled.

just as you grab a small glass of orange juice, a voice startles you. “it’s you! hi.”

you turn to find a man maybe a few years younger than you with a bright smile on his face. “hi?” you hesitantly answer, unsure why he is acting so familiar with you.

he frowns slightly, “you don’t remember me?”

you could honestly give less than a flying fuck who he is, but you suppose the whole point of this break is to give those fucks, so you apologise instead, “sorry, i’m not great with faces.”

“i sat next to you during orientation this morning,” he laughs like you have just cracked the funniest joke. he extends his hand out for a handshake, “i’m doctor baek, but you can call me cheolmin.”

“nice to meet you, doctor baek,” you return the handshake, setting your boundaries with your response. “doctor l/n.”

he quirks a brow amusedly. unprompted, he reveals, “my sister’s boyfriend’s aunt’s friend knows the director of this hospital,” as if he thinks you would be impressed. you are willing to bet the seventy-two dollars in your savings account that the director of the hospital does not have a clue who this dr. baek is.

as you struggle to come up with a professional response that is not a sarcastic ‘cool’, you suddenly make eye contact with somebody from over his shoulder. they are looking at you with nonchalant amusement, lips tugged up smugly and their hands in the pockets of their coat.

you hurry to wrap up the conversation and make a move to step around dr. baek. “that’s great, nice to meet you. i’m going to go and introduce myself to–”

“are you doing anything after work today?” he cuts you off, stepping slightly in front of you. “it would be nice for us to get to know each other better, considering we’ll be colleagues from now on.”

“uh…” you trail off, distracted when you make eye contact again with the person and they cock their eyebrow, asking for your permission to play knight. you give the subtlest of nods before dr. baek adjusts himself into your line of vision.

“doctor l/n, don’t play hard to g–”

“y/n,” the dependable voice of hongjoong interrupts dr. baek. your expression relaxes into a smile as your boyfriend sidles up to you, presence steadfast and unwavering. “i didn’t catch you this morning–how are you getting home?”

dr. baek’s eyes narrow even further at the implication of hongjoong’s question than when he realises you two are on first-name basis.

“mingi dropped me off so i can’t drive,” you shrug.

“i finish at five-thirty. i’ll take you home,” hongjoong says, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. “make sure to put on your jacket while you wait for me. it’s meant to snow later so it’ll be cold.”

you laugh softly at his attentiveness, “okay, hongjoong.”

unable to watch any longer, dr. baek pivots on his heel and stalks away. your boyfriend cannot resist pulling you closer by the sleeve of your scrubs as he haughtily huffs, “i knew people would hit on you.”

“is that why you told mingi to take me to work today?” you tease. hongjoong is also from the neurology department–definitely not meant to be here right now–but you will save that ammunition for another time.

“oh, look,” hongjoong pretends not to hear you as he ushers you away from the tables. “san and wooyoung are over there. let’s go and talk to people who actually matter.”

the laugh you let out this time is unrestrained, letting yourself be led through the interspersed groups of people towards your other boyfriends–the only people who actually matter. san and wooyoung’s faces break out into the most tender of smiles the moment they lay their eyes upon you and hongjoong, and the remaining nerves and tension in your body completely melt away when you feel their subtle embraces around you.

it may be winter and the road ahead to acclimatise with your new job may be demanding, but you know that you will be shielded from the cold of the world by the warmth that your boys will always bring to you.

“patient history and current status?”

selecting the seventh floor, you press the close button to the elevator doors once your team of four have settled inside. you turn back slightly to look at your interns in wait for a response to your question.

dr. son glances at dr. yang before answering, “the patient is kim seolhee, currently six years and three months old. she was initially diagnosed with T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia at two years, eight months. she was admitted into hospital one month ago due to a relapse and is currently undergoing re-induction therapy. she received a chemotherapy dose this morning, so we are monitoring for any potential side effects from the treatment.”

“and how is she responding to the treatment?” you probe.

“slow response–the leukaemia cells are not clearing as expected so second-line chemotherapy is likely to be recommended.”

you nod at the information as the elevator doors open to the paediatric oncology ward. walking out, you ask, “why is the patient not responding to first-line treatment?”

the following silence permeates with flusteredness that shows neither intern has considered this question. “doctor lee?” you cue instead.

the junior resident takes over with ease. “seolhee’s initial treatment when she was first diagnosed required aggressive chemotherapy due to resistant leukaemia. treatment lasted for two and a half years and she achieved remission at five years, four months. however, she relapsed one month ago due to minimal residual disease in the bone marrow.

“from her history, we know that her leukaemia was resistant to initial treatment and there is the persistence of residual cancer cells at the time of relapse. plus, her diagnosis is T-cell, not B-cell, which tends to present with greater quantities of leukaemia cells and thus requires more intensive therapy. all of these risk factors combined makes it difficult for remission to be achieved through first-line re-induction therapy.”

“well done, doctor lee,” you acknowledge as he beams, “all of that and the fact that her relapse is early–merely nine months after remission–correlates to a higher likelihood of treatment resistance.” you address your interns, “it is easy to focus on the patient’s immediate presentation, but it is just as important–if not more–to look at it in the context of their prior admissions and treatment responses. that was a good attempt though, doctor yang.” reaching the door to the room you are about to enter, you quickly wrap up the conversation and head in.

seolhee looks at you curiously, a new face being one of the only interesting things that change up her repetitive days in the hospital. her sickly pallor and sunken cheeks are a morbid juxtaposition against her rounded eyes and braided pigtails. as you walk closer, you can see that her hair has been plaited loosely with care so as not to strain her already-thinning hair.

you lower yourself to the side of her bed with a bright smile as you compliment, “i love your hair! who did it for you?”

immediately, she beams, any prior apprehension clearing as she tells you, “my favourite nurse! he's been braiding my hair for years!”

“has he now?” you gaze at her fondly as she happily shows you the ribbons tied to the ends too.

“are you talking about me?”

seolhee’s eyes instantly light up in response to the voice that enters the room. she exclaims, “nurse hwa!”

“hello, my snowflake.”

you turn just in time to see seonghwa walking in with endearment enveloping his entire face. you let out a small chuckle, your own eyes melting with honey at the sight of him. of course he would be the favourite nurse.

when seolhee questions why he is making his rounds earlier than usual, he leans in conspiratorially, yet in a whisper loud enough for you to hear, “a little birdie told me that your new doctor is very pretty, so i had to come see for myself.”

he winks at you and you shake your head with an exasperated smile. so much for keeping lowkey and professional. clearing your throat, you play along, “ah, are you the favourite nurse who braided her hair, nurse hwa?” you find it absolutely hilarious that six-year-olds are using the same pet name that you use for your boyfriend.

seonghwa nods, “my girlfriend taught me.”

“she must be quite the amazing girlfriend, then,” you joke.

“she is,” he smiles, gazing softly at you.

for a six-year-old, seolhee is frighteningly perceptive as she looks back and forth between the two of you before blurting out, “is she the pretty girlfriend you always talk about?”

you fluster with a bright blush that you try to conceal behind a cough, only to make eye contact with dr. son and dr. lee giving you the most delightful shit-eating grins on their faces from beside you. seonghwa simply laughs, brightly and joyfully like the festive chime of bells. his affirmative nod in response is just as childishly proud as the one adorning seolhee’s face at having guessed correctly. she decides right there and then that you are her favourite doctor, because you are pretty.

“let me give you something,” she beckons with a small wave, little fingers calling for you to look closely.

seolhee pulls a little booklet out of the bedside table’s top drawer. the cover and edges are well-loved and from the way the top of the little booklet is nearly falling apart, you can tell that she has used it often. she flicks through the empty pages one by one until she finds what she is looking for. fiddling for a few more seconds, she holds out her hand to present you with–

“a sticker?” you ask.

“for doing a good job,” she giggles.

you take the circular sticker from her extended fingers. when you look down, you realise it is a little snowflake with a smiley face on it. the corners of your own mouth tug upwards involuntarily and your cheeks round out until they start to feel sore. never did you think a mere sticker would bring you such glee as an adult, but you are going to wear it proudly.

you tug the breast pocket of your scrubs outwards so that you can stick it onto your name badge, right next to the small twinkling star that is the signature additional design on all of the paediatric departments’ name badges. at your response, seolhee beams with pride.

“where’s mine?” seonghwa childishly quips.

“you haven’t done anything yet,” seolhee wags her little finger at him as he swallows the urge to retort that neither have you. “have you drawn my blood yet? inserted an eye-vee line or a…pick line?”

“no,” he chortles in defeat, “no IV or PICC lines today. maybe a blood test later.”

“so no sticker for you,” she reprimands him rightfully.

the conversation draws a laugh out of you, yet leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. a child like seolhee should be talking about the colour of her doll’s dress and the name of her plush teddy, not medical procedures that draw her line between life and death.

seonghwa eyes your sticker mischievously. “i might have to steal her sticker then.”

seolhee glares at him like a ferocious kitten, easily deciding that you are now her favourite out of all the doctors and nurses. “don’t you dare,” she pouts before turning to you with full solemnity and seriousness to pledge, “if he steals it, come back and i’ll give you another one.”

you send him a smug wink and seonghwa finally concedes, arms raised in mock surrender. “i’ll go back to my morning rounds then. see you later, snowflake,” he gives her a wave before bidding you goodbye with playful professionalism, “see you later, doctor l/n.”

on his way out, seonghwa exchanges brief but warm pleasantries with a middle-aged woman who is simultaneously entering the room. it is easy to presume that she is seolhee’s visitor, considering she is not wearing scrubs. just as you are about to introduce yourself, the woman's eyes skim right past yours to land on the taller of the interns behind you.

"hi, you must be seolhee's new doctor," she greets. "i'm her mother."

dr. yang shifts uncomfortably on his feet and glances at you, unsure how to correct the older woman that whilst he is a doctor, he is not the most senior one. with grace, you extend a warm hand out with an even warmer smile.

"lovely to meet you, mrs kim. i'm doctor l/n, and this is my intern, doctor yang," you introduce, before gesturing behind to your left. "this is my other intern, doctor son, and this is doctor lee, my second-year resident."

seolhee's mother rushes to shake your hand as she trails off, "sorry, i assumed he was the doctor because..."

"i know, i get that often. don't worry about it," you pat her hand placatingly.

she responds, "well, it's going to be nice having a female face around."

from the flush on her face and the overcompensatory laugh that leaves her lips, you know she does not mean it as much as she is trying to cover up her embarrassment. the woman before you is not the first person to have dismissed you as a nurse or an intern solely based on your gender, and she will definitely not be the last. so you pretend not to notice, redirecting with a laugh of your own and the question, “how has seolhee been feeling since her dose this morning?”

mrs kim easily jumps on the change in conversation and the attention shifts to the little girl in bed. you listen intently to any side effects of concern, long having learnt to ignore the layered feelings of fatigue, frustration and disappointment in your chest whenever somebody undermines your capabilities, even if it is never ill-intentioned.

because as with any job, there are sacrifices to be made, and putting other people’s comfort before your own is just one of the many.

you do not want to jinx it, but you think that you may not mind night shifts after all.

“what are you thinking about?”

yeosang fills your entire vision, his brown orbs blinking at you curiously with a mellow dusting of blossom pink speckled across his cheeks from your close proximity. you have often been pulled away into a hidden corner or spare room somewhere within the labyrinth of the hospital by one of your boyfriends for a few minutes of company, but this is the first time yeosang has initiated it. his shy nature is endearing though, and it is a much-needed break during your second consecutive night shift.

you tease, "it's a secret," before pressing an innocent kiss against the corner of his lips right where it quirks up bashfully whenever he is around you. yeosang carefully rests his hands on the dips of your hips and brings you in a little closer towards him as you ask, "what about you? what's on your mind?"

“wondering how long we can stay in this storage room for before one of us gets paged.”

his answer stuns you for a second but then you both break out into giggles at the absurdity of his answer. “jongho has rubbed off on you too much," you adoringly flick the bottom of his chin with the tip of your finger. not many people know, but yeosang is just as bad of an influence as all your other boyfriends when he wants to be.

"we could try," he suggests with a grin. "none of my team was rostered on for a night shift with me."

your laugh easily fills the small space, "neither was my team."

“so nobody would come looking for us, unless–”

a discrete tap sounds against the door from right next to where you and yeosang are pressed up against one another. you both fall silent and motionless, pupils wide and breaths held, hoping you have either misheard or whoever is outside will leave soon. but then you hear another tap and it does not stop. the tapping is incessant, obviously trying to gain the attention of you two. yeosang ducks down as you raise the blinds of the small window on the door and you peer out to find–

–fucking wooyoung squashed right up against the glass pane with a cheshire grin. you finish yeosang’s sentence for him, “unless one of our boyfriends do.”

wooyoung perks up immediately at the word 'boyfriends' as if that is his cue. "hi," he announces, "are you guys making out? i heard yeosang."

you sputter while yeosang pops up beside you with a horrified expression at the younger’s uncouth question. said person beams cheekily, “can i join?”

wooyoung’s breath fogs up the glass with every word he says but he is unfazed. your boyfriend simply rubs the glass with the sleeve of his coat, presses his face up against the window again and continues to look at you both with a dazzling, expectant smile. when neither of you respond, he winks for good measure.

wooyoung flinches and shrieks when you tap the glass right between his eyes. he jerks back enough for you to push the door open and step out through the gap with mirth bubbling in your chest. you playfully drag your fingers across his chest, then tease with faux coyness, “break time is over, sorry.”

the indignant whine you receive in response is more than enough for the amusement to spill out of your chest as you walk away. you will make it up to him with triple the amount of kisses once both of you are home. for now, you walk back to your department, pleased that yeosang’s oncology ward is not far from yours.

even during the late hours of a night shift, the hospital is never completely quiet. the rhythmic sounds of beeping machines interspersed by footsteps and closing doors follow you down the corridors of the paediatric ward. what truly sobers you out of the lighthearted moment you just had, though, are the occasional whimpers; of discomfort, of pain, of nightmares.

you enter seolhee’s room alone–your interns and junior resident scheduled only for the day shift–to find the little girl also by herself. her parents must have decided to go home, having already spent countless consecutive nights by her side since she commenced second-line chemotherapy last week.

seolhee received a dose of nelarabine just this morning so you need to keep a close eye on her. a quick flick through the chart on her rolling cart shows that the nurse on night shift had taken her vitals just two hours ago with no abnormalities.

“doctor snowflake?”

you startle at the quiet murmur. turning to look at the bed, seolhee is looking at you with slow, blinking eyes and a tiny smile. your own eyes soften as you lower yourself down towards her, “why are you still awake?”

“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.

you scan her face with concern, “are you feeling pain anywhere? feeling sick?”

seolhee shakes her head in reassurance. then in a small voice, she answers, “just lonely.”

the tension in your shoulders releases only slightly. the little girl before you may be feeling all right physically…but at what cost? your chest tightens with humbling clarity–you may sacrifice a lot as a doctor, but your patients sacrifice so much more. neither is it a choice for them.

it is a relatively quiet night; you can spend time with her. and even if you did not have time, you can make time for her.

you pull a chair closer to sit down, gesturing for her consent to lift up her blankets to check her skin for signs of bruising or infection. she nods and you ask, “why doctor snowflake?” to keep her mind occupied.

seolhee glances at your name badge. “because you still have the snowflake sticker and snowflakes are pretty, just like you.”

the line insertion site on her chest is free of discharge and irritation and you fix the front of her hospital gown. “that must also be why nurse hwa calls you a snowflake,” you fondly tap the tip of her nose as she giggles.

“my name means snow,” she tells you proudly. “my parents named me seolhee because i was born on the first day of snow.”

“they named you well, seolhee. you really are a special gift, a precious snowflake.” in the muffled quiet of the hospital ward, you let go of your professionalism for a brief moment to make a hushed promise, “one day, you will be able to join all the other snowflakes outside–free to flutter and land wherever you want.”

not confined to the hospital nor your sickness.

seolhee returns a promise of her own, “and when i’m all better, i’ll come back to visit you.” she beckons for you to lean in before she whispers into your ear, “because you’re my favourite.”

you are technically not meant to play favourites, but it is hard when she is far ahead of the others in the unofficial competition. so you whisper back scandalously, like two teenage girl friends gossiping together, not a doctor with her patient in hospital, “you’re my favourite, too.”

the pager in your pocket goes off and seolhee’s face falls with disappointment. one of her hands involuntarily reaches out in your direction, seeking comfort and companionship in a place where people succumb to grief and isolation every day.

seolhee is only a child. she should be sleeping in her own bed at home, the faint glow from her phosphorescent star stickers across her bedroom ceiling guiding her into whimsical dreams. instead, it is the washed out moonlight filtering through the drawn curtains in her hospital room, shadows of snowfall outside drifting gently across her face, that surrounds seolhee’s fragile body in a romanticised nightmare.

“how about this,” you suggest, “if you go to sleep now, i’ll come again tomorrow night and i’ll tell you the story of how nurse hwa and i met.”

her eyes light up. “you promise?”

christmas has passed, but it does not mean that the season of miracles has to come to an end with it. you nod, “i promise.”

this time, when you make a move to stand up, seolhee does not reach out for you. she does not need you to stay; she has your gift of a promise to hold onto instead.

“goodnight, my little snowflake,” you tuck her blanket around her shoulders. affectionately, you brush her thinning hair off her forehead, “love you.”

you almost miss her sleepy response, a mumbled sentence just as you reach the threshold of the door to her room–words from a little girl whose heart is too big for the world to ever truly contain.

“i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

like the heavy snowfall that comes with the arrival of mid-winter, work quickly starts to pile upon itself into layers that do not melt away easily.

you are not the only one nearly thigh-deep in the snow. besides yourself, yunho, yeosang and san are also residents in your final year juggling demanding caseloads and increasing responsibilities as the seniors. hongjoong has been slaving away in preparation for the annual meeting of the korean neurological association, and seonghwa has recently been tasked with revising the departmental policies and procedures for sepsis protocols.

all of that on top of the nine of you studying for specialty board exams, pouring over journal articles to stay up to date and partaking in research projects, it almost becomes a game of never-ending tag in the house with the small increments of time that are lucky enough to overlap with somebody else.

unable to see one another as often, much less spend time together, you and the boys have to make do whenever you can, wherever you can, however you can. it comes in varying forms; a shared smile in brief passing through the wards, an extra chocolate in your packed lunch, a quick reminder to wrap your scarf snugly.

this morning, it comes in the form of an inconspicuous-looking disposable cup waiting for you in your assigned cubby. you almost miss it and knock it over with the bag you hastily push into the space, but the stark contrast of a black scribble against the whiteness of the cup’s surface catches your eye right before you give your bag a final shove.

it is a cup of takeaway coffee from the cafe downstairs–the one you never buy coffee from because the wait for your order can take up to ten minutes, and that is ten minutes of time every single day that you cannot afford to give up. but for you, there is someone willing to sacrifice those ten minutes of their day.

your eyes soften and eyebrows upturn as you immediately deduce who the coffee is from. if the coffee itself is not a dead giveaway, then the cute, artistic doodle of rudolph surrounded by little hearts around his antlers and the accompanying phrase, ‘you’re my rein-dear’, is.

jongho.

for a brief moment of respite from the unceasing rapidity of the hospital, you are warmed from your very core all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes by your boyfriend’s gesture. one hand starts to reach for your phone to send a text of appreciation when the call of your name jerks you out of the comfort you had been encased in. the cup is set down without finding its sweet home against a pair of lips.

“doctor nam is looking for you.”

you wince. dr. nam, the head of the paediatric department, has never really seemed to take a fancy to you for some reason. you are quite certain you have not done anything to provoke his unwarranted scrutiny, but apparently you can never be too sure.

as you hurry to dr. nam’s office, your legs work on autopilot through the corridors and doorways. your mind bombards itself with a barrage of thoughts, guessing what the meeting may be for, estimating how long it might take, and calculating how far behind you will fall with the onslaught of other tasks you are meant to complete before you are joined by your juniors for your morning rounds.

you do not have time for this, and you most certainly do not have time to–

“–take on an extra intern?”

your eyes blink themselves into a carefully schooled expression of neutrality despite the voiced incredulity in the question you have just asked. dr. nam has summoned you to his office to notify you of an additional intern commencing in the paediatric department and you are to be their assigned senior. what a fucking splendid way to start the day.

it is completely normal for a senior resident to have four juniors to teach, but interns have less experience and confidence, requiring significantly more time and effort–time and effort that you do not know if you have. the thought of another intern in addition to your existing two and second-year resident is enough to make you want to enter hibernation for the rest of your life.

what you also know though is that dr. yoon, another fourth-year resident, only has two juniors under him–both second-years at that. respectfully yet firmly, you bring up such and suggest, “it may be in the best interest of all parties for doctor yoon or somebody else, even doctor ha, to take on the new intern. this can ensure all of our junior doctors are receiving as much one-on-one support and guidance as possible.”

the department head raises an eyebrow, eyes dull and mouth pressed together thinly as he stares back at you dryly. “both doctor yoon and doctor ha are promising candidates to become chief residents. they do not have time to spare to teach interns.”

‘promising candidates’. you are not saying that that is bullshit…but that is bullshit. this is the first time anybody has praised them as such and the only thing that would make them both supposedly more qualified than all the other senior residents is their direct acquaintance with dr. nam himself.

fuck nepotism.

gritting your teeth and taking a deep but restrained breath in what you know is just a losing fight, you yield, “when does the intern start?”

the right corner of dr. nam’s lips raises smugly as he answers, “today. doctor lim will be waiting for you in the resident lounge near my office. orientate him to the department.”

and down the drain goes all thoughts of ending on time tonight. when you stalk over stiffly to the lounge, dr. lim is leaning against the edge of a desk, legs extended and crossed at the ankles in front of him not dissimilar to how his arms are over his chest. one foot taps disinterestedly as he waits. you have a bad feeling you already know what kind of intern he is going to be.

“doctor lim,” you call out.

“you’re doctor l/n?” the intern looks at you snobbishly, very obviously sizing you up and down.

“yes.”

dr. lim takes a lazy glance at the clock on the wall. “you’re kinda late.”

and you’re kinda a fucking asshole, you want to retort. but you have not survived this long without learning how to reel in the burst of flames that erupts inside your chest, so instead you look at him placatingly. “you were not originally part of my planned day. doctor nam asked for a very last minute favour.”

not so much a favour as an outright demand, but he does not need to know.

“i’ll show you around the hospital before our morning rounds,” you state. at his audible sigh whilst pushing himself heavily off the table, you cannot help but get at least one jab in, “an inconvenience for the both of us, but do bear with me.”

after a sarcastic smile, you turn around without waiting to see if he follows. the first place you take him to is where all the personal lockers and cubbies are just to retrieve your forgotten coffee and take a long sip. it spites him as desired, a nose wrinkled in your direction. nevermind the fact that it has long cooled to room temperature–your coffee has never tasted sweeter.

the rest of your day, unfortunately, runs in bitter discord. straight after dr. lim’s orientation, you run yourself dry with morning rounds, acute care and consultations with other paediatric departments, all the while trying to catch dr. lim up to the expected competency for interns. the end of the day does not appear to get any closer within reach and yet, you have no idea where all your time is going.

you end up throwing in the towel exactly seven hours and twenty-three minutes into your shift, when you are trying to teach the very basics of the hospital’s electronic medical record system for the umpteenth time. there are only so many ways you can explain the five steps required to start drafting a progress note for a patient–the very five steps that do not change. if you have to repeat yourself one more fucking time you are going to shoot somebody, doctor’s oath or not, and that somebody has a last name that starts with ‘l’ and rhymes with ‘dim’.

dr. son and dr. yang are sent as the scapegoats to teach the new intern how to navigate the system. with all three of your interns now occupied, you also send dr. lee off to adjust the medication for a few of the patients whose daily lab results had come back this morning with minor fluctuations in numbers.

your body almost crashes the moment your juniors disperse and only then do you tune in to your senses. contrary to the grumbling cavern in your stomach, there is a heavy pressure in your bladder and parchedness in your throat. jongho’s coffee was the last of anything you had consumed today–the lunch wooyoung had packed for you remains untouched in your bag–and you have been unable to step away even briefly to use the bathroom. trudging heavily through the paediatric oncology ward, the one thing that keeps you upright on your feet is that you are not scheduled for an on-call shift tonight. 

“y/n.”

the sweet and low timbre of the voice that sounds from ahead of you immediately turns the one into two things. it takes the remainder of your willpower not to bury yourself straight into san’s arms as he gives you a cute dimpled smile.

your eyes reflect the sparkle of happiness in his once you are close enough, neither of you having planned to run into one another. san is currently in his paediatric haematology rotation and whilst your departments are closely related, it is not very often that your caseloads align for patient consultation directly between the two of you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, unable to hide the pleasant surprise in your words.

san steps in a little, naturally inclined to be physically close to you and answers, “going to check up on seolhee. have you gotten around to seeing her today?”

seolhee was one of the patients you were planning on fitting into your day. one of the nurses had documented nausea and reduced appetite at lunch time, so you were going to review her current antiemetic regimen and decide if it needed adjusting. but then she had ultimately been pushed back as a medium priority on your list with everything else you had to complete first.

when you shake your head, san proposes, “want to join me then?”

your lips quirk upwards at his suggestion. it is sort of piteous that your time walking together through the ward to see a shared patient is the closest to a date you have had with san in the last few weeks. but as he gives you a playful nudge to your side and you back to him like you are strolling along the snowy streets instead of sterile corridors, you are grateful for at least these short moments of interaction.

seolhee’s voice is spirited when she greets you despite the increasingly dark shadows silhouetting her face. you smile, “hi, snowflake. i brought a friend with me this time.”

when san’s gaze is not focused on you, he looks at the little girl with the same softness and deep affection; you like his moon, his patients like his stars. you are unable to imagine san ever working in a career that does not involve children.

“i’m doctor choi,” he introduces himself gently. “i heard you’ve been feeling a bit tired and didn’t really eat lunch today, so i’m here to see what i can do to help you feel better.”

as you bend down slightly to adjust the corner of seolhee’s blanket, san steps behind you to reach for her chart. he unconsciously places his left hand on the nape of your neck and tenderly squeezes out of loving habit. immediately, san feels the tight knots under his fingertips that only surface whenever you are stressed or overworked.

his eyebrows furrow and he dips his head down slightly to softly murmur, “hey, rough day today?”

“just a little,” you admit, looking upwards whilst placing your own hand atop his in reassurance. “don’t worry.”

there is a giggle to the side. seolhee’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you before she cryptically asks, “doctor choi, do you know who nurse hwa is?”

“i do…” san answers, puzzled by the random question.

seolhee looks at you and giggles again with a very directed comment, “i see.”

you have said this before and you will say this again: seolhee is frighteningly perceptive. if she were two decades older, you just know she would be that friend of yours who you are unable to hide any secrets from. leaning in, you whisper, “there are six more of us.”

her eyes widen with curiosity. “do i know any of them?”

of the remaining boys, wooyoung is the only other one who is specialising in paediatrics and likely to have come across seolhee before. “nurse wooyoung,” you divulge.

she sinks back into her pillow at the revelation and nods approvingly as if she is your mother. “good choices,” she supports, san letting out a bright laugh from beside you now having caught on to what the conversation is about.

the rest of the bedside evaluation continues as such. seolhee badgers you both with questions about the rest of your boyfriends–which department they are in, what their names are and most importantly, what they look like so she can keep an eye out for them.

you indulge her with answers, far longer than you should, but it is an easy decision when it comes to anything involving your favourite patient and your boyfriends. you have long learnt that any amount of time that you give to somebody else even at your own expense will always be worth lifetimes more to them than the luxury of a punctual meal or longer shower that you would gain from the time instead.

so when your shift for the day ends and you still have not completed all of your work, you end up staying overtime and it is only then, during the evening, that you are finally able to sit. your stomach no longer growls, body running solely on cortisol, the caffeine from jongho’s coffee having long depleted. you turn on your hospital-issued tablet and pull out a stack of jotted notes. with mid-rotation feedback for your juniors in two days, you have their paperwork to complete before you can even start to scrape away at your actual paperwork.

you do not realise how stiff your neck and shoulders have become from hunching over for a prolonged period until there is a knock at the door of the resident lounge and a timid, “um, doctor l/n?”

“yes?” a soft wince escapes your lips when the movement from looking up sends a brief stab of pain down your back.

the intern standing at the doorway comes scurrying in. “i’m here to give you the report on the pathology results.”

“pathology results?” you repeat, mind blank of patients who had needed a biopsy or tumour excision.

“from doctor jeong? from general surgery?” the intern’s voice trails off, face blanching at the creeping possibility that he has found the wrong resident.

“doctor j–oh,” you suppress the sudden tug at the corners of your lips to reassure, “yes, my apologies, i forgot. thank you.”

you have certainly not forgotten about an entire pathology report you have requested–this is simply yunho being your boyfriend. waiting until the intern has scurried off, you flick the clipboard open to find exactly what you had been expecting: anything but a report.

there is a sole sticky note, neon green, that grins right up at you with another of yunho's scrawled jokes. 'are you a snowman? cause i wanna stick my carrot into your mou–'

the clipboard slams shut with a resounding clap in the emptiness of the lounge. back ramrod straight, your eyes dart around scandalously even though you are the only person in the room to witness the contents of the flirtatious message.

"oh my fucking god," you guffaw. "jeong yunho!"

(from somewhere within the general surgery department three floors down, somebody lets out a delighted giggle of glee at the thought of a certain message having been received.)

your laugh eventually fades out with a poignant sigh as you peel the sticky note off the clipboard and stare at it in your hands. the start of this year has already been the toughest year in your residency thus far and it is no easy feat for nine people in the same or similar situation to balance a romantic relationship simultaneously.

you must give, and give, and give, but like you have experienced today, you also receive. it is never anything huge; a coffee, some food, a note, a conversation. yet for now, that is enough to keep moving forward even if your feet are buried deep under the snow.

however, you will soon come to realise that the issue does not lie in whether you are receiving enough or not, but in the fact that you can unknowingly give away too much of yourself without even realising.

you give the little boy and his family who are in front of you a smile that conveys both appreciation and apologeticness. if you were in their position, surrounded by inexperienced interns learning to properly insert a central line, you would be on edge too.

dr. yang and dr. son stand off to the side, hands clasped together in front of themselves with concealed nervousness for dr. lim. said man is anything but nervous, when really, he is the only intern who should be nervous out of the three of them. ever since he started, dr. lim has consistently performed with a shocking lack of care and willingness to learn. but you had learnt the hard way the first time you tried to bring up this issue that dr. lim is not somebody you can touch because of his connections, so you have no choice but to tolerate his incompetence.

you beckon for dr. lim to come closer so that you can show him the proper angle of needle entry. he does, at least smart enough to know he needs to maintain some level of professionalism in front of actual patients lest the hospital be sued.

“for an internal jugular vein catheterisation while the head is in the neutral position, what is the angle of needle entry?” you question.

dr. lim guesses, “twenty?”

“thirty to forty-five, and the angle adjusts based on the ultrasound image,” you correct, not having expected him to remember despite the numerous times you have already taught him on physical phantoms. your gloved fingers trace over the patient’s clavicle towards the sternum as you continue explaining, “locate both the sternal and clavicular heads of the sternocleidomastoid muscle. this forms the triangle where your IVJ lies beneath. the needle should aim towards the ipsilateral nipple.”

positioning the tip of the needle at the apex of the triangle for a few seconds, you then pass it to dr. lim with the instruction, “show me the positioning and angle of the needle only.”

the intern takes the needle from your hand, his other hand roughly probing the sternocleidomastoid muscle before angling the needle perpendicular to the young boy’s neck like he is a fucking hostage. your voice is curt as you rush to correct dr. lim, adjusting his hands with verbal prompts, before you slip the needle out of his hands to fully take over the procedure now.

“you’re not ready yet,” you assert when he glares at you, further reiterating, “when you can independently position and angle the needle, and you can demonstrate to me that you can use the correct pressure when inserting the needle in a mannequin, then you are ready.” you do not care if he has connections with dr. nam. you make it clear to your intern that he cannot fuck around with his theoretical knowledge and phantom training and still expect you to let him practice on real people.

outside the room, wooyoung winces in sympathy for you as he passes by and catches the end of your firm reprimand. you have come home far too many times with pent-up frustration for him–and all your boyfriends–not to know about your notorious intern. wooyoung hands over the central line kit he is returning to the ward’s nursing station then dawdles by the desk.

he waits in hopes of catching your eye and giving you a smile to equip you with the patience he knows must be needed to deal with dr. lim. your boyfriend’s face softens unconsciously as he watches your expression, now concentrated with furrowed brows as you steadily insert the needle whilst monitoring the ultrasound, because wooyoung thinks you look the most charismatic when you are working. when a nurse calls out for wooyoung, he takes one last glance at you before walking away.

you straighten up and step away for dr. lee to take over the rest of the procedure, just in time to see the back of your boyfriend’s figure darting away with purpose. his long unruly hair flies around with mirrored chaos that you could recognise anywhere. and as you explain to the patient’s parents the remainder of the catheterisation procedure, the smile on your face is much more genuine than it would have been mere seconds ago.

it continues to linger subconsciously long after the brief glimpse you get of your boyfriend. for wooyoung, too, it is the same. working together at the hospital means that you can still be a source of light for one another even if only from a far distance and that is always what gets you through to the end of your shift.

when five o’clock finally rolls around, you head to your locker whilst checking your phone. there are no notifications from hongjoong, so you type a quick message to let him know you are clocking off and going to his department first. it is one of those rare days where you two have managed to organise a date–just a quick and simple dinner before heading home since your shifts end at the same time, but a date nonetheless.

“good thing i caught you before you left. doctor nam wants to talk to you.”

you look up to see dr. lee already changed into a puffer jacket and his backpack on, a cheeky grin on his face as he delivers the message and adds, “bet you’re in trouble.”

scoffing playfully, you quip back, “probably for something you did wrong.”

he shrugs exaggeratedly and sing-songs, “who knows,” before darting away with a goodbye.

you sigh and delete your drafted text to hongjoong, alerting him that you will be going to the department head’s office and for him to meet you outside if he finishes. then with heavy steps, you go to find dr. nam. with your stroke of luck, dr. lee is probably right about you being in trouble for something.

and he is right.

“did you tell one of your interns that he wasn’t ready for a clinical task in front of your patients?”

dr. nam’s direct question the moment you step into his office is enough to stun your mind into blankness at how a situation could be wrongfully warped like so. blinking distractedly you start to explain, “doctor lim was tasked with simulating the correct needle placement against the skin–nothing more and nothing less. i had to reiterate those expectations when he–”

“so he was not allowed to insert the central line, correct?” dr. nam interrupts.

you frown involuntarily and parrot, “allowed? it was not a subjective decision to–”

“doctor l/n, you only need to answer the question that i ask. was doctor lim allowed to insert the central line or not?” he interjects yet again.

you barely manage to swallow the rising heat in your chest to answer, “no.”

“you said he was not ready in front of the patient, yes or no?”

“yes.”

dr. nam leans back in his chair. “have your other interns inserted the needle before?”

despite his position as your department head, you keep your mouth shut in defiance because dr. nam is simply fishing for the answer he wants to hear regardless of context. he does not need to hear that dr. lim is a shit intern–all he wants to hear is that you are treating your juniors differently.

as expected, without waiting for your response, dr. nam states, “there have been some…concerns raised that you are not giving your interns equal opportunities.”

“is that what doctor lim told you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“you do not need to know,” he dismisses thoughtlessly, “the point is, there seems to be a bias in the amount of support and guidance you are providing doctor lim. perhaps it is your lack of teaching and provision of learning opportunities that is hindering his full potential.”

struggling to keep your voice polite as frustration quickens your breaths, you defend, “i have taught him the theory numerous times, allowed him to observe, provided him with supervised mannequin practice and step-by-step grading on actual patients, and my experience as a senior resident and his direct supervisor tells me that he does not yet have the competency to insert a central line.”

dr. nam hums as if he is considering your words but the way he distractedly brushes the dust off the surface of his table tells you otherwise. “i see there are differing opinions. this all comes down to miscommunication and lack of clear expectations set from the both of you. i suggest you take some time to sit down and talk to doctor lim about what opportunities he will have moving forward.”

from behind your back, your hands clench together, muscles quivering from how hard your fingers dig into your palms. yet you do not say anything–you cannot say anything, not when dr. nam simply dismisses you with, “i expect there to be no further issues in the future.”

and just like that, the one-sided discussion is over.

your feet drag against the floor as you trudge listlessly back to your locker, body heavy as if you are caught in the very midst of a snowstorm. your shoulders cave even further in on themselves when you check your phone to see no reply from hongjoong.

you want nothing more than to bury yourself in your boyfriend’s arms, nose pressed against the soothing rumble of his chest as he listens to you complain about your day. it will not change anything about the situation with dr. lim and dr. nam but at least you will be able to release the hot steam that has built up from the bubbling pit of lava in your chest.

if hongjoong is still working, perhaps you can sit in his office and wait on his couch. his presence will be enough to keep you grounded.

some of the nurses in the neurology ward greet you cordially as you exit the elevator and you return their smiles before sitting on a bench further down the corridor to avoid being in anybody’s way. you test your chances and call hongjoong’s number, only to hear the line ring until it sends you to his voicemail. when another attempt ten minutes later yields the same result, you send a text telling him to call you when he is finished.

you resign yourself to the bench with a passive sigh and wait, all the while a tempest swirling inside of you. eventually, one of the junior residents tilts her head at the sight of you still sitting on the bench, having passed by you almost twenty minutes ago in the same position. she calls out, “doctor l/n?”

you jerk up from where you are fiddling with your phone. recognising her as hongjoong’s colleague, you ask, “i’m just waiting for doctor kim. do you happen to know where he is?”

“doctor kim?” she furrows her brows, “he left already. he actually left early today.”

“oh.”

the heat in your chest suddenly dissipates, immediately replaced by a frigid hollowness that makes your mind go blank instead. horrified, you feel your eyes involuntarily start to prickle with tears no matter how hard you will for them to disappear.

“do you want me to pass a message on for you?” the resident looks at you with a twinge of concern, but mostly curiosity.

you shake your head and mumble, “no, that’s okay, thanks,” then rush away to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. deciding against asking one of your other boyfriends to drive you home, you forgo catching the bus too in favour of walking through the streets.

it’s not even a big deal. we’ve all forgotten about dates before and hongjoong would never deliberately blow you off.

you know that. you know this is not something you need to be upset over and you know that your boyfriend must have a reason. yet knowing does nothing to stop the trembling of your lips as you swipe furiously at your dripping tears with the back of your hand. on top of everything that has piled up today, hongjoong forgetting about your date is enough to topple it over completely.

the light snowfall from earlier has already stopped but the temperature remains just as low. as you tread through the chalky streets home, thoughts creeping through your mind like the fractal branches of a snowflake–fragile and delicate–you welcome the numbing chill around you instead and let it paralyse your emotions like an anaesthetic.

by the time you reach the front door, you have collected yourself enough. the rims of your eyes and the tip of your nose still have a slight redness to them but your appearance can easily be dismissed by the biting cold outside. you unlock the door and walk in.

you are met with immediate warmth; from the residual heat of shared dinner, from the streaming glow of lights, from the peals of low laughter. walking through the corridor almost feels like walking through a warped tunnel of dissociation–so familiar yet so foreign at the same time.

san sits on the couch, languidly scrolling on his phone with an arm wrapped around yeosang’s shoulders, who is flicking through a thin booklet of paper. sitting cross-legged at the coffee table in front of them in a stark contrast of mess is hongjoong–hongjoong who is hunched over his own booklet with a newly-made carpet and tablecloth of thesis and journal articles, textbooks and tablets.

you are so caught up by the hurricane of a scene that you do not realise you are about to step on the corner of a textbook until hongjoong’s head snaps up to look at you.

“be careful!” his warning cry is sharp with alarm.

your body jolts and you step backwards. “sorry.”

despite san and yeosang’s chirpy greetings, you remain frozen to the spot. the two of them clamber up to pull you into an excited hug, only to pause when they realise there is no way to navigate the landmine of paper scattered around the room, so they settle back into the cushions instead.

“don’t mind the mess,” yeosang giggles, unaware of the sudden onset of unease that courses through your body. “even seonghwa has given the okay for him to do this.”

your words come out thick and sticky as you ask, “what is hongjoong doing?”

san’s voice is sympathetic, “there was a last-minute change to his presentation that he’s doing at that annual neurological association meeting. his department head wants him to do a different topic.”

“he could’ve told me, i don’t know, five fucking months ago,” hongjoong curses fiercely at his tablet, “but he just had to wait until my presentation was basically done to let me know.”

you have had a bad day…but so has hongjoong.

the door opens behind you. fumbling for a moment, you try to make yourself smaller against the wall to make room for whoever of your boyfriends has returned. it is mingi back from his shift which tells you just how long you had waited for hongjoong, considering mingi’s shift ended almost two hours after yours did.

“y/n?” mingi’s eyes widen slightly as he smiles, the sight of you a pleasant surprise. he asks, “did you and hongjoong come back from your date already?”

you wince at the bomb he has unwittingly dropped; the very one you yourself were still unsure how to navigate.

“shit,” hongjoong’s head snaps towards you again but for an entirely different reason this time. “holy fuck. oh my fucking god.” his hands flutter as he upturns the scattered notes around him in search of his phone, face draining of all colour as it dawns on him he had silenced his notifications. “the date–i forgot. fuck, i am so fucking sorry, y/n.”

your boyfriends on the couch watch with darting eyes and mingi glances at you cautiously. in some twisted reality, you almost feel immobilised by guilt as hongjoong stumbles to his feet, grasping the phone he has finally found from where it had been tossed under the table.

nothing changes the fact that he forgot nor the fact that you have had a rough day. but just as you had realised, hongjoong has also had a rough day, if not worse than yours. and as with any relationship, one will always have to yield under pressure lest both people break.

swallowing thickly, you manage to force out, “that’s okay. i forgot too.”

a white lie, but a white lie has never hurt anybody.

mingi catches the slight twist of your fingers in the side of your jacket. he murmurs, “let’s go inside,” then tugs you by the elbow. he steps you carefully through the landmines further into the living room, gingerly toeing papers inches aside to reveal the floorboards underneath for the both of you to step on. hongjoong is still looking at you remorsefully as you near, his hands itching to reach out but afraid they will not be met with forgiving ones.

“it’s okay, joong, really,” you extend your fingers in his direction and gently squeeze his hand. “sorry to hear about your presentation. i know how hard you’ve worked on it the past few months.”

sadness still lingers in your boyfriend’s eyes at having made such a careless mistake despite the grateful smile he gives you. “i’ll make it up to you after the presentation is finished,” he vows. “i’ll take you out for a nice dinner and i promise i won’t forget this time.”

you chuckle softly with a reassuring nod, “okay.”

“what about you? how was your day?” hongjoong asks.

an hour ago you wanted nothing more than the comfort he could offer while you vented about your day and you are almost certain fatigue and frustration are smeared across your face right now. yet you simply answer, “it was a long day but it was good.”

another white lie.

before your boyfriends can probe any further, you state, “i’m going to take a shower first. might head to sleep early today.” you lean forward to give hongjoong a chaste kiss, who easily relaxes into it with relief. you turn to rise onto your tiptoes to give mingi one too before meeting yeosang and san halfway from where they kneel on the couch to also kiss you goodnight.

then you turn and retreat to your room. it is not all too bad, you reconcile with yourself. alone time would be good after today’s events.

a third white lie.

but again, that is fine, because a white lie never hurt anybody…nobody except for yourself.

winter passes and spring arrives, but contrary to the pulsating liveliness that awakens with the season, things start to dull with repetition and roboticism.

your rotation in the paediatric oncology ward comes to an end and you commence your next rotation in paediatric haematology. whilst your acquaintanceship with your new junior team is nowhere near as close as you had gotten to dr. lee, son and yang, there is also no more dr. lim to deal with. still, unlike the snow that has now long melted away, your workload does not cease nor diminish.

you wake up and you go to work; you manage your patients, teach your juniors and have on-call shifts; you go home, you eat, you shower; you squeeze time to see your boyfriends, you sleep for a few hours; you wake up and you go to work. the cycle repeats itself, neither you nor your boyfriends able to escape from its grip.

seolhee, too, suffers from the torment of her own cycle. second-line therapy had eventually been deemed ineffective against her leukemic cells, requiring her to undergo salvage chemotherapy and putting her at increased risk of myelosuppression. because of this, she is one of the few patients who have remained on your caseload despite the rotation change.

the most unsettling change that the toll of fatigue can have on a person is not the change in their demeanour but in their eyes. and as you complete a routine check-up on seolhee, her eyes watching you with a slight dullness to them that is not due to the late hours of midnight, you do not realise that your own pupils look the same.

you give seolhee a soft smile as you tell her, “i’ll get nurse hwa to check on you in the morning. how does that sound, snowflake?”

“he’s busy?” she asks quietly.

you shake your head. “he’s at home. both him and nurse woo are working day shifts this week.”

“what about doctor choi?”

“he finished his haematology rotation,” you sigh regretfully. “he’s in the NICU now.”

seolhee mulls over the information with her eyes downcast, then murmurs, “are you busy? can you teach me how to braid your hair?” she absent-mindedly touches the nape of her neck where her fingertips meet the smooth skin of her bare scalp. “that way i can braid my own hair when it grows back.”

you still have notes from today to write and tomorrow’s chemotherapy doses to confirm with the pharmacy and platelet orders to put through before you can chance an hour or two of sleep. but what difference does the amount of sleep make when you wake up from both with the same bone-deep exhaustion anyway?

seolhee’s eyes brighten the slightest when you pull a chair up beside her bed and it solidifies your decision to answer, “of course,” because as a doctor, time is not for yourself but for other people. you have to make time out of nothing.

you tug on the elastic around your ponytail and shake your hair out, sectioning off the right side to work with. from your experience teaching all of your boyfriends, it had quickly become clear that braiding was easiest learnt with less hair to work with. splitting the sectioned hair into three locks, you lace them through your fingers to keep them separate as you talk seolhee through the steps.

“take the right strand and bring it over into the middle like this,” you teach, moving your fingers deftly but slowly. “then take the left strand and bring it over into the middle. then we repeat it again–right into the middle, left into the middle.”

your fingers continue weaving the locks of hair over and under, the motions familiar and the memory of teaching somebody else even more so. when you have braided almost to the ends of your hair, you release the braid then tuck your chair closer to the bed so that seolhee can reach easily.

“here, you try.”

at your encouragement, the little girl does as she remembers and starts to section off three locks of hair. her fingers accidentally tug too hard when she encounters a knot and you both rush to apologise.

“sorry, my hair is kind of tangled,” you chuckle lowly as heat rushes to the tip of your ears. “i haven’t used conditioner in a long time.”

“that’s okay. me neither,” seolhee jokes, giggling at her own words before asking you, “why not?”

you distractedly run your fingers through the hair that is not in seolhee’s hands as you slowly answer, “it saves me five minutes each time. it doesn’t sound like a lot, but…”

“...in the hospital it’s a lot,” seolhee finishes solemnly.

you nod. “five minutes can be a long hug before someone leaves forever. it can be somebody’s last confession or last promise. five minutes can be the difference between life and death.”

hush settles over her room while she eases the knot apart, six-year-old fingers gentle with the understanding of an adult several times her age. after a few minutes, she changes the topic. “who was the fastest learner out of your boyfriends? was it nurse hwa?”

“it was actually doctor jeong,” you reveal.

“from general surgery?”

you laugh at seolhee’s memory, “yes, doctor jeong from general surgery. he has the steadiest and most skillful hands.”

“are his braids also the prettiest, then?”

“they are very pretty, but i think doctor choi–the younger choi–does the prettiest braids.”

seolhee’s fingers pause so she can admire the beginnings of her handiwork. “do they still braid your hair?” she asks.

“not anymore,” you give a miniscule shrug. “there isn’t as much time to do things like this and certain things just lose their novelty over time.”

she looks at you curiously. “what does novelty mean?”

“something new and unfamiliar…in a sense, special.”

“why do things lose their novelty then?” seolhee frowns.

you hum, unsure how to answer such a simple yet riveting question when you yourself have never thought about it. you deliberate over your words, “i guess when we see, do and say things that were originally different over and over again, they can simply become habits and part of our routines. we do things just for the sake of doing them and eventually they lose their meaning. when that happens, sometimes you just end up not doing them anymore.”

wistful nostalgia fills you as seolhee continues braiding your hair, the ticklish intimacy sending your mind adrift to a time when your boys would do the same–back to a time when your hair was smooth and knot-free because you still used conditioner. but change is inevitable and you have no time to dwell on what used to be. so after seolhee finishes her braid, you return to your cycle of work, home and sleep.

by the time you get home in the afternoon, most of your boyfriends have long left for their shifts save for san, who was also on-call, and yunho, who is still not back from an emergency trauma surgery. you are barely able to keep your eyes open when you stumble into the bathroom for a quick shower. this time, you completely forgo both conditioner and shampoo, simply wetting your hair as you roughly scrub your face and the rest of your body. you do not bother to dry your hair either, keeping it wrapped in a towel before you sink into bed.

you have no recollection of falling asleep when the soft click of the front door opening and closing wakes you up. eyes still closed, you drowsily listen to yunho’s soft thuds and murmurs as he treads his usual path through the house upon returning. your boyfriend pads softly to the dining room, to the bathroom…then he goes straight to his own bedroom.

no longer do you stay within the clutches of rest. yunho has always, no matter how exhausted, taken time to give you and the others a kiss before he heads to sleep. it is his habit, his routine. you lay awake for a long time, coming up with excuses as to why he has broken his cycle today, waiting to see if yunho will get up again and come into your room.

he does not and you eventually fall asleep again in restless fitfulness.

this will soon become the new norm; yunho will not take an extra five minutes to go into your bedrooms and give you tender kisses. in due time, your heart will no longer clench in disappointment nor will you lay awake in false hope whenever he returns from his shift.

you will simply drift back into the realms of unconsciousness seconds after hearing the click of the front door open, succumbing into peaceful sleep again before the door has even closed shut. after all, things lose their novelty over time.

you do not normally watch dramas or tv shows, or anything that requires a recurring time commitment, really. for one, that is hours upon hours of time that could be used elsewhere, and two, the scattered time you can find here and there is so sparse you often forget the events of the last episode by the time you watch the next.

but your fingers currently hover over the first episode of an airing drama, one too many clips of this particular show having appeared on your feed for you not to crack, so you decide to give it a go. you can watch maybe half an episode before you should head to sleep since your shift starts early tomorrow, but maybe, just maybe, tonight you will spoil yourself with the entire episode.

keeping the volume low on your phone since you are in the living room with a few of your boyfriends, you tuck your feet closer towards yourself on the couch and play the first episode. jongho’s ears perk up at the starting sounds of the introduction from where he is in the kitchen reheating some leftovers and he comments, “it’s been a while since you last watched something.”

you nod just as jongho’s words catch the attention of wooyoung walking past. “you’re starting a drama?” he asks, peering at your phone with a slight snicker. “damn, you’re going to spend even less time with us now.”

it is an off-handed joke with no ill intentions, yet it digs itself uncomfortably inside your chest, even more so when a few of the others also chuckle. your finger twitches to stop your episode. the couch sinks beside you under the weight of mingi, who has moved from his position on the floor to your right with quiet comfort and veiled protectiveness.

“we’ve all been spending less time with one another,” he vaguely points out.

hongjoong looks up from the systematic review he is reading on gene replacement therapy, still rushing to complete his presentation. “you’re right. that’s funny,” he remarks, “i can’t remember the last time we went out on dates, even when just any two of us.”

wooyoung shrugs, “we’ve all been tired.”

your mouth opens before you can stop yourself from snapping, “so why was i the only one who was the butt of the joke?”

“woah, sorry,” hongjoong winces slightly, “we didn’t know it would make you feel upset or anything.”

it is not sadness so much as guilt that pricks at your conscience, because there is slight truth to the situation–you haven’t been making as much effort, but neither has anyone. you are not the one drifting away from the others. you are all drifting apart in your own directions.

jongho steps in to smoothen the situation with a blanket statement, “we’ve all been tired and busy. nobody’s pointing fingers at anybody. drop it.” the microwave sounds and he turns to take his food out.

something is pressed into your hand and you glance down to see mingi wordlessly handing you a set of earphones. he gives you a small smile, nudging your hand with the earphones and a beckon of his brows. you return his smile and place one in your ear before offering him the other. mingi puts it in whilst reaching over to hold your phone in your stead, then taps his own shoulder with his free hand for you to rest your head against.

your boyfriend adjusts the volume higher as he murmurs, “it’s a bit hard to hear,” but you know better. mingi does not care for dramas and the volume is already plenty loud. sometimes, additional noise is just needed to drown out other noise.

the drama continues to play but you heed no attention to it. wooyoung has walked back into his room to finish the lecture he is watching, jongho now sits at the dining table to eat, and hongjoong is working on his presentation again.

the conversation with your boyfriends has ended with the conclusion that there have been no dates recently. yet, there is no extension of the conversation to make a date happen. it would be a lie to say that you have not noticed their absence, but after the first couple of times they had to be postponed or called off entirely, they just started slipping from your mind completely.

you wonder when you had all stopped making the intentional effort to go on dates, but most of all, you wonder when you had all stopped caring.

you only watch half an episode that night. you do not pick it back up again either.

she is alive.

there is a webbing of tubes and wires encasing her entire body–blood transfusions, vasopressors, monitoring lines of all sorts–but she is alive. kim seolhee is still alive.

only at the physical sight of her chest moving up and down does the reassurance unlock the tautness in your joints, the strained muscles in your body almost failing to hold your weight upright as you lean subtly against the threshold of the door.

you had headed straight for seolhee’s room before everything else the moment you had arrived for your shift. the usual fifteen-minute drive to the hospital had been shortened to half its time when mingi had arrived home from his shift just as you were getting ready to leave for yours with the news that seolhee had been readmitted into the ED with sepsis and was now in the paediatric intensive care unit. you had driven on autopilot the entire way swallowing the thick surge of panic that kept rising up your throat despite mingi’s repeated reassurances that she was stable; she just needed further monitoring.

“i thought i was going to die.”

those are the first words that faintly leave her lips when she sees you, her face mercifully free of a ventilator and oxygen mask, which is always a good sign. you weakly breathe out, tone as light as you can make it, “well, thank god you’re alive.”

“missed you too much, doctor snowflake,” seolhee’s hand twitches in your direction with attempted cheekiness as you walk closer. “i came back to follow you to your next rotation.”

despite the situation, you break out into a small bout of giggles at her morbid humour. you had sated seolhee’s curiosity by telling her your entire year of scheduled rotations and by some twist of fate, your PICU rotation had commenced two weeks ago. with a fond tap of her nose that conceals the clenching sadness inside your heart, you joke, “you just like riding in the ambulance, don’t you?”

“maybe,” she grins innocently. “the sirens are pretty cool.”

despite the snort of amusement that leaves you, her answer is what truly makes your throat constrict and voice waver. your words are hardly audible–afraid to break down fully in front of your patient, in front of sweet seolhee–when you respond, “i knew it.”

but she is ever perceptive as she comforts, “don’t cry.”

“i’m not,” you shamelessly counter, even as heat starts to pool around your eyes, and the both of you laugh at your absurdity. but in certain situations if you do not laugh, the only other option will be to cry and you cannot have that because that would be unprofessional–neither would you be able to stop–so you will wait until you are only in the presence of your boyfriends to let yourself go.

sleep starts to take over seolhee again and she drowsily blinks at you, energy depleted from her infection, cancer and the numerous drugs pumping throughout her battered body. she sinks herself a little deeper into her crinkly mattress and fights off her closing eyelids just long enough to tell you once more, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

it is already nearing the end of summer now despite the unchanging pristine whiteness of winter within the hospital walls. yet, you cannot bear to point that out, not when you were so close to losing her phrase of affection forever.

her eyes close and you watch the steady rhythm of her chest rising and falling. thank god she is alive.

your prayer comes from y/n, but the bitter resentment at the irony of those five words comes from doctor l/n. your entire life is dedicated to saving the lives of others, yet time and time again you are forced to wonder just how much power you truly have as a doctor in the face of fate and the gods above; where it makes you wonder whether your efforts and sacrifices will always be in vain if your patient is somebody whose time on earth has just simply run out.

and it appears that you are not the only person weighed down by the harsh insecurities of your career today. yeosang’s knees are drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he sits on the floor against the wall of the storage room you two are hiding in, mere hours later after your turbulent morning with seolhee.

“he was our age,” yeosang finally murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “he was admitted for a suspected brain tumour only because a sudden headache caused him to lose consciousness.”

whereas seolhee had been a case of could have–she could have died–there are cases like yeosang’s patient. the would have lived; the what if and the if only.

yeosang’s chest shudders as he exhales, “he had had consistent migraines for months but he never did anything about them. he would’ve lived, otherwise. turns out it was a brain tumour all along and it ended up rupturing because it was left untreated…he didn’t survive the surgery.”

your boyfriend rarely cries and today is no exception either. yet the way he leans into your side for both physical and emotional support shows just how much his heart is hurting for this death. death is something you all learn to become accustomed to in the medical field, but desensitisation does not equate to immunity. there will always be ones that hit harder than others.

it is a harrowing death when the patient is close in age because it makes you think of yourself–of your friends, of your lovers–and it hurts that much more to think that it could have been any of those people. this morning has already left your emotions strung tight and heart vulnerable, and very quickly you can feel the same swell of tears threatening to demolish the walls you had hastily built to keep yourself collected.

you want to cry but then that would be taking away from yeosang’s hurt, so you will wait until you are home instead. for now, you tug yeosang into your arms, holding him steady against your chest as if that will support your own walls and keep them from crumbling.

by the time you get home after your shift, you are no more than a mere husk of yourself. you have drained every single reservoir of yours that holds your love, care and courage for your patients. all that is left are the fragile remnants waiting to break at the slightest touch. you trudge down the corridor to your room, muddled mind trying to recall whether san is home tonight to hold you in your sleep, when you walk past the partially-closed door to seonghwa’s bedroom.

instinctively, you glance inside. he lays listlessly on his bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and you immediately know.

where there are the could haves and the would haves, there are also the should haves; the unjust, the young deaths. those that should not even be an existing phenomenon in the world no matter how cruel the devil may be–those who should have lived.

seonghwa, who wears his entire heart on his sleeve, has lost a PICU baby at work today.

for a split second, there is a shameful thought that suddenly infiltrates your mind–to continue walking past as if you had not seen him until you reach the confines of your own room. but you could never do that to any of your boyfriends, much less seonghwa. seonghwa, who treats each and every baby like his own, who hides in the bathroom to cry after he sees the parents hurting, whose love and empathy is a never-ending fountain of supply.

you knock softly on the door so as not to startle him then gently call out his name. it takes the door opening a little wider for him to realise you are stepping into his room and he immediately sits up, a small smile gracing his face at the sight of you despite the blotchiness of his skin.

“sorry, love. i didn’t notice you standing there,” he apologises.

you shake your head, heart clenching at the sight of him pretending to be okay. you walk closer to him until you can smooth down the back of his hair with kind hands. “do you want to talk?” you tenderly ask.

the tension releases in seonghwa’s shoulders and back as he sags, no longer keeping up his facade at the knowledge that you can see right through him. he looks up at you tiredly with his swollen eyes, “do you have time to talk?”

time you can always make. perhaps the question that should be asked is whether you have the capacity to talk…the emotional capacity. frankly, you do not. you yourself need to cry, whether for seolhee or out of mental exhaustion itself it does not matter anymore. but saying no would be putting your needs before his, and putting your needs after everybody else’s is all that you have known as a doctor, so you will wait until you are alone in the darkness under your bed covers to finally let yourself go.

for now, you rest seonghwa’s head in your lap and brush away his tears, soaking up the pain of his words into your own heart instead. only when his breathing evens out and he no longer stirs under your fingers do you finally ease yourself to lie down next to him, barely hanging on to the edges of your own consciousness. you fall asleep before your tears can even begin to gather underneath your closed eyelids.

that night, you dream of drowning–stifling lungs and gasping mouthfuls–until you eventually suffocate in silence and become swallowed by the black depths of the water. the pillow underneath your cheek is damp when you jolt awake, but whether it is from cold sweat or tears you do not know.

you are convinced dr nam’s job description includes making your life hell. no matter where your rotation takes place, the department head always manages to find fault in something you do…or do not do.

“do you know what our hospital prides itself in?” dr. nam asks rhetorically. “we are not simply a hospital–we are a family. we help each other out in times of need.”

there is a rising snort in your throat that threatens to reveal your cynicism, knowing that when the phrase ‘family’ comes from somebody of higher authority, it is just a cover-up of mock care for the employees. dr. nam continues to smile, not unkindly, but with obvious artificiality that makes it look dangerous as he asks, “so how come you are not helping out in the NICU? i know that the attending has asked you for help.”

overnight on-call shifts already have fewer staff rostered on than usual, but with one of the junior residents having called in sick, the NICU is currently understaffed. the attending physician had paged you earlier asking if you could help out with some of the routine admissions and write up the patient histories and physicals, but you had apologised and declined. for one, you are assigned to the PICU, two, you are the most senior resident on that shift and three, you have endless tasks with far higher priority to complete instead.

you struggle to keep the exasperation out of your voice, sick of being flagged for ridiculous reasons and much less when you are seventeen hours into your shift, “most of the NICU admissions were stable and did not require urgent attention. their H&Ps can be completed later when the juniors are back.”

“ah,” dr. nam nods his head condescendingly, “doctor l/n, you stick by the rules too much. where is your sense of comradeship for this family that we have at kq–if not the entire hospital, then at least within our own department? if i remember correctly, there was a similar incident with one of your past interns.”

it is absolutely ridiculous that even months later you are still being faulted for the central line incident with dr. lim. you stay silent, expression dark and jaw grinding no matter how hard you try not to let your frustration show. 

“go help out in the NICU for an hour or two. i’m sure your own unit is relatively quiet right now,” he instructs. “remember, we’re a family that helps one another.” dr. nam’s grin grows wider, words dripping with saccharine honey that makes it impossible to refute.

“yes, doctor nam,” you respond through gritted teeth. double-checking you have your pager on you so that your actual ward can still reach you for emergencies, you take the elevator down to the NICU.

the next few hours are spent stretching yourself thin over both units as you run back and forth managing patients, answering questions, and most irritatingly, completing tasks that should really be allocated to juniors. it is not until you dazedly mistype the same word four times into the EMR that it registers in your groggy mind that it is already early in the morning, past the quiet time that is your usual window for a brief hour of sleep.

you inhale slowly until your chest is full then let out the longest sigh, your head tilted upwards, eyes closed and shoulders slouching as the world’s worth of resignation weighs down on you. it is 5:30AM, only five more hours–or three if you are lucky–left until the end of your shift. keeping your eyes shut for another few seconds, you recollect yourself to make it through the morning.

a resident appears in front of you, seemingly chipper as he stretches his arms above his head and jokes to a passing nurse that he had an amazing nap in the call room. the brief composure you had gathered immediately dissipates when you hear him. not only have you sacrificed your own sleep to help a unit that is not your own, but there are NICU residents who have taken the liberty to nap instead.

that’s it. you have done multitudes more than your duty requires you to do so. greeting the well-rested resident with a passive-aggressive smile, even if you are aware he is not at fault, you bid your farewell with the instruction, “tell your attending that doctor l/n has gone back to her own unit now.”

you punch the elevator’s number to your floor a little harder than intended, grateful that there is nobody else inside to hear your loud exhale of weariness and defeat. the floor display slowly flickers with higher numbers. maybe being back in the PICU will give you peace of mind.

the elevator doors open to directly reveal a ruckus beside the nursing station. “fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, finally letting a curse slip through. “what now?”

“what do you mean you’re not a doctor?” a shrill voice cuts through the noise of the small huddle of people as you walk closer.

“i am a nurse, mrs ryeo, not a doctor,” somebody answers.

you could recognise his voice anywhere–it is wooyoung. your exasperation quickly turns into concern and you ease yourself through a few nurses so that you can reach your boyfriend.

mrs ryeo states, “but you’re a man.”

“that is an excellent observation, but unfortunately, that does not change my job qualifications.” despite wooyoung’s innate cheek, it does not usually appear when he is dealing with parents or the occasional adult patient, which tells you that this woman is either a repeating offender or has been kicking up a fuss for some time now.

“hello, mrs ryeo,” you intercept, stepping over to wooyoung’s side. “how can i help you?”

the middle-aged lady scans you up and down with disdain before scoffing, “i don’t want a nurse; i want a doctor.”

your patience has long been running on thin ice and if you did not care about your career, you would turn around, walk two steps away, then twirl around with a curtsey whilst introducing yourself as doctor l/n just to fuck with her. at least wooyoung would laugh.

unfortunately, you do care about your career so you can only explain with a placating smile on your face that you are a doctor–a fourth-year resident at that. mrs ryeo ignores you in favour of rudely pointing and beckoning behind you. “hey, you,” she demands, “see my child.”

a glance over your shoulder reveals that she has pointed to one of your male interns. he does not make a move to step forward, warily gesturing back towards you as he explains, “she’s the senior resident on call right now.”

“i don’t want a fucking resident. i want a real doctor,” she opposes.

“mrs ryeo,” you grit your teeth, “he is my intern. i am a doctor–the most senior doctor currently on shift–”

“bullshit you’re the most senior doctor. i refuse to let you treat my child. i want a male doctor.”

your fingers flutter out to grasp the side of wooyoung’s scrubs, partially to ground yourself, but also because you know that he will not stand there and let you be disrespected. however, there is absolutely no way any of you will be able to talk some sense into her, so it is better to just save your breaths. “dr. ahn will not be in until this afternoon,” you simply state.

“then i’ll wait,” she snaps stubbornly.

you nod, “as you wish. i’ll let him know.” you walk away and the nurses take that as their cue to disperse and continue with their duties now that the situation has been somewhat diffused. 

wooyoung follows you aside to where there are less people. “you okay?” he asks, searching your eyes.

with a dismissive shrug you answer, “you get used to it,” then change the topic to gently remind, “document it on the EMR that she refused to be seen and then fill out an incident report.”

wooyoung nods but continues to look at you unconvinced. “do you finish at seven today? i’ll wait for you,” he offers.

“no,” you grimace, “i probably have to wait until the morning rounds are over. you go home first.” a soft laugh escapes from you when your boyfriend’s eyebrows knit together and you reassure, “i’m fine, really. i should get back to work. i’ll see you at home, woo.”

you turn around before his expression or any further questions can weaken your resolve. from somewhere near the nursing station, you know that mrs ryeo is still staring at you scathingly. breaking down now in any shape or form would only serve to fuel her misogynistic prejudices. so you hold your head up high, pretend that this is just any other day, then continue with the remainder of your shift telling yourself that nothing can make you break.

it is nearing eleven in the morning by the time you get home. your feet mechanically take you to your doorstep and your hands slide the cover of the keypad lock upwards to tap in the number code, mind dissociated from your heart and the rest of your body. like water and hot oil, you keep them separated, otherwise dwelling on how they feel together will inevitably lead to a sudden outburst of emotion.

you feel yourself being dragged back to your senses, automatically tuning in to the rowdiness that increases in volume when you open the door. it is one of those rare sundays where more than half of you are home together. there are shouts of teasing banter, cabinets closing shut and the clink of glassware being washed. vaguely, you can also hear a passionate squabble between two of your boyfriends over something trivial.

whereas before, coming home to your boys would have cooled down your bubbling oil, today they feel like the water you are trying to keep away.

“i swear it wasn’t me,” you hear.

san’s voice is slightly muffled as he teases back, “yeah, whatever you say, yunho.”

you slowly walk into the open living room from where you can also see the kitchen. the countertop surface is covered with plastic bags, groceries for nine spilling out from them as jongho systematically pulls the cold items out to hand them over to san. said boyfriend has his body halfway inside the fridge whilst yunho holds the door open by leaning on it with his weight.

“it’s true! i didn’t drink any this week,” yunho defends himself. “y/n didn’t buy them!”

you falter at the mention of your name. without the context of the conversation, you are suddenly left wondering whether you had messed something up.

“speak of the devil,” yeosang announces, spotting you as he returns from the bathroom. he comes up and gives you quick squeeze in greeting.

yunho perks up at the sight of you. “perfect! let me prove it to you,” he tells san. determined to attest his supposed innocence over something that you still do not know what, your tallest boyfriend turns to face you and asks, “did you restock our protein shakes last week?”

you frown with an unintelligent stutter as you try to recall the sudden information. last week, you had gone out to get some fresh groceries but had suddenly been called in for a shift, so you had had to give up on everything you did not deem as essential. san and yunho’s shakes, unfortunately, did not make the cut.

“no, i–”

“see!” yunho exclaims, whipping around to face san again before you can finish the rest of your sentence. his tone is triumphant as he reiterates, “i told you it was y/n who was the culprit, not me!”

san chuckles with fondness at the other, “okay, you’re forgiven.”

a bitter taste immediately spreads throughout your mouth along with the flaming heat that now covers your cheeks. you cannot tell whether it is anger or embarrassment–perhaps both–but it feels as though the water you have been holding off has suddenly been poured over you.

“why didn’t you go buy them yourself, then, if you knew i didn’t,” you question yunho curtly.

he looks at you with a grin, “because you were meant to buy them and then i didn’t have time to go.” his words are stated as a matter-of-factly with absolutely no intentions to insinuate anything apart from his reasons as to why he did not buy the protein shakes himself.

but you do not hear yunho and his playfulness that you normally indulge in–you hear dr. nam instead belittling your time and you also hear mrs ryeo with her condescending contempt, and now that you are no longer at work, you fail to reign yourself in. you snap before you even realise how heated your words are, “yeah, and i have all the time in the world.” you throw out sarcastically, “next time, why don’t i also mix your shakes, wait on my knees and hold the straw up to your lips while you drink them during your workouts.”

your boyfriends stare at you with wide eyes, silence deafening after the near-shout your voice had risen to by the end of your sentence. you let out a shaky exhale, suddenly sober. you no longer bubble and boil inside, emotions down to a simmer now, but still they remain unsteady and suddenly leave you with overwhelming exhaustion.

“sorry,” you mutter under your breath, “forget i said anything.”

pivoting on the balls of your feet, you escape to your own bedroom, ignoring the concern on wooyoung’s face from where he has woken up and stuck his head out of his own room at the commotion. you shut your door and then sit heavily on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on your knees and head buried in your hands.

“fuck,” you hiss, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes to stop yourself from crying. you are so frustrated–at everything that has happened today, at how you reacted, at the fact that you cannot seem to understand what you are feeling or what you want anymore.

you are going to have to talk to your boyfriends and apologise later, but for now, you just need to be alone.

only a few minutes pass before there is a soft knock on your bedroom door. you make no move to acknowledge the sound. neither do you make a noise of rejection though, so the boyfriend outside your door takes it as his cue to walk in.

“y/n?” he calls out hesitantly.

at the sound of his voice, you immediately look up. it is yunho looking like a kicked puppy, unable to bear any sort of conflict between any of you no matter how big or small the matter. you stand up but stay close to your bed. your heart wants to tug you closer towards your boyfriend yet your feet stay glued to their spot.

“y/n…” he starts again, “i–sorry, i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was blaming you.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine, i know you didn’t.”

“that still doesn’t change the fact that i hurt you,” yunho expresses, taking a step closer towards you.

“no, i should be the one apologising–sorry. what i said to you was completely uncalled for,” you admit.

“hey, no. i didn’t come for an apology,” he looks at you with rounded eyes, now close enough to grasp you gently by your arms. yunho’s voice is soft as he says, “i’m worried about you. you don’t normally lash out like that…what’s wrong?”

everything.

“nothing,” you answer, avoiding his gaze.

he continues to probe, “are you sure? is it something to do with work?” when you remain quiet, he starts to guess, “...or is it us–”

“it’s work,” you cut him off before he can turn his words into a real question. “work has been tiring. i just–give me a bit of time.” you pat yunho’s hand placatingly, subtly easing your arms out of his grasp at the same time. you do not deserve his affection right now.

he fumbles awkwardly, unease stringing his body tight as his eyes scan yours. “we’ll talk later then?” he eventually concludes, verbally reaching out one more time to see if you want to take it.

“later,” you confirm softly, a small smile gracing your lips that does not reach the rest of your face. “i’m going to catch up on some sleep now.”

“ah, right. you were on call. sleep well then,” yunho concedes. he walks out of your room, gingerly closing the door behind him.

you have barely grabbed a fresh set of pajamas and underwear to quickly rinse yourself in the shower when there is another knock on your door. it takes a lot of energy not to sigh but to open the door instead where you discover san and jongho standing in the corridor with twin expressions of concern.

“did yunho talk things out with you?” san asks as jongho simultaneously says, “how are you feeling?”

you know that they have good intentions checking up on you, but you really just want to be left alone. your own thoughts and emotions are already equivalent to a crowd themselves. “yeah, yunho and i are fine. i’m fine, just tired. thanks for asking and sorry for shouting earlier,” you apologise, because you owe them that much at the very least. then you try and dismiss them before they can ask anything else, “a shower and some sleep will do me good.”

they glance down when you lift up your hand and they see the clothes you hold. jongho knows better than to push, so he places his own hand on san’s back in silent meaning whilst answering on their behalf, “you’re right. we’ll let you sleep. do you want us to wake you up for dinner?”

you smile a little more genuinely but still shake your head. “i’ll eat something before i leave for work tomorrow.”

although san has a lot to say to that, he holds his tongue and lets himself be guided back to the kitchen with jongho’s hand still on him. “let her have some time alone first. she’ll eat if she’s hungry,” the younger reassures him and san can only nod and hope that rest is all that you need. he cannot shake off the feeling that there is much more to it than you are letting on.

you hop into the shower, rinse and dry off and brush your teeth within ten minutes. sleep is your only reprieve now–the only time you do not need to think or feel–and you rush through your routine before you can start coming to conclusions about the whats and whys to the problems in your life. finishing up in the bathroom you go back to your own room, startling when you open the door and are greeted by the sight of wooyoung waiting on your bed.

“you okay?” he asks as soon as he sees you.

annoyance starts to grind your gears no matter how hard you try to remind yourself that your boyfriends are purely looking out for you. but concern has its limits before it starts to become overbearing and when they keep asking one after the other, you are unable to appreciate their efforts.

“i’m fine,” you respond tersely, words no longer genuine after how many times you have repeated them to questions you have heard on loop.

“are you sure? i know you had a rough day at work with mrs ryeo and–”

“wooyoung,” you finally interrupt, “just drop it. please.”

his expression falls and you immediately regret your words. but what’s done is done and the list of people you are hurting today only seems capable of growing–what is one more person on the list? wooyoung stands up and leaves your room with a quiet, sorry, and you do nothing to stop him.

hearing the door shut behind you, you walk over to where the curtains are pulled aside to let the afternoon sunlight of autumn filter in. all the curtains in the bedrooms are blackout curtains, the first additions to the apartment from day one of your careers. you draw them closed, shutting out the sunlight and plunging your room into darkness.

at last, you slide into bed. the screen of your phone lights up as you plug it into your charger and you find a text from yeosang and one from seonghwa just a few minutes ago, but you do not open them. you clear your notifications before you can even read the previews and put your phone on ‘do not disturb’. making sure your alarm is set for tomorrow’s shift, you switch the screen off and shove it under your pillow.

you close your eyes. you have a long list of people to work things out with before you can truly say that you are fine. but there is one thing you fail to realise as you finally fall asleep. the name at the very top of the list is not one of your boyfriends’–

it is your own.

the incident ends up being swept under the rug. you wake up that next morning an hour before your first alarm goes off, lying in the muted hours of dawn before the world starts to stir with the shadows on the ceiling of your bedroom twisting and warping like creatures.

your entire body is filled with an inexplicable sense of dread at the thought of the day ahead. it is not solely due to what happened yesterday between you and your boyfriends. there are a multitude of contributing factors but frankly, you fear dwelling on them and finding out just what percentage of your anxiety stems from the boys. unable to fall asleep and not entirely ready to face anybody yet, you decide to leave for your shift early.

the drive to the hospital feels particularly dystopian today. no matter what season the streets transition into over the year–regardless of the brilliant vibrance of autumn that has blanketed the ground for the last two months–it unfailingly turns back into the perpetual state of sterile winter once you are inside the hospital. it has never been something that you have dwelled on, but now it seems to be the truest reflection of your current self–a mere utopian facade hiding what is inside your walls.

you return nurse aeri’s enthusiastic greeting upon walking into the PICU with chirpiness that your weekend was great. you gasp with animated reactions at the story little siwoo tells you when you reach his room during your morning rounds. you comfort mr and mrs chae with graceful compassion and warm smiles when you tell them their daughter can finally be discharged. not a single person would look at you and think that something is wrong, and yet, you feel like you are simply a ghost of your emotions, detached and distant from your own words and actions. not even the news of seolhee stabilising enough to be transferred out of the PICU back to the paediatric oncology ward gives you the same genuine spike in emotions you would have felt a week ago.

the brief encounters with seonghwa around the unit and the brief glimpses of san and wooyoung around the department do nothing to alleviate your blanket of anxiety because they are a visual and physical reminder of the cavernous pit in your stomach. you end up going home after your shift with a tightness in your chest that has gradually become suffocating at the thought of being confined in the same space as your boyfriends, wondering if they are expecting you to talk to them; the conversation you had brushed off yesterday.

you are not ready yet and you do not want to talk, so instead you do what you do best–walk through the threshold of your front door with a plastered expression of neutrality as though nothing has happened the day before. but to your surprise–whether pleasant or bitter, however contradictory that may be, you cannot tell–they too appear to skirt around the issue.

there is a restless buzz in the air as yunho portions dinner out into separate bowls for those who are at home. hongjoong is hunched over his laptop with concentration at the dining table as usual, zeroed in on his presentation even amongst the bustle of yeosang and jongho setting the cutlery around him, but the jitters in his legs tell you differently. when he spots you walking closer, he shuts his laptop and places it to the side to greet you.

“seonghwa made ramen bulgogi for us before he left,” he tells you while you wash your hands at the sink and peer into the pot yunho is holding.

you gingerly slide into the seat across from hongjoong, watching yeosang dawdling in the kitchen as if he is trying to find something to keep himself busy with. “i thought he wasn’t rostered on for night shift today,” you absentmindedly comment.

jongho places your bowl of ramen in front of you and sits to your right as he answers, “he had to cover for one of the other nurses.”

you nod, waiting for the two in the kitchen. yunho comes to sit on your other side at the head of the table and yeosang beside hongjoong, their bowls placed down with a clunk that leads to silence in conversation.

“how’s your presentation going?” yunho vaguely asks hongjoong after a few minutes.

the older picks at his meat in his bowl, “it’s going alright. i only have the limitations and future directions for neurological gene therapies left to research.”

there is another lull in conversation before jongho asks, “did your surgeries go smoothly today?”

yunho nods, “i led a couple of trauma surgeries today. only one of them ended up going overtime.”

“you’re going to surpass the other doctors soon, doctor jeong from general surgery,” you tease slightly.

the boys share a few chuckles before the table falls silent once more and you can only hear the occasional slurp of noodles or clatter of chopsticks against the bowl. you glance at hongjoong, who is scratching the back of his neck, then at yeosang, whose gaze you can see darting around his bowl like he is avoiding eye contact. shifting your weight slightly in your chair, you suddenly start to realise why they are all acting so awkwardly.

it is not that your boyfriends are trying to skirt around yesterday’s fallout–if you can call it that–like you are. instead, they are waiting for you to be the one initiating the conversation so that they know for sure you are ready to have the conversation. the sentiment is appreciated but it does nothing to stop your muscles from clamming up even further.

the thought of talking and even just thinking about why you are feeling the way you are is enough to overwhelm you entirely again. it is much easier to simply pretend you are okay than to face the problems head on, because then you have to actually acknowledge that something is wrong. but you know that it is not just one issue but several things exacerbating one another, and just that awareness in itself already makes your insides lurch and clench dangerously. 

there is one sole advantage to your boyfriends’ approach to handling this situation. the timeline of when to talk is left up to you, so you choose the one option they had failed to preempt–not to talk at all. you finish your ramen in silence pretending you do not see the shared glances between the boys, get up to place your dishes into the sink ignoring the gazes that linger on your back, then retreat to your bedroom whilst shoving your emotions into the deepest corners in the back of your mind.

they gave you a choice. you simply made one.

the weeks pass by. you change through another rotation and the beginning of winter arrives once more. the only thing that stays the same is the elephant in the room that remains unaddressed and your lonely fight to keep it that way.

restlessness seeps into every interaction that the boys share with you. it follows you to work, jongho and yunho making excuses to go to your ward just to see what you are doing even though their own wards are on the other side of the hospital. it is in the way san tries to swap himself onto night shifts the days he knows you are working one as well, and in how seonghwa liaises with your colleagues under the guise of his role as the CNS, simply to probe whether you are overexerting yourself or not.

it follows you home too, a constant breathing down your neck in the form of mingi carefully scanning your expression the moment you walk through the door after your shift, and in yeosang hovering within five feet regardless of where you are. wooyoung checks the fridge first thing after coming home, counting the boxes of meal prep to make sure you had taken one to work that day, and hongjoong asks how your day was with the intention of probing further to ask how you are coping. he is not the only one who tries to check and your answer never changes–work was good, you are fine.

gradually, you find yourself trying to avoid their line of sight, ducking behind colleagues on the wards or back into your own bedroom at home. it is easier to pretend that you are okay than to admit that you are not, and when that does not work, to just stay away from your boyfriends completely. you are well aware that avoiding them is not healthy, but smokers too know very clearly the health risks of tobacco yet continue to smoke. just how many things are there in the world that we know are unhealthy for ourselves–physically, mentally, socially–and we still choose to make that decision?

but as with any unhealthy choices, they eventually lead to detrimental consequences. unbeknownst to you, each denial of help causes the string inside of you to wind up tighter and tighter until it becomes taut enough to snap at any moment.

and that is what ends up happening on a wednesday night.

seonghwa and wooyoung are both still at the hospital. by the time they get home after their shifts, it will already nearly be time for dinner, so with everybody’s first preferences for cooks still working, you are the next in line. hongjoong had originally offered to order takeout instead since you had been on call last night, but you had been unable to fall asleep despite how exhausted you felt and you hated being stuck in the limbo state of idleness between rest and non-rest.

“are you sure you don’t want us to just order takeout today?”

“it’s fine, hongjoong,” you respond shortly, “i’ve already started cooking.”

yeosang sits at the countertop separating the kitchen from the open living room and dining area, watching as you make a simple soup and stir-fried dish. you try to ignore his intent staring but it is difficult when his gaze quite literally follows you from cupboard to sink to stove. it is only when he hesitantly asks, “are you okay?” that you realise you have left your expression unschooled, dark frown covering your face.

you force your features to relax and nod, trying not to throw a question back at him asking what he is doing just staring at you. his question catches the attention of san sitting on the couch, who calls out to check up on you, “is something wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong,” you sigh, turning around as if that will help to block them out, aware that your patience for them–for anybody–has started running thin. you idly hum at san’s reminder to ask them for help if you need it despite knowing fully well that having an extra person in the kitchen space would only serve to have the opposite effect to its intended purpose.

jongho passes by behind you to fill up a cup of water at the sink. as he waits, he glances at you stirring the pot before double taking at your expression. he tentatively questions, “you alright? do you want me to help?”

“why do you keep asking me that?” you reply, only half-jokingly. you drive him out with an irritated wave of your hand, “just sit and wait.”

your boyfriends are at least tactful enough to understand they are not to step foot into the kitchen until dinner is cooked, but it does nothing to alleviate the sensation of holes being drilled into the back of your head. you are so focused on ignoring them that you do not realise when seonghwa and wooyoung come home from their shifts.

“hey, love,” seonghwa sidles up to you in the kitchen as you slice some extra spring onions. “how’s your day been?”

as he asks you, he comes up from behind and slides a hand around your hip to rest on it. his touch is habitual–something he always does to you and the boys–but you are tense and on edge. you jerk in surprise, accidentally slicing your finger with the knife. it is only a small cut and absolutely unintentional on your boyfriend’s part, but your fuse finally runs out and you drop the knife with a clatter, whirling around angrily to face him.

“can you fucking stop doing that?” you snap, tone clipped and unkind.

seonghwa flusters, trying to apologise and look at your injury whilst simultaneously jerking backwards in confusion at your hostility. he stutters, “i–y/n, are you okay? i didn’t mean to surprise you–”

“no, that’s not it,” you interrupt, blind to the stinging in your finger. “i mean your fucking questions, and not just from you. all of you.” you lash out at the other boys too who have now stood up and are varying distances from the kitchen. “every single fucking day you ask me if i’m okay. can you please stop that?”

san slowly walks closer until he reaches the countertop that separates the both of you. “y/n,” he calls out to you sadly, your sudden anger uncharacteristic, “we’re just worried about you. we want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“i know you do,” you cry out with exasperation, heat starting to gather behind your eyes, “and i’m trying to be okay, alright? i’m trying for everybody’s sake. but you make it so fucking hard when each and every single one of you keep asking me how i’m feeling as if you want me to fucking break down.”

“that’s not what we’re trying to do,” hongjoong tries to reason with you, but you are unable to rationalise anything in the spur of the moment.

you desperately blink back tears. “i’ve tried to pretend that everything is okay–pushed everything to the back of my mind so that i don’t think about it and hope that it resolves itself…but it’s not working.” you take a shaky breath, lips quivering and voice quieting with every word, “i’m just one person at home and i’m just one person at work. i am so fucking tired all the time.”

“but you aren’t just one person. you can tell us and we can help you.”

you do not even register who says that, because your eyes blur with wetness and your voice increases with frustration, “no, i can’t. when you’re tired, when you’re exhausted, you don’t have the time or the energy to ask for help, much less to fight for yourself. you think i haven’t thought about complaining to you guys and letting myself cry in your arms? or escalating whatever happens at work to the higher-ups? i know what i should do, but it’s all useless.

“when you are about to be caught in an avalanche and buried alive, do you remember to ignore your instincts and run horizontally instead of attempting to outrun it? do you remember to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from choking on snow? or to use your arms and legs to create air pockets for yourself, or to spit and use its trajectory to work out which way is up and down after you’re disorientated? no, you fucking don’t, because in the moment you can only focus on surviving. there is no time to do anything but that.”

your boyfriends are stunned into silence, not only by the bitter resentment that coats your loud voice and mars your face with furrowed eyebrows, but by the raw confession that tumbles out of your lips. they had known you were tired recently, just not the extent of it.

the tone of your words soften with exhaustion and heartache as you look them in the eyes one by one, “just think about ourselves…things aren’t the same between us anymore, don’t try to deny it. we don’t love each other like we used to. things have changed between us this year–it’s just that nobody has brought it up.” the tears that have pooled around your eyes finally slip down your cheeks. “and you know why? it’s because we’re all just trying to survive now. we don’t have the time or the luxury to do anything but survive.”

there is no thought that can be formulated in response to your words. seonghwa opens his mouth but then shuts it again because he knows you are right. it is ugly, but it is the truth.

having been in a relationship together for over four years now, not even including the turbulent years prior to becoming official when you were all navigating the hardships of medical school, your bonds are built upon the foundation of comfort and understanding. but what happens when that comfort turns into complacency, and understanding turns into indifference? what happens when time runs its course and wears down a relationship?

you avert your eyes downwards, the lines of the kitchen tiles blurry underneath your feet as your vision mists over, afraid to look at the sad gazes of your boyfriends any longer. there is a sudden thump of body colliding against the wall and a muffled curse that draws everybody’s attention, including yours, towards the corridor. mingi’s head snaps upwards with guilty eyes from where he had been trying to slink his way in from the front door unnoticed before accidentally stubbing his toe.

your body makes a split-second decision with the diversion. you push past seonghwa in the kitchen, past san and yeosang at the countertop and mingi by the wall, and past the rest of your boyfriends just standing there, back into the safety of your bedroom. it is from years of muscle memory navigating the apartment that you do not walk head-first into anything despite your vulnerable state, although your boyfriends also step out of your way in stunned stupor.

fumbling for the edge of the door behind you with your hand the moment you walk past the threshold to your bedroom, you step backwards until you are able to push it closed. it shuts with a loud click and then finally, you are alone.

you slowly sink forward to the ground, legs useless as your hands reach out towards the floor to hold yourself up. the world around you continues to blur with wetness, a stinging heat behind your eyes and nose, yet the tears do not fall and you do not cry. your gaze remains unfocused on the spot right beside the leg of your bed, frozen in your own stupor of tangled thoughts and emotions.

time, fucking time. you despise that word with your entire soul. in this world, the ones who are truly rich are not those with endless wealth to spare–the ones who are truly rich are those with endless time to spare.

when was the last time you drank freshly-brewed coffee at a cafe instead of guzzling down the grainy staleness of a rushed instant coffee that has not even been mixed properly? when was the last time you sat down for a knife-and-fork meal with warm food instead of popping a mint into your mouth to stave off your hunger pains for a little longer? when was the last time you went shopping for a pretty dress and a cute pair of matching heels instead of sniffing your scrubs at the end of a shift wondering whether you can postpone the laundry for one more day? when was the last time you used shampoo and conditioner when washing your hair instead of simply rinsing it under the water before your eyes closed on themselves?

they are such simple tasks of everyday life, yet they have now become unattainable luxuries in the face of insufficient time. you deliberately sacrifice the quality of your life to save a few extra minutes here, a few extra minutes there. but no matter how much time you are able to scrape out of thin air, it slips through the cracks of your fingers like fine sand and disappears amongst the people around you. even one spare minute, if you have any leftover after prioritising your patients, must be somehow split between the eight of your boyfriends.

you can save however much time you can, but it will never be enough. you are not enough.

the knotted twist of anxiety that has been distorting your insides for the past few weeks suddenly unravels with shattering clarity as your fears suddenly weigh you down with crushing exhaustion. you cannot even take care of yourself anymore–how can you take care of your boyfriends, much less eight of them? you want everything to just stop, but what exactly ‘everything’ entails, you have no idea.

there is a soft hand on your shoulder squeezing tenderly. it is warm, you idly think to yourself. they murmur, “y/n,” and only when they squeeze you again do you dazedly look up, blinking to clear your vision. mingi’s round eyes gaze at you and you find him kneeling beside your crumpled form on the floor of your bedroom. you have no energy to acknowledge him further than another blink and prolonged eye contact.

he stares at you for a few seconds, eyes full of words that he holds back, before simply asking, “have you showered yet?”

you do not answer, but he had not questioned you with the intention of receiving an answer. he responds for you, “probably, but i doubt you washed your hair. come,” his hand slowly travels down from your shoulder to your smaller hand, “take a shower with me.”

mingi’s gaze does not waver despite the slight narrowing of your eyes that tells him you are tired and unamused. “i stink and i want your company,” he states. then he makes the decision for you and tugs you upwards with him. despite his strength, mingi’s hands are gentle as he holds you, leading you out of your bedroom and into the bathroom instead.

you stand there and let him guide your arms through your jumper so that he can take it off your head. he does the same with your shirt, your pants and with your undergarments, his touch intimate and loving not with sexual desires but with devoted care as if he is afraid you will crack under the slightest of pressures. his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps where they brush against your skin and your eyes close with the softest of sighs, letting yourself relax under your boyfriend’s careful movements.

the bathroom begins to steam up from the spray of hot water and mingi steps you into the shower with him. quietly, he wets your hair and lathers his shampoo into it, sturdy hands massaging the tension out of your scalp and the nape of your neck. you watch the concentration in his creased brows and the water that drips down from his chin falls between your chests. not once does he look at you–only focuses on properly shampooing your hair.

it is only when mingi is rinsing your hair and you are no longer facing him do you pluck up the courage to speak delicately, “why aren’t you asking me if i’m okay?”

he is silent for a few seconds and you feel the slight pause in his hands against your scalp before he continues to run his fingers through your hair. “do you want me to ask?”

once again, you do not answer, but that is an answer in itself.

“plus,” mingi softly murmurs, hands leaving your hair, the click of a bottle cap opening resounding in the echo of the bathroom louder than his voice, “you’ll just say that you’re okay…even though you’re not.”

then the touch of his fingers returns as he teases something cold into your hair from its roots to its ends. almost immediately, you choke up and your expression crumples, lips trembling downwards as your eyebrows furrow, because mingi is putting conditioner in your hair. it is embarrassing that this of all things is what finally marks your breakdown, but mingi does not comment when your shoulders shudder with shaky exhales nor when you fail to hold in a stuttering sob. he lets you cry out your sorrows, pain and fatigue and he simply continues to massage the conditioner into your hair.

mingi simply continues to love you in the way that you did not love yourself.

when your hair is rinsed, only then does he turn you around to face him. under the showerhead with only the comforting tranquility of water pattering against the tiles around the both of you, he softly tilts your chin upwards to capture your lips in a kiss. it is a slow but simple kiss, lips pressed against yours with a thousand utterances of comfort and reassurances dancing across them.

he gives you one kiss, then another, and another, each one sweeter than the previous despite the salty tracks that run down your cheeks. your hands find their way onto his chest and the steady beat of his heart thrums underneath your palm. mingi rests your foreheads together, your tears falling in solitude with the water and with the tears that fall from inside his heart.

finally, he asks, “is it work?”

you shake your head slightly. “i don’t know.”

“is it us?”

the tears that had slowed down reappear with a strangled sob as you answer truthfully, your fears emerging at least, “i don’t know.”

“that’s okay, you don’t have to know,” he whispers, “and you don’t have to be okay.” he pulls away a little so that he can cradle your jaw with his hands and look into your eyes. “take the day off tomorrow, y/n.”

you do nothing to stop the tears that continue spilling over the bottom of your eyes as you shakily answer, “i don’t have time. my patients need me.”

“you do have time,” mingi counters, thumbing your tears away. “you just haven’t been spending that time on yourself. even doctors get sick, you know.”

“i’m not sick,” you deny.

your boyfriend pulls you into his chest and encases you in a protective embrace. “physically, maybe not. but your mental health is just as important, and sometimes the things that you can’t see inflict more suffering than the things that you can see.”

it is something that you all know and understand, but when you are trapped in a workplace where the mentality revolves entirely around a medical model of physical health, the disparity in value you place between your physical and mental health becomes so deeply ingrained it is almost impossible to change.

“mingi, what if…” you trail off. your boyfriend nuzzles the top of your head with his chin before brushing his lips over the crown of your forehead in encouragement. you swallow thickly to continue, “what if i need time alone?”

mingi pulls away from you once more, slowly so as not to further upset your already-scattered emotions. he looks at you earnestly, considering your words and their meaning–whether he is understanding your undertone correctly and whether this is a genuine request for respite or a spur-of-the-moment cry for reassurance. he watches your eyes flicker back and forth between his own.

“if that’s what you need,” he finally whispers, wrapping you closer in his arms again, “then i’ll support you no matter what.”

he feels your small puff of surprise against his chest and it pierces through his heart like a sword. how he wishes that you would realise that he and any of your other boys would pluck all the stars in the universe’s galaxies if you were to ask for them. but instead, you are asking him in a small and timid voice, “you’re not upset? the others won’t be upset?”

mingi chooses his next words carefully, aware that they could easily be misunderstood but also unwilling to treat you like a child where the world is only full of happy endings. not that you believe that anymore, anyway. “we will be upset,” he gently breaks to you, “but only at the situation that we're in because things have ended up like this before we could even really do anything for you. y/n, we will never be upset at you in this situation, much less upset at the decisions you choose to make. if time is what you need, then take however much time you need.”

you do not have the courage to lift up your head to meet his eyes, shame starting to creep through your veins because what if this decision is simply a decision to run away yet again? but then mingi senses your doubts and draws you in for another kiss. he captures your lips between his, pressing against you a little harder when you both start to run out of breath. he draws it out for longer until the kiss becomes dizzyingly and intoxicatingly blissful and fills your mind with thoughts of him and him only.

when you can finally inhale, the air swirls with a mix of his scent and the shampoo he had used. here, under the warm spray of water within the safe confines of the shower and mingi's arms, it may only be momentary but you are okay.

“can you tell the boys for me?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “i don't think i can tell them myself.”

mingi nods and the corners of his lips rise bittersweetly. “of course.”

so for the first time in four years since moving in with your boys, on a night that snows lightly but unceasingly, you pack a small bag of clothes and essential belongings…

and move out.

“good evening, doctor jeong from general surgery.”

the running joke between himself and the little girl in front never fails to draw a laugh of amusement out of yunho, who pretends to bow in formal greeting as he returns the acknowledgement, “good evening, kim seolhee from the paediatric ward.” when she giggles, he comments, “you look like you’re having a good day.”

seolhee grins and nods with excitement. not only does her expression look livelier, there is a slight healthy glow to her skin as well. “i was just telling doctor snowflake that they’re letting me go home for christmas next week before my next round of treatments start.”

at her words, there is no way to avoid eye contact with your boyfriend as his gaze automatically flicks over to where you are sitting beside her bed. ever since you moved out a few days ago into a friend’s rented apartment with a spare couch, your encounters with your boyfriends around the hospital have been…different.

a shift in dynamics was always going to be inevitable because it was–is–an action of request for space to think and just breathe, even though neither parties are truly mad or upset at one another. just as mingi had reassured you in the shower, it is simply the circumstances that have piled up and led to a consequence like so, and if you need time away from a contributing factor to sort your emotions out, there are absolutely no hard feelings. despite all this, your boyfriends cannot help but yearn to reach out and bring you back into their arms–to bring you back home.

yunho’s eyes soften the moment they lay upon you and he savours the sight of you today, unsure of when he will next see you around the hospital. “that’s so good to hear,” he says earnestly, “and i’m sure that news has made doctor snowflake’s entire week.”

he smiles at you warmly and this time you find yourself mirroring his expression, awkwardness taking a backseat because you know he is genuinely happy for both seolhee and you. the level of fondness and love you have for seolhee has long blurred past the usual level of care you would show to a patient on your caseload. she has spent more christmas’ in hospital than out, so to be able to spend these holidays at home is the greatest gift seolhee could receive and the greatest gift you could witness.

your boyfriend lingers around for a little longer, pushing his visit as long as he can without it being obvious that he does not actually have a reason to stay. eventually he says, “i better get back to work. enjoy your christmas at home, seolhee.”

she nods happily and then he looks at you. “i’ll see you–” yunho cuts himself off, holding back from finishing the sentence with ‘at home’. he corrects, “i’ll see you around.”

“see you,” you respond amiably, fingers fiddling with the hem of your scrubs as he walks out.

yunho only makes it a couple of steps away before he bumps into wooyoung making his evening rounds. they exchange brief conversation and you quickly avert your gaze when you see the taller of the two gesturing back into seolhee’s room. seolhee’s eyes dart between yours and the view outside her room before she points out, “it’s nurse woo!”

“really?” you lie, pretending you had not noticed. yunho has already walked off by the time you look back, so only wooyoung is looking at you. he makes no move to come into seolhee’s room. instead, he gives you a little wave with a hopeful smile. a small exhale of fondness leaves you as you return his gesture through the room’s window with a similar amount of restraint. however, it is enough to make your boyfriend break out into a beam, and then he goes running off.

seolhee is already staring at you when you turn to face her again. she raises an eyebrow. “are you and your boyfriends fighting?” she immediately asks.

her question makes you flinch with a sheepish smile, knowing that she would catch a whiff of it sooner or later–just not this fast. are you and your boys fighting? it is technically not a proper argument nor a proper break from the relationship, but there is the need to take a step back and rethink what certain things mean to you–to the boys–and what you want your life to look like.

you are not about to unload all of this onto the now seven-year-old girl with an ‘it’s complicated’ as your answer, so you opt for a simple, “yeah, kind of.”

seolhee shrugs and comments casually, “my parents used to fight all the time.”

you are reminded of her mother, mrs kim, who you have seen several times during visiting hours after that first meeting with her. you are also reminded of mr kim, her father who drops by whenever he can when he is not at work. they have been nothing but strong and supportive parents during seolhee’s battle with her cancer and you cannot reconcile that image of them with the image of constant arguing.

“what changed?” you probe curiously.

despite the smile on her face, the glimmer in seolhee’s eyes fade slightly. “i got diagnosed and then they realised that in the grand scheme of the universe, life is just too short not to spend every moment loving each other.” she turns to look outside the window on the other side of her bed. “we learnt a lot–love isn’t just about expensive outings and fancy gestures and impressive words because there are a lot of things that i can’t do that other normal kids and families can…we learnt that love is all about the small things too and those small moments in life are the things we truly end up cherishing, especially during the tough times.

“mum helps me pick out the colour of my bandanna when i want to wear one, and dad helps me hold the bucket up when i’m feeling sick. i pretend to hide my parents behind the curtains to see if the nurses will let us have an extra five minutes past visiting hours, and they will always smile and give us ten. we don’t always love each other the same way as other families do, but those are the things that we’ll remember the most.”

you look out the window with seolhee as you listen to her words. the snow has fallen lightly the entire day and now under the streetlights, the growing layer of snow glows brightly amongst the dimness of the winter night. you think back to your boys–the lack of dates and diminishing displays of love; how that had been one of the first indicators that something had changed in the relationship dynamics. then you also think back to those small gestures they had done for you; the silly notes, the coffees, the brief conversations, the meals, the break room hugs.

“it’s kind of like snow,” you murmur to neither yourself nor seolhee in particular. “you don’t notice it at first, and only when it starts to form a layer on the ground over time do you start to realise how much it has actually snowed.”

the moment those words leave your lips, you are suddenly reminded of how even those small gestures had gradually disappeared–how that too played a part in the shift in your romantic relationships. your tone is wistful, “then the snow melts and it's gone, just like that.”

seolhee looks back at you, considering your words thoughtfully. she hums for a moment before putting forward, “it melts, but does that change the fact that it snowed in the first place?”

the snowflakes continue to drift softly outside like butterfly wings. as beautiful as they are, there will come a time when they melt away, but the reality before your eyes right now is that they exist–they are there. it is snowing.

“no,” you reply, “it doesn’t.”

“then maybe it's up to us to remember that it snowed until it does snow again,” she smiles triumphantly, the innocence of her radiating beam so strikingly different to the clarifying wisdom she has suddenly dropped even if she does not know the true extent of the meaning her words hold to you. seolhee points at your name badge to drive her point home, “it's just like your badge. my sticker is gone now but that doesn't change the fact that it used to be there.”

your head flicks down immediately and you tilt your badge upwards so that you can get a good look it at. disappointment washes over you when you find that her words are true and her sticker is gone, so worn and loved that it has fallen off somewhere within the hospital. you have no idea when that occurred but it must have been today, because it was still there this morning when you touched it for comfort on your drive here. now, only the faint outline of its shape remains.

it should not hold as much sentimental value as it does, but the realisation that seolhee’s sticker is no longer with you makes you ask, like you the child and seolhee the adult, “can i have another one?”

her voice takes a rare tone of complaint as she grumbles, “i lost the sticker book when i moved back to this ward.”

“that’s a shame” you remark, as genuinely upset as the little girl beside you.

she lets out an endearing little sigh, then pats the back of her hand with her own. “that’s okay, you can look outside whenever you miss me. remember,” seolhee blinks at you earnestly, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

you place your other hand over hers with a hint of a challenging smile. “and if it stops snowing?” you ask, testing the seemingly boundless wisdom that is hidden inside of her.

seolhee beams, answer so clear and obvious. “then count the stars in the sky.”

for the first time in his life, jongho is late.

his, san’s and yeosang’s mornings had all started off a little rough after the latter had rushed past the open door to the bedroom the other two were sleeping in together, dressed in his scrubs and puffer jacket ready to leave, only to double take at the sight of them still in bed. they had been woken up by yeosang’s frantic question, “jongho? don’t you have work today?”

san had groggily lifted his upper body off the bed as jongho jolted into a sitting position, trying to pull himself together. “what?” jongho’s brain had remained foggy no matter how alert he appeared in panic. “what time is it? what day is it today?”

“it’s six thirty,” yeosang had responded, san’s grunts of confirmation affirming the same. alarm had suddenly run through yeosang as doubt creeped into his own mind. “and it’s monday…isn’t it?”

“yeah,” san had confirmed again, voice thick with sleep.

jongho had been certain he did not have work. “i checked the whiteboard last night. my name’s not down for a shift,” he had stated, only to break out into cold sweat immediately afterwards with realisation. you are the only one who goes to all the effort to note down everybody’s shifts for the fortnight on the whiteboard–the very same one that has not been changed since you moved out.

“oh, shit,” jongho had cursed. “i do have work.”

and so for the first time in his life, jongho is late. he knows he only has himself to blame for relying on somebody else for something as important as when he has to show up for work, but for years that is how it has been. not once have you ever made a mistake with the erasable calendar, always taking meticulous care to check that all the shifts for each day are correct because it is the easiest way to help you all keep track of where everybody is for the day.

nobody asks you to update the whiteboard. you just do.

hongjoong realises the same thing in the wake of jongho’s rush to leave the house. he stands in front of the bathroom sink, his eyes half-closed as he brings his toothbrush up to his mouth, only to get a gross mouthful of plain bristles. it is still too early in the morning to swear so he sighs in resignation instead, “not again.”

he pulls the head of the toothbrush back out of his mouth to squeeze a glob of toothpaste on top. it is the third morning in a row that he has done this, still unaccustomed to your absence in the house. on the mornings you leave for work earlier than him–which is most days–you have always pre-squeezed his toothpaste for him, simply because you know it takes a little longer for the cogs in his head to start turning in comparison to your other boys.

hongjoong does not ask you to squeeze his toothpaste for him. you just do.

it is second nature to you, just as it is to hang wooyoung’s keys on the jacket hook by the front door so that he does not upturn the entire house looking for them like he has been for the past fifteen minutes. seonghwa follows hot on the younger’s heels flipping cushions back onto their spots on the couch, shifting trinkets on the kitchen counter back where they belong and closing all the cabinet doors that are swung open haphazardly.

“i never understand why you don’t just put your keys back onto the same hook whenever you get home,” seonghwa exhales.

wooyoung pointedly chooses not to respond to that, instead firmly stating, “i’m telling you, they were on the couch just last night."

“and why would you put them on the couch in the first place?”

“that’s besides the point,” the younger waves his words away carelessly, going back to the couch once more and sliding his hands along the cracks in case they slipped inside.

“how does y/n always manage to find your keys,” seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair.

“i don’t know,” wooyoung suddenly dampens, hands coming to a stop in the middle of the couch as he thinks of you knowing exactly where his keys are in the chaos of the house. “she just…does.”

and there are a lot of other things that you just do. when mingi saunters into the kitchen after dinner, feeling peckish but not for something unhealthy considering it is already close to bedtime, he pokes his nose into the fridge as san washes the dishes. the latter glances over his shoulder.

“you want me to cut you an apple later?” san offers.

mingi nods happily and requests, “without the skin?”

the older laughs, repeating his words, “without the skin.”

when mingi is handed a plate of neat apple slices ten minutes later, he finds himself subconsciously comparing them to the ones you will silently place into his hands after dinner before he even asks for them. san’s slices are the same in appearance–skinned and uniform–except he cuts them into thicker wedges than you do.

mingi takes a bite into one. the apple tastes sweet and tart across his tongue and yet he cannot help but think that the apples taste better when you cut them. whereas san cuts them into six slices, you cut them into nine; just something that you do.

later that night, yunho is again the last one to arrive home after his surgeries run overtime, save for seonghwa and yeosang on night shift. it is pitch black when he enters, bumping not only into the shoe cabinet but also an untucked dining chair as he fumbles his way in with his hands outstretched.

the night light that is usually plugged into the wall of the living room is not on to greet him in the dark hours past midnight today. the light was something you had insisted he buy, absolutely not because the design of the glowing mushroom cap was cute, but because you did not want anybody–read yunho–tripping flat onto their face coming home from a late shift. you are always the one to turn it on if you know one of them will be late, but this time there is no light…because there is no you.

yunho does not ask you to turn the light on for him. you just do. nobody asks you to do any of those small things for them, yet you just do, because that is your way of showing you see, your way of showing you care, and your way of showing you love.

a wave of longing washes over yunho, the sands of his heart already long damp from the moment you moved out. how he wishes he could just walk into your room right now and shelter your peacefully-sleeping form from the shadows of the night with a tender kiss, just like he used to.

but he cannot, not anymore, and he regrets more than anything not doing it while he could.

nurse yejin, the head of the paediatric emergency department, is just about to greet you as you walk up to the nursing station when she takes all but one look at you and points out, “you’re looking like shit this morning.”

from anybody else, that statement would have been insulting despite it being the truth. but nurse yejin has always been frank and blunt, not one to beat around the bush with the intent of getting to the root of problems as efficiently and effectively as possible. ‘head nurse things’, she had told you early on in your rotation.

you let out a laugh in response, although it probably looks like a grimace more than anything. “woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” you joke.

it is only true to a certain extent since you have not been sleeping on a bed but on a couch for the past six days, now counting seven. but ever since you moved out, you have woken up every morning feeling out of routine, standing in the middle of the unfamiliar living room disorientated and wondering whether you usually brush your teeth before changing into your scrubs or after, and whether you usually grab your socks before you pack your bag or right before you leave for work. you do not realise how mentally ingrained into your system your morning routine is, down to the number of steps your feet can take on autopilot and the exact placement of the items your hands can grab without looking, until your environment changes entirely.

the drive to the hospital is also different. it is only ten minutes longer than your usual commute and the streets all look similar under the covering of snow, yet it still throws you off, setting the tone as such for the remainder of the day.

this morning had been no exception–arguably worse–when you realised with frustration that you had no more clean scrubs to change into. you had forgotten to run a load of laundry the day before, leaving you with no choice but to borrow your friend’s clothes that were presentable enough for you to wear to work until you could change into a set of the hospital’s spare scrubs.

forgetting to do your laundry is no rare occurrence but it has never been an issue. how many times had you opened your wardrobe, uncertain whether you would find a set of wearable scrubs, only to be surprised by an ironed and neatly-hung set waiting for you? it has never been an issue until now, as realisation dawns upon you that one of your boyfriends has always looked out for you by ensuring you always had clean scrubs for work.

“you better snap out of it quick then, doctor l/n,” nurse yejin advises, words pulling you back to the present. “we have a thirteen-year-old male arriving in a few minutes with a first-time generalised tonic-clonic seizure. episode lasted for six minutes, now postictal but stable.”

your mind immediately shifts, focus zeroing in on the length of the seizure as the head nurse continues to provide you a handover of the paramedic’s call. you instruct, “notify the fellow or resident currently on call in paediatric neurology. tell them to be ready for immediate assessment.”

nurse yejin nods and reaches for the phone as you walk off briskly to prepare for the patient’s arrival. from behind, she watches you with a slight smirk of pride because there you are; fire lit up in your eyes once again. only, it is nowhere near as intense as it used to be.

for fire, too, has a life of its own. it is able to burn and burn and burn, engulfing whatever it can within its vicinity in order to keep itself alive and bright. but even the strongest of fires will eventually burn out into nothing but a wither of smoke if it does receive enough fuel to keep it sustained, whether sourced by itself or provided by those around it.

“you’re not eating?” your intern asks you, hours later.

you turn your head slightly towards her to show she has your attention, but you keep your eyes glued to the screen as you rapidly type up the notes for the seizure patient from this morning. “you go have lunch first,” you respond distractedly, not having realised it was already past one thirty. “i’ll eat in a bit.”

only, when it comes to three o’clock, a wrench having been thrown into the works by a sudden code blue, you realise you do not have a lunch to eat. “fuck,” you curse at yourself, hands digging into your bag once more in hopes of finding a stray protein bar. you knew you should have thrown in a couple of them last night while it was on your mind.

just like your scrubs, your lunch has never been an issue for you until now. once more, realisation is forced upon you as you wonder why not; san has always had an uncanny sixth sense that somehow alerts him each time you forget to stuff your lunchbox into your bag so that he can do it in your stead. on the days you forget and he leaves earlier than you, hongjoong is there to take it to work, personally finding you on the wards to deliver it to you.

sometimes, your lunch will be packed in a different container. when wooyoung makes a heavily-spiced or greasier dish, he portions some to cook with less chilli or seasoning specifically for you to take to work the next day because he knows your stomach is sensitive, especially when you are stressed or fatigued. today though, you have no choice but to grab something from the cafeteria.

even the instant coffee you quickly brew for yourself tastes particularly unpalatable and sand-like, a tricky feat considering how rock-bottom the standard already is. jongho has always somehow managed to make it taste bearable if he does not have time to order freshly-brewed coffee from the cafe. you think that maybe it is because he takes the extra minute that you do not to properly pre-dissolve the powder in some boiling water before diluting the coffee with the rest of the water. and jongho does do that, except the reality is that it tastes better simply because he is making it for you.

you find your mind incessantly churning as your day continues in a similar manner–sudden awareness of all the different ways your boyfriends have been looking out for you. it shadows you from the hospital back to your friend’s apartment, which is pitch black when you get back after your shift. your friend had texted you earlier that she would be out drinking with friends and unlikely to return before the morning, so when you unlock the door, you are greeted by nothing but deafening silence and apocalyptic stillness.

using the display of your lockscreen to illuminate a path, you toe off your shoes and sluggishly trudge into the living room. you have never come home to complete blackness before–one of your boyfriends, usually yunho, has always made sure to keep a night light on for you. but this time, the lonely gloom of your friend’s apartment beckons to you in a way that is hauntingly comforting. so instead of turning its lights on, you sit down heavily on the couch in the darkness.

the night seems colder than usual.

you lean back onto the cushions of the couch and stare blankly at the ceiling above. the display on your phone dims before turning off from idleness. as if your body takes it as a cue to do the same, you close your eyes and slowly exhale, muscles deflating into the couch as the silence spreads over your body like the gradual creep of water freezing.

just what exactly are you doing? what is it that you need?

did you simply need an opportunity to just be yourself, away from those who you felt the need to always be a perfectly happy and positive y/n around? or did you need space to reconsider the state of your relationship with the boys? maybe it was never even about the relationships in the first place, but that you had no way of isolating yourself from work so you chose the next best option to cut yourself off from.

perhaps, you really just wanted to continue running away and hiding from a greater problem that you do not want to acknowledge.

a wetness builds up behind your eyelids, confused and overwhelmed by the fact itself that you still cannot make sense of your emotions. maybe it is because there is no one answer but that all of them are answers, because no matter what you try to do or where you try to run, you cannot seem to rid the bone-deep exhaustion that continues to crush and constrict your soul.

however, there is one thing you are certain of after today. having spent so many days away from the boys and your normal routine, only now do you realise just how many subtle routines there are that intertwine you all together. some you only notice because of the change it has brought upon this week; others long known because they ceased to occur.

but seolhee’s words resonate within you. yes, some of those routines had disappeared, but like the snow, it does not change the fact that they existed in the first place. the commonality that all of the routines share–whether it be those you had previously been so hung up about dwindling or those you are only just becoming conscious of–is that they are all routines of love.

and like the golden warmth of the sun during the frigid bitterness of winter, you do not learn to truly appreciate something until it becomes absent from your life.

sometimes, you wonder what the end of the world will be like.

you wonder how it happens; whether it would be instantaneous, one second everybody going about their everyday life then the next second everything gone, people’s last moments still in blissful ignorance as to what has become of them and the world; or whether it would be gradual, an agonisingly slow and painful wait as inevitable doom creeps closer, no better than mercifully taking your own life.

you wonder what you would feel; fear for what will be or resignation for what is to be? regret for what had been or grief for what will not be? you wonder how you would realise, where you would be the moment it happens, who would come to mind first, why the world would be ending.

you have wondered so much and yet, you would have never expected to experience a part of your world ending through a phone call, your ringtone jarring and eerie in the late hours past midnight, jolting you awake on an unfamiliar couch to the sight of an equally unfamiliar ceiling. it takes you a few seconds to process the sound, disoriented from having accidentally fallen asleep still in your scrubs with no recollection of the last few hours.

by the time your fingers fumble across your phone, it has already stopped ringing. squinting, you turn the screen on. there are fresh notifications at the top of your screen showing two missed calls, but before you can process who they are from, the silent living room is disturbed by the piercing sound of your ringtone once again.

it is only seonghwa who is calling but an unsettling shift in the air abruptly makes the hair along your skin rise. something is wrong. you pick up.

“...hwa?”

“hey, love,” your boyfriend responds carefully. “where–are you at your friend’s place right now?”

you sit up on the couch and adjust the phone closer towards your ear with both hands. “yeah…i am.”

you can hear seonghwa take a shaky exhale before answering, “i think you might want to come to the hospital.”

blood rushes to your ears and your breath hitches. “why?” you whisper out, voice barely audible as your clutch on your phone tightens.

he does not answer you immediately. it is not until you choke out your question once more, voice urgent and desperate, that he breaks. seonghwa's tone is solemn, hesitance to speak louder than a waterfall, and never would you have thought that it would only take something as simple as his next two words for you to experience what feels like the end of the world.

“it’s seolhee.”

the room spins around from under your feet. you suddenly find yourself blindly groping the surface of the kitchen countertop, having stumbled your way across the dark living room. the phone call has ended–you cannot recall whether you hung up on seonghwa or whether he hung up on you, or whether it is actually still ongoing, his concerned shouts of your name simply falling upon deaf ears.

your breathing becomes increasingly shallow but you do not start crying. your expression remains stonily frozen as you frantically feel and search the countertop with your hands, uncaring of the ruckus and mess you are making. you are looking for something. what are you looking for? you need something. you need to bring something, but what? keys. you need to bring your keys. you need keys. you need your car keys. car keys, so you can drive to the hospital. you need to drive to the hospital because seolhee is there. you need to get to the hospital and you need to drive and you need your keys, where are your keys? you need your keys.

something cold brushes against the side of your pinky and immediately you snatch it up. you rush to the front door, toeing on the first thing that feels like a pair of shoes, then yank the door open before they are properly on your feet. you have no time. your leg jitters and your finger repeatedly jabs the elevator button as you watch the display numbers of the floor slowly move upwards towards yours. please, you beg to whichever higher entity is willing to listen to you, please, i have no time.

the moment the doors start to crack open, you force your way into the elevator. the doors cannot close fast enough and you pace in restless circles in the enclosed space while it takes you down to the underground carpark. your feet have already exited the threshold of the elevator before the doors even fully open again and your frantic steps reverberate loudly in the echo of the parking lot as you sprint for your car.

“y/n!”

you almost miss the yell of your name in your distraught, but your steps falter at the last moment, slowing down only slightly to turn in the direction of the sound. there is no time to question what you see. mingi is there, rapidly closing the distance between the two of you.

he stands in front of you within seconds and his chest heaves with effort and adrenaline. you feel your face crumpling as you instinctively and automatically reach out for him. mingi catches your hands, letting you squeeze his own in panic even if your nails dig into his skin.

“mingi, seonghwa–seolhee, she–the hospital–”

“i know,” mingi nods quickly, gently shushing your unintelligible blabber, “i know. let’s get you to the hospital.”

he envelops your hand in his and tugs you along behind him towards his car. you want to urge him to run, but he maintains a steady pace until he can pull the car door open and guide you into the seat. mingi can feel your anxiety rolling off in waves as he rounds the front of the car to the driver’s seat and he knows how desperate you are for him to hurry up and floor the pedal, but he also knows that feeding into your panic with his own will only make things worse.

mingi drives as fast as he can without speeding too dangerously, although he cuts it close with a few red lights. the two of you sit in loud silence the entire ride. your boyfriend glances over at you every now and then, brows furrowed with concern, but you remain motionless with your eyes fixed to the road in front despite the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat.

“y/n–” your boyfriend cuts himself off upon arriving at the hospital, where you tumble out of the car the moment it jerks to a stop. he is not quick enough to grab you as he puts the car into park and he fumbles to undo his own seatbelt whilst you are already weaving your way towards the sliding doors to the elevator.

you run. never before in your life have you ever run with such sheer desperation. one after the other, the soles of your shoes strike against the ceramic tiles of the lobby before they become thuds against the vinyl flooring of the wards.

the past month, you have walked this exact path almost every single day; you have seen stretchers being rushed in, and parents and family members forcibly pulled away from the side of their loved ones to make way for immediate medical assistance from doctors like you. but today, you are on the other side–you are the one rushing into the paediatric ED dishevelled and crazed, uncaring of how you look to the rest of the world.

“seolhee,” you mutter to yourself, pace slowing to an unsteady stumble as you twist and turn to find her familiar smile. “seolhee, where are you?”

nurse yejin spots you and rushes up to grasp you by the elbow. “doctor l/n,” she urges with wide eyes, “she came in as a code blue. she's in the resus bay but she–”

your blood runs cold and the rest of nurse yejin's words become a muffled fuzz in your ear along with the surrounding clamour of the ED, replaced instead by a high-pitched ringing that reverberates throughout your entire skull. gaze unfocused, you sway as your feet slowly pivot in the direction of the resus bay. nurse yejin’s outstretched hand falls to her side and she watches you helplessly, your shoes shuffling with contradictory urgency and hesitancy towards the sliding glass doors.

around you, the commotion of the ward blurs away, your vision narrowing into a pinprick tunnel the closer you get. seonghwa tries to reach for you when you pass by him and some of your colleagues near the doors, but you continue shambling forward as if you are possessed, mind and body completely blind to his presence and touch. you do not stop until you reach the doors. slowly, you bring your hands up to rest on the cool surface as you press yourself closer and look inside.

it’s a code blue, you think to yourself in a state of trance and stupored confusion at the scene that unfolds before your eyes, but why is nobody resuscitating seolhee? why is nobody helping her? why isn’t anybody doing anything?

“seolhee,” you whisper vaguely, right hand weakly hitting the glass. then again, you call out her name, this time with more urgency. “seolhee.”

you hit the glass once more, then a third time but harder yet. “seolhee!” you shout, both hands now fisted and pounding against the glass in distress. “seolhee! somebody save her!”

hands start to pull you back but you do not register any of them nor are they strong enough to draw you away from the doors. the anguished cries of your name are left unheard, but despite the wildness of your crazed desperation, your mind vaguely registers the few words that somehow manage to break through. the sounds are warped and distorted as if you are continuously being thrust underwater then hauled upwards over and over again, but it is enough for you to piece them together.

“cardiac arrest…multi-organ failure–” “–terminal lucidity–” “–time of death–”

your body nearly topples over as you freeze under the resistance of those around you, jostling around limply in the crowd of limbs. all of a sudden, you are wrenched out of the water and your chest convulses trying to gasp for air. the noise of the ED and the shouts around you flood back into your ears like a tsunami, except it comes from every direction imaginable with force that has multiplied infinitely and pulverises your entire soul.

you cannot stay here any longer. you run.

you run wherever your feet take you and you do not stop, even when your lungs and your legs begin to sear at the same intensity as the inferno that currently incinerates your heart. lurching up stairs after stairs after stairs, you run and run and run until you burst through the doors to the rooftop of the hospital where your chest takes in a heaving inhale. the piercing temperature of the air leaves your system shocked and breathless and you stumble over to the ground.

there is nothing to break your fall in every sense, so there, on your hands and knees at your absolute lowest in the stinging cold of the hospital rooftop, you finally shatter into smithereens. it starts off as a tremble of your lips and a quiver of your chin, a choked stutter of breath as your eyebrows crumple and your eyes blink back the growing heat behind them. but then a small cry of pain leaves you and you lean back heavily onto your feet before your hands fist the material of your scrubs. your skin turns white as you clench and rock yourself back and forth, breathing erratic and sobs increasing in volume until they are long, soulful wails.

your entire body convulses uncontrollably with each gut-wrenching cry that leaves you. the world around you blurs away from the tears that fall down your face and your head pounds with lightheadedness. you hit your chest with an agonised fist, again and again, harder and harder, because you would rather feel any physical pain than the shattering crevice in your heart.

you are suddenly jostled by a strong pair of arms wrapping around your upper body. they tuck you firmly into their chest, a hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you from hurting yourself any further and the other pressing your head against the warmth of their neck.

they shush you repetitively with soothing rocks back and forth. as they comfort you, their own voice cracks from their constricted throat, “i’ve got you, y/n. just cry.” only then do you hazily register it as seonghwa’s voice. seonghwa, who was just as close to seolhee as you, understands the pain that is breaking you apart and is here to hold you through it.

you cannot rid the image of seolhee’s last smile out of your head–her excitement to go home for christmas, her cheery confession of how much she loves you. you fist the front of seonghwa’s scrubs and weep, “it hurts, seonghwa. why does it hurt so much?”

he rests his cheek against the top of your head, his own tears falling freely and dripping down to join yours on the snowy floor in bittersweet harmony. as doctors and nurses, grieving for patients is a luxury that cannot be afforded for every single life that is lost. grief is a weakness in the medical field because you cannot look back–you can only look forward and do your best to make sure there are no more lives that are lost.

but you forget that grief is not a weakness as a person, and you are human first and foremost before you are doctors and nurses. sometimes, it becomes a necessity to grieve before you can keep moving forward.

“i know, love,” seonghwa brushes his hand over your hair as he tries to keep his voice from breaking. “grief is the price you pay for loving somebody.”

because unfortunately, life comes with transactions and between two people, there will always be one person who must pay the price of love.

you close your eyes, gritting your teeth when your face crumples again and a fresh bout of sobs escapes through your lips. seonghwa presses his lips to the crown of your forehead, resting them there while you shake in his arms. eventually, he murmurs into your hair, “you want to know what seolhee’s mother told me once?”

your answer is in the form of more anguished cries but you hang onto every word that comes out of your boyfriend’s mouth like they are your lifeline. the corners of seonghwa’s lips tug upwards with mournful nostalgia as he tells you, “she’s always wanted to thank you for loving her daughter as if she is your own…so it’s okay–it’s normal for you to hurt so badly, because you love seolhee and the more you love somebody, the greater the price you pay.”

seonghwa’s unconscious choice of phrasing–that you love her, not that you loved her–simultaneously cradles and crushes your heart. it is an exact reflection of the last conversation you had with seolhee. snow may melt, but it does not change the fact that snowflakes flutter down from the sky. seolhee may be gone, but it does not change the fact that you love and remember her.

“seolhee’s last wish was fulfilled,” seonghwa softly murmurs, pulling out his phone from his pocket to turn the screen on. the light hurts your sensitive eyes when you try to make out the display through your fuzzy vision and you can just barely make out what looks to be the time on his lockscreen. he explains, “it’s four thirty am…that makes it christmas already. not only was she able to spend some time at home with her family again, but now she gets to spend the rest of her christmas back where she came from–”

your boyfriend pulls away slightly and tilts your head up tenderly with his fingers. you see him properly for the first time tonight. his eyes are just as red and swollen as yours are, cheeks wet and glistening despite the small smile he gives you when you finally look at him. he finishes, “–the sky, with all the other beautiful angels just like her.”

you slowly follow his gaze upwards. once more, a wounded cry breaks free at the sight that greets you. it no longer snows, the thin blanket of snowflakes covering the ground and the rooftop the only traces left and already steadily melting away. but that is not what makes you sob even harder.

the skies above you are filled with an endless expanse of stars, shining and gleaming no matter where your eyes look. there are thousands upon millions of stars, too many to begin counting even if you were to stand on the rooftop for numerous lifetimes.

the heavens cried in the form of the first snow when seolhee was born, for they lost her to the world. but tonight they rejoice, for their precious angel has returned soaring through the starry skies. and even amidst her joy of freedom–from the shackles of pain and suffering–seolhee remembers to tell you that she loves you more than you can fathom.

more than you can count the stars in the sky.

you jolt awake confused and disorientated for the second day in a row. only, this time it is not a jerk-induced reaction to your ringtone but a sudden thrust into consciousness by the feeling that you have overslept.

shit, what time is it? i have work.

the rising flood of panic in your chest is immediately quelled when you spot a scrap of paper on your bedside table, handwriting printed neatly in the centre.

hongjoong took sick leave for you today. don’t worry about work and go back to sleep after you take the painkillers.

that is when you register the fucking terrible headache you are sporting and you let out an involuntary groan as you press a hand to your temple. your other hand grabs the two tablets and you down them with the glass of water beside the paper.

groggily, you pat the mattress around you in search of your phone to look at the time. apart from the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the curtains to your left are drawn shut in your room, making it impossible to discern whether it is the morning, afternoon or night. the numbers blink back at you when you turn the screen on and you find that you have slept past lunchtime. confusion swirls inside of you with an unusual mix of something else. taking the day off work is not the only thing that is off.

wait.

your head jerks to the left, then to the right, then down at your bedding–the blue-grey colour familiar and soft to the touch. you are in your room–your room room, back at your place with the boys. you turn your phone on again and check the date. it is christmas.

and then it hits you.

it is still christmas. it is still the same day as what now feels like a vivid fever dream. you can only recall bits and pieces, so hazy and yet so evocative at the same time. it is like trying to make sense of an optical illusion; it disappears when you think about it too directly, but the moment you take your mind off it even slightly, it is right there in your peripheral vision, begging for your attention.

you remember being woken up by seonghwa’s phone call and your desperation to get to the hospital. you remember mingi driving you there and then sprinting towards the ED. you remember breaking down on the hospital’s rooftop after finding out that seolhee had…

your fingers pinch the inside of your left wrist to stop yourself from finishing the memory. with an unsteady exhale, all tension is lost from your body and you fall back to slump against the headboard. grief starts to take over you once more, vice tightening its grasp around your heart but simultaneously leaving a cavernous hollowness and numbness in your chest.

that is how wooyoung finds you an hour later, still staring blankly at the bedroom wall across from you and swimming in muddy water. he had only tentatively knocked twice on your door before entering, half-expecting you to still be asleep and making a soft noise of surprise when he finds that you are not. in the back of your mind, you vaguely feel a twinge of guilt at not having the energy to do something as simple as greet him as he sits carefully on the edge of your bed.

but wooyoung is a persistent soul and an even more persistent lover. he has learnt from experience that sometimes, asking anything but what he truly wants to ask is what you actually need. wooyoung catches himself from gazing sadly at you, putting on a small smile instead as he lays a hand over your thigh. his touch is warm through the blanket.

“should i bring in some food for you? there’s dumpling soup,” he tells you. “or do you want to go to the living room? we can put on a movie.”

it is hard to find the words to answer him–hard to even hum or nod or shake your head in response. your fingers twitch slightly in the direction of wooyoung’s hand still on your thigh and he immediately moves it to place over yours. the rhythmic touch of his thumb brushing back and forth over your skin is soothing.

“we don’t have to talk. we can just sit for a bit,” he offers.

the room settles into silence for a while as he gives you time to decide. finally, you ask, voice quiet, “who’s home?”

wooyoung wriggles a little closer with restrained excitement at your response. “all of us are.” when you blink at him in reaction, he understands your question immediately because none of you can remember the last time the nine of you had a day off together, much less on a christmas. he explains, “we all took whatever personal leave we could.”

“the hospital let?” you frown slightly, the tone of disbelief the most amount of emotion you have shown so far.

wooyoung mirrors the minute increase in animation with cheek in his vague shrug, “they can’t afford to fire any of us. plus…i think we’ve all realised that some things are more important than work.”

you are more important than work; ‘us’ is more important than work.

something tugs at your heartstrings and you sit up a little straighter. looking at wooyoung, a slight spark of resolve lighting up in your eyes, you slowly suggest, “can we…have a talk?”

he is taken aback with pleasant surprise as he answers, “of course we can. we don’t have to do it today though.”

“no,” you shake your head, “let’s talk now.”

while we still can. before it becomes too late. plus, who knows when the next time all of you are together like this will be.

so you follow wooyoung out of your bed and then out of your room, his fingers intertwined between yours as he walks the both of you into the living room. it is a lie to say that it is not awkward seeing everybody’s heads turn towards you in simultaneity and your knee-jerk response is to dismiss their poorly-concealed concern with a wave of your hand and an, ‘i’m fine’. but you think you have had enough of that–enough of pretending and enough of pushing them away.

yunho opens his arms from his seat on the couch, eyes hopeful. you push away any second thoughts and bury yourself against him. your boyfriend pulls you right into his chest whilst tucking your legs off the ground over his thighs and he murmurs against your temple, “you sleep okay?”

you nod into his neck as jongho asks, “did you take the painkillers?” and seonghwa questions, “do you want dumplings?”

a small puff of amusement comes out of your chest because just mere weeks ago, perhaps even one, questions like these would have fanned an inexplicable inferno inside of you. now, it all seems so long ago, but it does not change the fact that you are apologetic about it–apologetic about a lot of things.

“i took them, thanks jongho. and maybe later, hwa,” you respond softly. “come sit?”

the boys heed to your words immediately and the oldest of your boyfriends crosses the living room in three large strides to take your other side on the couch, the rest of them settling on the adjacent couch or on the floor. the shared warmth from being sandwiched between seonghwa and yunho immediately envelops you in comfort and safety and your body relaxes into the shape of theirs.

you do not know where to start, much less what you even want to say to the boys now that you are here with them. there are masses of things to unpack and each one seems like such a colossal mountain to climb. some you do not know the route up, others you know the route up but not the way back down, and the rest you cannot even see the mountaintop. so you choose to start easy: at the very bottom of the trail where it is safe.

“i miss having clean scrubs,” you blurt out, “and i miss the lunches that wooyoung cooks and the coffees that jongho makes.”

from beside you, yunho’s body rumbles with low laughter at your unexpected conversation starter and he glances down at you fondly. his voice is soothing in your ear as he says, “we miss seeing your night light greet us whenever we come home.”

“and the changes you make on our whiteboard calendar,” yeosang adds.

“we struggled to remember our shifts without you keeping track of them,” jongho divulges sheepishly.

yeosang tattles with a giggle, “he was late for work for the first time.”

“yeah,” you smile, “i heard.”

jongho huffs out before quipping, “at least i still knew how to squeeze my own toothpaste and find my own car keys.”

both hongjoong and wooyoung curse indignantly at the uncalled-for betrayal of the youngest as he pointedly ignores them and continues, “some of us have realised we have non-existent survival skills without you.”

“oh, speak for yourself,” san nudges him endearingly.

but you are more than grateful for the lightening of the mood because you do not think you would have the courage to otherwise abruptly apologise, “i’m sorry that i took so many things for granted.”

“what? no,” san counters, the first of many others to parrot the same thing. “we’re sorry about that too. when you moved out, we also realised just how many things you do for us without our appreciation. you raised a valid concern because our relationship with one another is something we have all become too complacent about.”

yunho squeezes you a little tighter with the arm he has around your shoulders. he muses, “it’s easy for a long-term relationship to become less ‘exciting’, but we forget that part of the reason is because we simply become so attuned to one another’s likes and dislikes, preferences and habits that it becomes our own second nature to do those things naturally. it isn’t that we love each other less, it’s just that we become so used to the way we love and are loved that we stop noticing it.”

your mind drifts slightly to a sweet, little girl with a bright smile, telling you that relationships are not always about the grand gestures, but rather the small things. she always did know better than you.

“in saying that though,” hongjoong brings up, “as important as it is for us to start appreciating all of those things again, i think it’s just as important for us to put in the conscious effort to go out of our way to have quality time and conversations with one another, like going on dates.”

wooyoung cackles, “that’s a bit rich coming from you, mister sorry-i-forgot-about-our-date,” and a snort comes out of you despite yourself.

the older flips him off. on both hands.

now occupied with his handsy insults, seonghwa takes over the conversation instead, “no relationship is perfect. they all need mutual effort to maintain and it definitely won’t be easy, especially since so many of you are nearing the end of your residency. it’ll be a busy few months preparing for the board exam and there’ll be plenty of hurdles to jump over in the future too, but things will work out because we’ve got each other’s backs now.”

the boys all smile affectionately at one another and at you. seonghwa presses a loving kiss against your temple and you bathe in the brief feeling of everything being okay before you remind yourself that it still is not. “on that note,” you start cautiously, “i owe you all another apology.”

you catch the gaze of mingi’s soft expression from opposite you, who gives you a small nod and a minute smile of encouragement. with an exhale, you admit, “the way i handled everything–not just moving out but everything leading up to that–i know you were all trying to look out for me and i shouldn’t have pushed you all away the way that i did. i just–everything was so overwhelming and confusing and tiring, and i wanted to work things out by myself because all of you had enough things to deal with, and i…”

once more, you are unsure of what you want to communicate. you are sick of not knowing and not understanding and your eyes start to water with frustration.

at your sentence trailing off, mingi finally speaks up, “life isn’t meant to be smooth sailing, y/n. yes, they’re your feelings, but that doesn’t mean that they have to make sense to you.”

and it is as if that is the validation you have needed all along, because the vice around your chest finally loosens its grip. you can breathe again and the rush of oxygen into your lungs without a heavy weight crushing you inwards is liberating.

“as healthcare workers, we become accustomed to seeing other people in the most painful moments of their lives.” mingi gently shrugs his shoulders, “we become accustomed to invalidating our own feelings. it doesn’t matter if we’re having a bad day; there will always be somebody else having the worst day of their lives. but we forget that pain is not relative–just because somebody else is hurting ‘more’, it doesn’t make our own hurt hurt less.

“and yeah, work is always going to be shitty and we’re always going to run ourselves ragged chasing after time, and then coming home from work to eight of us is going to be tiring too,” he chuckles softly. “but y/n…i think part of the reason why it’s been so hard for you is because you never let yourself have time for yourself. you never let yourself be tired or be hurt.”

you swallow your objections–the voice inside of you that says you shouldn’t and the voice that says you can’t–because you know mingi is right. you just needed to hear that you should and that you can.

he continues, “we all need quiet time away from other people and that’s okay. we spend all day showing our patients, their families and our colleagues the best side of ourselves, which means that a lot of the times we only have the…” mingi scratches the side of his head as he finds a way to express his thoughts without saying ‘the ugly side’, because that is far from what it is. “we only have the side of ourselves that we do not like as much because it isn’t what we view as ‘perfect’. but it simply holds our realest emotions–fatigue, stress, worry, frustration, impatience. it is not just you who has that side–we all do and we understand better than anybody how guilty it can feel when that is the only side that is left by the time we get home.”

there is a brief pause in the conversation as he lets the words sink in. around you, heads and gazes lower alike to the floor because that guilt is something that resounds with everybody in the room. you continue to look at mingi, though, unable to avert your eyes as his solace finally stirs the cathartic release of tears flowing freely from your heart to your eyes.

“like i said, it’s okay to take time away from us; in your room or out with your friends or somewhere else. but at the same time, i want you to know that it doesn’t make us love you any less if you don’t come home happy. you don’t love us any less when we’re unable to leave our baggage at work, because you have the same struggles. in fact, you are often the first to offer to share the load.

“as doctors and nurses, we have signed up for a lifetime of baggage and sacrifice. and that is exactly why it is that much more important for you to know that home is your safe space.” mingi gazes at you with all the earnesty in his heart. “we are your safe space where you can share your baggage. we might not be able to take it off you, but we sure as hell can curse or laugh or cry together over it, and sometimes, just that is already enough to help you keep carrying its weight over whatever mountain you are facing.”

from beside mingi, san watches you with a clenching heart. in an ideal world, san would rather you have no baggage at all and he be your only mountain–the one who shields you from the harsh elements of the world and is your unwavering presence from sunrise till sunset and yet again till the following sunrise. he sees the way you finally lower your head and let months of repressed tears fall in front of them, soft sobs in yunho and seonghwa’s comforting arms and the rest of your boyfriends within reach.

but san knows your tears are no longer ones of pain or fatigue, so for now, that is enough. he scooches closer across the floor until he is at your feet, peering up at you from between the strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face. tenderly, he asks, “y/n, will you move back in with us?”

a warm hand brushes over your cheeks. it could be san, it could be seonghwa, it could be yunho or it could be any of them. but it does not really matter. what matters is this: in order to love others, you must first love yourself–

“yeah,” you slowly nod, “i will.”

–and part of loving yourself is letting others love you. there is no place like home, much less a place like where your boys are. snow melts, but it will always fall again. without fail.

as your boyfriends all shuffle closer and envelop you in the middle of an embrace that is long overdue, loving warmth dizzying to the touch, outside the windows the first snowflake of many others flutters its graceful path down from the sky. soon, snow will cover the streets as far as the eye can see.

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

but that is exactly why it is ironic. the hospital is a symbol of misery, the white colour of its interior the embodiment of sterility and detachment all year round–all except for a few days. on christmas eve, christmas itself and perhaps even the rest of the week leading up to the new year, the corridors are adorned with never-ending lengths of glittering tinsel, the wards are filled with the low hum of christmas carols on a looping playlist, and the staff all wear silly scrubs with rudolph faces and dancing santas on them.

there is an underlying hum of excitement and festive cheer that overrides the usual despondency of the hospital as everybody pretends it does not exist, even if just for a few days. the electric buzz thrums not just in the air at work but outside of work too, filling households with a hustle and bustle of liveliness–yours included.

“hongjoong!” you yell as you knock on the bathroom door, “we’re leaving in a few minutes!”

you press yourself flat against the door as yunho races past you with several pairs of socks in both hands despite the ones he already has on his own feet. he skids to a wobbly stop and shuffles backwards two steps to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“gross,” you laugh, pretending to wipe it off your face, but yunho is already skedaddling off again back towards his destination of the living room, on a mission to deliver the socks to your other boyfriends.

ever since you, yunho, yeosang and san all passed the board exam and became fully licensed doctors like hongjoong, your shifts have been significantly more consistent. it is much easier for you and your boyfriends to drive to work together in fewer cars, making the mornings before work significantly more chaotic. your wake-up times and subsequent bathroom usage is no longer as staggered as it was with different start times and several more night shifts, but it is a good chaotic–a bright and lively chaotic.

hongjoong yells back at you, “my hair gel isn’t hair gel-ing!” and you nearly topple onto him when he suddenly pulls the bathroom door open.

his hair is swept up neatly away from his forehead and there is not a single strand that is out of place. you chuckle and tell him as such, “your hair looks perfect, joong,” but you know his nerves are due to something completely different. you cup his jaw and gently pull him towards you for a kiss before you encourage, “you’ll do great today. you already presented at the korean neurological association earlier this year–what’s a seminar to the hospital staff in comparison?”

your boyfriend groans, “i know these people though. they’re all my colleagues.”

“and all of these colleagues will be wearing their ugly christmas sweaters or have stupid antler headbands with glowing lights on top of their heads. trust me, you’ll do amazing,” you reassure, pressing another chaste kiss against his lips to quieten his worries.

“y/n! hongjoong!” yeosang hollers.

“coming!”

you pull hongjoong out of the bathroom with you hand in hand, only letting go when you both fumble to catch the socks that yunho chucks through the air in your directions. within the next few minutes, there are playful elbows, harmless shoves and childish curses as you all cram yourselves in the corridor to put on your shoes and walk out the door to the car.

as you squish into the backseat with hongjoong and yeosang, yunho in the driver’s seat and san beside him, the latter wonders what you should all do after work. by some christmas miracle, neither you nor any of your boys have been scheduled for a night shift today, which means that if there are no hiccups at work, the nine of you will be able to spend christmas together once more.

you like to think that your guardian angel is still looking out for you, even an entire year later.

“should we try to make a reservation for a nice restaurant?” san suggests. “or should we stay up and watch a movie together?”

hongjoong proposes, “i have a friend who works at a pretty decent french restaurant if we want to go there.”

voicing your opinion without prefacing it with an apology is still something you are working on, but you have gotten much better at communicating over the year. you pipe up, “i’d prefer to stay at home tonight, but the movie sounds like a good idea. maybe we can go to your friend’s restaurant for new year’s?”

“yeah, i don’t really fancy going out tonight either,” yeosang agrees. “but new year’s, definitely.”

san nods enthusiastically. “i’ll let the rest of the boys know,” he says, then sends a question for movie recommendations for tonight into the group chat.

it is not long after that yunho pulls into the hospital’s car park where you all pile out and wait obediently by a nearby pillar as he backs the car into a particularly tight space. when he has turned the ignition off and carefully squeezed himself out without slamming the door into the car beside him, it is his turn to wait obediently as you all thank him with a quick hug or peck on the cheek.

you grasp the collar of his coat and pull him down to give him a teasing kiss on the forehead but he tiptoes instead to make it harder for you. in retaliation, you quickly jab his side and he immediately keels over enough for you to plant a triumphant kiss on his face. the boys chuckle around you, yunho pretending to nurse his wounds as he stumbles after all of you into the elevator.

the doors close and he straightens to offhandedly comment, “you guys thank me for driving every single time.”

yeosang shoots back with the same nonchalance, “because we’re thankful every single time.”

yunho claps his hand over his mouth and looks at the younger out of the corner of his eyes, but it is clear that he is hiding a bashful grin behind his fingers. the expression is not lost to any of you, your displays of gratefulness always done with the intention of making one another feel appreciated for even the smallest of things, because you have all learnt that a simple thank you goes a long way.

“see you all after work,” hongjoong says, stepping out into the lobby with the rest of you following him to let those waiting for the elevator get in.

just as you all turn to walk off your separate ways to your respective departments, he calls out as an afterthought, uncaring of the people around, “merry christmas, babes!”

you reciprocate his words with a laugh, a tinkling, cheery sound that makes san reach out for your hand and intertwine your fingers together to pull you in for a quick kiss of endearment. “choi san!” you giggle, slapping him lightly and looking around to see if anybody noticed.

if there is one thing that has changed the most over the year, it is how daring your boyfriends have become with public displays of affection. but, just as wooyoung has made it a point to remind you all of his newfound motto, what is the hospital going to do? fire all nine of you?

highly unlikely.

“alright, babes,” san tugs you along teasingly, “let’s get to work.” pinkies intertwined and swinging gently between your bodies, the two of you walk towards the same department, letting go only at the last moment to lead your morning rounds.

there is a running joke that it does not matter if you end up having enough children to make an entire soccer team because almost half of you are now fully licensed to work with children; you and san as doctors, seonghwa and wooyoung as nurses. there is no need to worry about ageing either, not when the other five are each in charge of their own specialties too.

you and your boys do not work at a hospital–you and your boys are the hospital. and it certainly feels that way when there is almost always at least one of them watching over you, regardless of wherever you are in the paediatric department.

it is later that day as you are attending to a three-week-old baby in the NICU when a second-year resident walks up to you, addressing you carelessly. immediately, you feel wooyoung’s ears perk up and watchful eyes zero in on the offending resident as the both of you recognise the younger.

“good to see you’ve stuck with paediatrics, doctor lim,” you greet neutrally. it is anything but good to see him still in the medical program at all, but you digress.

your past intern ignores your comment, confidence through the roof not only because he has somebody backing him up but because he is now a second-year resident. he shortly says, “doctor nam wants you taking over the shift for the NICU attending tonight.”

the department head has more or so left you alone for the last few months, but you guess he suddenly felt a christmas urge to scratch an itch that never existed in the first place. your expression remains impartial as you ask, “for what reason?”

dr. lim is unable to hide the brief flash of surprise across his face, not having expected you to put up a fight. he quickly scowls, “do as you’re told.”

you will not, in fact, ‘do as you’re told’, not when dr. nam is blatantly abusing his power to assign you a shift without a proper justification or notice–and through dr. lim at that too. you sure hope wooyoung can hear you as you respond sarcastically, “tell doctor nam to notify me of this change in schedule through an email from the chief resident. i’m sure he’s familiar with the proper procedure that i’m referring to.”

“i’ll make sure to tell him,” dr. lim scorns and you snort as he retreats.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to you,” you mutter at his back. you hope he slips on ice on his way home tonight.

you jump in surprise when you turn around and find wooyoung right there, an absolutely shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. he cackles as he quotes, “‘merry fuckin’ christmas to you.’ the boys are going to love it when i tell them what just happened.”

the shove you give him only serves to make him laugh even harder but you cannot deny that a sense of pride rushes through your body. force doctor nam to leave written evidence that can be used against him, jongho had advised you to do one day, and you feel a surge in confidence that this might actually work.

wooyoung certainly thinks that it will, gathering himself enough to give you an attractive smirk as he leans closer to whisper into your ear, “that’s our girl.” pleasant shivers run down your spine at his deep voice and it leaves you on cloud nine long after he stalks off absolutely preening at the response he has elicited from you.

you do not hear from dr. lim or dr. nam again nor do you receive an email regarding the extra shift tonight, so you begin to safely assume that the request is no more–that is, until the end of your shift when you are in the team workroom finishing off a referral letter.

“doctor y/n,” dr. bang grabs your attention from the table opposite you with a cryptic tone of amusement. “i think you’re wanted.”

you blink at the slight smugness on her face with confusion until she beckons her head behind you in the direction of the office door. you glance back, suddenly expecting dr. nam to be standing there fuming and ready to give you a harsh reprimand for your snarky response. except it is not him.

of all people, you did not expect it to be mingi, pressed up against the little window that looks through the door into the room. but then you realise he is not the only one peeping in–there is another pair of mischievous eyes in the corner of the window that you recognise as yunho’s, and another face pressed up against the large window along the wall, and oh–

they are all gathered around the workroom peering in with varying expressions of cheekiness as they enthusiastically wave at you. it is hard to tell whether you are the monkey in the zoo or if they are the monkeys staring out through their enclosure. you guffaw, half in embarrassment and half in exasperated fondness, then scramble to save your work and log off for the night before your boyfriends garner even more attention than they already have.

with unrestrained eagerness, your boys drag you off after exchanging rushed but warm wishes of  “merry christmas”s with your and san’s colleagues. seonghwa pivots around from where he has been walking at the front of the group, “should we walk home today?”

“in the snow?”

he nods excitedly, so obviously the youngest in his family despite being the oldest in your relationship. “we can finally experience a hallmark christmas.”

“what about our cars?” yunho asks, although he is not at all opposed to the idea.

seonghwa suggests, “how about you and i drive the cars home and then we’ll start walking back here. we can meet up along the way and walk the rest home together.”

the two of them share a look for a few seconds before they immediately take off in unison in the direction of the lifts to the car park, yunho hollering over his shoulder, “walk slowly!” within seconds, they disappear from sight around a corner and the rest of you blink at the fast exchange that has just occurred.

“fuck it, we ball,” wooyoung grins, earning himself a scandalised look from hongjoong as a reminder he is still in the hospital. “come on, gramps,” he snickers, then loops an arm around the older’s shoulders and starts to drag him towards the main entrance, the rest of you falling into step beside them as he devises, “let’s think about how we can attack the two with snowballs once they get back.”

only, he really should have known who he was going to be up against.

you and your boyfriends are about halfway home, cutting through a small field of what is now covered in a decent layer of fresh snow, when a snowball suddenly whizzes past your face and explodes against the side of wooyoung’s head in a detonation of white crumbs. he whirls around with a shriek absolutely ready to risk it all in the name of your dared treachery, only to see yeosang getting pummelled in a similar fashion and then jongho following victim immediately after.

“snowball fight!” comes seonghwa and yunho’s combined battlecries from thin air before a hail of pre-made snowballs is unleashed upon your group.

hongjoong’s screams fill the air until he is abruptly cut off by a mouthful of snow and wooyoung runs around like a headless chicken as three snowballs hit their mark in quick succession. you laugh loudly, running to hide behind jongho who has escaped several feet away from the danger zone. san, too, starts to retreat a distance, but only to shovel snowballs together without the risk of anybody stepping on them.

a shower of residual snow sprinkles over you as yunho switches targets and pitches his snowballs in your direction. however, you rapidly realise his eyes are only fixated on jongho. your shield now a danger hazard, you make a split decision and run as fast as you can through the snow towards your tallest boyfriend. call yourself fickle or whatever, you are simply a survivor.

“traitor!” mingi yells out and points a finger at you. “y/n has switched sides!”

the boys echo with a roar, “traitor!” and you squeal with adrenalised glee as you leap the final stride towards yunho, who stretches out a hand to pull you behind him. seonghwa immediately rushes to defend you both, throwing snowball after snowball with scary precision and strength. you can only hear the solid thump of snow hitting against thick clothing and the splutters of indignation as a result of the eldest’s lobs because your eyes are closed from how hard you are now laughing.

with equally-as-scary unity, hongjoong and your five youngest boyfriends charge in simultaneity towards you and yunho. neither of you have time to brace yourselves before you are tackled into the snow, limbs tangling together as seonghwa also jumps on top.

you cannot tell who is who, but you can tell exactly whose laugh is whose–each one so distinct and playing out as different melodies in your ears. your own laughter is radiant and effervescent and the sound makes every one of your boys break out into a joyous smile. yunho starts to push the others’ weights off of himself and you, and they begin to roll off the pile into the snow around you.

one by one they join you on their backs, your bodies leaving the memory of your merriness deep in the white softness of the ground. you are all a little breathless; from the physical exertion and adrenaline of the childlike fight, from the windedness of being tackled into a dog-pile, from the chill slowly seeping in through your clothes from the snow, from the soul-stirring view of the night sky above.

you all lay there in silence, hush broken only by the scattered puffs of visible air as you catch your breaths under the whispering snowfall.

it is amazing how much can change in one year. you still fatigue from juggling your time, down to the last second. you still burn out from the sacrifices you make as a doctor, no matter your years of experience. you still grieve over the loss of seolhee, particularly on this day. but you are finally at peace with yourself, with your life and with the love you deserve, and you realise that you are also breathless from the overwhelming feeling of how lucky, content and happy you are.

in a burst of gratification and fulfillment, you are unable to stay silent. you confess, heartfelt words that you keep close to your soul every day, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling right now.”

your boys turn to look at you, gazes softening impossibly at the tranquil smile that adorns your face. seonghwa feels a heat gathering behind his eyes, knowing better than any of them the weight behind your confession.

he prompts, softly, tenderly, “and if it stops snowing?”

you smile wider, because you have been taught the answer by a forever-seven-year-old-girl who received all the bad things in the world yet chose to only see the good; who taught you not to focus on what has melted away, but rather what you remember; who taught you that the purest reflection of love is something that is hard to see but will always be looking over you.

and so if it stops snowing?

“then count the stars in the sky.”

[twijaxx]

chat… don’t get me started on Nerd isagi.. imagine this.

Isagi is just playing his video games, like he always does when he has some free time. He was currently playing Val, which involved him screaming at his teammates for planting spike on the wrong site… And since the only thing u knew about Val was that it had voice chat, u decided to use that against Isagi today.

He was in the middle of ranked match u think, but u got reallyyy bored of the shit u were watching on your phone and wanted him to pay some attention to you. So you got up out of his bed and walked over to him slowly.

“babyyy… i’m boreeed, how long is this gonna takeee???” you said while stroking his biceps with your finger gently. The next thing u could hear is some dudes yelling “is that a girl??” “Ivsaagii u got a gf?” Well… that was interesting.

“y/n just a sec.. like 15 more mins.. U COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCKER FIX YOU FUCKING AIM WHAT THE FUCK!!!!” You really had enough of him yelling, so u took matters in your own hands. Moving him slightly away from his desk so you could fit under it. Isagi just shoot you his ‘what are u doing??’ slightly annoyed look, but u had no intentions in stopping what you started.

You started playing with the waistband of his sweats and by now he already knew what u had in mind, who is he to not agree to some free head tho??

As his bulge grew larger u went from playing with his waistband to palming him thru his sweats as you could slowly see the wet stain forming on them. Breathy moans started escaping from him as soon as he was fully hard, he was still focused on his game tho and u didn’t want that.

You told him to lift his hips a little and then u removed both his sweats and boxers in one swift motion. Pearly white drops of pre were already visible running down his shaft. You took the base of his cock in your hand and in the same time licked his sensitive slit. He left out a whimper and looked down at you which only let him to his downfall.

You on your knees looking like the only thing you had in your mind was making him absolutely pussy drunk. He wasn’t wrong tho, u did want that. The next thing he knows, you are taking him into your mouth inch by inch which earned you a high pitch sound you didn’t even know he was capable of making.

“shit!- don’t stop!! hah~” You could feel the heat in your panties growing larger as he continued to moan into his hand, forgetting he was actually playing a game two minutes ago. Eyes rolled back as he couldn’t stop his hips from moving forward every time you went up to circle your tongue around his tip.

You could feel him getting closer as his length twitched when it meet the back of your throat. U hummed with the intentions of asking him ‘are i close ichi?’ and fuck the way your hum sends jolts of pressure through his whole body, he was on the edge.

“fuck.. fuck- i’m gonna cum!! ahhh! y/n- imcummingimcu-“ His words were cut off by how intense his orgasm was, mouth parted as tears dripped down his face, spilling his seed down your throat making you swallow automatically.

You pulled off to look at his fucked out expression better, and boy the second u looked at him u wanted to suck him till the sunrise.

he’s gonna get another afk warning tonight…

i was 100% thinking with my pussy as i was writing this…. let’s just say im down bad for this version of isagi (white haired sagi better tho) SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES ITS LIKE 1AM FOR ME I BETTER GO TO SLEEP after i get rid of the insanely big bulge in my pants LMAOOO

Tags: @iqxatlantic @yutamy1beloved @blu3-l0v3r

[c0llisiion]

— ex-husband.

★ exhusband!johnny, fingering (is there another term?😭) ,e2l almost, NPR. ; lmk if i missed any! :3 W/C: 1,278

This is strictly fiction. Any scenario or situation should not be taken seriously. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable.

Ex-husband!Johnny, watched you with an intense gaze as you got ready for a date.

You didn’t know he would come home to pick up his daughter. He gets her every Saturday and drops her off Monday evening after school but today was a … Friday…?

You didn’t even dare look at him as you put on your earrings. You could feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your head, leaning against the doorframe with his muscular arms crossed.

You weren’t divorced for too long. 10 months to be exact? And it wasn’t as smooth as you hoped it would go. There were tears, fights, and yelling in the days leading up to the final verdict.

There was an attempt at moving on. You would go on frequent dates when Johnny would have your daughter. And this was one of them. A part of you still yearned for Johnny and so the reason why you kept these whereabouts hidden was that… you felt you were betraying him of sorts, even though you were divorced.

“Where are you going?” His deep voice cut through the tense and thick atmosphere.

“Out.” You simply state as you spray on your perfume, the one he gifted you for your birthday.

“Out, where?” He asked again, expecting more than just single words from you.

“For dinner” you once again reply nonchalantly. Almost nonchalantly. A poor attempt at nonchalance when you were starting to get intimidated by his questioning.

“With who?” The words escaped through gritted teeth and you could hear it.

“Where’s d/n?” You quickly changed the subject. Turning around to finally look at him.

There was a slight pause as he eyed your outfit for the night. The way the dress hugged your curves. The length of the dress and the way your legs looked. Nothing was left unnoticed by his eyes.

“In her room.” He said and before you could speak.

“You’re not wearing that dress tonight.” It wasn’t a suggestion or a question. It was a command. And you couldn’t help but slightly fold at his tone. You missed that kind of authority sometimes, and that was the truth.

But you weren’t going to let your ex-husband ruin your night, right? You have moved on and your date is probably waiting. Moreover, he is your ex-husband, who is he telling you what not to wear? Right?

“Why would I listen to you?” You say as you grab your bag and head towards the door to be immediately stopped by Johnny's tall figure.

“I said, you’re not wearing that.” He commanded. Stepping impossibly closer to you. His eyes pierced down into yours.

Your face quickly formed a scowl. Who does he think he is?

“Move. I'm gonna be late.” You say sternly.

“You’re not going anywhere unless you change out of that,” Johnny replied in the same tone, closing and locking the door behind him. Oh, he was challenging you.

“Don't act all possessive, I don’t have time for this-“ your words were cut off as a pair of familiar lips clashed with yours within the blink of an eye.

Only god knows what had gotten into him to suddenly do that but fuck… he couldn’t just stand there and watch as some younger dude from your office steal you like that. Especially when you’re dressed up like this. Looking like a complete meal.

He turned you around and pinned you against the wall as the kiss deepened. You weren’t responding at first but eventually gave in.

“Get off- John-“ you mumble into his lips but are once again shut down as his tongue finds its way into your mouth.

It was a fight for dominance, one which you lost. Your hands were in the air resisting to hold him in any way but eventually, your arms fell around his neck like muscle memory as his stronger ones wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer.

“You’re not going anywhere looking like that… you’re mine… you’re mine mama…” he whispered against your lips before kissing you again.

You couldn’t help but whine at his words. The sheer desperation and urgency in his tone made you fold easily.

You could feel his greedy hands push the hem of your dress up, revealing the lacey red panties you hoped your date would take off of you later that night.

He pulled away from your lips and glanced down to see the fabric on your skin. He couldn’t help but let his jealousy boil a bit. The fact that you were getting dolled up for another man while he spent all his time hoping you would go back to him, didn’t sit right.

You were expecting a reaction out of him. An outburst. A lecture. Him staring into your soul. But all he did was push two of his slender fingers past the waistband of your panties and into your wet and gushy pussy.

He smirked as he immediately felt your wetness coat his fingers, pushing in deeper so he could feel your gummy walls around his digits.

“You sure this wasn’t for me?” He said cockily as he kissed the side of your neck.

You let out soft whimpers as his fingers move slowly in and out of you. Curling slightly before plunging back in.

“You’re so wet.. so … so wet and ready…” he whispered into your ears before licking the back making you shudder.

You gripped his shoulders for stability and buried your face in his chest as his fingers penetrated your walls, making you clench and gush.

“Yeah just like that… you’re doing so well…” he said while pressing his thumb on your nub.

You let out a loud whine and clenched your thighs together before johnnys knees pushed them apart again.

You were getting wetter by the second and you could feel your orgasm build up. Your eyebrows furrowed and beads of sweat slowly dripped down your forehead.

You gripped onto his wrist and shoulder.

“Sh-she might walk in… s-stop…” you whisper feebly and moan breathlessly as his fingers continue their relentless assault.

“I'm not stopping till you cum… besides… the door is locked.” You loved how confident he was.

His hands sped up. Wet noises bounced off the walls accompanied by his shallow breathing and your quiet moans.

You haven’t been able to have an orgasm in months, making you feel sexually frustrated and lonely. But it looked like you were finally getting your big break.

“I'm… gonna… plea-“ you whine incoherently.

“Yeah? You’re gonna cum all over my hands?” Johnny's thumb started rubbing your clit once again, hoping your orgasm would approach faster and he was right.

Your thighs quivered and you physically hunched as your orgasm erupted. Your head fell into the crook of his neck and bit down hard to control your moans, making him wince.

“Yeah… thats right… just like that…” he cooed while slowly riding you down from your high and keeping you close to your body.

You leaned against him as he removed his hands from inside your panties, licking your sweet juice.

“So? When was the last time you came like that?” He teased

You chuckled and placed a kiss on his neck as your arms wrapped around his waist involuntarily and pulled him closer.

He embraced you back. Kissing the top of your head and inhaling your scent.

But quickly the sweet moment was interrupted by a loud ‘daddy!!!!!’ Echoing from outside the door. He knew he had to pull away and go tend to her, besides he had to reward the little monster for snitching on her mom so he could have this moment, right?

A/N: this took longer than expected. Sorry gamers i have just been very busy 😭💔 anyways i hope you liked it and ty for reading!!!

[sweet-as-an-angel]

so! you mentioned in the 'p0rn preferences' post that Gaz is not the one who jerks off the most in the 141, and I humbly ask you, who would that be?

I don't mean this as a request, just a little discussion, cause I feel like Soap would just be going at it at any chance possible, like a bunny. he probably doesn't care much if someone hears it, but that's just me thinking too much into it.

Who Jerks off the Most in the 141 + König

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Mentions of Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Implied Reader in Individual Headcanons, Accidental and Implied Voyeurism, Edging, Brief Mention of Injury, Men Who Moan <3, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

A/N: As per Anon's question (which I just had to turn into a post of its own) I present to you the list of the 141 members (and König) who jerk off from the most to least <3

Soap

I have to agree with you here, Anon - Johnny is most definitely the king of self love when it comes to the 141.

He doesn't much care where he is or who he's with; when he has to satisfy his needs, he'll do so.

Though, he'll spare whoever's with him the sight of watching him throwing his head back, trying to stifle his moans behind gritted teeth whilst the wet sound of his hand slipping up and down the length of his shaft fill the room.

Unless they want to.

For one reason or another, he's nigh-insatiable when it comes to his libido, and the fact that his stamina affords him the luxury of beating himself off until his cum is practically translucent doesn't help.

The slightest thing can set him off.

Someone brushing past him ? Hard.

Someone stroking his ego a little too enthusiastically ? Bricked up.

He sees something that's shaped to be a little too curvy or phallic ? Stiff as a pole.

He remembers something mildly suggestive you did three years ago in that restaurant ? He's going to the Horny Realm.

Yes, his teammates have complained about his incessant moaning-come-grunting-come-whimpering through all hours of the night, his voice contorting through a spectrum of desperation and Johnny always ending up spent and overstimulated by the time the sun comes up.

And then he's ready to do it all again the second night touches the horizon line, giving his teammates a knowing smile when he walks into the room sporting nothing else save for a pair of boxers and a monster that looks to be trying to tear itself free from them.

Gaz

Dude's young. Of course he's throttling that rooster on a nigh-daily basis.

The only reason he's not at it as much as Soap is because he likes to believe he still has a few threads of his self-restraint intact.

He doesn't.

Especially when it comes to you (regardless of whether you're dating yet or not).

But he doesn't need to know that.

Honestly, the only thing that separates him from Johnny's unmatched libido is the fact that it takes a little more than the slightest provocation to get Gaz going.

Albeit, that line is a thin one.

If he so much as accidentally sees something explicit for upwards of three seconds, he's hard.

The only advantage of his need for satisfaction is the speed with which he can achieve it.

He and Johnny actually timed each other once to see who could get off the fastest.

Gaz won. Though, only by a slim margin.

Needless to say, that made for a rather interesting conversation with the Captain when he walked in on two of his best soldiers sat panting on the edge of their cots, an almost-translucent spray spattered across their stomachs, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

Ghost

The third-in-line for the Throttle Throne is none other than our beloved Ghost.

Unlike Johnny and Gaz, Ghost is more likely to leave himself alone at the first sign of trouble, toughing it out until he can will his mind to less lustful pastimes.

He won't make his jacking off known to anyone, either, often doing it in the shower where the water beats down so harshly that no sound can be heard for the water's fall.

That, and he's a master at keeping his voice low, no matter the circumstances.

More often than not, Simon makes quick work of jerking off purely because it’s a means to an end. However, if it’s you he’s thinking of, he’s much more likely to take his time — to immerse himself in the fantasy of your body around his, taking him so well in one capacity or another. Fucking yourself dumb on his cock.

During these times, he’s thorough — much more likely to edge himself, to throw his head back and growl between gritted teeth, to savour the sensation coiling in his stomach, his balls growing tight.

Otherwise, he’ll stroke one out as quickly as he can, getting back to business as usual.

And to look at him, on the surface, you'd never know that he just spent the last three minutes rubbing one out in the bathroom (yes, he is also a contender for first place in the 'Who Can Jack Off The Quickest Competition', but he'll never allow Johnny or Gaz the luxury of witnessing his unprecedented skill; that's for your eyes only).

Until he corners you, breathing down your neck, scolding you for tempting him - a man whose restraint lies only in his ability to hold off from reducing you to an exponential reflection of his prior state, breathless and covered in fluids.

König

Have you seen the size of that thing ? Man should be in the olympics for being able to throw that weight around.

Similarly to Ghost, König only gets himself off when it's absolutely necessary.

Only if he doesn't have you lying around to help him, of course.

Though, he lets himself have a bit of fun with it. Especially if it's been a tough day.

He's vocal, too. Though he tries not to be.

He just can't help it. Days' - maybe even weeks' - worth of unspent adrenaline and semen is hardly any way for a soldier like König to go about his life. So, he expels it in the privacy of quite literally any isolated space he can find.

König is not an adventurous spirit by any means when it comes to self pleasure, but when needs must, he's willing to shoulder the weight of the prospect that someone on his team could walk in at any second and catch him spraying his stomach or the wall white with, let's face it, thick ropes of cum.

Hong-Jin's actually caught him doing that before now.

That's actually how the two became friends: Horangi heard König grunting in the store cupboard and, knowing how stubborn his Colonel was with letting others know when he was injured, sought him out. Wanted to offer his help.

Catching Colonel König in the act of throwing his head back whilst growling the name '(Y/N)' into the darkest corner of the room was, suffice it to say, not what Horangi had been expecting.

Price

You just know he's cool with it. And by 'cool', I mean incredibly intentional, controlled, and not ravenous in the ways our other favourite military princesses are.

Sure, Price has gotten hard on the job a few times.

Who hasn't ?

But thanks to his level head, unwavering devotion to his work, and absolute refusal to acknowledge that he did, in fact, get a little bit of a chub during a shoot-out, he's managed to gain control over every facet of his body.

Until he comes home to you, of course.

Until he's able to loom over you like an omen and run his hands down your sides, stopping at your hips and pressing kisses that become more open-mouthed the further down the side of your neck he dips.

Pressing his hips into yours. Something demands your attention.

There have been very few occasions where a cold shower wasn't a quick enough fix for him.

When the days of having you milk him are too far out of sight, he's had to suffice with his own hands before now. Had to imagine - remember - what yours felt like in his place, your lips curled up as he gripped the chair arms, breathless as he moaned into the warm tones of your shared apartment.

But don't worry ! He'll be sure to catch you up on everything you've missed while he's been away once he returns.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[misctf]

What about a douche baseball player turns into just another bubble butt twink

The crack of the bat. The crowd cheering. Grant didn’t hear any of it. He scooped up the ground ball, stepped on second base and launched a rocket towards the first baseman. The crowd’s cheering died down as Grant successfully pulled off the double play. A grin etched across his face as his teammates cheered and he flipped the crowd off. What did he care? It was an away game and their opponents sucked. The crowd’s boos filled the air, but he didn’t give a shit.

“Fuck yeah Grant!”

“Thatta boy!”

And that was a wrap. Another win for Grant. He was undefeated and he just knew the scouts would be setting him up with the major leagues soon enough, especially with his stats. As he entered the locker room, his teammates continued their praise. It wasn’t uncommon- besides, he won them most of their games anyway.

“Hey, good game buddy.” Grant turned to face Jim, “I was really...”

“Fuck dude, you nearly cost us the game.” The others were quiet, “How many fuckin’ times are you gonna mess up? Is it that hard to tag someone?”

“Grant, I...”

“You’re all lucky I’m on this shit team or you’d all be fucked.” He continued, “Just speakin’ the truth.”

There were a few murmurs amongst his teammates. They’d heard this before and were used to Grant’s criticisms. And to some degree, they had to admit that he was a big reason for their victories. But Jim was new to the team, and the younger player looked at Grant in shock. But Jim’s lips curled into a small smile.

“Alright, I got it.” He slapped Grant’s butt, “Good game buddy.”

“Fuck you too.” Grant replied, somewhat taken aback by the other man’s touch, “Piece of shit.”

But Grant’s focus quickly shifted as he realized his dick was twitching uncomfortably in his jockstrap. He continued to face his locker, trying to adjust and make it less obvious. Why would he be getting hard in a locker room full of men? But before he could adjust, he felt another firm slap against his ass. He nearly jumped at the sensation and watched as another teammate left the locker room.

“Okay, stop...” This time, he felt a much firmer slap against his ass as the first baseman congratulated him for a good game, “Ohhh fuck, please...” He held back a moan as his outfielder gave him another firm ass slap, “Shit, shit, shit...”

The pleasure emanating from his ass was starting to make him squirm. And his cock was now straining intensely against his jockstrap. Even the cool wind against his skin was sending tickles of pleasure through his muscular firm. All the while, he remained facing his locker, trying his best to hide his erect member. His face flushed red.

“Good game Grant.”

Grant couldn’t help but moan this time as his ass was slapped again. This time though, he felt his entire ass jiggle as the slap reverberated. And when he heard a few giggles from his teammates, his face flushed even more and he quickly ran towards the showers, not caring if they saw his raging erection.

“Fuck...” He grunted, “Fuck this... what the fuck is wrong with me?” He turned on the water and allowed it to caress his body, his eyes rolling back into his head, “Ohhhhh why does thith feel tho fuckin’ good?” He barely recognized the lisp as he talked, instead more focused on the warm water.

And as he basked in the water, he closed his eyes and allowed his hands to roam his body. He felt his firm muscles under his skin. His pecs, finely dusted with chest hair. His firm bis and tris from years of going to the gym and playing baseball. His firm, muscular ass. And slowly, his hands made his way to his member, stroking his 8” uncut dick. But with each stroke, his cock lost some of its girth- and then some length.

“Wh-what no...” He looked down at his shrinking member, “What ith thith?” His eyes widened and e let go of his dick and felt his neck, “My voith...” It was breathy, a tad higher, and the lisp was painfully obvious to him, “I...”

And he felt it. A slap. Hard and firm. Against his ass It echoed through the shower, which was soon filled with the sound of his feminine moan. He could barely focus- his eyes half-lidded from the pleasure. But he turned to find Jim standing behind him.

“Hey cutie.” Jim whispered seductively into his ear.

Grant’s mind was racing now. He could feel Jim’s firm body pressed against him. His erect member pressed against his ass. And then he realized with increasing terror that Jim was somehow taller than him.

“What are you doing to me?” Grant squeaked as Jim’s hands roamed his body.

Jim didn’t say anything. And Grant watched as his firm pecs thinned out, the dusting of chest hairs falling away. His impressive arms dwindling into more feminine limbs. His legs becoming skinnier and delicate. And while he couldn’t see it, he could feel his face shifting- losing its masculine edge. His lips forming into a permanent pout, his eyes softening.

“Oh Jim...”

He moaned again as his ass filled with jiggly fat and muscle, forming into an impressive bubble-butt. And the feeling of Jim’s erect cock against his newly bloated ass sent even more shockwaves of pleasure through his lean and cute physique.

 “Fuck...” Grant pressed himself into Jim’s embrace, any hint of resistance fading fast. So what if he liked guys now? So what if he was just a toy to be used by better men? So what if he wanted Jim to fuck him until his brains turned to mush? These questions... these thoughts... they didn’t seem to bother him, “Wait... no... I’m...”

“A perfect fuck toy.” Jim whispered, his dick entering Grant’s virgin hole, “And that’s all you’ll ever be from now on.”

And so it was. But Grant didn’t seem to miss his old life on the baseball field. No, he was far happier lying in bed, waiting for Jim to return to their shared dorm. He licked his lips, thinking of Jim- all sweaty and dirty after an intense baseball game. Jim’s dick always hard and ready to use Grant. After all, Grant knew it was true. He was just Jim’s perfect little fuck toy.  

[narfin-frood]

another little comic abt wander's time as the interim guitarist for ninety ounce nihilists .... i cannot stop thinking abt it

single image spread, transcript, thumbnails & other ramblings under the cut

TRANSCRIPT:

[an empty stage with a ninety ounce nihilists banner hanging from the top. the work lights are on, showing nobody but wander coiling a length of wire onstage. tumbleweed hums to himself as he works, but within a moment, the lights flick off with a loud CLUNK]

TUMBLEWEED: ummm... hey! couldja turn those back on?

[no response, so wander goes back to what he was doing in the dark]

TUMBLEWEED: s'pose not

[a band member appears in the next frame. she has a head like a hammerhead shark]

BAND MEMBER: hey, tumbleweed

TUMBLEWEED: well hi there!

BAND MEMBER: how come you still stick around?

[tumbleweed looks away sheepishly, but he still responds]

TUMBLEWEED: well, you're my friends! mr. threat is, too... he just don't know it yet

BAND MEMBER: ...he hates you. and he treats you like garbage. he's...he's making money off you, and he's not even giving you any credit. much less the cash you generate!!

[tumbleweed shrugs.]

TUMBLEWEED: never expected him to.

BAND MEMBER: wh...well, you should.

[tumbleweed takes his hat off and stuffs the coil of wire inside as he speaks]

TUMBLEWEED: it's alright. i'm doin' him a favor. y'all needed a guitar, n' i happen'ta have one. i don't expect nothin' in return

[the band member glances off stage with a sour expression towards three other members of the band, including major threat himself.]

BAND MEMBER: let me give you a hand.

---

ok so the band member i included doesnt have a name, but here she is in the show, along with the rest of the ninety ounce nihilists, all vaguely middle-aged

i really realllly wanna draw them all when they were active as nozn because i love to dress up funky guys like them. theyre so fun. anyways.

i think wander is the reason nozn breaks up in the first place. they get back together in the future, yeah, after major threat makes up with them, however he goes about that. but like, the comical lengths i think major threat would go through just to keep wander at arm's length would be a tipping point for the rest of the band, because they'd start to realize how poorly they were being treated.

i think the straw that breaks the camel's back would be wander attempting to provide backing vocals and being immediately kicked out of the band. the kicker being that it's for a song he wrote, and all the other members would quickly follow him, because, hey, what the fuck, dude. what did he ever do to you. what did WE do to you for that matter.

ANYWAYYYZZZZ if anybody has like name suggestions for them or anything let me know! honestly i'm defaulting to calling them all different alien variations on trent and reznor because i think it would be funny to do

[stxrrkissed]

── ۶ৎ JEALOUSY JEALOUSY .ᐟ

꣑ꦌ chuck bass x fem!reader ৴ LENGTH 798

DESCRIPTION once another guy sets his eyes on you, chuck finds himself jealous.

CONTENT just fluff ꣑ jealous!chuck.

THOUGHTS my first chuck fic!! this was supposed to be out much earlier but something came up. i hope you guys like it.

𝒾. mlist 𝒾𝒾. previous fic 𝒾𝒾𝒾. prompts 𝒾𝓋. based on this ask

CHUCK BASS IS IMPORTANT. POISED. Full of unwavering self-confidence. He doesn't get jealous. He doesn't. He has no reason to. He's as confident in his relationship with you as he is in that he'll fulfill his father’s legacy one day. But this guy talking to you right now, thinking that he's entitled to you in any way... who the hell does he think he is?"

Chuck tried so hard not to let it bother him, trying to enjoy the party that you all attended, it’s thrown by a new elite person that has yet to show their face, he didn’t even want to come, he’d rather stay in bed, cuddle up next to you but you wanted to come because Blair and Serena was also going.

Chuck focuses his glare on the guy standing in front of you as he takes a sip out of the drink he’s been nursing for the past few minutes. His teeth grinding together as the guy stood so close to what was his, it’s not like you were entertaining him as you denied every one of his attempts but he isn’t letting up. “Are you there?” Nate questions as he notices he hasn’t been listening to anything he’s been saying for the past few minutes.

“You know I’m not. Don’t take it personal. Who is that guy?”

Nate rolls his eyes at his response before looking in the direction, Chuck is looking in. “Dude, that’s Jackson. This is his party, everyone’s talking about him, he’s gossip girl's new target.” Nate explains as Chuck sets his cup on the table beside them.

“Oh I see what’s happening, you’re jealous,” Nate snickers, couldn’t believe his eyes as he watches Chuck roll his eyes at him. “You know (name) only has eyes for you,” he adds.

While Nate speaks the truth, it only falls on deaf ears. While he knows you wouldn’t entertain someone else, it has been quite a long time since someone dared to try to flirt with you knowing damn well you belonged to him and him only. He’s the only one that gets to stand as close to you as the guy is to you now.

“How about I take you out this weekend, is 8 fine for you?”

You exhale, letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. You had already let this guy know that you’re not interested in him and he still wasn’t budging, kept trying to find ways for you to say yes to his offer; you try to be nice as this was his party, you didn’t want to be rude.

No one could hold a candle to Chuck as no one made you feel the way you feel with him, he treats you with respect, a trait this guy obviously lacks.

You look around, searching through the crowd for your boyfriend, the only person besides the girls you want to be close to so you can get away from this dude.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips once you lock eyes with him, watching as he walks up to you with confidence written all over him, a sight that always has you head over heels with him. “Um… hello? Did you hear what I said?” Jackson questions, snapping his fingers in your face enough to make you annoyed.

“I’m sorry but she’s with me,” Chuck states, placing his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, just being his hold; you immediately melt in his touch as shock takes over Jackson's face “Incase, you didn’t know but she’s happily taken.”

You lay your head against his shoulder as he lays a soft kiss on your forehead, another thing that made your heart flutter about him.

“Whatever, call me when you break things off with him,” Jackson says, walking away as you roll your eyes briefly before giving your full attention to Chuck who had an angry expression on his face.

“Don’t listen to him babe, I would never leave you.” You comment, rubbing his chest, looking up into his eyes. “I know.” He responds but a smirk spreads across your face, knowing by the look on his face having seen it many times before in the beginning of your relationship although he always claims he never gets jealous but you always saw right through it.

“Oh my god, you are jealous.” you make eye contact with him, not being able to hold in the laughter that’s spilling out your mouth. “Now why would I be jealous? I’m Chuck Bass and no one can ever replace me.” He says proudly and you laugh more, holding onto him tightly.

“Come on, let's get home, I will have more fun there than here,” you say calmly, leading him to the exit as he raises an eyebrow, happy that he can finally go home and have you to himself, thinking about the day he’d finally marry you, claiming you as his wife to the world.

thank you for reading! © stxrrkissed 2025. all rights reserved — do not claim, copy, repost or translate.

[torakowalski]

So the Olympics have started and @pennyplainknits and I have been talking about Swimmer Steve. His first Olympics is 1988, where he gets two silvers and a bronze. Two golds and a silver come in 1992 and he's all set to wipe the board at his home games in Atlanta 1996.

Except he has a training accident right before World's, some rookie crashes into him as he's making a turn at the wall, and he's stetchered off with a broken shoulder and a concussion.

What no one knows is that Atlanta was supposed to be his last Olympics. He and Eddie had life plans that didn't involve Steve needing to be firmly in the closet to keep his sponsorships. But he can't leave it there and Eddie isn't going to LET him leave it there. So he drags himself back to form, qualifies for Sydney 2000. And then...

"Wait," Robin says, grabbing Eddie's arm. "There's no way, he -"

Eddie is sitting so far forward in his seat that he's in danger of falling onto the people sitting in the row below. He reaches back blindly, ends up clutching Robin's knee with his fingernails.

"He can. He totally can."

He wasn't supposed to. He told everyone he just wanted to come to Sydney to compete.

But Steve was sixth at the start of the penultimate lap, fifth by the middle, fourth as he takes his final tumble turn. He pushes off long and strong, resurfaces in third and then it's on.

Half a length to go, he's level with Alexander Popov in second, and then he just, he surges. Eddie didn't know he could still do that, hasn't seen it in a decade.

The Dutch dude, Van Den Hoogenband is new and fast and twelve years younger than Steve, but Steve is strong and beautiful and stubborn as fuck. They're in sync for that final stroke, but even this far away Eddie is sure - he's _sure_ - that it's Steve's fingertips that touch the wall first.

On Eddie's left, Robin screams. On Eddie's right, Dustin yells, "Jesus Christ!" like all the air has been punched out of him.

Eddie yells louder than any of them. He's on his feet without knowing he's going to move, friends and family of Team USA jumping up and down around him, Robin and Dustin yelling in his ears, but Eddie's eyes are firmly locked on Steve, still down in the pool.

He's pulled his cap off, hair everywhere, and he and Van Den Hoogenband are side by side, waiting together with their eyes locked on the screen.

"He did it," Robin says, "he _did_ do it, right?"

"He did it," Eddie says. He did. They all saw it. Why the fuck is it taking so long for the confirmation to come up?

The screens flash, a ripple goes around the Acquatic Centre, and then finally, there it is: Van Den Hoogenband (NED) - 48.30; Harrington (USA) - 48.29.

(ETA: now with more here)

[bbapplegirlie]

Distress Signals

A Love and Deepspace Caleb Fic

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

NSFW! ADULTS ONLY!

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

Summary: When Caleb sees you calling at 2 in the morning, he knows something isn’t right. And when he finds out why you’re calling… he’s determined to right some wrongs.

Content Tags: Lil’ bit of angst, lil’ bit of fluff, lil’ bit of smut, comfort, yearning, self-conscious MC, love confession, first kiss, Caleb fingers a confidence boost into you, Caleb comes in his pants (IDK, something about it is just so Caleb-coded, it’s gonna end up in every fic I write lol), use of gege/meimei, non-canon since this confession is different from the game. PLEASE be aware that Caleb gets paranoid that you were taken advantage of at a party, but it didn’t actually happen, and there are no graphic details! He’s just being an overly anxious adoptive bro ^.^

Length & Status: Roughly 10k words, completed one-shot

Author’s Note: This was written for a request that @ajyoursgirl sent in ♡ I hope you enjoy it, doll! Let me know your feedback, this is my first time writing for a request, so I’m a lil’ nervous :,) I was picturing this as a short 2.5k word fic, but clearly things spiraled out of control xD

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

Caleb could sleep through a lot of things, but your phone call was not one of them.

Living in a cramped dorm room with three other college-aged boys could be, quite simply, hell on Earth. Well… technically above Earth, since he was still stuck in the clouds up in Skyhaven while he finished his last year in the Deepspace Aviation Administration’s Aerospace Academy. But regardless, it wasn’t peaceful. His roommates always watching stupid prank videos too loudly, Gideon’s unfortunate habit of sleeptalking, paper-thin walls between him and the idiots next door, the morning alarms going off every other hour with his roommates’ hectic schedules, the occasional sneaky hook-ups behind nothing but the flimsy curtains that divided their bunk beds… Caleb had learned how to ignore it all.

Except for you. Never you.

It helped that he’d set your ringtone in his phone to your sweet voice; it was his personal siren song. He’d caught you singing in the shower some time ago and recorded it, another small way he could always carry you with him everywhere he went. No doubt you’d be furious if you found out—you weren’t exactly the most, ah, practiced singer—but Caleb wouldn’t change it for the world.

The minute he heard your voice calling out from underneath his pillow, he woke up, smiling sleepily to himself. It was a much better way to wake up than his usual alarm. The only thing that kept him from not picking up right away so he could listen to the ringtone a little longer was knowing that you would be left waiting on the other end.

When he saw what time it was, though, his smile sank into a churning tide of nausea rising in his stomach.

2 in the morning? Why would she be calling this late…?

He answered the phone, rubbing his eyes as he sat up in bed. “Y/N? Wha’s goin’ on?” he mumbled, words still slurred with sleep.

Somewhere above him on the top bunk, Gideon groaned. “Caleb, dude, it’s fucking late, man, shut the fuck up—”

Caleb was quick to punch the underside of the bunk bed, silencing him. He didn’t want to hear it from Gideon of all people. His friend grunted an audible oof, the force of Caleb’s honed muscles barely buffered by the thin mattress.

“Um… hi, Caleb, I’m sorry to wake you up… everything’s fine, don’t worry.”

Caleb knew instantly from how you spoke, all choked-up and unsteady, that everything was not fine.

And so he got out of bed, quick to slip on a hoodie and shorts, any traces of sleep vanquished from his body. Whatever was going on, he needed to fix it now. Best not to do it in this cramped space where his roommates might eavesdrop.

“Pipsqueak, you don’t sound fine. Tell me what’s going on. Do you need me to come to you?”

There was a long pause on the other end as Caleb grabbed his wallet off the nightstand, ready to leap into action.

“No, Caleb, I’m fine, I promise. I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

But the assurance stuttered in your throat again, obviously halted by tears.

Fuck, Caleb should’ve punched the underside of that mattress one more time, just to release some of his rising fear and fury. There was nothing that set his blood boiling faster than knowing you were in distress, and being separated by so much distance only made it worse. Something about higher altitudes making things boil faster or whatever his high school physics teachers had taught him, maybe.

He slipped out of the dorm room, slamming the door just a little bit before he made his way down the hall, if only to irritate Gideon for butting in.

“Tell me where you are, pips, I’ll come to you.”

“No, no, Caleb, that really isn’t necessary. I’m on my way home now anyway. I’ll be there faster than you could get to me. I don’t want to interrupt you anymore than I already am…”

Your attempts at reassuring him did the opposite. Why the fuck were you out at 2 in the morning? Sure, you were in your first year of college, but he didn’t think you were the partying type—not his sweet, innocent pipsqueak. He’d spent all of your shared younger teenage years protecting you from that kind of stuff. He thought he’d done enough to deter you from ever wanting to do that kind of thing, but clearly not.

Another pressing question was why you would ever think you were interrupting him by asking for his help. Who else would you turn to but him? He would drop everything for you, always, and he thought that you knew that.

It didn’t matter what you said. He was going to come to you, whether you liked it or not. He had to make sure he set things straight with you about where his priorities lay, and that was best done in person.

Exiting the dorm building, Caleb let the frosty high-altitude air imbue every inch of his lungs, as if it could act as a balm to his increasing panic. But focusing on the night air made him realize that not only was the moon not out tonight, but it was also cloudy, and that increased his stress tenfold. Not only were you out this late, but you were out this late in the complete dark with no moon or starlight to guide your way home. Fuck.

He began to make his way down the winding campus pathway to the nearest Coelum Express station; thank god the Protocore-powered anti-gravity train that connected Linkon City to Skyhaven ran 24/7, or he would’ve never applied to the Academy in the first place.

“Okay, well…” he started, trying to think of how best to get you to open up. You were prone to moments like these, where it was obvious you needed help, but were too shy to say what was really wrong. He would pry it out of you one way or another, but he wanted to see if he could get you comfortable enough to explain on your own volition first. “Why don’t you tell me about your night, then? Did you go out with friends?”

He tried to make it sound like he was just curious, making conversation for the sake of it, but really, he wanted to narrow down his suspect list for who had upset you.

“Yeah, I was out with the girls… they got invited to a frat party and decided to drag me with—”

That nearly stopped him in his tracks. He briefly pictured himself punching a tree, or a bush, or anything really, but he was quick to compose himself. He needed to get to you as soon as possible, and if he allowed his short temper to make him miss the next train, he would never forgive himself.

But the image of you in a frat house of all places… fuck, and the fact that you’d left on the brink of tears… it wasn’t painting a pretty picture.

“—please don’t be mad at me, Cay, I know you said not to go to things like that, but they insisted, and I thought it would be fun—”

“I’m not mad, pipsqueak,” he assured you, a damn lie, but it wasn’t you that he was mad at. “You’re in college now, I can’t stop you from living your life and having the college experience.” Though he sure wanted to, at least when it concerned other boys. “A pretty girl like you deserves to have fun, right? Was it fun, then? It doesn’t sound like it...”

Your long pause made Caleb focus on counting his breaths to keep from screaming from impatience. “Well… it was fun while the girls were with me, I guess. We danced for a while, did some karaoke, played a couple of games… but then they all started pairing off with the boys,” you said, voice turning threadier, whinier.

If this story was going where he feared it was, he’d have blood on his hands, arms, and legs by the end of the night.

“They were, you know, kissing and hooking up with whoever, having fun. But I just got left on the couch in the living room all alone! No one would even talk to me. None of the other girls, none of the guys, and… I left on my own. I didn’t want to just sit there and watch like a creep. I felt so awkward, Caleb! I was the only one not getting any attention!”

The fucking flood of relief that washed through him in that moment nearly swept him off his feet. He was absolutely thrilled to know that you were just being ignored by boys instead of the worst-case scenarios his brain had been coming up with, but he tried hard to keep his sigh of relief from being heard over the phone. You were still clearly upset, and he didn’t want you to feel mocked.

“...Cay? Are you still there?” you asked, sniffling.

Caleb ran a hand over his face, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, pips, I’m here.” He finally made it to the train station. Lucky him, he only had to wait a couple of minutes for the next one to arrive, or he might’ve considered finding the nearest parachute and getting down to Linkon himself. “Was there a boy there that you were hoping to get attention from…?”

Again, he infused his tone with a false casualness that he wasn’t truly feeling. He was fishing for more information, fishing for the name of the boy he would need to… well, he wasn’t sure what he would do to the boy yet, but the cold, black jealousy that began to blacken his vision did not bode well for whoever it was.

“Well, no, no one specifically... but it would just be nice to feel wanted, you know?” Another surging tide of relief had Caleb relaxing a bit more, but your tears kept him from feeling completely at ease. Did you really not know how badly he wanted you…? “I wasn’t even the one invited to this party, the other girls were… they always are. Boys come up to them, give them their numbers, ask them on dates, hook up with them at parties…” The sob that you let out was small, but still enough to make Caleb’s heart feel like it was shattering. “I never get that kind of attention. Not in high school, not now. I’m starting to think I never will. Can you be honest with me, Caleb?”

Caleb clenched his fists, hating that the one thing you seemed to want right now—attention from other boys—would be the one thing that would drive him over the edge. Why can’t I be enough for her? “Always, pips.”

“Am I really so ugly that boys won’t even talk to me? I know my friends are super pretty, so I’m not surprised they have it so easy, but—”

“Y/N.”

He said your name so forcefully, with so much fevered passion, that you fell silent on the other end immediately. He only spoke that way when he was preparing to lecture you about something serious, which this clearly was to him.

“Y/N, I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again. Do you understand me? Not even as a question.” Caleb implored, covering the mouthpiece of his phone as the train pulled into the station. He hopped on after scanning his boarding pass, a plan brewing in his mind that required you to not know what he was up to. Luckily, the Coelum Express was quiet this time of night, so once he took a seat on the nearly-empty vehicle, he could speak again without too much background noise. “You are not ugly. And it’s insulting that you would even say that. Have I not told you a million times you are the most beautiful girl in the world? My pretty, sweet pipsqueak? Are you implying that I’ve been lying to you our entire lives?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But what, pips?” he interrupted again, even more impassioned.

“You’re just saying that because you feel obligated to!” you insisted, voice pitching higher. “Never mind. Forget I said anything, Caleb. You probably have to get up early, so I should let you go.”

“Uh-uh, no way, pips. Get off this phone now, and I will track you down.” He neglected to let you know that he was already tracking you down. “This conversation isn’t done. I never say anything just because I feel obligated to, you should know that. You are beautiful, pips, and that fact is not reliant on my opinion, nor is it reliant on any amount of attention you may or may not be receiving from some stupid frat boys. Seriously, are they even catches themselves? I’m going to guess not if none of them caught your eye in the first place. Tell me, did someone say something to you to make you feel ugly?” The thought alone had his biceps flexing. He cracked his knuckles to release some of the pent-up tension.

“No, Caleb, I just… I just feel that way on my own.” 

Caleb’s shoulders fell at that. It was good that no one was bullying you, but he so desperately wanted to find someone to blame for the way you were feeling. That way, he’d have someone to take his anger out on, but it was becoming more apparent by the minute that the only enemy to battle was your own self-doubt and lack of confidence. It was a much harder foe to defeat, one that couldn’t be punched or intimidated like he wished.

“It’s just… the little stuff adds up, you know? I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never even gotten flowers. Or chocolates, or love notes. No one has ever done anything romantic like that for me.”

Well, fuck, Caleb thought, knowing that wasn’t true. There were a few times you had received gifts like that from the boys at your high school; they’d left them on your front porch, taped them to your locker, sent them in the mail, but Caleb had always been quick to toss them before you received them. No way would he let some snot-nosed kid weasel his way into your life before he’d gotten a chance to tell you how he really felt.

Now, Caleb was wondering if the times he’d threatened those boys to leave you the fuck alone had somehow spread amongst your peers at college, too. Maybe that was why no one approached you, fearful of your ever-vigilant older not-brother that seemed to have too keen an interest in you.

On one hand, it pleased him to know his attempts at protecting you and keeping you for himself had worked. On the other hand, it devastated him to know that your tears might be more his fault than anything.

“Ahem,” Caleb said, swallowing down his guilt as his dark brows pulled tightly together. “That is verifiably not true. Are we choosing to forget that I’ve gotten you flowers and chocolates every year for the Qixi Festival? Never mind all the sweets I bring home, even when it isn’t a holiday.”

Your sigh was audible. “You know that doesn't count, Caleb. I’m talking romantically. You only do that in a… pitying-your-dumb-meimei kind of way.”

Caleb shut his eyes tightly, resisting the urge to start slamming his forehead against the window of the train as it descended into Linkon City.

Maybe at one point, he’d thought of you like a little sister. Not dumb, just… clueless sometimes. But for a long time now, you were more of his… clueless crush. 

Nah. Crush wasn’t the right word.

Clueless soulmate.

What you said was a reminder of why he hadn’t been more direct about this in the past, though. If you thought that he saw you like a sister, then maybe you just saw him like a brother. And he’d convinced himself long ago that he’d rather stay quiet than risk losing the closeness of the relationship you currently had by asking for more.

He’d lived like that up until this point, but he was about ready to snap. Having to endure listening to you speak as if you were unattractive, unlovable, was going to be the Protocore that broke the wanderer’s back. The idea that he’d never done anything romantic for you would be laughable if it wasn’t so infuriating.

It was time to step his game up. Maybe you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, but… he needed to try. He needed you to know your options. And maybe he was a little full of himself, but he thought he was a hell of a lot better than some sweaty frat boy.

“Pips, I promise you… I guarantee you that you will get to have all the romantic experiences you could dream of someday, and I can only pray that it won’t have its beginnings in some nasty frat house. I hate that you’re crying because some unwashed, drunken, bum loser didn’t pick you to be his one-night stand. Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”

“I’ll take what I can get at this point, to be honest,” you replied, voice heavy with shame. “I don’t think a girl like me gets to be picky.”

That time, he really did slam his head against the window in frustration.

He had so much to say to you, but he didn’t want to do it over the phone. If he was going to prove just how loveable you were, how truly beautiful you were, by finally offering the confession he’d wanted to give you for so long now… then he was going to do it the right way, face to face. He clenched his fist at his side, trying to restrain the words he so desperately wanted to say so that he could save them for the right moment.

Soon. The train would arrive soon.

“I know it’s probably hard for you to understand, since you’re neck-deep in fangirls waiting on the tarmac at the Academy every day—”

Oh, you silly, silly girl, Caleb thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. You’d forgotten the scheme of pretending to be his girlfriend so those girls would leave him alone so soon, huh?

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked you to just pretend…

“—so you don’t know anything other than having your pick of every girl you could possibly want—”

Every girl except the one I need.

“—but it’s really hard, Caleb. It’s hard feeling like the least wanted girl in the room.”

I won’t let you feel that way for long, pipsqueak, I swear. I’ll stop being a coward.

Caleb chewed his lips, peeling back a bit of dry skin and then cursing when he tasted blood. Aw, hell. Now wasn’t the time to fuck up his lips, not when he was planning on…

He rubbed his temples, forcing the panicked thoughts to the side. “Pips, have you considered that the only reason people don’t approach you is because you’re too beautiful?”

You scoffed, but he didn’t give you time to refute him.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re not the only one who struggles with self-confidence.” I would know, he thought, laughing silently to himself. Even though he was generally super confident, considered one of the most popular guys at the Academy, and yes, frequently approached by the girls there, he still struggled with how he saw himself… especially when he wondered how you might see him. “Maybe those guys at the party all thought you were the most likable, most gorgeous girl in the room, but were too scared to approach you. Have you… have you ever tried to approach them instead?”

“Ha-ha,” you said, the dry, mocking laugh obviously one you had learned from him. “You know me, Caleb. Of course I haven’t. The girls had to beg me to even leave the house in the first place. I don’t have the guts for that.”

Another sigh of relief. “Well, then… maybe you have your answer. Sometimes, beautiful girls need to be the ones to make the first move. Give it a try before you start declaring yourself unlovable.” 

It seemed like the right advice to give, but he hated that he was giving it to you, encouraging you to make a move on anyone else but him. If he could just get to your place first before you had a chance to practice his advice, though, then maybe he could avert that crisis. 

He shook his head as if to clear it and focused instead on teasing you.

“And if that still doesn’t work, I dunno, pips. Maybe you’re hopeless, after all.”

“Caleb!”

He giggled quietly, pleased to hear your irritation replacing the tears. “Oh, hush, I’m only teasing. If you approach someone and they turn you down, consider it practice for the next time. You can’t let a single rejection discourage you.” Though he certainly would be discouraged—no, heartbroken—if you turned him down when he got there…

As the train descended into Linkon City, Caleb tried to lighten the mood by distracting you with tales of all the times Gideon had been turned down by the girls at his school. Objectively speaking, he was a handsome, smart, talented, charming guy (though Caleb would never admit that to his face), yet he still faced rejection, just like everybody else. He hoped that it would help get it through your thick skull that finding love took a little patience sometimes.

Caleb was being a hypocrite, though, because he was completely out of his own patience. He had to hold himself back from using his gravity evol to speed up the train’s descent into Linkon.

When the train finally pulled into the station, he really did use his evol to pry the doors open, unable to wait any longer. He all but vaulted from the vehicle, taking the familiar route to your apartment like a bloodhound on the hunt. To his dismay, the flower shop that he had planned on stopping by was closed—didn’t they know that a man might need to buy an emergency bouquet at 2 in the morning?—but that didn’t stop him from covertly stealing a hefty bundle of flowers out of people’s gardens as he continued his journey. It was no professional floral arrangement, but he tried his best, making sure to gather only the freshest blooms in your favorite colors.

All the while, he kept you distracted on the phone, letting the conversation flow freely. He asked you if you’d found any new favorite restaurants, how your classes were going, what your new friends were like. He had to keep the edge out of his voice for that last question; he didn’t like the idea of you being around girls who made you feel so insecure, who would ditch you for a bunch of dudes and leave you to walk home alone in the middle of the night. He asked if you were staying safe on your walk, and you were quick to assure him that you’d just made it home.

When he got to the corner store at the end of your street—thank the heavens above that it was open, or he would’ve broken the glass to get in—he made an excuse about fetching a glass of water so that he could grab your favorite chocolates without you hearing the cashier. It was no heart-shaped box with a pretty red ribbon tied around it, but he would make sure what he said when he got to your place left no room for confusion about how he felt.

“Hey, pips, I actually have a question for you,” Caleb said during a lull in the conversation as he finally made it to your apartment. He fished out the spare key you’d given him to get into the locked lobby.

“Shoot.”

“I, um… I’ve been struggling to tell this girl how I feel, actually. I’ve been feeling a little insecure myself. Guess we’re kinda alike, after all, huh? Could you maybe give me some advice?”

The other end of the line went quiet for so long that Caleb wondered if you had fallen asleep. 

“Pips?”

“Yeah, sorry, I heard you. I just… I don’t know what to say. I’m the last person you should be asking for advice, you know.”

The hurt in your tone was hard to miss. And as terrible as it was, it made Caleb’s lips pull up into a smile. If you were jealous over the idea of him approaching some other girl… that was a good sign, right?

But that smile quickly fell again. Maybe Caleb was misreading it, and the hurt wasn’t jealousy at all. Maybe you were just upset to have this topic brought up again, a reminder of the shitty night you’d only just begun to forget.

“I actually think you’re the perfect person to ask, Y/N,” Caleb argued, trying to hold onto his resolve to go through with this as he stepped into the elevator. “I trust you more than anyone else. You’re the only person on this earth I feel like I can open up to completely. Who else could I possibly ask?”

You sighed, long and tired. “Okay… Well, tell me about her. What is she like?”

“For starters, she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” he said, cheeks heating. Would you take that hint, or…?

“Mm, see? I knew you were lying earlier when you told me I’m the most beautiful girl in the world. It sounds like I’m only the second most beautiful. Guess I can’t trust what you say, huh, gege?”

Caleb let out a quiet giggle. Just so, so clueless.

“What else? A pretty face surely can’t be the only thing that made you gravitate towards her…”

“No, of course not. I’m not that shallow,” Caleb said, fidgeting with the chaotic array of flowers so that it didn’t look like a heap of yard trimmings. “She’s also funny. Kind. Most of the time, that is. Not so much when she gets mad, and I do have a tendency of pissing her off, but I think she secretly likes how annoying I am. And she’s smart… about most things. Sometimes, she’s completely oblivious to what’s right in front of her. But…”

When the elevator doors opened on your floor, Caleb felt his hands begin to tremble. This was it. 

“...I think she’s the one. Well, I know she’s the one, for me at least. But I’m not sure if she feels the same way. Sometimes, I think she gives me little hints, but other times I’m not so sure. I’m worried she just sees me like a… like a friend. Do you think I should tell her how I feel?”

Caleb swore he could hear you chewing on your lip through the phone. “Whoever she is, she’s a real lucky girl, Caleb. She’ll be the envy of your whole school. Why wouldn’t you go for it? Like you said, the worst that can happen is you get rejected. Even if that happens, at least you won’t be anywhere near Gideon’s rejection record, right? He’ll have that high score for quite a while before you beat him…”

That time, Caleb was certain that he hadn’t misheard the jealousy in your voice. Even the way you forced yourself to tease him despite whatever negative thoughts were brewing was familiar; it was a habit that you’d surely picked up from him. But whether or not that jealousy was because the girl was receiving Caleb’s attention, or just any boy’s attention at all, remained to be seen.

When he made it to your apartment at the end of the hall, he lowered his voice, not wanting to ruin the surprise. His heart was trying to break out of his damn chest, like it wanted to break down the door itself, and he prayed that the thudding wouldn’t make his voice too shaky.

“So you think I should just go for it, then? My pride be damned if she turns me down?”

“I don’t see how anyone could turn you down, Cay. You’re the perfect catch. And if she doesn’t see that, then maybe she’s more oblivious than you thought, and you shouldn’t waste your time on such a dumb girl.”

“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right,” Caleb said, giving his hair a final finger-combing, slicking back his sharp-as-swords eyebrows, and straightening his hoodie strings (maybe he should’ve dressed up a little better for this moment, but it was too late now). “Hey, I’m gonna go, I think I need to tell her right now, pips. No better time than the present, right? Good luck with everything. I’ll see you soon, though!”

“Oh, okay—”

He hung up the phone before giving a proper goodbye, biting his lip to hold back the laughter. 

And then he knocked on your front door, loud enough that you could hear from your bedroom.

If he thought he was impatient before, it was nothing compared to now. He counted the seconds like eras, fidgeting the longer time went on without the door cracking open. Did you not hear him? Were you not actually at your apartment? Had you crashed at a friend’s place instead, or had you maybe gone back to your shared childhood home to stay with Josephine? Oh, no, and the way that he’d hung up so rudely, you probably wouldn’t even pick up the phone to let him explain—

He truly began to panic then, and some of the mangled, hand-plucked flowers fell from his sweaty palms onto your doormat. He dropped to his knees to pick them back up—no, no, no, she deserves better than this—only to have the door finally creak open right at the most inopportune moment.

Caleb scrambled to get up, eyes wide, face flushed. You were so fucking beautiful, enough so that the breath was knocked from his lungs. Any last vestiges of his composure fled back up the hall, down the elevator, and out the front door as he took you in. How could he be so stunned by you every single time he returned to your side? It didn’t matter that you were just in your pajamas, your hair messy, your makeup smudged; it still rattled him every time he saw you. God dammit, he’d grown up with you. There was no reason he should still be this unprepared for how you pulled him in like the universe’s strongest black hole. He had an entire train ride to prepare for this moment—years, really—and here he was, fucking it up already.

“Um… pipsqueak! Fuck. Here, these are for you,” he said, shoving the disfigured bouquet into your hands as your eyes went wide with shock. Oh no… were those… tears?! Maybe his ruse on the phone had worked a little too well… “And, uh, hold on…” He fished through his hoodie pocket, trying to locate the bars of chocolate he’d bought from the corner store. But why were they… squishy? Fuck! He thrust them into your hand regardless, desperate to salvage this moment. “These are for you, too! Now you can’t say no one ever did anything romantically for you, okay? Don’t forget it this time. And, uh, sorry they’re melted, I’m just, well, I’m kinda nervous. I’m sweating a bit, haha. Maybe pop them in the fridge before you eat them. Um…”

How in the world had his planned love confession turned into rambling about chocolate and sweat?!

“Caleb, what the hell are you doing here?!” you finally asked, and Caleb flinched at the hint of anger evident in your tone. “It’s almost 3 in the morning. Don’t you have a date you’re supposed to meet up with? Are you even going to be able to get to Skyhaven in time?”

He gave you a shaky smile in response. “I, uh, actually think I made it right on time…?” he tried, nervously scratching behind his ear.

But you still weren’t getting it. Your brows came together, your lips pouting out. You lifted your chin as if in annoyance, but Caleb knew you were just trying to keep those welling tears from spilling over. “Please don’t tell me she lives in the same building as me. I don’t need you rubbing it in my face that you can get girls so easily… at least let me get a boyfriend first so I don’t feel so left out.”

“Fuck, pips, you’re so…” Caleb groaned, running his fingers through his hair before gently shoving your shoulders. He pushed you inside the apartment and followed after you, shutting the door behind him. The last thing he needed was nosy neighbors hearing how badly he’d screwed this up, lest any of them get it in their heads that they could do better. Once inside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath that did nothing to soothe him. “It’s you, Y/N! It’s you. I’m here for you.”

You didn’t respond for a torturously long moment.

I ruined it, I ruined it, I ruined it.

When he finally found the courage to open his eyes again, it was to find you absolutely dumbfounded, your pretty, plush lips parted in an O. No, no, don’t focus on that, Caleb, not yet, he ordered himself. The sight of those pretty lips combined with his pumping adrenaline made his cock stir far too easily in his shorts, and that was absolutely the last thing he needed right now, especially with how unrestricting the fabric of the shorts was—nothing would be hidden.

Come on, say what you’ve waited so long to say! The words were trying to burst out over the phone, why won’t they come out now?!

He cleared his throat, stepping closer to you so that he could grip your shoulders and center himself. “Pipsqueak… there is no other girl. There is only you. There’s only ever been you.” His amethyst-fire eyes darted between your own, searching for any sign that you reciprocated his feelings. “And I am horrified that you felt for even a second that no man would ever want you. I want you. I need you. I’ve needed you my whole life, and the only reason I haven’t said so was because I was terrified you would be disgusted with me.”

You still weren’t saying anything. Caleb gripped your shoulders even tighter, as if he could squeeze a response out of you; no dice, though, so he continued to ramble.

“Hearing you on the phone like that, though, pips… you’re killing me. I’ve held myself back for so long, thinking that maybe someday you’d start to recognize how I felt and show me you felt the same way, but now you’re looking in the wrong places even though I’ve been waiting right here this whole time and…”

His hands fell away from your shoulders, and he backed himself up against the door, forcing himself to put some distance between you two. He didn’t want to scare you, although that bridge might’ve already been crossed. 

“Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough before. Or maybe I did, and you just didn’t want me like that, so you pretended not to notice. In which case, I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like this, but… I need to make sure you know exactly what your options are before you start chasing some dumbfucks at your school who don’t even know what your favorite colors are, what your favorite foods are, what brand of toothpaste you like. Who don’t know how to make you laugh, how to make you pout, how to bring out that pretty color in your cheeks. Because I do. And I think… I know I can do a whole lot more than that, too. Give me a chance, pips. I am begging you. I will get on my knees if I have to.”

Fuck, am I being too pathetic? Too desperate…?

The apartment was too silent. You still weren’t saying anything. Caleb bit his lip again, that torn part he’d ripped open earlier bleeding once more, the small raindrop of blood nothing compared to the blood spilling from his cracking heart into his rib cage.

He had half a mind to turn and run from this room before he had to listen to his worst nightmare come to life—you rejecting him.

Caleb buried his face in his hands. “Fuck. This was too much. I’m sorry. Just… take some time to think about it, okay? Call me if you want to talk about it... and if not, you don’t need to say anything, alright? We can pretend this never happened. I promise I won’t bring it up again, and we can go back to the way things were before, and—”

Your small hands wrapping gently around his wrists—so much smaller, they very nearly couldn’t wrap all the way around—was enough to break him from his rambling. You’d set the strangled flowers and melted chocolate down, giving him your full attention. You tugged Caleb’s hands away from his face, exposing his flushed cheeks, his pleading eyebrows, his quivering lower lip. You looked concerned; it was the same face you made when you saw a lost puppy running down the road all by itself. 

“This isn’t a prank, right, gege?” you asked, voice small and timid.

 “What?” That was the very last thing that Caleb had expected to come from your mouth. “Of course not. Y/N, do you really think I would—”

“Um, yes, I do, actually!” you spat back, your concerned, pitying look flipping into one of frustration in the blink of an eye. “Considering I just called you in the midst of a quarter-life crisis that no man would ever return my feelings—including you, you fucking meanie—and your response was to prank me into thinking you were meeting up with some other girl, yeah, I very much think you are capable of pranking me with a fake love confession—”

—including you, you fucking meanie—

—including you—

The words echoed in his brain so hard that it might’ve shattered his eardrums, because the rest of what you said was a blur.

Caleb’s lips fell open, staring at you blankly as he waited for your rant to end. When it finally did, your chest heaving and your cheeks heated into that beautiful, apple-red, he could only barely manage to whisper, “Do you really mean that?”

“Do I mean that you’re a big meanie? Of course I do, I’ve only said it a million times! Are you implying that I’ve been lying to you our entire lives?” you said, echoing his earlier words in a mocking, mimicking tone.

“No, pips.” Caleb finally came to his senses, stepping forward to gather you in his arms. He kept his head leaned back just enough so that he could take in every detail of your face as he made you repeat yourself. “Do you really mean that… that you have feelings for me?”

That was when you fell silent, your cheeks burning brighter. He wished he could buy the color in pigmented form just to keep it in a little glass bottle so he never had to go without it.

Your eyes darted away from him—so bold when you were angry, but so shy the minute he tried to cross this line.

But Caleb wasn’t having any of it. “Look at me, pips. Did you mean it?”

Slowly, you lifted your fluttering lashes up to him, trying to dash away those earlier tears. “Yes, Cay,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“So why were you trying to catch some other boy’s attention at a party earlier…?” Caleb asked. This time, it was his turn to look shot-through-the-heart, and you flinched at how potent the hurt was in his eyes.

“I… Caleb, you’re so popular!” you exclaimed, shaken. “You have a whole world worth of beautiful girls to pick from, why would you ever want me? I’d gotten so used to all your admirers throwing themselves at you, I just, I… I resigned myself to never thinking you’d even look my way! It’s not like you ever dropped any hints or anything!”

Caleb scoffed, flashing one of those sharp-edged smiles that instantly set your blood to boiling. You tried to pull away, thinking he was going to start mocking you, but he only held on tighter, threading his fingers into your hair at the back of your head so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. 

“Oh, I most certainly have dropped hints, missy,” he said, taking that scolding tone again. “Fuck, pips, you’re so cute when you’re clueless.”

You tried to pull away from him again, but it only resulted in him pulling you even closer and then spinning both of you so that he could cage you in against the door with his broad shoulders.

But it wasn’t a cage, not really. This was your home.

“I’d say you’re cute when you’re being a bully, but it wouldn’t be true,” you spat back, resorting to petty insults when you didn’t know how else to act, “because you’re just a big, ugly, stinky, jerk—”

And that was when Caleb pressed his smiling lips to yours, drinking down your insults like expensive liqueur, swallowing your shocked little grunt as a chaser.

To say he just about blacked out would be wrong, because he would remember every tiny detail of this moment for the rest of his life.

To say his heart stopped beating would just be untrue, because it was thundering a storm inside his chest.

To say the universe came to a standstill would just be too cliché.

But the moment was momentous. He would spend a lifetime trying to find the right words to describe the relief, the purest joy, the nectar of ripened love finally being tasted.

The kiss wasn’t like the ones described in storybooks. It was his first kiss… his very first kiss, and yours, messy and unpracticed. There were clashing teeth, bumping noses, colliding chins. It took time to ease into it, to gather the courage to delve past each other’s lips and deepen the kiss the way real kisses were meant to be shared. There were even a couple of moments just like the classic pedestrian face-off, where you both tried to angle your heads at the same time, only to block each other clumsily.

The first time it happened, something like panic flashed through your eyes, like you were worried that it would turn him off and make him regret finally crossing this line with you.

But Caleb was quick to reassure you by laughing it off and lovingly running his fingers over your waist before getting the angle right and kissing you once again.

The second time it happened, he took control and used the slightest bit of his evol to guide you in the right direction. That made you moan. All those years growing up, you would throw an absolute fit when he used his evol on you without permission, but the sound you made then made it very clear that it was more than okay now.

He’d wondered how your first kiss might go for so long, but he’d always thought he would be consumed by the feeling of it, not the taste. The feeling induced ecstasy, yes, soft and plush and hot, but fuck, that flavor. It tasted like a summer's wet dream come true. Now that he’d had you on his tongue, he’d never be able to get it out of his head. It was the sweetest, purest essence, finally his to claim as his own.

Caleb’s shaky, sweating hands fell down your waist, your hips, lower and lower, until his fingers were just underneath the hemline of the pajama shorts you wore. You pressed into it, the unpracticed seductive touch still enough to elicit delicious sounds from you. He swirled his fingertips in a deliberate pattern, tracing the word ‘MINE’ over and over on the flesh of your thighs.

He wanted that touch to stay branded on your skin forever.

When Caleb realized he was moments away from rutting against your leg like a dog, he pulled back. You were both panting, the shallow, hot breaths filling the small space between your heaving bodies.

“Am I going too fast?” Caleb asked, his voice husky. His gaze was glued to your lips, mesmerized by the shine and swell of them.

The intensity of his gaze made you glance away, made your hand’s hesitant exploration of his jaw and hair falter. “If… if it’s too fast for you, we can stop,” you mumbled back.

Caleb shook his head back and forth vigorously. “Mm, we won’t be stopping on my account, pips. I want everything you have to give me. Everything,” he urged, leaning into your palm to nuzzle it with his cheek just as you tried to pull it away. “But I don’t want to scare you. We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t ready. Tell me what you want.”

“I… I want more,” you spoke quietly, words almost inaudible. “As long as you don’t think I’m a bad kisser.”

“Hmm… I suppose this is the worst kiss I’ve ever had,” he said with a smirk, pretending to ponder just long enough for horror to flash through your eyes, “but only because this is the only kiss I’ve ever had. So, that also makes it the best.” Before you had time to start throwing insults at him again for his teasing, his lips crashed back into yours, magnetized by the unstoppable force of his passion.

And as his tongue met yours once more, he wound his arms around your legs and hoisted you up onto his body, relishing in the soft gasp that you gifted him directly into his mouth. He felt that gasp burn down his throat and stain his lungs in a shade he never wanted to get rid of. 

He could’ve used his evol to make the process of carrying you a little easier, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel every ounce of your weight in his arms just as you were, gravity unaltered. With your legs wrapped around him, he carried you to the couch, stumbling a couple of times as he went. It brought forth a fit of the most delightful, effervescent giggles from you that made him feel downright giddy.

“Serves you right,” you snorted at him, and he gave you a big, bright, goofy smile in return.

He set you down on the couch cushions and knelt down on the floor before you, sliding his hands up your thighs and gently pushing them apart so he could crawl in between them. Even with him on the floor and you on the couch, he was tall enough to reach your mouth, no problem. He resumed the gentle lapping of his tongue against yours, continuing to learn how you liked to move against him and matching his caresses to yours.

He wanted to do it forever.

He wanted to do more than just kiss you forever.

Caleb’s hands crawled further up your thighs, running his thumbs in imperfect, nervous circles, the rest of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh like you might fade into nothing but a figment of his imagination if he didn’t hold on tight enough. He pulled you closer to the edge of the couch, relishing in the small burst of pain as your teeth grazed that place he’d bitten open on his lip earlier. He needed that pain—a reminder that this wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t a fanciful hallucination that he would suddenly awaken from and be left heartbroken by.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, choosing his next words carefully. He opted to be vulnerable for you, hoping it would help you see that he was just as inexperienced and insecure as you, and that that was okay. “Promise me you won’t hate me if I’m not good at this, okay? If I don’t know how to touch you properly, tell me so I can get better.”

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing before you spoke. “Caleb, I could never hate you.”

He laughed at that. “You’ve only said it a million times, pipsqueak. Should I not take your words at face value anymore?”

Your brows pushed back together, the shyness of your countenance fleeing in favor of irritation for a brief moment again, but it only made Caleb laugh harder. He distracted your irritation by pressing a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to your lips. I’ll never get sick of that.

When he leaned back once more, he gave your waistband a small tug so that you knew exactly what he wanted. “Now, if you would do me the honor of taking these off… I can show you how I’ve wanted to touch you for a long, long time now, Y/N.”

You chewed your lip, looking down at where he was kneeling between your legs, a man praying at his altar. “Only if you promise you won’t hate me for…”

“For what, sweetheart?”

You turned away, your words an incoherent mumble.

“I can’t hear you, baby. Don’t get all timid on me now.”

“For how I look, Caleb. If I’m not as pretty down there as you thought I would be—”

Caleb lifted one hand from the waistband of your shorts to grip your jaw, pulling you back to face him. It was his turn to express his full-blown irritation, furious at the idea that he would ever be so shallow as to hate you for what you looked like, as if your beauty wasn’t a gift in every way, no matter what shape it came in.

He didn’t need to see you naked yet to know that no matter how you looked, the sight would be seared into his brain as paradise on earth for the rest of his life.

“Did you not hear me earlier?” Using his strongest magnetic gaze to make sure you wouldn’t look away this time, he let go of your chin and hooked his thumb back into your waistband. This time, he didn’t wait for your permission to take the shorts off—he yanked them, using just enough of his evol to lift you off the couch and sneak them down your calves. It brought forth a squeak from your plush mouth, a sound that made him smirk. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Y/N. Every inch of you. That isn’t just my opinion. It is a fact. I’ll repeat it as many times as I need to, but I wish you would learn it on your own, too. So quit being so damn insecure and have some confidence, please. If someone like you doesn’t know how beautiful she is, what chance do the rest of us have?”

Only when he was done giving his speech did he allow his eyes to trail lower to the little black panties you wore. And that ended up being the smart thing to do, because fuck, it was hard to think about anything other than his need for you as he caught sight of the wet patch seeping through the black fabric between your legs.

You squirmed under the intensity of his perusal, but he pressed his hands tightly against your inner thighs to keep you from closing your legs. He admired the color of your skin, the way the tufts of your cute little hairs peeked through the sides of the panties, the shadowy creases where your thighs met your hips while sitting, the stretch marks, all of it. 

“Now take these off for me too, yeah, pips?” he urged as he nodded towards the panties, his voice dropping to a low, raspy octave. “Let me give her the same pep talk so you can get on the same damn page about how beautiful you both are.”

You hesitated, but he gave you time to gather your strength this time. Because he needed time to steady himself, too—he hadn’t even touched his cock, but it felt like he was moments away from cumming.

And when you finally lifted up to take those panties off as he said, he really did almost cum. Hot fluid leaked from his tip like it wanted to say hi, too.

Pep talk momentarily forgotten, Caleb’s mouth fell open as he stared. God, your cunt was so fucking pretty. She was glistening, flushed the same lovely color as your blushing cheeks, but more deeply pigmented, your clit swollen and throbbing already. 

He wanted to kiss her. To taste her. Because if she was anything like the lips on your face, he would be addicted for life.

But he still had words he needed to say to her, so he needed to save his kisses for later.

“Caleb, you’re staring…”

“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said, not daring to even blink. “How could I not? She’s more gorgeous than any sunset I’ve ever seen. Prettier than every star in the sky.”

And with trembling fingers, he pressed his pointer finger to your pussy for the very first time.

“Mmm!” you cried out, even so small of a touch resonating deeply enough to make you buck off the couch.

He started his touch low on your pussy, gathering the slick moisture that dripped from your entrance with every throb before dragging it up, up, up to circle your puffy clit. You jerked back from the touch, the foreign feeling of a man’s hands on you like lightning to your nervous system, but Caleb didn’t retreat. He just waited for you to settle down before resuming the slow circles and strokes once more.

“How is that, baby?”

“Mmm… ‘s intense, Cay…” you slurred, already caught in the thrall of the feeling.

He smiled, looking up to take in your enraptured expression for just a moment before he went back to staring at that hot place he’d dreamed of for so long.

“You’re so pretty, pipsqueak. So, so pretty. She’s so pretty. You really thought I would hate this?” he asked, words earnest. “You silly girl. My silly, sweet, precious, pretty girl.”

And then he dragged that finger back down to your tight entrance, pressing it in slowly, relishing in the way your inner walls clamped up around his finger like they were welcoming an old friend. God, you were made for him, and your body knew it.

“Oh!” you gasped at the unfamiliar intrusion, but didn’t buck away from him that time. No, instead, you chased the feeling, thrusting your hips closer to the edge of the couch so that you could ride his single digit.

Caleb grinned, repeating the motion. With every long stroke of his fingers inside your weeping pussy, he could see the hesitation, the restraint melt from your body. He kept the rhythm up, intent on unraveling you.

“Promise me you’ll never go seeking out some other boy’s attention, okay?” Caleb rasped out, wishing it came out like an order, but it came out more like a desperate plea instead. “I’ve been here this whole time, pips. I always will be. You don’t need anybody else, alright? I’ll be anything you want. Anything you need. I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise. I promise, Y/N. So promise me you won’t break my heart by running off to some asshole who wouldn’t give you that same devotion.”

You bit your lip, hips quickly learning how to bounce a pleasurable rhythm against him. “I’m sorry, Caleb, I’m sorry. I promise, I promise, I promise,” you panted out, and the words pleased him so much that he gifted you a second finger between your pussy lips. “Fuck! Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, gege, I promise, I never wanted any of them anyway, I just wanted you—”

A third finger.

“Caleb!”

“I wish you’d spoken up sooner, pips,” Caleb said, his own hips jolting from where he knelt, wishing his too-loose shorts would provide more friction against his throbbing cock. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve waited?” His brows pulled together as he remembered all his nights of pent-up frustration, staring at your photos, watching you when you didn’t know he was looking, waking up from dreams and wishing they were real. “And you’ve just been thinking this whole time that you’re not the most stunning, most alluring woman to ever walk this earth? It’s absolutely unacceptable.”

He sat up on his knees and leaned forward enough that his lips just barely brushed yours, getting drunk on the breaths you let out. You made him feel so good, and he wanted to make you feel good, too. Better than good. He suddenly remembered a tip he’d learned online during one of the many nights he’d spent reading tutorials on how to touch a woman properly, just in case this moment ever came.

Might as well give it a try now…

Caleb curled his three fingers inward, pressing hard against your front walls as he picked up the pace of his strokes.

The effect was immediate.

Your body seized up around him, your cunt squeezing him, massaging and milking his fingers as if they could give him the hot load you so clearly wanted. His cock twitched and throbbed underneath the flimsy layer of his shorts, making the fabric bounce. He was fucking jealous of his own fingers, a thought that nearly made him laugh.

You started letting out little gasping, mewling noises that Caleb had half a mind to record for his new ringtone—but he wouldn’t, because his roommates back at the Academy absolutely did not deserve to hear such a beautiful song.

No, these sounds were for no one but him.

“Let your friends have all those stupid boys. They can have whoever they want, and it doesn’t matter, pipsqueak, because I’m yours,” he cooed to you through your orgasm, and god, the way your mouth parted open, the way your eyes went hazy and crosseyed as your climax reached new heights… he needed to cum, too. “I’m yours, sweetheart, always and forever.”

Now that he was sitting up, his cock was close enough to press against the edge of the couch. It wasn’t the friction he wanted, but he could make do, because as badly as he wanted to fuck you… he needed more time to prepare. He would make sure that moment was something out of a storybook, since he’d goofed this moment up with torn flowers, melted chocolate, and rambling words.

Though something about how this night had gone still felt right, even with all his mistakes. He wouldn’t change it for the world, not when this was the outcome. It felt like you two: honest, passionate, messy, and just a little chaotic. 

He only had to thrust his hips against the couch cushions a few times before he was coming, too. The hot liquid got all over the inside of his shorts, falling out of the bottom of his pant leg, and splattering all over the carpet. 

Caleb had jerked his cock plenty in his life, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Inhaling your sweet scent, the sweet taste of your saliva still permeating his tongue, the sight of you climaxing before him, that was all it took to bring this feeling to levels he hadn’t known were possible. He nuzzled his face tightly into your neck as he rode out his orgasm, as you rode out yours, as you both rode the high of those crashing waves together.

He bit down lightly on your neck, an assurance that yes, this was real, yes, you were here, and yes…

You were finally his.

“I love you, pips.”

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

Masterlist // AO3 ♡

[ekybrini]

Back to Strangers | LUKE HUGHES

— ⟡ summary | Libby Carter, a college student who has sworn off any athletes after hearing the amount of rumors of how they treat people. When Luke Hughes, a persistent hockey player, starts pursuing her as part of a bet with his friends, Libby is determined to keep her distance. But as they spend more time together, she starts to question whether his feelings are real or just part of the game.

— ⟡ warnings | none (that i know of)

— ⟡ word counts | 1.9k

— ⟡ gab's note | hii ! im so excited to finally start writing again after a while. I finally got the energy to actually write something after months and come back to tumblr. hopefully I can post more (senior year is kicking my ass at the moment so hopefully after the semester is over I can post and write more!) I think this can potentially become a au (we'll see!) anyways im sorry for the inactiveness, but I promise to try to be more active! also I apologize for how long this is

“Dude, I’m just saying, you’re all talk,” Ethan teased, leaning across the booth at their usual hangout, a local diner near campus. The rest of the guys Seamus, Mackie, and a couple of others were clearly enjoying this way too much.

“I’m not ‘all talk,’” Luke shot back, stabbing his fork into his pancakes. “I just don’t waste my time on relationships.”

“That’s because you couldn’t even if you tried,” Mackie chimed in with a smug grin.

Luke snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

“No, seriously,” Seamus added, leaning in. “You think you could get any girl you want, but there’s one who would never go for you.”

Ethan smirked, a challenge lighting up his eyes. He gestured subtly across the room. “Libby Carter.”

Luke followed his gaze and saw her immediately. Libby sat alone at a table, curled over a thick textbook, twirling a pen between her fingers. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and she was dressed in oversized Michigan sweatpants and sweatshirt that swallowed her frame. She was pretty, no doubt, but there was something about her that seemed untouchable. She didn’t go to parties and barely looked at guys, she was mostly in her own world.

“Good luck with that,” Mackie added.

Luke leaned back in his seat, his smirk growing. “You guys really think I couldn’t make her fall for me?”

Seamus grinned. “Bet you fifty bucks you can’t get her to fall for you by the end of the year.”

Luke’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of challenge and amusement. “Easy money.”

“Hold on.” Ethan raised a hand, cutting through the banter. “Fall for you. Not just go on a date. Not just hook up. She has to actually like you.”

Luke thought for just a moment, the implications settling in. That was different. But his pride wouldn’t let him back down.

“Fine,” he said, shaking on it.

☆

Libby Carter had three rules coming to college:

1. Keep your grades up.

2. Avoid distractions.

3. Never, under any circumstances, date an athlete.

The last rule wasn’t some baseless prejudice. It was a fact. The University of Michigan athletics team, specifically the hockey team had a reputation of a mix of cocky attitudes, effortless charm, and just enough talent to make girls “fall” for them before moving on like the next game on their schedule. Libby had seen it happen too many times, and she wasn’t about to be another statistic.

Which is why, when Luke Hughes star defenseman, future devil player, and walking definition of temptation started showing up everywhere she went, she found it incredibly weird.

Libby was used to keeping her distance, to keeping people at arm's length, especially athletes who believed they could charm their way into anyone’s heart. She had more important things to focus on like her studies, her future, and avoiding distractions at all costs.

But Luke was persistent. The first time he approached her, she brushed him off.

"I’m really not interested," she said, her voice cool and detached as she glanced at him, then quickly looked away.

Luke didn’t back down. "I get it, but I just wanted to say hi. No pressure."

She raised an eyebrow. "Hi? That’s all you came over here for?"

He nodded, smiling a little. "Yep. I promise, I’m not trying to sell you anything."

She chuckled dryly. "Well, congratulations, you’ve succeeded in being the most annoying person I’ve met today."

Luke laughed, unfazed. "I’ll take that as a compliment. Can I try again tomorrow?"

She shook her head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "no.”

"I’ll be back." he said, grinning

And with that, he left her with a lingering sense of curiosity.

The second time, she shot him a look that could have frozen him in his tracks. But Luke wasn’t one to give up easily. And when it came to proving something to his teammates, he never backed down.

"Seriously?" she said, her voice like ice. "You’re still here?"

Luke’s confidence wavered for just a moment, and he almost considered turning around and walking away. But he shook off the fear, his pride kicking in. He wasn’t about to back down out of the bet now.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice a little tighter than he intended. "Still here. Just thought I’d try again."

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing to slits. "And what exactly are you trying to prove? That you’re persistent?"

"Maybe," Luke said, forcing himself to stand tall despite the sudden unease. "But I’m also a man of my word. I said 'tomorrow' last time. I’m just here to keep my promise."

Her gaze didn’t soften, but he could’ve sworn there was a flicker of something in her eyes was it amusement? He couldn’t tell.

"You’re relentless," she muttered.

Luke let out a nervous laugh, trying to regain his footing. "I like to think of it as determination."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but her stance was a little less intimidating now. "Well, don’t think you’re winning any awards here."

Luke held up his hands in mock surrender, forcing a grin. "No awards. Just a friendly hello. That’s all."

He was still shaking off the sting of that cold look, but something told him he wasn’t done yet.

☆

It wasn’t long before Luke’s presence became impossible to ignore.

At first, Libby thought it was just a coincidence when she saw him in the library, a place she frequented to escape the chaos of the dorms and study in peace. Luke, the star defenseman who could have any girl he wanted, hunched over a stack of papers and books, clearly out of his element. She thought maybe he was there for the same reason quiet study time though she had her doubts.

When the pattern repeated itself, though, Libby had to admit something odd was happening. Luke showed up at the coffee shop right when she ordered her regular, a steaming caramel macchiato. He somehow ended up sitting next to her in the huge lecture hall, despite having no real reason to be there. He started bringing up random facts about in economics, as if trying to make conversation in their econ class. Libby had no patience for it, but even she couldn’t deny the way he challenged her, poked at her intellectual comfort zone. And the more she pushed him away, the more he persisted.

“Do you have a reason for following me around?” Libby finally demanded one day after they ran into each other in the library for what felt like the hundredth time.

Luke looked up from his notes, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Who says I’m following you?”

“You sit next to me in class, even though you’ve never done it before.”

“Maybe I realized Econ is more fun with company.”

“You don’t even take notes.” libby said with clear annoyance.

“I have a great memory aka photographic memory,” Luke shot back with a wink.

Libby rolled her eyes, clearly fed up. “Look, if this is some kind of game, I’m not playing.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, the easy smile never leaving his face. “What makes you think it’s a game?”

“Because no one suddenly starts to follow around someone unless they have something they want.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. “and what exactly would i want?”

“you know exactly what i’m talking about” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Girls who don’t fall for the whole hockey player charm.”

Luke hesitated, unsure how to respond. Part of him knew she wasn’t entirely off base. But that didn’t mean he was going to give up just yet.

“I like a challenge,” he said with a shrug, flashing her a grin.

Libby scoffed. “Good luck with that, Hughes.”

And yet, she couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered just a little bit longer, his eyes never quite leaving her.

☆

Luke had noticed Libby sitting alone in the corner of the library for the past few days. Her nose buried in a textbook, surrounded by notebooks, and coffee cups. She was quiet and intense.

But there he was, walking up to her table, feeling the weight of his decision with every step. His friends had dared him. They had said it would be funny if he actually pulled it off. But deep down, Luke wasn’t sure why he wanted to get to know Libby. Maybe it was the challenge, or maybe it was because there was something about her that made him want to prove he could get through the wall she put up. Either way, he knew one thing for sure he was going to try.

He cleared his throat as he reached her table, leaning against the edge to keep his balance. Libby didn’t even look up, her eyes scanning the pages of her book with laser focus.

“what do you want hughes?” Libby said clearly annoyed of his presence

"Hey, Libby," he said, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little more nervous than he intended.

She didn’t respond. Her fingers flipped to the next page, like she hadn’t heard him at all.

Luke hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should continue or just walk away. But the thought of his friends would not let him back down now. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"I was, wondering if you’d want to study together for the upcoming econ test?" he asked, unsure of what he was really expecting. The words sounded stupid even to him, but he pushed forward. "I mean, we both know this material. Thought it might be easier to go over it with someone else, you know?"

Libby’s eyes flickered up to meet his, just for a brief second, before she went back to her book, clearly unimpressed.

"I study alone," she said, her voice flat and uninterested.

Luke didn’t take the rejection well, but he wasn’t about to let it go so easily. He had a point to prove, both to his friends and to himself. So, he pressed on.

"I get that. I mean, I do too," he said, trying to sound cool, like they were just two people casually discussing a study session. "But it’s just, uh, I heard you’re pretty good at this stuff. You know, the whole economic thing. And I figured you might want to go over a few things with me. Could help you out too, right?"

He could feel her staring at him, though she said nothing. He was so close now that he could almost see the tiny furrow in her brow, the slight irritation building behind her eyes. He knew this wasn’t going well, but Luke wasn’t the type to give up. He leaned in a little closer.

"I’m serious. I’m not asking for a charity case or anything," he added quickly, trying to sound more genuine. "I just thought it’d be a good way to get this over with."

Libby’s gaze stayed fixed on him for a long moment, studying him like he was some kind of puzzle she was trying to figure out. Luke braced himself for her to turn him down again, but then, to his surprise, she spoke.

"Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll study with you, but only if you leave me alone after this, especially with following me around."

Luke blinked, not sure if she was being sarcastic or serious, but he nodded quickly, trying to mask the sudden burst of excitement in his chest. "I get it. Just, you know, the studying part."

Libby gave him a curt nod. "Yeah, whatever. We’ll meet here tomorrow, same time." She turned her attention back to her notes, clearly signaling that the conversation was over.

Luke stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened. He’d actually gotten her to agree. He had spent so much time imagining how this would go, and it had ended with Libby of all people giving in. It wasn’t the most enthusiastic acceptance, but it was something. He smiled to himself, relieved that he hadn’t been shot down completely.

"Thanks, Libby," he said, his tone genuinely appreciative. "I won’t let you down."

She didn’t respond, her eyes now fixed firmly on her textbook as she scribbled notes with a speed that almost made Luke dizzy. He stood there for a moment longer, watching her, unsure of what else to say or do. Finally, he turned and walked away, the sound of her pen on paper the only noise filling the quiet of the library.

The next day, Luke showed up early, a little nervous but excited to see how it would go. He had never studied with someone like Libby before. She was serious, focused, and didn’t waste time with small talk. It was a stark contrast to his usual study sessions with his friends, where there was always some kind of distraction or joke in the air. But Luke was determined to make the most of it.

Libby was already there, sitting in the same spot, her books spread out in front of her. She didn’t even look up when he walked in, which, somehow, made Luke feel a little more at ease. He grabbed a chair, sitting down across from her, trying his best to ignore the fact that she was barely acknowledging his presence.

"Ready?" he asked, hoping to break the silence.

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she just gave him a quick glance, then sighed as she flipped through her notes.

"Let’s get this over with," she said, and Luke couldn’t help but grin.

She didn’t like him, but she had agreed to study. And for now, that was enough.

After a while, one study session became a whole month study session. In which both of them met twice a week to study together.

"That’s... impressive," he said, breaking the silence, his voice quiet but sincere.

Libby didn’t look up. "Yeah, well, it’s not that hard if you actually pay attention."

Luke chuckled, leaning against the table. "I don’t think I’ve ever been that focused on anything."

Libby finally glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. "Maybe you should start. Then you might pass the next test."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fair point. But I’m hoping you’ll be my secret weapon."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I don’t do secret weapons," she said, her tone a little less harsh but still firm.

Luke smiled, feeling a brief sense of connection, even if it was just fleeting. "Alright, no secret weapons. Just trying to survive here."

For a long moment, there was just silence between them again. Luke shifted awkwardly, realizing he had no idea how to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t used to talking to someone who shut down his attempts at charm so easily. But there was something oddly comforting about it. She wasn’t impressed by him, and for the first time in a long while, Luke didn’t feel the need to prove himself.

Finally, he let out a quiet laugh. "I’ll leave you to it, then. See you tomorrow?"

Libby nodded without looking up. "Yeah. Don’t make me regret it."

Luke had always prided himself on being a guy who didn’t get emotionally attached. Relationships were messy. They took time, effort, and a lot of care. And that wasn’t something he was interested in. Not with his career on the line and his focus on hockey. But somehow, spending time with Libby made him rethink everything.

It wasn’t instant, but it was inevitable. He found himself waiting for their study sessions, looking forward to their debates in class, and wanting to hear her opinion on everything from the economy to the latest sports scandals. She was smart, sharp, and had a sense of humor that kept him on his toes. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was just playing a part or living up to some stereotype. With Libby, he was himself.

☆

It happened one night, during one of their late-night study sessions. They had finished working on their assignments, and the conversation had shifted from academic talk to something more personal.

“You really hate hockey players, don’t you?” Luke asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Libby sighed, rubbing her temples. “It’s not that I hate hockey players. It’s just that I’ve seen how you guys treat people. You come, you charm, and you leave. I’m not falling for that.”

Luke hesitated, the weight of her words hitting harder than he expected. “Not all of us are like that.”

Libby shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just too cautious, but I’ve seen too many girls fall for that routine.”

Luke wasn’t sure how to respond, but the sincerity in her voice made him realize just how much he was beginning to care about her. He didn’t just want to prove her wrong.

There was a long pause, the tension between them thick. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, but neither of them seemed in a hurry to break the silence. Luke’s mind raced, but he finally said what had been on his mind for a while now.

“Libby,” he started, his voice a little steadier now, though still laced with a touch of vulnerability, “we’ve been studying together for a month. And yeah, I get that you don’t really think highly of me or anyone for that matter. But... I’m not like that.”

She raised an eyebrow, not fully convinced, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“I’m not asking you to change your mind overnight,” he continued. “But I’d really like the chance to show you I’m different. To prove it, you know?” He took a deep breath. “At least go on one date with me. Just one. No pressure, no expectations. Just… a chance to get to know each other outside of these study sessions.”

Libby opened her mouth to respond, but Luke quickly added, “I’m not asking you to fall for me or anything, just let me take you out. And if you still think I’m just like every other hockey player after that, I’ll back off. I swear.”

There was a quiet moment where Libby just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Luke could feel his heart racing, wondering if he had just ruined everything, but at the same time, he was relieved to have said it. To have put it out there. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her answer to be, but he knew he couldn’t hide how he felt about her any longer.

Finally, she exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

Luke smiled a little, trying to lighten the mood. “You could say that.”

She considered him for a moment longer before her lips curved into a small, almost reluctant smile. “Alright. One date. But I’m warning you, you’ll have to work hard to convince me.”

Luke’s heart skipped a beat, a mix of relief and excitement flooding him. “Deal. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

She shrugged, but there was something soft in her eyes that Luke hadn’t seen before. “We’ll see.”

With that, they both stood up, packing away their things in silence, but something had shifted between them. Something subtle, yet undeniable. Luke walked away from the study session feeling lighter than he had in a long time, knowing that for the first time, he was truly starting to break through the wall Libby had so carefully built around herself.

“alright, friday then, we’ll meet at my dorm and then head somewhere” luke said before walking out of the library.

☆

It wasn’t until Libby accidentally overheard a conversation between Luke and his friends that she realized the full extent of what was going on.

She was walking to the library when she caught a snippet of conversation.

“…can’t believe you actually pulled it off,” Ethan was saying. “She totally fell for you.”

Libby froze in her tracks. The weight of his words hit her like a punch in the gut. She stood there, just outside their line of sight, trying to keep herself hidden behind the row of books in the library. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the words caught her off guard and dug deep. Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing.

“Yeah, man,” Luke replied, sounding almost too casual, like it was no big deal. “I told you it’d work. Once I show her a little attention, she can’t resist.”

Libby’s stomach churned. Once I show her a little attention she can’t resist? Her pulse quickened, and she took a shaky step backward, the books in her arms suddenly feeling heavier. She wanted to leave, to run away and escape from the reality that was starting to settle on her. But something kept her frozen, something in the way Luke's voice sounded like he had no idea how much those words cut.

“I’ll give it a week,” Ethan laughed. “You’ll have her wrapped around your finger by then. You know how you are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke muttered, a laugh escaping him. “I’ll make sure she has a good time. No need to worry.”

Libby couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation. She didn’t want to. The words echoed in her mind like an incessant drumbeat.

Libby had thought no, hoped that Luke was different. That maybe he wasn’t like all the other guys who had charmed their way in and out of her life. But as she replayed his words over and over, she couldn’t deny the sinking feeling in her chest. He had played her.

A part of her felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. How could she have been so naive? She had known what guys like him were like she’d seen it happen so many times before. The flirtation, the attention, the charm, and then, just as quickly, they moved on to the next girl, leaving behind a trail of disappointment. She had always sworn she wouldn’t fall for it. And now, here she was, feeling like she had walked right into the trap.

But the sting wasn’t just from the fact that he’d been playing her. It was from the fact that Luke seemed to believe it was all some kind of game something he could just turn on and off like a switch. Maybe he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Maybe he didn’t even realize what he was doing. But it didn’t matter. She had let herself get pulled in, thinking that there was more to him than that.

She stood there for a while, trapped in her own thoughts, until the sounds of his friends talking faded away. she had decided to come to the library a bit earlier then usual for there next study session bust after that conversation she went back to her dorm ghosting luke’s messages to see if she’s coming. She had already read them twice but hadn’t answered. Part of her wanted to tell him she wasn’t showing up, but another part of her just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard, but no words came.

Her fingers hovered over the screen again, and for the first time, she allowed herself to fully confront the fact that the trust she had begun to build with him was shattered. She had tried to convince herself that he wasn’t like the other guys the ones who came and went without a second thought. But now? She wasn’t so sure anymore.

She thought back to their first few study sessions, how she had actually started to enjoy spending time with him, how she believed he might actually be different. But now, the way he had spoken so nonchalantly, so carefree made her feel like nothing more than another notch in his belt. she didn’t admit it but she was starting to like him.

*What was I thinking?* she wondered. *I should’ve seen it coming.*

☆

Her phone buzzed again, this time a message from Luke. "Hey, are you still coming? i’m waiting for you. Let me know."

It’s been a couple days since they last talked. The words felt like a punch in the gut. It wasn’t just the fact that he was still trying to get her to show up it was how easy it seemed for him, like this was all a game. She had allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something real there. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how foolish she had been.

Libby stared at the text for a long time, not knowing what to do. She could go and face him, confront him about what she’d overheard. But the thought of seeing him, of hearing him casually brush it off like it was nothing, made her stomach turn.

So, she made a decision. She didn’t reply. Instead, she locked her phone and shoved it in her bag, the weight of it a reminder of everything she had tried to avoid everything she had hoped wasn’t true.

Back in his dorm, Luke checked his phone for the third time in a row, his heart sinking a little more each time. No response from Libby.

*Maybe she’s just busy,* he tried to tell himself. *She’s probably studying. She said she had work to do.*

"Man, you good?" Ethan asked, poking his head into Luke’s room.

Luke glanced up, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just waiting for Libby. She’s probably on her way."

Ethan gave him a skeptical look. "You sure? i thought you said you guys were gonna meet at the library? i doubt she’d ghost you, i mean you just asked her out.”

Luke's stomach dropped. *Ghost you.* He hated the way that sounded.

"I’m sure she didn’t." Luke said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

Ethan eyed him for a moment before shrugging. "Alright, man. Just don’t let this drag on. the semester is close to ending"

Luke didn’t respond.

☆

It had been a few days since Luke had last heard from Libby. The unanswered texts, the quiet air between them it weighed heavily on him. His mind raced, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Was she mad at him for something he said? Did she really think he’d been playing her all along?

He tried to shake it off, but something kept gnawing at him. He needed to talk to her. He needed to fix whatever happened.

Without another second of hesitation, Luke grabbed his jacket and made his way to Libby’s dorm. His heart hammered in his chest with every step. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he couldn’t just sit around waiting. He needed answers.

When he reached her building, the nervousness hit him harder. *What if she doesn’t even want to talk to me? What if I’ve ruined everything?* But he couldn’t back out now. Not after the hard work he put in to talk to her.

Luke knocked on her dorm door, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. He waited, shifting from foot to foot, hoping she’d answer. Moments passed, and just as he was about to knock again, the door opened.

Libby stood there, her arms crossed, her face expressionless. She looked almost distant, like she had already made up her mind about everything.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice colder than he expected.

Luke swallowed hard, his nerves threatening to betray him, but he pushed them down. “Libby, we need to talk. I don’t know what’s going on.”

She shook her head, the hurt in her eyes unmistakable. “No, Luke. We don’t need to talk. You need to leave.”

His stomach twisted at the finality in her tone. “What? Libby, please. Just hear me out”

“No, Luke,” she interrupted, her voice rising just a bit. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to waltz in here after what I overheard after what you said to make it seem like everything is okay.”

Luke blinked, confused and thrown off. “What are you talking about?”

“Is this how you see me?” Libby asked quietly, her voice cracking slightly. “Just another challenge for you to win? Another girl to charm, get close to, and then drop once you get what you want?”

Luke’s breath caught in his throat after realizing what she’s talking about. The look of betrayal in her eyes hit him harder than any physical blow.

“Libby, I—I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. It wasn’t like that. It was just”

“Just what, Luke?” she cut him off again, her voice steady now, but firm. “Just a bet? A game? You think I wouldn’t find out?” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I heard it with my own ears. You were talking to Ethan and the others, talking about how you could pull it off. About how I’d fall for you. About how it would be easy.”

Luke opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“No,” she said, her voice trembling now, but her resolve stronger than ever. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is, I don’t care. I don’t want to see you again, and I don’t want to talk to you again. Ever.”

His heart sank. “Libby, please. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. You’ve got to believe me, I wasn’t playing you. I care about you. I really do like you.”

Libby’s eyes softened for a split second, but only for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and looked at him with a finality he hadn’t expected.

“No. You don’t. Not the way you think you do. You don’t get to act like this is something you care about after everything I heard. You don’t get to tell me what’s real when you’ve been lying from the start.”

Luke’s chest tightened. He couldn’t find the words, the right words to make this right. He’d messed up. He had been selfish. He’d been careless with her trust.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage to say. The words felt too small for the weight of what had happened.

“I don’t need your apologies, Luke. I need you to leave.”

His heart broke all over again as he stared at her, seeing the pain in her eyes, feeling the distance between them grow with each passing second.

Without another word, Luke turned to walk away, the heavy feeling in his chest making it feel like every step he took was an effort. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He knew he’d lost her. And this time, there was no coming back from it.

Libby closed the door softly behind him, her heart aching, but relieved. The door was closed now. The distance was real. She would never let herself fall for someone like him again.

Libby didn’t know what to think anymore. Luke had broken her trust. The bet was one thing, but hearing him confess his feelings so casually, like it was just some passing remark, left her feeling more betrayed than she cared to admit. She’d told him time and time again that she didn’t want to be a part of his games, but now it seemed like that was exactly what he had turned her into.

For days, Luke tried reaching out. Texts, calls, small gestures. But Libby wasn’t interested in anything he had to say. She couldn’t trust him anymore, and the walls she’d spent years building to protect herself from people like him felt taller than ever.

But Luke wasn’t about to give up, not when he finally understood that what he felt for her wasn’t just about the challenge.

It wasn’t at a game or a party, but in a quiet corner of the campus library that Luke finally caught her alone.

“Libby,” Luke said softly, his voice a little rough. She didn’t look up at first, but he didn’t let that deter him. He stepped closer to her table, his presence impossible to ignore. “Can we talk?”

Libby glanced at him briefly before her gaze fell back to the book she was pretending to read. She could feel the familiar sting of hurt, but something in his tone made her pause.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said, though her voice lacked the usual edge.

Luke’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he began, “I should have told you sooner, but I got caught up in the bet. And I... I didn’t think I’d actually fall for you. I never expected this.”

Libby’s lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t speak.

“I like you and i know already told you,” he continued, his words slower now, more deliberate. “Not because of the challenge, not because of some stupid bet. But because of who you are. I know I messed up, and I’m sorry.”

Libby’s gaze lifted from the book to meet his eyes, searching for the sincerity she needed to hear. “You’ve been persistent,” she murmured, the words almost to herself. “But I’m not sure if you even know what you’re saying.”

Luke took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I know what I’m saying, Libby. I don’t want you to be another bet. You mean more to me than that, and I’ve messed up, but I want to make it right.”

The silence between them hung thick for a moment, the weight of his words settling. Libby looked at him, her heart torn, but the earnestness in his eyes made her hesitate.

“I need time,” she whispered, her heart racing. “But I’ll think about it.”

Luke smiled, the tension in his body loosening just a little. “I’ll wait.”

And for the first time, Libby allowed herself to believe that maybe just maybe there was a chance for something real between them after all, but she wasn’t going to give in right now.

[squinch-depraved]

CAN U DO COOL SEXY HOT READER TAKES SCHLATTS VIRGINITY?! but aged down like they’re both in college together

this one had me giggling and kicking my feet when i received it

reader and schlatt are both 20 (my age :3) (ok so i have/will never go to college so i hope this makes sense also lc!schlatt because he will not leave my brain)

CW: breeding kink if u squint, does this count as corruption kink? idk

you had a few classes together, ended up being partners for a project

actually got along surprisingly well

hung out a few times a week for a month or two

and then it was more frequent

almost every day this dude would just show up at your apartment; you have no idea how he came to know your schedule

if it wasn't him you'd be scared

and like, it's not because he doesn't look scary- he does, he's tall as fuck and has this serial killer stare

but you're not afraid of him because every time he's around you he acts like a complete loser

he stares at you when he thinks you aren't looking, a look of obsession in his eyes

the focus he has on your reflection as you put on lip gloss in the mirror is unmatched in any of his classes

you were supposed to be going to a party together, evident by your outfit that he can't decide if he likes or not- it shows a lot of skin, and while that'd be fine if it was just you two, there's bound to be lots of other guys eyeing you up all night

and he just can't stand the thought of that!

so what is he to do but fake receiving a text saying some faculty were crashing the event and it would be best to stay home?

and you were astounded at this boy's nerve, you got this dressed up? you looked this good? and he pretends the function's cancelled?

but you go along with it, pretending to be bummed out, playing his little game with him

"damn. was really hoping to get some dick tonight," you sigh

his brain kinda short circuits

and he mumbles something

hook, line, and

"what? sorry, i couldn't hear you, the music's loud," you tilt your head, turning down the volume

"i said i'm right here."

sinker :)

you snort derisively at him

"what makes you think i want you?"

you two had talked a lot in the months you had known each other, and sex came up a few times

you knew (before even talking to him) that he was a virgin

and he knew (before even talking to you) that you were a slut

but god, he needed you the second he saw you- needed you to be his first. his only.

so he swallows his pride and looks up at you from his spot on your floor with the most pitiful eyes

"i don't think you want me. i think i want you and you need a service for the night."

"a service?? jesus, schlatt, don't kid yourself. you wouldn't be doing shit, i'd be the one doing all the work because you have no clue what you're doing."

"then teach me," he begs. his voice is like you've never heard it before, whiny and breathy

and you roll your eyes before giving in, reaching a hand down to help him up

you guide him to lay down on your bed and he just sits there all tense, unable to relax because he's so nervous

until you tell him to take his pants off

and he's tearing them over his thighs, and they're down on the floor

and the tent in his boxers?

jesus christ

you figured he would be on the bigger side, but he looked massive, and you couldn't even clearly see his length yet

you sit there for a bit, taking in the sight of him splayed out amongst your stuffed animals

only hot bitches have stuffies on their beds, btw

and his face is sooo red, his breathing is uneven, his eyes are running all over your body

"have you like... ever been touched?" you ask him, unsure of how gentle you need to be

but gentle is not what he wants, not at all

"yeah. just... not all the way."

he can't meet your eyes now

so you smirk and climb over to him, hopping on top of him and savoring the whimper he lets out when you sit down on his clothed bulge

"and you want me to be your first time going all the way?"

you use one finger to tilt his chin to look at you

and he just melts

nodding while he stares into your eyes with pure adoration

the eye contact is intense, you find it hard to tear your gaze from his

but eventually you lean in and kiss him, taking his head in your hands

schlatt moans into your mouth when you slide your tongue in, giving in completely and letting you explore his mouth

and when you bite his bottom lip slightly when you pull away?

he moans sooo sluttily

you're grinding down onto his lap at this point, enjoying the constant noises the friction pulls from his lips

he's fucking mortified but he has to grab your hips super tightly and try to get you to stop

because if you keep going like this, he's gonna finish in his boxers and he thinks he would have to leave and never see you again if that happened

so you take pity on him, stopping your movements to press kisses to his neck

which he finds out he also loves

"is it okay if i leave marks?" you whisper in his ear

and his dick throbs so hard

"please," he responds in a quiet voice, staring at the ceiling while he pictures his friends seeing the evidence of him fucking the hottest person on campus

you oblige wayyy too eagerly, biting down hard and sucking deep purple marks all over his exposed neck

only pulling away when he was littered with dark bruises and teeth marks

the whole time he was letting out the cutest noises, gasping and groaning and sputtering how good you felt

silly boy, he has no idea what he's in for

once you're done having fun marking your territory, you scoot back and peel his boxers off

and you try not to react, but your eyes widen at the sight of his cock springing up and smacking his abdomen

he takes in your hungry expression and mistakes it for something negative

"what? wha's wrong?"

he sounds so scared

it takes you a few gruelling seconds before you shake your head and respond

"nothing, just. holy shit," you mumble

"what???" schlatt asks, sitting up slightly

"you're fucking huge, dude!! that's all, jesus... i just needed a second to process, sorry."

ego boosted

you will never hear the end of that

but anyways

he stutters, unable to finish whatever he was saying when you take him in your hand and stroke him gently

your eyes are trained on his groin, his on your face while you greedily watch as you play with him

he's so fucking loud

bucking his hips up into your hand

you're barely doing anything, he's that desperate for your touch

when you take his tip in your mouth, he lets out a strained gasp and tries to cover his mouth with his hand

you laugh mockingly and pull it from his face

"i wanna hear you!! this isn't as fun if i don't get to hear those pathetic noises you keep making," you tease

he just groans, eyes fluttering, and tilts his head back, giving in to how good you're making him feel

you smile at him and take as much of him into your mouth as you can, plunging him deep into your throat and making sloppy noises as you suck on him

he sounds like a fucking WHORE, whining and fucking up into your face

you let him have his fun, but pull off when he starts breathing a lot faster

he opens his eyes in surprise and cries out at the loss of contact, chest heaving

"why the fuck would you stop???"

he's so desperate, it's adorable

"can't have you cumming down my throat, then i can't ride you, can i?"

you raise one brow as you ask him, and he reaches his hand to hold yours subconsciously

a glance at his large fingers intertwining with yours stirs something in your stomach and you realize for the first time that you're really enjoying this

"please..." he trails off, unsure of what he's asking for

you watch his face for a moment, inspecting his needy expression, and decide to take pity on him

he watches you so intensely as you take off your jean shorts

and nearly creams himself when you just rip a hole in your fishnets instead of properly taking them off

and the seconds are dragging by so slowly as you position yourself on top of him

until you meet his eyes, asking for permission, and he nods vigorously

and you just sink down onto him, plunging his entire length between your velvet walls

schlatt's eyes glaze over as he stares up at you; he's never felt anything so good

you give him a few minutes to take in how soft you are on the inside before starting to move your hips

he groans with every bounce, so loud that you make a mental note to apologize to your roommate later in case they're home and hearing this

"you can touch me, y'know? you don't gotta just lay there and take it," you pant as you work masterfully on top of him

a more passionate grunt than usual leaves his lips and he immediately snakes his hands up to rest on your ass, squeezing and kneading it like he's holding on for dear life

and, maybe he feels like he is. you're riding him so fucking well that he swears he's dreaming, and his grip on your behind may well be the only thing keeping him grounded

it doesn't take long before he tells you what you had expected, but what he adds at the end throws you for a loop

"i'm gonna cum, but please, please don't stop. just keep going, i can go a few more rounds. please, y/n, i'm begging you," he stutters out

you clench around him and he yells, nails leaving deep angry crescent marks in the flesh of your rear end as he paints your insides white

about a minute later, he catches his breath somewhat and asks, "can i fuck you now?"

he sounds so sweet

like he really wants to make you feel good

so you let him try, positioning yourself on your hands and knees in front of him so that he can hit from behind

takes him a second to get the position right but he slides right in and starts going at you hard

you can't help the moans that slip out, and every noise you make spurs him on to keep going harder, faster, deeper

he's trying so hard to make you cum, you can tell, but he's so inexperienced that he finishes in you again before he can get you anywhere close

so when he lets out a frustrated, "fuck!" you reach behind you to grab his hand and bring it around to your front, lining his fingers up with your clit

"feel that? that's what you're looking for," you pant, pushing your ass as flush against him as you could. "play with it, see if you can figure it out on your own, and it's okay if you can't, i'm here to teach you."

he lets out a deep breath and starts thrusting again, rubbing circles into your sensitive nub

you continue to let out noises so he knows what works for you and what doesn't, and you've gotta hand it to him, he's a really fast learner

because it takes like five minutes before him slamming into you combined with the pattern of figure-eights he settled on tracing on your clit makes you cum

you get unbelievably tight around him as you climax, and the sound of you screaming his name makes his eyes roll back into his head while he spills in you one final time

you collapse when he pulls out, instructing him to help you to the bathroom

gotta teach him the importance of aftercare, right?

so he picks you up and carries you to the toilet, setting you down gently on your feet before stepping out and closing the door behind him to give you your privacy

best believe he stays right outside the door, though

he's not going anywhere for a long time. you're his now

[cable-salamdr]

Okay having Many Thoughts (tm) but I think while its easy for all of us to kinda make fun of the scene where Frak explains Oni and Lloyd just stands by while he calls them inherently evil and whatnot, for me it personally shows something else

I’d already had this thought since season 1 when they were at the Temple of the Dragon Cores, which is that Lloyd doesn’t go to any length to tell them much unless he has to/ that he even actively hides the stuff that could be seen as “bad”

My assumption why he does this? to avoid getting hurt, someone using it against him, or judging him for it.

Harumi did it, Garmadon did it, the Overlord too. My dude knows there is no way it would be safe to go about telling everyone (or just accidentally the wrong person) he’s the grandson of god and part dragon AND oni in a chaotically dangerous world as the merged lands.

(That and saying he’s part oni/ making them sound “not that bad” would have probably raised some alarm bells in, yk, the middle of a dragonian village.)

[xomakara]

If We…

SUMMARY |  You and Hansol pretend to fake date to get Mingyu jealous. But somewhere along the way, you start to develop feelings for Hansol.

PAIRINGS |  Hansol/Vernon (SVT) x Reader 

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked 

GENRE |  smut, just pure unadulterated smut, friends with benefits, fake dating

CONTENT/WARNINGS |  profanity, unprotective sex, fingering, breast fondling, creampies, dirty talk, kissing, biting/nibbling, praising, hair gripping, oral sex (f.receiving)

LENGTH |  6,131 words 

TAGLIST |  –

NETWORKS |  @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @keopihaus @cosyhomenet @winerys-collection

AUTHOR’S NOTE | First of all, I want to mention that this is a continuation of ‘What Are We?’ but it's also a standalone fic as well. There will be 2 more parts coming soon because we all need to know who she picks, right?

Also want to thank @heechwe and @lovetaroandtaemin for reading and beta-reading this and cheering me on! I love you two and I always appreciate the hype and the love. Hope you all enjoy! 💚

read the 3rd part here: Back To Me (mingyu x reader)

Seventeen Masterlist

"You guys still aren't dating?" Seokmin nudges you a little, making your drink spill a bit out of the cup and onto your pants.

You groan in annoyance as you grab a handful of napkins from the table to pat away the wet stains on your pants. "Why does everyone seem hell-bent on us getting together?"

"You guys have been bangin' it out for two years!" Minghao said from his seat, mouth full with the last of his hamburger. "You'd think you two would be together by now. What're you even waiting for, dude?"

"I don't know!" you exclaimed exasperatedly, sipping loudly on your drink. "I just don't know."

Mingyu is hanging with his other group of friends today, so here you are in a booth with Seokmin, Hansol, Soonyoung and Minghao, and no matter the topic of discussion, it always boils down to the relationship between Mingyu and you. It gets tiring hearing the same thing everyday from each person you hang out with. But in the end, you can't get angry at them. You can't stay mad at people who mean no malice in what they are saying. They all know the situation between you two and how delicate of a position you are in.

"Did he ask you to be his girlfriend again?" Soonyoung asks.

"Yes, and for the hundredth time, I told him no." You want so badly to tell them that you told him one day you'll agree, but a part of you is afraid that maybe when the day comes that you and Mingyu do become exclusive, it won't work out like it did when you two had first started fucking each other's brains out. That when it's confirmed that you and he have actually something serious, and when feelings get hurt, and when tempers get raised, then things will fall apart and crumble like the fragile foundation between you.

Because all this time, it has been based on a sexual relationship, not an emotional one.

You feel like things may be good for the first couple of weeks of an official relationship. Maybe it can even last six months, nine even.

But what about a year or even three?

"Seriously?" Hansol looked incredulous. "So what, you're happy with just sex, no strings attached?"

"Well...no, but it's complicated, okay," you grumble.

"How complicated can it be?" Seokmin asks. "You like the guy, and he likes you back. Just go be in a relationship together; you'd both be happy."

You're scared. Scared that everything could work out at the beginning, and then one day it would just fizzle out. The worst possible scenario you could think of is if Mingyu suddenly meets the perfect girl—a girl so amazing, perfect, beautiful, caring, understanding, and everything he had wanted in a girl, that he'll no longer want you anymore and leave you alone, forgotten and heartbroken.

The silence spoke for you, but Soonyoung picked up on the difference and eyed you carefully. "Are you scared?"

You inhale sharply and avert your eyes, "...He could just up and leave me. What if everything starts and then something happens? What then?"

"But what if nothing happens," Soonyoung replies. "Wouldn't it have been worth it?"

"Maybe... maybe not," your teeth bite your bottom lip anxiously. "I'm not sure."

"So what? You're gonna stay alone forever?" Minghao questions, not in the least bit teasing. He actually looked concerned. "What happens if he does date someone else? Would you really let him go to the next woman without a fight? If you care about Mingyu as much as we all know you do, you'll either go out with him or let him be happy with somebody else."

"Guys, cut it out," Hansol cut them off before any argument starts to ensue. "We're just going in circles. Now's not the time for this. It's a sensitive subject to Y/N."

Everyone slumps into their seats. A long awkward silence follows before Seokmin blurts out. "Why don't you just date someone else? Then Mingyu might get jealous and want you for himself and stuff!"

Maybe he's right. You need a distraction; you need someone new. Then maybe these feelings of uncertainty will dissipate, and you could actually have a reason to try going into a romantic relationship with the guy. Maybe then you would get over your fear of rejection. But maybe not.

Hansol then sighs heavily and scratches the back of his head before pulling you out of the booth. "Hey, I have an idea. Come on Y/N."

"Wait, what?" you yelp when your arm gets tugged at again. You reluctantly let yourself be led out of the café, leaving your half eaten salad untouched. Your friends wave at you when you exit, and once the door shuts, you shoot a look at him. "Why'd we just leave?"

He turned to face you and said. "Do you trust me?"

You shrug in response, unsure where he's going with this. "Of course I do, but where are you planning to take me?"

Hansol smiles as he puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you further and further away from the café.

"Let's give Mingyu some competition."

"Competition? Why, how?"

"By having a fake relationship. Make him think you've got another man, and then hopefully you two will settle on an agreement together or end it all," he replied simply.

"You really want to get your ass kicked by Mingyu, don't you," you ask dryly and shake your head. "Why do you even want to get involved in the drama?"

"Someone has to," Hansol snorts, turning a corner to the parking lot. "Besides, we can get him riled up. And if we get enough jealous tension, he'll ask you out. Then boom, job well done."

"Look, Mingyu and I may not be official, but I'd never stoop that low as to cheat." Your tone is firm and a little exasperated.

"It's not cheating if you're not dating him," he fires back, and you bite the inside of your cheek. He's right. The man you've been crushing over has never called you his girlfriend, and therefore you aren't doing anything wrong.

But you never intended to lie to him and keep a secret about this. How could you? Mingyu doesn't deserve it. And besides, if you wanted a real relationship, you wanted something solid. Not temporary or fake, especially if you wanted it with Mingyu. "This isn't gonna make me feel good in the slightest."

"Trust me," he responded, a playful grin plastered across his face.

"Do I even have a say in this?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Hansol retorted.

That shuts you up for a while. After pondering his offer for a couple more minutes, you heave a huge sigh and shrug your shoulders defeatedly. "When you put it that way, no."

"Good!" He smiles victoriously and hugs your side closely. "Now that that's over with, what do you want for lunch?"

As much as you want to protest, his arm has stayed tightly around your shoulder, and after a few more moments of consideration, you choose to shut up and lean into his embrace, enjoying the warmth and intimacy. He's just so warm.

Maybe pretending to be someone's girlfriend will give you a chance to think and get some perspective on things.

"Pizza sounds nice," you grin up at him, looping your own arm with his.

"Perfect! Pizza it is."

A week has passed since your lunch date with Hansol, and apparently word spread like wildfire between your group of mutual friends about the fake relationship. You were getting messages right and left from every single one of them asking about the status of your newfound 'romance'.

But you aren't the only person they are annoying with questions. You notice that Hansol is fielding the exact same interrogation from everyone in your group circle, and honestly, you feel a tad guilty knowing how nosy your friends are being with him, knowing the purpose is to get Mingyu to finally cave in and accept a real relationship.

Mingyu looks like he doesn't even want to breathe in front of you anymore ever since the rumor began circulating. Not that you blame him. The first time he laid his eyes on the pair of you since word broke out, his eyes widened like two giant saucers.

And to think Hansol was literally trying not to make a scene when he had to bring his lips upon yours to 'seal the deal' in public, a show of affection in order to convince everyone that there is definitely something between the both of you, with Mingyu standing literally right beside the both of you. It wasn't even a full blown kiss, just a brush of the lips in a mere second, barely a kiss.

"Just how fast does news travel?" Hansol's jaw practically drops to the ground as he walks you home one night.

"No fucking idea," you scratch the back of your head anxiously and chuckle. You trip on your own shoelace, and Hansol reaches forward to hold your waist and catch you. His body presses snug against yours, and you are met with a wave of overwhelming scent.

It smells wonderful, absolutely irresistible. He always smells nice—a mix of woodsy fragrance and spice, mingled with his natural musk—an intoxicating blend. It’s an attractive scent.

The two of you linger a little longer than necessary, a little too close for two people who are only supposed to be friends, acting like lovers, a little longer than two people in a false relationship should.

It feels comfortable though. Comfortable in your arms, his body pressed against yours, the faint smell of cologne lingering in the air around him, his warm palms against the curves of your waist. It feels different than being in Mingyu's embrace, but not a bad difference. Just different.

The more your nose fills with his fragrance, the harder your mind begins to fog up. What should you do now? The plan was only to pretend to be a thing and get some sense of jealousy to rise inside of Mingyu to then eventually ask you out. But how could you and Hansol remain friends after this?

You bite the inside of your mouth before stepping away, fingers gingerly gripping his forearms. "Th-thanks."

He shakes his head slowly. "Anytime." He clears his throat. "Don't mention it."

He steps a few inches back from you and pulls a hand through his hair. You then hear him sigh deeply. When he lowers his hand and meets your stare, he laughs sheepishly. "This might not turn out the way we think."

You force a laugh and reply, "Probably."

His stare turns solemn. "Are you regretting agreeing to this?"

"No no!" you reply a little too quickly. "Of course not, just a little nervous."

He moves to pat the top of your head affectionately. "It'll be fine. Like I said, just let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Stop that," you swat his hand away.

"But you're cute," his smile widens before kissing your temple and continuing to walk towards your apartment. "We'll think of something. Let's just let it work on its own for a bit."

You know damn well the effect he's having on you with each small act of physical contact. You know full well that with the way his hugs, touches, or kisses are affecting you that your heart rate is picking up the longer you remain in his company. Your mouth feels drier the more you breathe in his scent. You know he feels it too.

One of you has to break the silence. One of you has to voice your concerns.

But you are hesitant to speak and ruin the nice pace that you and your relationship with Hansol have been taking recently. The truth is, you just don't want to stop spending your time with him, to stop being in his warmth. He's a good friend who listens, a kind-hearted friend and good company, a funny and loving friend.

A part of you feels awful that you agreed to fake date him in order to get someone else jealous. It's unfair that he ended up being roped into this whole mess. But a small part of you, hidden deep down within, also wants to stick with the plan. To have him spend more and more of his time with you. And since the both of you have entered into this silly scheme of pretending to have a relationship with one another, this would give you more chances to indulge yourselves in the other's company.

The air feels somewhat tainted, but you breathe in deeply to try to dispel the thick air and shrug, "Sounds good to me."

And the two of you walk along in silence for the remainder of the way.

Your insides start feeling conflicted and chaotic. Part of you hopes that Mingyu will notice you spending time with Hansol, which you have been doing frequently, and that he gets jealous and angry because he is secretly pining for you just as you are for him.

And part of you just doesn't give a fuck and wants the relationship between you and Hansol to continue until...

Until what exactly? When and how could you guys bring this facade to an end?

Just a bit more. You want just a little more time together, a little more fun with him. The truth is, you wouldn't have wanted to spend less time with him. You're curious now. It was as simple and as stupid as that. You have never spent time with Hansol, just one on one together. Sure, you've always hung around each other in large groups, or some others were there, but still, never one on one.

And for the life of you, you never thought he would have such an effect on you, nor the other way around.

You swallow and look back at Hansol, his facial features, every line and dip of it, down to his body movements.

Now you really wonder what could've happened between the two of you had you two not been pretending.

"Get home safe and sleep tight," he smiles at you. He's so, so beautiful. So warm. "Message me when you do."

Your heart skips a bit and before you have any time to hesitate, you give in to instinct and stretch on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek gently, hoping you didn't cross any boundaries or lines you shouldn't. "Goodnight," and you disappear into the warmth of the lobby, press the elevator button and take in a deep, calming breath.

You check your phone in a half asleep haze and see that Mingyu has sent you a text.

'Are you and Hansol a thing now?'

You tap the glass quickly and reply, a little afraid at how the response may affect you or change you. But this was going to happen at some point.

'Yes.'

For the remainder of the day, you replay the expression of Hansol and how his face softens when you enter his line of sight, and the way his arms feel snuggly around you whenever he's pulling you close or for a side hug.

Yeah, you know for a fact that Mingyu is smart enough to connect the dots. You just hope that your little stunt ends up working out in your favor.

Two weeks into the fake relationship, it gets increasingly easier and more natural being in Hansol’s company. A kiss here and there on the cheek or temple is no longer awkward or unnerving. The physical contact doesn't weird you out anymore, and when he wraps his arms around you to hug you, your heart has stopped jumping in your chest. Your heartbeat remains steady and calm.

Things are surprisingly casual between you both. You start to invite him over to your place more frequently. For lunch, a cup of tea or coffee. You like having him in your space. His company is sweet, and every conversation, no matter the content of discussion, you can't help but crack a smile. He's nice and warm, a sweetheart to be exact. And sometimes you find yourself watching him cook up a storm in your kitchen whenever he offers.

At this point, it feels too real. All of it. The hand holding, the constant close proximity to each other, and you like it. The amount of attention and consideration given to you by him, a man you just decided to spend time with out of the spur of the moment, and you are enjoying his company more than the original plan was supposed to.

"What's wrong?" Hansol places his palm across your forehead worriedly, and you lean away, shooing his arm.

You mull over a reply, trying your best not to come off too rude or hasty. But you honestly have a lot of stuff you want to share with him. "I'm confused. I feel so different now... and I'm not sure if it's a good or bad feeling."

"Bad and good... about?" Hansol tries to prod, and you shake your head.

"Mingyu. Me. Us. I'm just confused about what's happening between the three of us," you answer simply, unsure of how to phrase it. You aren't sure about your feelings and emotions right now. "All this and..."

He slouches back and leans forward onto your bed, lying on his belly and looking at you through his long eyelashes. You blink, surprised to see him look like a curious puppy. Your hand comes over and pets the top of his head tenderly, and his smile deepens in reaction.

"Me being like this is probably affecting you in a weird way," his expression is soft, and yet his smile looks a bit tense. "Right? Maybe me acting this way is messing you up. Especially in a weird way. Since this entire thing was to make another dude jealous, and we are faking it. Maybe you're having mixed feelings because of it. How could you not? Maybe we shouldn't keep up with this."

"I don't know. My own feelings and thoughts are a mess right now," you sigh and tug the bottom of his sweater, pulling his form over you to lean into your side and snuggling against him, loving the natural scent and warmth he has, enjoying the subtle intimacy.

"If it's getting too uncomfortable for you, just say the word, and I'll drop it, okay?" Hansol mumbles next to your ear. "This is already bad enough, Y/N, having these kind of feelings for you is fucking up my head."

"You have feelings for me?" your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat. A tingly, good feeling blossoms in your chest, and it stays warm there. It feels wonderful and almost intoxicating, leaving you craving to have him be by your side or be near him. That is, if you let him.

You bite your lip. Fuck. What are you thinking? How could you let yourself feel anything at all for someone other than Mingyu?

His answer is hesitant, even a little stuttered and slow. "That's what I... yeah, guess so."

In the past week, your mind has been everywhere but yourself. It had only started to register now that he said so much, but no words could pass through your lips and into sound. All you were able to muster was a soft, quiet: "Oh."

Hansol pauses and gazes straight into your eyes. His nose nuzzles yours softly. Then his eyes narrow, and he leans into you. Slowly, he nears you. He pauses and gently, ever-so-softly, and sweetly kisses you. The tip of his nose grazing yours gently.

His hands brush a lock of stray hair behind your ear before leaning back from you, cupping your cheeks and caressing the soft surface. The entire scene looks sweet and tender. "Is this okay?"

He's asking to kiss you. Aot just any kiss, a real, actual kiss. This is going against the original plan. What's worse is that it's turning your world upside-down.

You gave yourself a mental shake. God, what a mess. You're starting to get infatuated by him.

This isn't the same type of butterflies that happens when you're around Mingyu.

With Mingyu, he makes your entire world stop. It's like those scenes from your favorite rom-coms: the ones you swoon at, making you lose track of time and melt right before your screen, never wanting the movie to end.

With Hansol, it's... different.

It's sweet and cute and warming. A cozy, loving feeling settling deep within your bones and giving you tingly good feelings all over. A nice, calm and soothing feeling taking over and embracing you.

You nod. "Yeah, it's okay," and he's quick to move closer. Hansol's nose brushes your jaw, and the both of you angle your head towards each other, noses touching. "It's more than okay, actually."

A small smile, gentle and calm, stretches on his lips, and his hand comes over to cup your jaw and slowly pulls you closer. His warm lips touch yours. Your head begins to buzz, and everything feels a little lightheaded and woozy. He smells nice, and his hand is strong but comforting in a way.

Nothing lasts long, though, and he pulls away, stroking your cheek a bit and turning you back to face him, studying every little bit of your facial structure and expressions. "As much as I've waited for this, we have to stop now before we get caught up in each other and start doing more than kissing," he laughs, pressing another peck and resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes.

You've always thought Hansol is incredibly attractive. Any woman with eyes can see it.

And ever since you agreed to this whole fake dating plan, it's not the first time your brain has registered the attraction that you felt for the male in front of you.

Even now, it's not the first time. But now the attraction you were feeling was no longer platonic. He is just too charming and funny, warm and sincere to not be attracted to and you're grateful, and not at the same time, because it was making your entire world start spinning a little.

But at the same time, you also remembered how Mingyu made you feel the same, and then a twang of guilt aches in your chest at the thought of losing the guy you had originally intended to fall for. You sigh and close your eyes. Fuck. This is a huge mess you just made.

Your arms move forward to circle them around his waist, pulling him in a close embrace. You need comfort right now. Hansol doesn't protest or try to fight the movement, but you hear him sigh contentedly, and he pulls you even closer.

You inhale deeply his natural smell of spices, pine, and cologne. His natural scent that is. And damn, did he smell amazing.

"Hansol?" Your head rises from his shoulder, and you look at him.

"Hmm?" he grunts, tilting his head down to gaze at you.

You lean up to capture his lips with yours once more in the same manner. It’s tender and sweet, and something shifts a bit. It feels natural being close to him like this, not as foreign or awkward. You realize the chemistry you have is good between the two of you. His gentleness and demeanor makes it easier to mesh together. He feels safe, warm. And you like it.

It feels different from when you're with Mingyu, but not a bad difference. Just different, like nothing you had imagined it could. It's a new emotion and sensation, something to experiment with. You're unsure what it all means, and it frightens and exhilarates you at the same time.

"I want more of you," the words spilt from your lips faster than your brain could comprehend or your mouth could stop the words from coming.

"More?" Hansol echoes, blinking owlishly, eyes full of curiosity.

"Uh," your mind tries to form a coherent thought to save face, to cover up what just happened. "N-nothing! Nothing."

He laughs before pushing a lock of hair from your forehead and leaning down to whisper into your ear, his deep voice sending chills all down your body and back. "Well, I want more of you too."

"I'm not saying that we're together or anything," you murmur, fighting off a shiver. "Just... just let me have whatever is going on. A little while longer. Okay? Can we?"

"Ditto. Like you just said, no labels. It's just me and you," Hansol hums in agreement, wrapping an arm around your waist and drawing your frame close.

As if there aren't a lot of feelings to explore and unravel, Hansol leans forward and claims your lips in a softer kiss. Loving and warm. Not as heated or passionate like Mingyu or full of emotion like the one just a minute ago, but soft. 

Sweet. Comfortable.

You find that with each kiss and each minute that goes by, the more lost your brain and body gets. The more into the sensation that it forgets who he is or why the kiss was happening in the first place. The more you feel the strong and protective hands that hold you, and his scent fills your lungs, the more and more you realize how much you want his company and how badly you need him to make sense of yourself.

The truth is you are scared of losing Mingyu, losing the 'you and him' together because of Hansol and his presence, who has been steadily becoming a source of comfort for you and the confusing muddles of thoughts in your head.

Because of the immense and growing warmth of him, the growing affection you have towards the male has become impossible to ignore and push down. It's unlike anything you've had before, unlike the wild sparks of desire and heat that you had felt with Mingyu and the comfortable familiarity the two of you shared.

The passion is burning hot, a blazing bonfire that blazes and spreads as far as your senses can feel, licking at your flesh and feeding your desire for the guy before you. It's the dangerous heat you yearn for, but it isn't one that burns. It's gentle.

The gentle, loving way he treats and holds you. The soft kisses and soft way the tips of his fingers rub across the delicate skin of your arm as the hand draws a languid pattern across your waist, coaxing your frame closer.

"Fuck, Y/N," he mutters as he hovers above you with a gaze so focused on you, you have a difficult time hiding the effect he's having over you. Your hair is splayed wildly behind your head, fingers tangled in the short dark strands of his hair, tugging him close.

"What?"

"Don't say anything and just—" his lips descend upon your own again, biting and licking the delicate skin to savor the taste, memorize and take in every bit that he can. "Stop talking. Let me make you feel good," his head lowers and pecks the skin of your throat gently before biting the fragile skin, making you flinch and whimper, tightening your hold in his hair.

"Yeah?" you swallow, watching him grind his hips slowly. His dark eyes flicker and become brighter than before, and you watch them gloss over.

"Yeah," his hands come around and lift your sweater upwards, exposing your bra and bare abdomen. He licks his lips, desire flooding into his expression. "Jesus Christ," his warm palms cup your bare flesh, massaging and stroking the soft skin, teasing the waistline of your panties.

He lowers his mouth over the soft flesh. Licking, sucking and biting every square inch he can cover. You gasp, pushing his shoulders for his shirt to lift and come off. He smirks and sits upwards to rid himself of his clothes. "What? Can't wait to get a little more skin-on-skin?"

"Stop talking and just do," you mutter and sit upright to pull his face close to yours and claim his lips. "Make me feel good, yeah? You offered."

His gaze turns a little fiercer and lustful. "Don't have to tell me twice."

One hand falls back against your pillow, and the other buries itself in his soft, dark hair. You groan quietly against his lips and pull him closer. You aren't sure what brought you to do it. Hell, you aren't sure why you've let it continue and escalate. Maybe it’s because you have become curious. Curious about having sex with someone other than Mingyu. Curious if sex with Hansol would be as exhilarating, earth shaking or out of this world like with Mingyu. You and Hansol might not be a couple just like how you and Mingyu weren't one. But that still doesn’t stop the heat and electricity, the high the friction created and the way his hands touch and knead your breasts from building up a white-hot, intense energy to leave you gasping.

You hear him whisper his compliments, and it isn't long before he's slipping your panties past your knees and sliding between your thighs, his mouth enveloping the soft and sensitive bud. Your fingers are sliding into his hair and pulling him closer. You aren't sure how you look like this, but judging by the glazed look on his face, he doesn't seem to be complaining.

"Just like that, Hansol," you whimper and tug at his locks. "Fuck, you are good with your mouth."

"Babe, you have no idea how amazing you sound right now," he chuckles, holds your thighs down tightly, and kisses the swollen bud lightly. "I'm no Mingyu but, I'll do my best to make you come, and cry, and scream and feel like a fucking queen, yeah? Do me that favor."

You chuckle and groan softly, tilting your head back. Hansol is right, he's not Mingyu. But even without the sheer size, muscle or mass, he’s still holding his own and damn well giving you a good fucking experience. He knows exactly what to do. Hansol's fingers squeeze your thigh, and before you can say another word, the flat of his tongue licks slowly. "Taste so fucking good."

"Jesus fuck— don't say another word. Just," you take a deep breath, "just keep going," you shudder and roll your hips upwards.

He gives a light laugh and works his fingers around your flesh, flicking and rubbing your most sensitive place and chuckling a bit when your hips buck, and the sweet sounds of moans fall from your parted lips. "Mhm, keep those pretty lips parted for me. I want to hear every little beautiful sound, every breath you take." When his thumb rubs between your clit, it is slow and steady. "Don't hold it back," Hansol groans softly.

Your back arches and lips part when he strokes and licks at the pink, swollen bud of nerves, the rough pad of his thumb slipping past your soaked slit, rubbing in tight, little circles.

Your eyes slam shut, and your fingernails dig into the sheets as you fight hard not to come apart. No words need to be spoken, just the mutual need to touch, the need to be consumed. He fucks his tongue inside your cunt, licking your swollen bud. Licking, stroking and driving you insane.

"Hansol!" you scream his name and arch your hips, legs twitching uncontrollably, toes curling into the bed sheets beneath your feet. "Oh God. Please!"

Your core and insides twitch, and you scream loudly as the orgasm crashes over, wave after wave of pleasure, unable to catch the breath Hansol had knocked right out of you. He licks his bottom lip and smirks at you.

And only then do you realize how he has moved away from his spot to position between your parted knees and line himself at the center of your throbbing entrance. "All ready for the real fun," he moans and sinks slowly, inch by inch into you.

And when he does, his cock fills and stretches you deliciously.

"Fuck, so fucking good," Hansol growls and moves slowly, almost languidly.

He's not as big as Mingyu, but he still hits all the right spots, and it's enough, more than enough, to drive you fucking crazy. To feel the muscles in his back move under your fingers, to hear his loud groans as he pumps into you. To have his muscled arms around you, holding onto you. To know it was Hansol, Chwe fucking Hansol, fucking and making you a mess, and you are more than pleased.

"Yes!" you moan, enjoying the drag and stretch, the friction. You bite his shoulder and draw out a moan from him as well. "Fuck Hansol!"

You should've known the minute you agreed to fake dating that it wasn't a good idea. Now that you are actually having sex with him and enjoying the ride and the feeling, the urge to do it more is growing more and more each second.

He’s right. He’s no Mingyu. But Hansol has been more than everything, giving it to you as well as Mingyu had, giving it good and just enough, just the right amount to leave you craving for more. You don't know what it is. If it's just how he is during sex, or if it's just you reacting this way with Hansol only because he has just fucked and treated you so fucking good, leaving you addicted.

"How does that feel?" he leans closer and asks in a husky, sensual whisper, punctuating it with a short thrust, and your nails scratch across his lower back. Hansol looks like a damn model with the amount of control and sex appeal he exudes.

"Fucking incredible," you manage to gasp.

Hansol laughs, but it comes out as more of a soft chuckle. A low rumble deep within his throat and chest, the reverberations sending you deeper into bliss.

He rocks his hips slowly against yours, then presses his palms onto the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees wider and pressing his forehead against yours as he lengthens and quickens the strokes of his cock. "Fuck, Y/N, this feels..."

"Yeah," you respond breathily.

"Yeah," he says again.

It felt different than sex with Mingyu. Yet Hansol isn't better or worse, but his tenderness and careful caresses and handling of your body have you flustered. Every touch has a specific purpose. It is, for a lack of better explanation, pure and clean, sincere and passionate.

No shame and no embarrassment as the both of you rock into each other, the tension reaching a breaking point, and your whole body jerks as you come and shout. It seems that Hansol can feel the tipping point because he loses any hint of coordination he had and fucks harder.

"Yes, yes, Y/N," his voice is strained. "You're doing so good."

After he takes what he needs, Hansol follows you over the edge and spills his release. "Fuck," he sighs deeply, taking a shuddering breath and gazing deeply into your eyes. He leans forward, his arms on either side of your head, caging you.

There were no words needed to describe the experience. Your legs hooked around him, bodies stuck together with the heavy, damp and heat of a sticky mess. His forehead rests on yours, and you can see his beautiful chocolatey, caramel brown eyes shine. Your own gaze full of awe and content.

"So I wonder..." he murmurs, gazing into your eyes, studying.

"About?" you swallow thickly, staring back.

"If this is a one-time deal... or not?" his thumb strokes your bottom lip. "I know how much you like Mingyu," his words pause, his throat swallowing and eyes turning a little bit unsure. "But can you not choose him yet? Not just yet?" he inhales through his nose and licks his lips slowly. "I'd like a fair shot. At whatever this is, if I have the chance. Then you can decide after."

Hansol lays there beside your frame and gathers you closer to him, holding you and giving you the chance to rest. It’s comforting, his warmth. And you decide it wasn't as bad or awkward as you had thought, letting Hansol stay longer, maybe spend the night? And being beside him. Maybe having sex with him wasn't the worst or best idea ever. You like him. If you weren't infatuated with Mingyu, he'd have definitely given Mingyu a run for his money.

You hum softly and rest your head upon his broad shoulder. A smile, content and small stretches on your lips. "Yeah. Sure." You agree, making his whole face brighten up.

Mingyu or Hansol?

You were fucked. Absolutely fucked.

[leafostuff]

5 out of 5 Customer service [Ft. Lightsum's Nayoung]

Author note: a super fast quickie until i either post another quickie, or whenever i will eventually start working on a longfic, whatever comes first.

Fuck Nayoung is too hot

P.S; i am sorry for the puns

=================================

Let's be clear about something; This will probably wont be your proudest moment.

"Dude just do it, what's the worst that can happen?"

"She calls me a creep and kicks us out of the diner?, thought about that dumbass?" You ask, how are you even friends with those idiots again?

"Come on bro, have fun now, cringe later, and laugh about it even later" your other friend chimes in.

"He's right, if they throw us out, then next time i pay for your entire meal, deal?" Your fourth friend joins the conversation, he knows your weaknesses, so with a deep sigh you shake hands with him, just hoping to get this shit over with

And right on time, the barista comes to your table, a cute pink apron, blonde hair tied to a neat bun on top of her head and a joyful smile that adds to her character, "hey guys, welcome to 'Light sum pancakes', what do you want to order this morning?".

A light smack to your waist by the friend sitting near you, they all wait for this cheesy pick up line, and you've been quiet for too long so backing out is stupid.

Have fun now, cringe later they said, what the hell can go wrong?

"Actually..." A small gulp, "i would like to order you".

If it wasn't for the busy crowd around, you could've heard your friends giggling like crazy about this so-called 'prank', just hope the other customers are not looking at your table, having a free show of a college student making a fool himself at 9:AM.

The barista simply just eyes you up and down, her smile doesnt seem to leave her face when she scans to see any hint of awkwardness in your body and in the end she just replies with a nonchelant.

"Okay"

----------------------------------------------------

Update: it seems like the 'cringe later' part of the process does not seem to be anywhere close.

Her hair is still in the same bun as before, her clothes are now off her body, thrown somewhere on the toilet's (probably) dirty floor, and her smile? now turned into red-covered lips moving back and fourth from the base of your cock all the way to your tip, giving an teasing kiss, a playful and then - she goes back to her pace.

She's insane, you think to yourself, though you will admit that its not really the bad type of insane. Not even 5 minutes have passed and she is already taking your length entirely in her mouth, meanwhile her hands go off from your lap grabbing both of them and placing them on the back of her head, as if she trying to signal you to push her deeper.

She knows you are close, there's no way she doesn't.

Its even worse when she lets her tongue play with your balls, licking around like its her favorite candy while she looks directly at you with a sweet, innocent look, as if she's trying to say to you telepathically 'i know you want it, i know you want to fill this adorable little mouth'.

And eventually, you do

Cum quickly moves up into her mouth, river after river after river of the white, sticky fluid erupts without any form of control from you. Its cursed how she happily accepts it into her mouth, even adding a slurping motion to make your release more efficient to her, and even more pleasuring to you.

"Fuck, this was hot" she says in a casual tone, as if she didn't basically deepthroated you against the wall just now. she rises up to face you, hands swiping up any remains of cum left on her cheeks and beads of sweat that move slowly on her neck down to her collarbone, meanwhile you are still a panting mess, struggling to collect your breath.

She laughs at your situation. "What, don't tell me you already spent, my job states i can't leave any customer...unsatisfied~" she heads over even closer than before, her naked chest pushed over your chest while two fingers playfully move around your dick, quickly getting it once again hard and ready.

A cheeky giggle, "THAT's what i like to see in the morning, so what would like to order today?" she asks, looking directly at your eyes with a wink, however you cant muster up a response before she continues. "Do you want some ASS-cakes for a light meal?" she quickly turns around, having her butt wiggle dangerously close to your dick, looking behind to see your reaction.

"Or maybe...a Heavy meal of some Tit-burgers would be great to feast on?" another spin, now facing your with her hands on yours, taking them to each one of her mounds, prompting you to give a light squeeze. you can feel how it gets her tensed up, excited even to see how her 'shift' is gonna feel like, but she is not done.

"Or maybe..." she now lightly shoves you into one of the toilet stalls, quickly joining you while she locks the door behind her and straddles your lap, your dick inches apart from her pussy as she gives you a wink. "...your little customer would like its meal of its own?"

I think its safe to say it now gotten to the part where you will laugh about it way, way later.

[chizuke]

webcam porn star

Streamer!Seungmin x fem reader, dubcom (reader doesn’t know she's being recorded) enjoy!

Seungmin spent the ENTIRE day gaming with his friends, Felix, Jeongin, and Jisung. Of course, this was his job after all, he's a streamer and gaming YouTuber. But you couldn’t help feeling left out, especially since Seungmin started playing this new game that got tons of views and positive responses. He and the guys were so pumped and focused on making content for their audience. Normally, you wouldn’t mind, but today was Saturday! It was supposed to be your day with Seungmin.

It was probably after 8 PM when you decided to head into the room. You knew Seungmin wasn’t streaming, just recording, so it wouldn’t really be a big deal if you walked in they could always edit you out later. In your best attempt to seduce him, you wore nothing but an oversized shirt with Seungmin's name on the back, no panties or bra. You opened the door quietly, hoping to surprise him.

What you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was in a video call with his friends, who could all see you. “Hey dude, your girlfriend,” probably Jeongin, warned him. He just ignored them, waiting for you to get closer, as you draped your arms over his shoulders, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Minnie… I’m feeling needy.” You pouted, basically begging for his cock. His friends' reactions were instant. “Dude, how the hell do you have a girl this hot at home and you’re still here playing with us? Are you gay, Seungmin?” Jisung asked, laughing in disbelief. Felix, who had been quiet up to this point, chimed in boldly, “You know… I’ve always thought Seung’s girlfriend was pretty hot. I wouldn’t mind a little show.”

You couldn’t hear any of this, of course, since Seungmin had his headphones on. But your boyfriend was pissed he’s always been the jealous type. Thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to show his friends just how hot you were and that you were his, he thought, sure, they could watch and want you, but they’d never be able to touch. “Is that right? Then why don’t you be a good girl and suck my cock? That’s all the prep you’re getting, doll, so you better suck it well.” Seungmin could hear his friends freaking out through his headphones, unable to believe he was actually going through with it. He leaned back to give you space to kneel between his legs, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough for his already hard cock to spring free.

He knew he was big and wanted those three idiots on the call to know that this was the only cock that could satisfy you. He made sure to adjust the webcam just enough so they could see the scene, without you noticing. Kneeling between his legs, you gave his tip a little kiss first. “I love your cock,” your voice was full of need. You spit on it, spreading the saliva with your hand before finally taking him into your mouth. You started slow, licking and swirling your tongue around the head, just the way he liked.

Working the rest of his length with your hand, you gradually took more of him into your mouth, small gagging sounds escaping as his cock finally hit the back of your throat. Meanwhile, the noise from Seungmin’s headphones was deafening. He thought about turning them off but decided the satisfaction of hearing his friends want you but not having you was better. “Holy shit, how the hell do you have a throat goat like this at home and you’re not fucking that throat all the time, man?” Felix’s voice cracked, clearly affected by the sight. Seungmin chuckled. You looked up at him, bobbing your head up and down, your tongue swirling around his shaft. “Fuck, you’ve got such a good mouth,” Seungmin groaned, gripping your hair tightly.

“Dude, she sucks good, but please, I need to see her take that cock in her pussy, Seung. Don’t you want to show us how much your little girlfriend loves a good fuck?” Jisung, impatient as always, said. Seungmin had had enough too, or else he would’ve come in your mouth. He pulled you off his cock by your hair and made you sit on his lap, smirking when he saw you were completely naked under the shirt. “Damn, you naughty slut, walking around like this, just waiting for me to fill your holes. I’m gonna stuff your pussy full of cum,” Seungmin moaned into your ear, loud enough for the guys to hear on the call. He made sure you spread your legs, one on either side of his thighs, wide enough for them to not only see your pretty pussy but your tight ass as well.

“Shit, Seungmin, that’s unfair. Have you done anal with her yet? Please tell me you have,” Jeongin, clearly out of breath, asked. Everyone in the group knew how obsessed Jeongin was with anal. Seungmin slapped his cock against your pussy before slowly sinking inside, savoring the way your tight walls wrapped around him. “Fuck, how do you keep this pussy so tight?” He could still hear the buzzing from the guys through his headphones, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. He started thrusting upwards while pulling your hips down. Your sweet moans and the way your pussy clung to his cock were driving him wild. Seungmin picked up the pace, his mind only focused on cumming deep inside you, but he remembered he needed to give his friends a show. So, he shoved two fingers into your mouth, playing with them.

When he thought they were wet enough, he slowly slid one into your ass, and then the second, all while fucking your pussy hard. He scissored his fingers inside you, making sure to put on a good show while also giving you pleasure. Seungmin could hear Jeongin, Felix, and Jisung losing it on the other end, and the obvious sounds of them jerking off. His fingers in your ass only made your pussy squeeze tighter around his cock, pushing him to the edge, but the final straw was you. “Seung, please cum inside me, I want your cum so bad, I need it, please? I love your cock, I’m close,” your desperate whines were all it took for him to shoot three thick loads deep inside you.

Panting, he pulled out of you, his cum making a mess between the two of you. He could also hear the other guys finishing. Deciding that was enough, he pulled off his headphones and ended the call. “Good job, baby, you were so good.” He kissed your hair, and you moaned in response before remembering something. “Uh, Minnie, was the camera recording?” your voice sounded worried and embarrassed, though you knew it’d be easy to delete the video. “Oh? No, babe, don’t worry.”

[majimaisms]

@ccile03 has very kindly invited me to give my two (million) cents on this and i wanted to explain, as best i could, how i interpreted majima's character arc in pirate yakuza. however. this post definitely got away from me, so be prepared, this is going to be a LONG one, and it's the most comprehensive analysis i've done of majima as a character to date. i think i just wanted an excuse to talk about the game, honestly

introduction

i think i should start by saying that i think what we see in this game is not an arc for majima in its entirety, but the culmination of one that we had been observing (glimpsing, really) from the sidelines for years. so the question of "what arc did majima have in this game?" is really a question of "what arc did majima have in this series?" and to answer that, we have to start at the beginning.

from the moment he's introduced in the first game, majima is shown to be cynical and nihilistic.

scott strichart, who was in charge of majima's english localization throughout y0-k2 and y6-y7, had this to say about this scene, which i completely agree with:

First, you need to understand Majima's primary motivation - Saejima. Ever since he missed participating in that hit, Majima's singular, driving goal is to give Saejima the opportunity to confront him and exact whatever punishment he feels is appropriate. So Majima sets out from square -1 to get back into the Tojo Clan and gain enough power and position to do that. But as you know, in Y0, he discovers that some costs are too great, which throws his entire life's purpose into question: How do I balance my own sense of right and wrong with the tenacity I must have in order get back into the clan and to Saejima? That answer comes in the shape of three different dudes who give him three different answers to how one is "tenacious" - Lee, who would go to ANY length to protect the ones he loves, Nishitani, who throws his entire self into his pursuit of pleasure, and even Sagawa, who as Majima tells him, is "practically immortal." But what happens to his three paragons of tenacity? Well, you know that answer if you've played Y0. What happens when Majima attempts to take the moral high ground? What happens when he dares to show some modicum of emotion? [...] And the evidence of Majima's mindset in Kiwami is right in the first few lines when you meet him: What's the point of doing the right thing? "Doing things that way is going to break you." But no… that's just a projection. Majima is the one who got broken. And if you've played Y2 through Y5, you see the facade slowly start to fade. It's a really interesting growth of the character.

note the parts i highlighted in bold. we will get back to these later.

i think to understand majima and what this game does for him as a character, you have to understand both his problem and how he has tried to solve that problem. you have to understand his tragedy. and for that, you have to understand the psychological consequences of being part of an organization like the yakuza. the emotional impact it has on your life, on your relationship with yourself, and why. this context informs most of my analysis because i think its inextricable from majima as a character. i will also be heavily quoting simone weil to talk about these ideas, so please bear with me.

1. understanding the problem (and what it isn't)

the thing is, it's not easy to do awful things to other people. it's not easy to extort money from people, it's not easy to threaten them, it's not easy to attack someone when it's not in self defense. it's not easy to be mean. it's not easy to lie, cheat, steal. all of these things have an emotional toll: guilt. now, guilt goes away if you let it, but that has a spiritual toll. but where does that guilt come from in the first place?

simone weil says:

There exists an obligation towards every human being for the sole reason that he or she is a human being, without any other condition requiring to be fulfilled, and even without any recognition of such obligation on the part of the individual concerned.

All human beings are bound by identical obligations [...]. No human being, whoever he may be, under whatever circumstances, can escape them without being guilty of crime; save where there are two genuine obligations which are in fact incompatible, and a man is forced to sacrifice one of them. The imperfections of a social order can be measured by the number of situations of this kind it harbours within itself. But even in such a case, a crime is committed if the obligation so sacrificed is not merely sacrificed in fact, but its existence denied into the bargain.

majima is torn between two incompatible obligations. his obligation towards every human being in the world, and his obligation towards saejima. whether or not his obligation to saejima is a genuine one is a matter of interpretation (as in, whether or not he was really responsible for failing saejima. i think there is merit to his sense of responsibility regarding this, but that's another post) and an important distinction to make, but the fact remains that it registers to majima as a genuine one.

weil also says:

There is a reality outside the world, that is to say, outside space and time, outside man's mental universe, outside any sphere whatsoever that is accessible to human faculties. Corresponding to this reality, at the centre of the human heart, is the longing for an absolute good, a longing which is always there and is never appeased by any object in this world. That reality is the unique source of all the good that can exist in this world: that is to say, all beauty, all truth, all justice, all legitimacy, all order, and all human behaviour that is mindful of obligations. Those minds whose attention and love are turned towards that reality are the sole intermediary through which good can descend from there and come among men. Although it is beyond the reach of any human faculties, man has the power of turning his attention and love towards it. Nothing can ever justify the assumption that any man, whoever he may be, has been deprived of this power. It is a power which is only real in this world in so far as it is exercised. The sole condition for exercising it is consent.

now, you don't have to agree with any of this, but i will be using this framework and language to make my points because i find it useful.

what this all comes down to is that "moral behavior" is not something done only for the sake of others, and that in fact there is no distinction between the sake of oneself and others. you cannot hurt others without also hurting yourself in some way. my analysis rests on this key point.

weil says that corresponding to these human obligations, we can identify a number of human needs, some of which have to do with the physical side of life (like food, shelter, security) and some of which have to do with the moral side.

They form, like our physical needs, a necessary condition of our life on this earth. Which means to say that if they are not satisfied, we fall little by little into a state more or less resembling death, more or less akin to a purely vegetative existence.

she says that human collectivities (family, country, organization, etc.) fulfill these needs. the collectivity that majima is part of is the tojo clan and in a broader sense, the yakuza. they are not part of civil society, but as weil notes, their obligations towards people outside of the yakuza are not lessened by this fact, and anyone whose attention and love is turned towards "good" is aware of this. so they feel the full weight of these obligations. majima feels this weight.

we can see here that majima is being driven by a need, a need that corresponds to his obligations to other people. he calls it "being a man", weil calls it "being mindful of obligations."

weil has identified some of these needs, which she calls "the needs of the soul", as follows:

HONOUR is a vital need of the human soul. [...] honour has to do with a human being considered not simply as such, but from the point of view of his social surroundings. This need is fully satisfied where each of the social organisms to which a human being belongs allows him to share in a noble tradition enshrined in its past history and given public acknowledgment. For example, for the need of honour to be satisfied in professional life, every profession requires to have some association really capable of keeping alive the memory of all the store of nobility, heroism, probity, generosity and genius spent in the exercise of that profession.

PUNISHMENT is a vital need of the human soul. [...] The most indispensable punishment for the soul is that inflicted for crime. By committing crime, a man places himself, of his own accord, outside the chain of eternal obligations which bind every human being to every other one. Punishment alone can weld him back again; fully so, if accompanied by consent on his part; otherwise only partially so. 

Initiative and RESPONSIBILITY, to feel one is useful and even indispensable, are vital needs of the human soul. [...] For this need to be satisfied it is necessary that a man should often have to take decisions in matters great or small affecting interests that are distinct from his own, but in regard to which he feels a personal concern. He also requires to be continually called upon to supply fresh efforts.

i find this language and framework for talking about the concepts of virtue, guilt, redemption and how those things tie into one's professional and social life very useful when exploring the relationship rgg characters have to the yakuza and to themselves.

i will be focusing on these three needs for now because i think they are where the crux of majima's struggle lies. not only majima, but every yakuza who feels the weight of human obligations. because the work they do as yakuza does not fulfill their need for honor, and the crimes they commit by not fulfilling their obligations (as they are exploiting and profiting off innocent people, depriving them of their vital needs) creates the need for punishment. this is part of why we see these characters go to prison so willingly.

being yakuza means effectively denying one's own need for honor. this compels these characters to remedy this by clinging to whatever amount or kind of honor they can maintain. it's this cycle that keeps them going, that pushes these characters to commit the extraordinary acts of heroism we admire them for. it's because they are driven by the need to make up for something. for being yakuza.

weil says:

[...] a collectivity has its roots in the past. It constitutes the sole agency for preserving the spiritual treasures accumulated by the dead, the sole transmitting agency by means of which the dead can speak to the living.

she says that the need to be rooted is the most important need of the soul, and that being part of a collectivity, a "social organism" as she calls it, and having active participation in it is the only means of fulfilling this need. yakuza are no exception. RGG's consistent theme of carrying on the dreams of others is a form of "the dead speaking to the living", that is to say, a form of fulfilling the need for roots – which by the way is the name of the book these excerpts are from.

Every social organism, of whatever kind it may be, which does not provide its members with these satisfactions, is diseased and must be restored to health.

There are collectivities which, instead of serving as food, do just the opposite: they devour souls. In such cases, the social body is diseased, and the first duty is to attempt a cure; in certain circumstances, it may be necessary to have recourse to surgical methods. With regard to this matter, too, the obligation for those inside as for those outside the collectivity is an identical one. [...] Finally, there are dead collectivities which, without devouring souls, don’t nourish them either. If it is absolutely certain that they are well and truly dead, that it isn’t just a question of a temporary lethargy, then and only then should they be destroyed.

the yakuza, by measure of the number of situations it creates where incompatible obligations have to compete against each other, is a deeply imperfect social order. but as weil notes, sacrificing obligations and denying their existence are distinct compromises. "guilt goes away if you let it" – this is where that distinction lies. to free yourself of guilt, you have to deny the existence of these obligations, and so deny your own need for punishment. and the spiritual toll of that exchange is pragmatism, which weil describes as "spiritually crossing a boundary equivalent to death."

she says this about denying the existence of obligations:

Actually, such a negation is impossible. It amounts to spiritual suicide. And Man is so made that in him spiritual death is accompanied by psychological diseases in themselves fatal. So that, in fact, the instinct of self-preservation prevents the soul from doing more than draw closer to such a state [...]. Almost always, he who denies all obligations lies to others and to himself; in actual fact, he recognizes some amongst them. There isn’t a man on earth who doesn’t at times pronounce an opinion on good and evil, even if it be only to find fault with somebody else.

many yakuza try to avoid guilt (and the need for punishment) by denying the existence of human obligations. simply put, it's a way of running from accountability.

but guilt is not the reason for majima's struggle with this. majima has already decided that he is not going to cross that spiritual boundary to avoid guilt, because he understands that the consequences would be nothing more than a self-betrayal. he has too much respect for the truth to lie to himself like that. his "longing for an absolute good" compels him to accept his need for punishment. and he is not confused about what he thinks is right or wrong.

yakuza 0 was not about majima trying to decide whether or not killing an innocent girl was wrong. he knew it was wrong. it was about whether or not it was worth it to kill an innocent person. if he had been grappling with whether or not murder was wrong, it would've been equivalent to "spiritual suicide" as weil calls it. but he never denies the existence of such an obligation on his part – he never pretends it wasn't wrong to kill a defenseless civilian.

and his takeaway was that it was not worth it. it was not worth it to kill makoto to fulfill his obligation to saejima. he sacrificed his obligation to saejima, but no "crime" was committed in this process because he did not deny the existence of his obligations towards anyone. his need for honor was not sacrificed, and thus no self-betrayal took place. once again, denying human obligations is synonymous with self betrayal in this framework.

majima simply will not do something that he knows he will regret later out of guilt, and he takes care to predict what he will feel guilty about so as to avoid this outcome. his judgment regarding this remained solid throughout y0, even if it wavered at times.

another example of majima being torn between two genuine obligations was in y5.

this scene is remarkable to me because it's the only other time, aside from y0, we see the consequences of majima "daring to show a modicum of emotion." his obligations are being used against him. the "longing for an absolute good" in his heart is being used against him. because in order to fulfill his obligation to saejima here (to not put him to the same impossible choice), he would have to sacrifice a much more universal one, as well as a personal one to kiryu. and then how could he "call himself a man"?

saejima tells him that if he was the kind of person who would let haruka die, he would've killed him anyway. but this doesn't stop majima from still being apologetic in this scene – he still feels the weight of his responsibility to saejima, even if they are in agreement that it should be sacrificed. the existence of both obligations are acknowledged, thus no "crime" takes place, just like in y0. once again, we see that majima's problem is not in denying the existence of obligations.

majima's struggle here has to do with how to prevent things from coming to a point where he has to sacrifice obligations in the first place. this was his takeaway from y0. the obvious answer to this is to quit the clan, but it's too late for that. he already did that and just ended up going back. his obligations to the people in his life (saejima, kiryu) and his need for roots keep him tied to the clan.

so, what does he do instead?

2. understanding the "solution"

this is where we return to scott strichart's comment.

"How do I balance my own sense of right and wrong with the tenacity I must have in order get back into the clan and to Saejima?"

it's misleading to think of his obligation towards saejima as something to be balanced against his sense of right and wrong, as strichart puts it – in reality they are one and the same. the fact that he has to be tenacious is merely an extension of his obligation towards saejima.

more importantly, this is not a question of what moral philosophy to subscribe to, or anything that has to do with speculative reasoning. the singular question majima is struggling with the most in his life is a question of "how" – it's a question of methods.

majima has always been primarily concerned with methods. he is someone who locks onto ends and produces means to achieve them. this is what makes him resourceful. he gets his way, because he finds and makes a way. he is all about getting results.

but strichart's question is only half of majima's problem. the other half comes from his answer to the first one: "by preventing situations in which i will find myself having to choose between obligations."

majima, like strichart, has identified correctly that these situations arise only when he "dares to show a modicum of emotion." thus, the goal should be to simply stop doing that. but how is he going to do that? what method should he choose for that?

his answer to that question is mad dog. this is an answer equivalent to "whichever method works." because the factors that he takes into consideration when trying to formulate an answer for that "should" are concerned entirely with the effectiveness of the method. in other words, majima's mistake is that he doesn't think what he thinks is right or wrong should be the most important deciding factor in determining his methods for preventing situations where he has to sacrifice obligations.

it is, ironically, his dedication to solving this problem without sacrificing either obligation that makes him cross that spiritual boundary. because you see, this too is a form of pragmatism. he's essentially trading one form of spiritual death for another, and so he is still stuck in the cycle of honor and punishment. because methods are not exempt from human obligations either, yet he is denying the existence of those obligations. their existence is "denied into the bargain." pragmatism is the justification for this denial. "the world doesn't give two shits if there's a point or not, so it's better if i don't either."

weil understood the crucial role methods played:

Everything in creation is dependent on method, including the points of intersection between this world and the next.

"the next world" she is referring to is the one she says is the source of all "good" in the world. she is concerned with how to align her methods with her obligations, which is itself a problem of methods.

to majima as well, the most valuable resources in the world are methods that are effective and align with his obligations. why betray himself like this if he can avoid it? and he learns methods from observing people. this was why he ended up following shimano. this is what his "men i respect" thing is about. he means, "people i can learn something from."

but despite being already disillusioned with shimano's methods by the time he dies, he's never been able to successfully replace them with anything else. unable to find anyone around he could learn from, he has resorted to compromise. he decided he couldn't afford to commit to aligning his methods with his obligations. he has prioritized his continued survival and success in the yakuza because of his obligation to saejima, at the cost of his soul. mad dog is the product of that exchange. mad dog is the solution, the justification, the lie.

this is a sacrifice he has had to make because of the social order he exists in. this is why the yakuza is a "diseased" social organism, as weil calls it. this aspect of the yakuza and majima's views on it were explored in majima saga in k2.

let's take a look at majima's methods:

you might note, at this point, that all of these things are things kiryu would never do.

this was what fascinated him about kiryu. because kiryu is suggesting there is a right and wrong method, and not only that, he's saying it's a factor that should be considered, that deserves our attention and love, and we should be mindful of it. he's the embodiment of the principle that we can't justify denying our obligations. this is what he admires kiryu so much for – that he is not betraying himself in the way majima has. he has things to learn from kiryu, and that is what majima respects most above all else.

kiryu represented a solution to his self-imposed spiritual exile. however, this solution was not as straightforward as you would think.

fighting has always been a form of communication, of debate, in RGG. when majima and kiryu are fighting, these are the conflicting ideas that are being tested against each other. and he wants kiryu to prove his methods wrong. because he hates his methods. he realizes he's fighting for the wrong side, and he wants everything he represents to be defeated. to be able to be defeated. and he trains and mentors kiryu specifically for this purpose. he has made himself into a mascot of this spiritually vacant philosophy, but at least he can offer its enemies (which includes himself) something that would effectively function as a training dummy. he is giving kiryu the opportunity to know his enemy. this is a noble goal. it justifies the continued existence of mad dog.

this was a method he thought would work. it's pretty clever, you have to give him that. but in fact, it's only another instance of the two incompatible obligations problem. he's fulfilling his need for honor and punishment, but he's failing to fulfill his need for responsibility towards kiryu.

he needs to make up for this ongoing failure, so the series is full of examples of him going out of his way to help kiryu (y2, y3, y5, iw and now pirate yakuza). as weil said, majima "requires to be continually called upon to supply fresh efforts" for his need for responsibility to be fulfilled. he's glad for the opportunity to help kiryu. he needs kiryu to need his support. in simpler terms, he wants to be useful. he feels this need as it corresponds to his obligations towards kiryu, which are identical to his obligations towards anyone, but which he feels more keenly with kiryu because he's stuck in this cycle of honor, punishment and responsibility, trying to make up for the lack of one through fulfilling the other. and it's specifically tied to kiryu because he can only fulfill his need for honor/punishment through kiryu, because kiryu is the only one strong enough to defeat him in a fight. and yet he is failing his other obligations to him in the process BECAUSE of his method.

it would not be too much of an exaggeration to say that the integrity of majima's soul rests in the balance that is the conflict between himself and kiryu. this is why this conflict cannot end. it will remain self-perpetuating so long as they both remain mindful of obligations. they are yin and yang.

let's go back to scott strichart's comment again.

And if you've played Y2 through Y5, you see the facade slowly start to fade. It's a really interesting growth of the character.

while i agree with this, it should be noted that even though majima's facade slowly fades, nothing substantial takes its place. he literally dies in yakuza 5, and he is reborn as nothing more than a mascot, a symbol, a boss fight as far as the games are concerned. just as he was in kiwami. his methods do not change, because he still can't afford to change them. because he is still yakuza.

but he is feeling the emotional and spiritual toll of continuing those methods.

he doesn't have it in him anymore to keep up the act, to prop up mad dog to act as an interface between himself and the world around him.

note here that majima is the perfect visual representation of a dead thing – he's literally wearing the skin of dead animals, and "majima goro" is the first among them. the fact that he is narratively dead in y5, a game about dreams where everyone has an honest job is really, really on the nose when you consider things in these terms.

but y5 does a spectacular job of reminding majima why he needs to stay dead, why he chose to avoid emotional attachments and obfuscate the ones he does have in the first place. if it weren't for an impossibly unlikely chain of events, either haruka would've died or saejima would've had to kill majima. majima doesn't want to risk anyone being put to that choice again. kurosawa's whole plan hinged on the fact that he identified this as a weakness in majima that he planned to use against him – and it almost worked.

this is what he risks happening every time he has conflicting obligations. every time he "shows a modicum of emotion." he has enemies who will use it against him to hurt his loved ones. so even if he is disillusioned with mad dog, as long as he cannot think of a better method of preventing this, he needs to keep up the act. his "solution" has become another cage he finds himself in, because he can't escape the bigger cage he's in: the yakuza.

this is not a problem unique to majima. any yakuza mindful of their obligations struggles with similar problems, because it's the yakuza as an organization imposes this problem on them. it devours souls. this was why it needed to be destroyed.

3. the dissolution, and pirate yakuza

you would think that being out of the yakuza would finally solve a bunch of these problems for majima (and saejima and daigo.) instead, this is the state they're in.

because they understand that they were not the only ones who gave their souls to the clan. there were thousands of others, and those thousands joined the clan because of them. because of the promises they made. it is their responsibility to honor their men's sacrifices and their own promises by taking care of them after the dissolution, but they have no way of fulfilling their need for responsibility, honor or punishment as it concerns their obligations to these people.

the shame, guilt and helplessness is really setting in as they are forced to face their failure. and the sacrifices they made along the way? they have nothing to show for any of it. all the justifications, all the self-betrayals, all the compromises. the obligations they sacrificed. the people they've hurt. this is where it all culminates.

this is how lost they are, how lost majima is – he seems to be doing the worst out of the three of them – in the absence of any methods to reconnect to and do right by the social organism he's part of, his roots. they are cut off from any means of helping the people they used to lead and feel responsible for. they are uprooted.

weil says:

Uprootedness is by far the most dangerous malady to which human societies are exposed, for it is a self-propagating one. For people who are really uprooted there remain only two possible sorts of behaviour: either to fall into a spiritual lethargy resembling death [...] or to hurl themselves into some form of activity necessarily designed to uproot, often by the most violent methods, those who are not yet uprooted, or only partly so.

Whoever is uprooted himself uproots others. Whoever is rooted himself doesn’t uproot others.

majima, saejima and daigo fell into the former category. it is a testament to how mindful they are of obligations that they did not fall into the latter.

kiryu tried to break them out of that spiritual lethargy in infinite wealth, reminding them of their obligations. remember what i said earlier about kiryu being the "embodiment of the principle that we can't justify denying our obligations"? this is him doing it again, as always. and this was the single most life-affirming thing he could do for them.

on the growing of roots, weil had this to say:

The problem of a method for breathing an inspiration into a people is quite a new one. [...] It is unfortunate for us that this problem, in regard to which, unless I am wrong, we have nothing we can look to for guidance, should be precisely the one that requires today the most urgent solution on our part.

she identified the problem of growing roots as a problem of methods of inspiring people. on this, she wrote:

It sometimes happens that a thought, either formulated to oneself or not formulated at all, works secretly on the mind and yet has but little direct influence over it. If one hears this thought expressed publicly by some other person, and especially by someone whose words are listened to with respect, its force is increased an hundredfold and can sometimes bring about an inner transformation. It can also happen that one needs, whether one realizes it or not, to hear certain words, which, if they are effectively pronounced, and in a quarter whence one would normally expect good to come from, infuse comfort, energy and as it were a food.

just as this was the case with kiryu in infinite wealth, it is the case with noah in pirate yakuza.

violence is a tool. majima has always viewed it as such, but here noah is telling him that not only is it a tool, he doesn't think it's an inherently bad one. he thinks it's cool. he is radically accepting of majima in a way he has never experienced before.

we know that majima has had a complicated history with violence. he hit his wife and left her. he's been using it as a method to keep his subordinates in line for years – something he ideologically does not agree with, but has accepted as a necessary sacrifice. it's not a coincidence that the first thing majima remembers about himself is his guilt surrounding his violence – guilt enabled to become manifest in the absence of his justification, in the absence of mad dog, which had acted not only as an interface between majima and the world, but between himself and his own needs. everything was filtered through mad dog.

but instead of condoning violence via majima's philosophy of pragmatism, which majima has used as a justification (a lie), noah is offering him a way out of the dilemma he's been stuck in for decades. he suggests that as long as you're fighting for the right thing (which majima is in this case), violence is a perfectly acceptable method that does not constitute a crime, and thus, should not create a need for punishment. it's reassuring to majima in exactly the way he needs. it's also something no one else in his life could reassure him about, because they're too busy feeling guilty about their own violence. only someone who is truly "innocent" could absolve majima of this guilt.

majima's face in that last shot is all the evidence you need for its impact. this is what he's needed to hear his whole life, and it would not have had the same impact coming from anyone other than a child. and it had to be this specific child, because:

To no matter whom the question may be put in general terms, nobody is of the opinion that any man is innocent if, possessing food himself in abundance and finding someone on his doorstep three parts dead from hunger, he brushes past without giving him anything. So it is an eternal obligation towards the human being not to let him suffer from hunger when one has the chance of coming to his assistance.

this was the model on which weil based her theory of human needs and obligations, because it was "the most obvious obligation of all." it also happens to be the opening scene of pirate yakuza.

noah's attention and love is demonstrably turned towards human obligations. he is also notably the only person around who has fulfilled this most obvious of obligations. majima himself acknowledges this, saying he "never thought hawaii would be so cold."

noah represents an ideal for majima that he has aspired to his whole life: innocence. this is why he is inspired by noah. the "method" of inspiration in question that majima had been lacking comes to him in the form of a person. and it had to be a person, because majima has always been inspired by individuals. and not only majima, either. RGG as a series is full of examples of this.

It is only through things and individual beings on this earth that human love can penetrate to that which lies beyond.

it's our connections to individuals that remind us of our obligations towards every human being. love becomes universal through the particular. weil understood the important part love plays in motivating people to change. it was her answer to how to grow roots again – her answer to the question of how to inspire people.

it is precisely this form of inspiration that majima had been deprived of for decades, especially after the dissolution as he'd sunk into depression. and this was always the solution, but there were several obstacles to it prior to this game:

he could not afford to have personal human connections in his life, even after the dissolution. he'd learned the hard way what happens when he "dares to show a modicum of emotion," as scott strichart put it.

as long as he was still relying the same tools, he could not effectively change his methods. this game forced him to do that by taking away his favorite tool: mad dog.

even if he wanted to use his violence only for the right things, he had obligations to the clan that would have him using that tool for less-than-noble ends.

because of this, even after the dissolution, he was stuck in the cycle between honor and punishment which obfuscated the truth and confused him. and there can be no inspiration without access to truth.

all of these problems were imposed on him by the social order he was part of – namely, the yakuza. this is why its dissolution was a necessary prerequisite to majima's "growth", but it was still not enough on its own. the amnesia was the second prerequisite.

he needed to face his past, but for that to help him in any way, he first needed to be inspired, so that he could look back on events with a new perspective. and the amnesia was the prerequisite for the inspiration, because it reduced the weight of his guilt and thus his need for punishment, breaking the honor-punishment cycle.

what this game is for majima is an exit. it's an exit from the emotional and spiritual exile he's imposed on himself, that the yakuza has imposed on him, and the self-alienation he's suffered because of it. amnesia is what it takes for him to be reunited with himself. he had to forget who he is so he could be who he is. such was the extent of his self-betrayal.

within the space provided him by this exit, there is room for change. transformation. for majima, that means changing his methods. this game is addressing a problem he's been aware of for decades but could not do anything about.

some examples of him facing his past with this new perspective:

he's realizing what he was to these people, who looked up to him, who he allowed to look up to him, who he took upon himself to lead – and he's hating what he sees. he doesn't like his methods. and he's running from the responsibility of doing right by them, refusing saejima when he asks him to go back.

he's afraid of facing how much he's failed his subordinates by his own standards – a reality he'd lived with for decades before his amnesia. the fact that we actually see how much it bothers him in this game is invaluable, because it means he's letting himself acknowledge that. he can no longer rely on the lie (justification) he had been telling himself to sustain this self betrayal. he is disillusioned with his own pragmatism. noah has exposed the lie, and he allowed it to be exposed. he is now ready to take right and wrong into consideration when deciding his methods – all because noah has reminded him of his obligations in a way that commands his attention, in a way he can't turn away from, and because he no longer has to sacrifice his soul to the clan. this game is, effectively, undoing the spiritual death he had undergone.

he's outright calling his old self, his old ideas, his old methods, "dumb as shit." majima is reinventing his identity, his reputation, his presence in the world and his connection to it. he's been given a chance to become someone he can be proud of again – this is why he likes the way noah looks at him, why he doesn't want to give up on it. it motivates him to commit to his transformation instead of wallowing in guilt like he was in infinite wealth.

he's getting to do it all over again with noah in a way he himself actually approves of, with a clear conscience. not just because noah is a kid, not just because he's lost his memory, not just because he's not yakuza anymore, but because of all those things in combination. that is to say, none of these factors are arbitrary. they were each necessary for achieving this state for majima – a state where change is possible, and he is inspired to change.

"captain majima" is someone he can be proud of.

he rejects his legacy as a yakuza completely. this goes as far as rejecting his bond with saejima. he doesn't want to be called "kyoudai" by him, he'll only answer to "captain." as he's coming to terms with how much it went against his nature to be yakuza, he's trying to distance himself from it as much as possible.

but he's running. he's not trying to run from his responsibilities to the yakuza like saejima thinks – he's running from owning up to his legacy. this is why he pretends to still not have his memories back when shigaki confronts him.

but it's not just the yakuza: the nebulous entity that told them that. it's what majima told them. it's what majima built his legend around.

yakuza 0 was not a game of positive character development for majima. it was the story of how and why he learned to betray himself. it was the origin story of his justification, his nihilism. it was the birth of mad dog. and this game is the counterpart to that – the death of mad dog.

One of the indispensable foods of the human soul is LIBERTY. Liberty, taking the word in its concrete sense, consists in the ability to choose.

the mad dog legend wasn't something that majima stumbled upon against his will like kiryu's dragon of the dojima legend. majima built this. he wanted this. he was trying to rise in the ranks (for saejima), and his legend is what it is because he was so, so wary of being taken advantage of. not only out of his own need for liberty, but out of the obligation he feels towards everyone else. this is the price of turning yourself into a weapon: you have to be very, very careful who you allow to wield you, and towards what end. that becomes your responsibility.

this was why majima was apologetic in that y5 scene – he had failed to prevent kurosawa from using him, and he understands that it is his responsibility to prevent that. this is why the mad dog legend is what it is. he had to find a way to "tear his leash" so that no one could wield him.

but his own preoccupation with freedom, his fear of being used by others, this fight he's been fighting against himself for decades has made him a bad role model. he's finally facing that, and not only that, but he is remedying it, too.

his own unhealthy treatment of himself, his own betrayal of himself, has done actual harm to others. his own misjudgment has led people who looked up to him astray. and he should've known better. done better, been more.

he should've been the one inspiring his subordinates, he should've been the one reminding them of their obligations. instead he has created a legend that has done just the opposite. a legend that has given people another excuse to deny their obligations. because that legend was born out of majima's own excuse for denying his own obligations. THAT is majima's failure. he has failed others in the exact same way he has failed himself. it could not have turned out any other way.

he has failed as a leader, as a patriarch and he's acknowledging that. but that on its own doesn't do much in the way of helping him. this game is about majima stepping up to not only hold himself accountable, which he already HAS been doing, but to do something about it. holding yourself accountable for mistakes you just continue to make or cannot begin to make up for is the very definition of being stagnant. this is the "state more or less resembling death, more or less akin to a purely vegetative existence" he was in for pretty much the entirety of the series, reaching its peak in infinite wealth when he had been cut off from all means of effectively taking responsibility.

and he is finally being given the opportunity to take responsibility – a vital need. he is being given the opportunity to undo the damage, to guide them towards a better path, to remind them of their obligations. just like kiryu.

majima, in true kiryu fashion, is telling these people exactly what he himself needs to hear – needed to hear, and that noah made him realize the moment they met. he is being given a second chance. an opportunity to redeem himself, to START redeeming himself. start over. and he's paying the same kindness forward. if it's not too late to for him to start doing the right thing, then it isn't too late for shigaki either, and vice versa.

[...] man has the power of turning his attention and love towards it. Nothing can ever justify the assumption that any man, whoever he may be, has been deprived of this power. [...] The sole condition for exercising it is consent.

majima understands this, and he understands that applying this principle to shigaki necessitates that he apply it to himself also. a person can always, always choose to do good – not only that, they are compelled to at all times. it takes energy to resist it. this was what caused his burnout in y5 and arguably y4 before that.

this game is about majima taking responsibility for his legacy as a yakuza, much like kiryu did in infinite wealth. this is what they're using his amnesia for. a story about him wallowing in guilt or trying to fulfill his need for punishment would have been the opposite of growth for majima, because the whole problem was that his method of trying to achieve personal growth through honor and punishment had not been working for him. a radically new approach was required. you can't fix something with the same tools that broke it.

just as his own neglect of his needs had caused the problem, the solution also comes from fulfilling those needs for himself. he has to stop betraying himself in order to make things right with the people he's failed. to take responsibility, he has to give up mad dog.

this does not necessarily mean giving up violence, but it does mean using it as a tool for ends that do not conflict his needs. a good example of this is the scene where he threatens to cut fingers.

it's his last resort, not his first one. he is being given room for that now. it's important to note here that he is not threatening to cut fingers to punish someone for insubordination as he has done his entire life – instead it's in the name of ensuring cooperation between others (a noble goal), for something he has no personal stake in. he doesn't want any of the money, he refuses to take a cut of it. he is not playing the antagonist here, and he is very open about his intentions unlike the "old" majima goro who obscured his intentions at every turn for the sake of playing the antagonist.

y0 was the last time we saw majima so earnest, because it was y0 that taught him not to be earnest. this game is undoing the damage.

[...] complete, unlimited freedom of expression for every sort of opinion, without the least restriction or reserve, is an absolute need on the part of the intelligence. It follows from this that it is a need of the soul, for when the intelligence is ill-at-ease the whole soul is sick.

sure, he didn't hold his tongue against his superiors, we've seen him do it countless times throughout the series. but to be able to openly express his goals, his intentions, his own judgment and act accordingly is a previously unthinkable mode of living for majima.

once again, it's about methods, and this game IS the difference between methods, especially as it concerns communication.

it's the difference between "if adults like us are good for anything, it should be nurturing that hope" and "keep that up, and it'll break you." him establishing himself as an ally, instead of an antagonist. he has played the antagonist his entire life, because it was the only way he could think to fulfill his obligations, but the world doesn't need more antagonists. and he's been failing not only his subordinates or himself, but kiryu and everyone else he loves as well.

this is what this scene in infinite wealth was about. majima's methods are destructive, not only to everyone he cares about, but also to himself – because there is no difference between those things. such is the nature of love.

majima finally, finally gets to play the hero after a lifetime of playing the antagonist. he's taking the leaf out of kiryu's book that he couldn't until this point, that he so admired kiryu for. it's a dream come true for him – maybe the oldest one he had.

and in some ways, this is also majima carrying on kiryu's dream, by applying the lessons he learned from him. by emulating him, he's honoring kiryu's principles. he'd told him, all the way back in 1995, that he'd "see those ideals of his to the end." well, this is what that looks like in its most effective form.

this ending really says it all, in my opinion, because it's majima looking at the journey and finding joy in that instead of the end goal. for ONCE in his life. maybe for the first time in his life. because for the first time he is ABLE to do that. for the first time there is something to enjoy about the journey. he is so unconcerned with results here that he doesn't even take the money.

he has been so, so preoccupied with reaching his goals that he has sacrificed the journey, the "methods" and betrayed himself in the process his whole life. this is where it stops.

[...] honour has to do with a human being considered not simply as such, but from the point of view of his social surroundings.

i think it's fair to say that his new methods and outlook on life are here to stay.

conclusion

this game is no joke. it's the most beautiful and profound thing they've done with majima... ever.

to be honest, whether or not most of this should be called "growth" is debatable – i think it can be said instead, more accurately, that growth was not the point of this game. the point of this game and how significant the things it does for majima lie beyond "growth". its value comes from the fact that it fulfills needs for majima that he had not been able to for decades.

majima's problem was not that he needed growing. his problem was that he had been in spiritual exile for 40 years. pirate yakuza was not just "upbeat", it was a celebration of majima being reunited with his soul. and as any celebration ought to be, it was joyful and inspiring. the light tone of the game is not because it is lacking in depth, but because the nature of the subject matter lends itself to hope more than anything else.

a game that was conceptualized as an infinite wealth gaiden had to deal with these themes. to tie the loose end that is majima, so to speak – to give a satisfying conclusion to his arc we'd been observing for years. just as infinite wealth was about kiryu's relationship to the yakuza, this game is about majima's relationship to the yakuza and the yakuza's relationship to him. it cannot be thought of separately from infinite wealth and what it was for kiryu. pirate yakuza and infinite wealth are the yin and yang to each other, just as majima and kiryu are to each other. majima has always been, before and above all else, a narrative foil to kiryu. this game is no exception, they're just changing how they're exploring that in the narrative. it's almost like an inversion of what the series has done with the two of them so far, but still united in one theme above all else: hope for the future.

whether or not these themes have been done justice in execution is entirely up to you to decide, so you can still be disappointed with how the game dealt with them – after all, a method still has to be effective to be a good one – but i hope i have been able to give you some perspective on what this game accomplishes with majima as a character.

thanks for reading <3