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waynes-multiverse · 23 hours ago

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Time After Time – Chapter 13

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, violence & death, 2022 & season 3, SB being his charming self and everything that comes with it, drug use & drinking, PTSD, mentions of torture, physics, angst, one-sided pining & steamy thoughts, fluff if you squint

Word Count: 16.3k

Posted on Patreon May 23, 2025

A/N: So sorry, guys! Had a nasty cold the whole week and could barely move. Catching up with everyone over the next few days. Just wanted you to finally have this first 🩵 Oh, boy, don't know where to start with this one. My fingers slipped on the keys 😂 It's the reunion 2.0 (or 3.0?), Ben's hella confused and frustrated and possibly horny, and I played "fill in the gaps" with Season 3 aka his first thoughts when he woke up and found dear reader there and everything that came after 😉

✨ Chapter title comes from Frankenstein (1931)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: It's Alive! It's Alive!

2022

Ben didn’t remember much from his escape.

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the cold crawling through his blood and biting his skin. His skull buzzed with static, not a single clear thought coming through like the worst hangover of his life – and he used to have a lot of those.

Then came the sound.

Footsteps. Voices. English. American.

None of them sounded familiar. Not his old team. No one from Payback – not that he’d really expected them to come for him. Not after what they fucking did.

But then he heard the only voice that ever mattered – yours.

“Uh, Butcher, I don’t think this was a good idea…”

“Don’t worry 'bout it.”

British. Male.

And for a second, Ben thought it was another hallucination of you. It wasn’t uncommon for him to hear your voice in his head, after all. It had been the only constant for… well, however long it’d been. But then:

“No, I don’t think you understand. This pod’s got like three inches of lead, borated polyethylene, and some kind of heat sink. I can’t read most of this since it’s in Russian, but if I’m reading these charts right, the decay signatures are insane. There’s Americium-241 in the isotopic yields. You only see that as a byproduct in low-burnup plutonium fuel cycles. Alpha and gamma radiation is peaking simultaneously. I mean, this spike right here is equivalent to a 3 Gray dose in under four seconds.”

Yeah, Ben didn’t understand a single word of that. His hallucinations of you had always been realistic, but they’d never been as fucking smart as the real thing. There was only so much his brain could do. Which meant:

You weren’t a figment of his drug-induced imagination.

“English, sunshine,” the British guy prompted impatiently.

You sighed loudly. “The Russians turned him into a walking nuke.”

Great.

Ben’s eyes snapped open in that moment, blinked a couple of times to get rid of the blur in his vision and the dazed fog in his mind, and then, sure enough, there you were – live and in the flesh.

Not more than two feet away from him, staring wide-eyed and horrified between strange men in blue worker overalls and guns in their hands.

Your face was the same, hadn’t aged a day since ‘42. Your hair was a mess, your skin was smudged with dirt and sweat, and you were wearing the same overalls as the rest of them, holding a thick folder in your hands like you belonged with those fucking strangers.

You came. Freed him. Saved him.

But as Ben took a step closer, you took one back and hid halfway behind one of the men, clinging to the guy’s arm like you were fucking scared. Scared of him.

You didn’t run to him. Didn’t sling your arms around him. Didn’t seem happy in the slightest to see him again.

Just… terrified.

And then, Ben felt it – the pressure building behind his sternum, white-hot and untamable.

“Uh-oh…” You took another cautious step back.

“What now?” the British asshole huffed, voice louder over the low hum that began to rise in the room.

“His decay constants are collapsing. His metabolic feedback loop’s destabilizing,” you said.

Ben’s chest started to glow. Lights vibrated in their sockets. Dust lifted from the floor.

“English!”

“Right. He’s gonna fucking blow,” you clarified.

Yup.

Still fucking smarter than a room full of men.

And then, the bomb inside him went off, he blacked out for a few seconds, and when the disorienting haze lifted and he opened his eyes, you were gone. Vanished.

Again.

Ben didn’t think long and hard at that moment – he knew this was his chance to finally escape, so he took it. Staggered out through the hole he blew into the wall, past humans and bodies on the ground.

He found a locker room in the facility, broke one open, stole some godawful and grimy tracksuit and boots that were too tight in the toes. He grabbed a lonely duffel bag filled with a gun, a combat knife, a pack of smokes and a box of matches, a ration bar, some rubles, and a half-empty bottle of vodka.

Good enough.

Tunnels turned into roads. Chain-link fences and barbed wire turned into forests. He walked till he found train tracks, followed them to a station, and read the word “АЭРОПОРТ” on a screen there.

Airport? Good enough.

He took his chances and, sure enough, made it onto an airfield. Found a plane leaving for New York City and hid with the cargo like a goddamn stowaway. But it didn’t matter. He was nothing if not resourceful, and more importantly, he was going fucking home.

The most shocking thing, though, aside from your sudden reappearance in one of the most devastating places on Earth during one of his strangest times?

How much time had fucking passed.

Ben knew the fucking Reds had locked him into that box and kept him frozen for a little while. He didn’t have a sense of time in there, just weird dreams, but he judged from the length of his hair and beard that it had been at least a few months, maybe even a year or two. The last date he could remember was 1990 before they put him on ice.

Well, cut to the airport where he found a newspaper that said it was 2022.

Thirty-two fucking years?!

By the time he hopped over the perimeter fence at fuckin' JFK and disappeared into Queens, he suddenly realized how much had truly changed. It was a different world now, and he was fucking lost.

No identity. No money. No plan.

As he moved through the outer boroughs toward Manhattan, everything around him was wrong. Too fast. Too loud. Too bright. It wasn’t the New York he remembered.

Billboards weren’t paper anymore and cars were sleeker and quieter. A kid with blue hair and a nose ring, two gay dudes, and a guy who talked into the watch around his wrist walked by him. Storefronts had rainbow flags, and a bus passed him with a star-spangled caped cunt plastered on its side, advertising another Vought-produced movie.

Some things didn’t change, he supposed.

The smell of the city was the same – diesel fuel, pot smoke, piss, and hot dogs – but the city itself wasn’t. This wasn’t his America – not even close.

The only fucking thing he disturbingly recognized in this brave, new world was the small, rectangular slab everyone carried around in their hands and stared obsessively into like they were seeing God in church.

You’d had one of those as well, and eventually, he realized that the thing he’d kept safe in a box for forty years was a goddamn phone – cordless.

Ben then stole a cup full of quarters from a bum and found a payphone, dialing a number he remembered from forty years ago. It rang once and went dead.

So he went old school.

He started poking around pawn shops and old Vought haunts till someone finally whispered the name he was after.

The Legend.

Old bastard probably still had a Rolodex bigger than Fort Knox. He knew every back door in Vought and where bodies were buried because he helped bury half of them.

And then, a plan slowly formed in Ben’s mind: hole up at Legend’s, get cleaned up, find his old team, and kill their backstabbing asses – preferably as brutal and merciless as possible.

Permanent measures, Ben scoffed internally, remembering Stan Edgar’s words from a meeting back in ‘83.

Well, who was fucking laughing now?

And then, finally, when all of it was said and done, Ben would come for you.

After some roughing up of a man in a bar, he then got an address in Midtown, but somewhere between Sixth Avenue and 59th Street, he heard it.

Tinny, distant, but unmistakeable – the same melody and sharp vowels of a Russian pop song. It drowned into his ears from a small radio in a parked food truck.

Something inside him cracked then.

His vision blurred. His knees buckled. His mind flooded with images he tried to bury deep. But the hum in his chest, the pressure, the fire under his skin had already started, violent and unstoppable.

Then came the flash.

He didn’t remember much more. He woke up to car alarms, sirens, and people screaming. Thick smoke hung in the air like fog and rubble was everywhere. He stared at the scorched remnants of a building that looked like a hurricane of flames had blown through it.

And Ben felt bad. He really did. Because, sure, one could argue he’d killed a lot of people over the long span of his career, so what were a few more?

But this was different. He hadn’t meant to.

Getting tortured by the fucking Commies was one thing, but they turned him into one of those supe freaks he’d always despised. Strongest man alive turned walking, uncontrollable nuke.

He fucking hated what they made him into. If he could fucking nuke the entire upper part of the Asian continent, he would.

Ben then kept his head down, moved through the back alleys and side streets, avoiding ambulances, police cars, and cameras till he ducked into the lobby of a pre-war high-rise on West 55th, next to a cigar shop and a boutique vodka bar.

The elevator then creaked up to the penthouses – PH4.

Ben raised his fist and knocked – three hard pounds, each one echoing through the hallway. The paint on the doorframe cracked slightly.

Footsteps. Slippers shuffling. Then the clunk of a lock sliding back. The door swung open, and there he was.

Legend. Older. Softer. But still himself. Robe loose, silk pajamas, gold chain on bare chest, slippers that cost more than a car, and a whiskey tumbler in hand at 10 AM. Eyes like saucers. He looked like he was seeing a fucking ghost.

Maybe he was.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” the old man breathed. “Ben?”

Ben didn’t answer right away. He was tired – bone-tired, blood-tired. He’d walked out of a Russian grave, burned a street down in Midtown, and ridden the subway in a stolen tracksuit like some goddamn hobo. The whole journey had already taken him five days.

“You gonna let me in or just stare at me like I crawled outta your fuckin’ toilet?”

Legend stumbled backward with a stunned laugh. “Of course! Of course! Come on in, come on in, you beautiful bastard! I thought you were dead! I mean, you were dead! The whole world thinks you’re–… Oh, man, wait ‘til I tell Marge–”

“Start with a drink,” Ben grunted as he stepped inside, looking around.

Legend’s place hadn’t changed much. Just a new location and a better view. Crystal decanters. Too many mirrors. A leopard print robe draped over a $9,000 couch. It smelled like citrus cologne, stale cigars, and money that hadn’t been earned honestly. The walls were plastered with nostalgia: framed magazine covers, awards, posters, photos of stars long dead. And there were more pictures of Soldier Boy than any museum dared hang. It was like stepping into a shrine of himself.

He peeked at one photo and felt fucking nothing.

Legend closed the door behind him and scrambled to keep up. “You’re really here. You’re alive. What the hell happened to you?”

“Reds,” Ben muttered.

“Jesus Christ, I thought they buried you. I mourned you, man.”

“Yeah? Must’ve been a real touchin’ tribute,” Ben said dryly.

Legend blinked. “Hey. I liked you, alright? I didn’t sign up for whatever Vought pulled. I wasn’t in the room when they made that call.”

“You sure about that?” Ben said quieter. Dangerous. “You weren’t in on it?”

Legend looked wounded, but he always had a flair for theatrics. “Ben, listen to me. I had nothing to do with it. Swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t know a goddamn thing. You were the crown jewel. The whole plan was to sell you forever. Why would they toss the best brand they had?”

Ben watched him closely. Legend still had that salesman gleam, but his hands were fidgeting. The man might be a rat for a living, but he wasn’t a traitor.

“I believe you,” Ben said finally.

Legend sagged, relieved. “Jesus. Thank God.”

“Don’t thank him. He didn’t help.”

Ben accepted the drink offered to him without blinking. Scotch. Strong. First thing he’d tasted that didn’t remind him of a basement in Russia. Legend never poured anything cheap.

The older man then refilled his own glass with shaking hands. “They said you died. Nuclear meltdown in Ohio in ‘84. You went in alone. They did the whole shtick – flag over the casket, moment of silence at Vought Tower, candles, parade. Even got you a statue. Beautiful PR, really. You didn’t know?”

Ben turned his head slowly. “Do I look like I fuckin’ knew?”

So this was what it had come to? This was what his life had amounted to? Buried like a hero, commemorated for a blink of an eye, and then fucking forgotten.

A fuckin’ statue?!

“No, no, I guess not,” Legend said, still rambling. “You look like shit, frankly. You wanna catch up first or take a shower? ‘Cause, no offense, you smell like Cold War ass.”

Ben quirked an eyebrow. “You offerin’ to join me?”

Legend raised both hands. “Hey, man, I don’t swing like that – anymore.”

Sure. Ben scoffed under his breath and rolled his eyes slightly. Not like Bogart was ever balls-deep inside the guy.

They stood in silence for a beat. Legend then gestured vaguely back at the liquor cart. “You want something else? Shrimp? Bump? You still do coke, right?”

Ben glanced at him and plopped down on the velvet couch with a grunt. “You offering or reminiscin'?”

The old man moved behind the bar and opened a drawer. “You’re not gonna believe what I saved for a rainy day.”

He pulled out a round mirror, the kind they didn’t bother hiding in the ‘80s, and set it gently down on the coffee table. From a thin glass vial, he tapped out two tight white lines.

“Peruvian flake. 1983. From that last gig in Cartagena, remember?”

Ben dipped his pinky first and tasted it on his tongue. Still burned just right. He stared at the neat, shimmering lines like they were a goddamn miracle.

It had been forty fucking years.

He hadn’t touched coke since Reagan’s first term. His heart rate picked up just looking at it. He leaned down over the mirror, one finger closing a nostril, and inhaled the line in one clean, practiced motion.

The burn climbed straight to his brain and lit up every nerve ending like someone flipped a breaker. His eyes watered. His spine straightened like he’d just been recharged with jumper cables.

“Still burns like it used to.” Ben sniffed, nose tingling.

Legend grinned like a man watching the resurrection of a god. “Atta boy.”

“Now that’s the America I remember.” Ben dragged a hand down his face, leaned back against the couch, and let out a dark, satisfied chuckle. “You always did age like a cockroach. I figured if anyone made it, it’d be you.”

Legend laughed too hard and raised his glass, sitting down in a leather arm chair across from him. “They don’t make ‘em like us anymore.”

The men drank. After a few more quiet sips and more bumps of coke, Legend stood, dusted off his robe, and disappeared into a back room. He returned with a garment bag slung over one arm.

“Knew this day might come,” he said, grinning. “Couldn’t throw it away.”

Ben unzipped the bag and stared.

His suit. His real one. Emerald green, armor-ribbed, the star still proud on the chest. He could almost smell the battles in it. Almost hear the roar of the crowd.

He stood. “Shower?”

“Guest bathroom’s down the hall. Still stocked with aftershave from ‘87. Towels are clean.”

The bathroom was as opulent as the rest of the penthouse. Marble floors, a gold-trimmed mirror, a steam shower the size of a phone booth. Ben finally dropped the sweat suit, stepped under the spray, and let the water scald his skin – first real shower in fucking decades.

The grime peeled off in waves – Russian chemicals, blood, dirt, something green and sticky he didn’t ask questions about. He washed his hair twice. The beard had gotten too long, too wild. And as he finally stepped out of the shower–

“There you are,” he said with an almost amused sigh. At some point, he’d just accepted the fact that you were haunting his conscious.

Can’t fight the universe.

You sat on the counter next to the sink, smirk on your face, bare legs dangling over the edge – like fucking clockwork. “Missed me?”

Ben only nodded with a hum as he stepped up to the mirror above the sink. He wiped a circle clear on the fogged surface and stared for a long moment.

“You look like shit,” you noted and crossed your arms, giving him a scrutinizing sideways glance.

And yeah, Jesus fuck, he looked like he’d just crawled out of fuckin’ hell. Forty years of Commie torture and dark basements were written on his skin. He’d only seen daylight two times during his stay there – when they’d field-test the fucking Little Boy in his chest. And it had rained both goddamn times.

His eyes were sunken, the green a little faded. The beard made him look like a mountain man who lost his fuckin' mountain. He picked up the clippers. Hovered over the switch. He’d never really been a beard kind of guy. Vought had always insisted on a clean-shaven image.

“Keep it,” you said. “Give it a trim. I think it looks good. Dangerous. Edgy. Perfect for puttin’ the fear of God into your enemies.”

Ben smacked his lips and got to work. He trimmed the beard, shaping it into something neater and harder. He then grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his own hair with slow, methodical snips. Piece by piece, the ghost peeled away, and underneath it, something familiar started to reemerge.

“This is your time, right?” he finally spoke and peered at you from his periphery. “That fuckin’ flashlight was a phone, wasn’t it?”

You grinned cheekily. “Well, I couldn’t give that away. Can’t fault me for that.”

“Guess not,” he huffed a strand of hair out his face.

Ben then dried off, suited up, adjusted the straps. The fabric settled against his skin like it remembered him. Tight in the right places. The weight of the shield in his hand felt like gravity returning. He finally felt anchored again.

Less like a ghost, more like a weapon.

“You really sure about this?” you asked and gave him a look that was half-concerned and half-judgy. “Killing your old team? Your ex?”

Ben exhaled a deep breath through his nose but didn’t look at you, green eyes focused on his mirror image. “They betrayed me. Left me to rot.”

“Not like you didn’t deserve it,” you muttered under your breath, then tilted your head. “Am I on your hit list?”

Ben licked his lips and clicked his tongue. “Depends.”

Your brows pinched. “On what?”

Ben met your eyes. “If you fuckin’ left me on purpose.”

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Legend whistled.

“Still looks good. You could be on the cover of Time again.”

Ben ignored that. “What happened to Payback?”

Legend hesitated, swirling the ice in his drink. “Split up. Disbanded. Most of ‘em are ghosts now. Black Noir’s made it into the new group – The Seven. Crimson Countess does livestreams now. Weird stuff.”

Ben didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care.

“Where is she?”

Legend hesitated. “You sure?”

Ben’s expression didn’t change.

“Alright, she’s local. I’ve got an address. But Ben – don’t expect her to cry when she sees you.”

“I’m not going for tears,” Ben said coldly.

Legend handed over a scrap of paper with her address scrawled on it. “You’re not who you used to be.”

Ben paused mid-way to the door and turned his head slightly. “I know,” he said. “That guy’s dead.”

And with that, he left the penthouse.

The wooded clearing was dead quiet as Ben stepped into it like it was a battlefield – except his eyes weren’t on the war anymore. The old trailer lights flickered in the distance, his boots crunching the gravel with heavy thuds.

And apparently, the universe had a fucking sense of humor.

Because the last person he’d expected to find in front of his ex-girlfriend’s trailer was his other ex-girlfriend – you. But Ben heard your voice before he even saw your face.

“Jesus, Butcher, I told you not to drug him. He’s gonna have a concussion,” you bitched.

Ben then recognized the second voice that answered you as well. Still that same British asshole from the lab.

“It’s fine, sunshine. Focus on the task at hand, yeah? We’ve got bigger fish to fry now than MM’s moral compass.”

Ben stepped closer till figures came into view. The British asshole was standing and found his gaze immediately with a wide smirk. But Ben’s eyes slid past the man, landing squarely on you, crouched down and tending to an unconscious guy by the trailer steps.

A flicker of anger roared alive inside of him. Familiar. Old. He’d carried it around with him for eighty years already, and a part of him wanted to see you burn for it.

For fucking lying. For ever darling to leave him.

But something stirred underneath the anger and hurt – longing.

For your voice, your body, your heart.

But you only glanced at him briefly – unfocused, unbothered. You looked pissed and worried, but none of it was for him. You sent a glare to the asshole in front of Ben before your attention slipped back to the man on the ground, checking his pulse and muttering a few more curses under your breath.

Did you–

Did you not recognize him?

Ben couldn’t entirely fault you for the lab. He’d crawled out of that pod a complete fucking mess. But now he looked more like himself again. Sure, maybe not the ‘42 version of him, but he hadn’t changed that much. Still as handsome as ever. Was it the fucking beard? Should he have shaved it after all?

The Brit then mumbled something about good faith and a team up, but Ben didn’t really listen. Whatever the fuck was going on here, you seemed to be a part of it, and he wasn’t going to lose your trail again.

Not now. Not ever.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d walk out of it alive, depending on how this would go – once he’d figured out what the hell was going on.

“What about her?” Ben gestured with his chin toward you once the asshole had finished his pitch. “Who’s she?”

“She’s one of you. Supe. Chronokinetic,” the guy told him and smirked. “Bit of a wildcard, but bloody handy in a pinch.”

So Ben had been right. He was almost proud of himself for solving that one.

But what the fuck were you doing here? Why were you so fucking calm around men with guns? This shouldn’t be your fucking life.

“Oi, sunshine. C’mere. Introduce yourself,” the Brit called you over.

You stood slowly and dusted off your jean shorts, muscles tense as Ben’s eyes pinned you in place like a knife through a photograph. You weren’t wearing a band shirt, a ‘40s dress, or even an overall this time. Just a plain black hoodie with white lettering that read: ‘Without geometry, life is pointless.’

Yeah, definitely you.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Ben asked, a charming but feigned smirk tugging at his lips, eyes squinting and grazing over you. Observing. Studying.

Still not a trace of recognition in your eyes.

Did you really not know him? Were you lying again? Might as well give it a shot and see what poured out.

And then you just gave him your name. No muss, no fuss, no lies. Like it wasn’t a big deal to begin with. You weren’t guarding it like a state secret or nuclear codes. Just your name, plain and simple.

“You know who I am?” Ben asked next and watched your face contort – brow knitted, nose scrunched, lips pursed. You thought he was fucking crazy – but definitely not someone you once shared a goddamn bed with.

“I mean, yeah,” you said and snorted an amused laugh. “You’re Soldier Boy. You were in my high school history books. My grandpa liked to talk about you when I was a kid.“

Ben bit his lips, hummed. Nodded. And he wasn’t sure yet what, but something had died inside of him.

The fuck–

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

You clearly had no fuckin’ clue. Did you forget? Did you really not know? What the fuck did that even mean?

This was fuckin’ absurd.

The first hint of disappointment then crashed over Ben. Anger gone. Hurt gone. Just disappointment that you couldn’t remember the real him, that you didn’t recognize him beyond what the world knew. You knew Soldier Boy, and for the first time in eighty years, he realized you’d be disappointed in him, too.

Sure, his hallucinations of you had been plenty opinionated over his actions, but they’d also been easy to ignore. But this was the real you, and he wasn’t the guy he used to be anymore.

Coming here to fry his ex probably didn’t help…

“Alright, Doc. Time to give the man his gift,” the asshole said and nodded toward the trailer.

You sighed, rolled your eyes slightly but didn’t argue. You looked fucking bored – like this was a goddamn chore. You dragged your feet back and held the trailer door open for him.

One thing the real you and his hallucination had in common, however: they were both fucking judgy.

Yeah, this first meeting wasn’t ideal. You were already looking at him like you’d decided you hated him the minute he opened his mouth.

He knew that look well.

But you’d done that back then, too. It didn’t mean anything. He could still turn it around.

Ben moved past you into the dim light of the trailer, cluttered with relics of a woman clinging to the scraps of fame. You followed, and then the two of you just stood there by the entrance. He narrowed his eyes past the beaded curtain, and sure enough, there was Countess, tied up on a chair and frozen mid-wail.

Jesus…

“So, how does it work? Your powers?” Ben asked, his voice rough like gravel as he tried to keep it steady.

He pretended to be unbothered, curious only for the sake of the reason why he was here, but on the inside, he was trembling and itching.

Because you were right fucking there – so close that if he stretched out his pinky right now, he could touch yours. He could feel your warmth radiate off your skin and brush his. He could fucking smell you – a scent he had never forgotten and chased for over eight decades trying to find it again.

He never could.

He’d forgotten so fucking much. Hadn’t even realized it till the temptation returned. The longing was fucking winning.

Over anger. Over pain. Over everything.

All he wanted to do now was grab you and kiss you like there was no fucking tomorrow because there truly never was a guarantee there’d be another one.

But how? To you, he was just a name in a book. A ghost on a screen.

Not Ben. Not yours. Not his.

His mind was goddamn racing, his heart pounding. He could already feel the hum in his chest.

This was all too goddamn much.

“It’s like a remote control. I can push Pause on a single object, a room full of people… Theoretically, even the whole world, but that’d take a lot of juice,” you explained.

“Can’t swing that much?”

You shook your head.

Ben gave a nod.

“She can’t feel anything right now. Not until you tell me to push Play,” you added.

“Like a VHS tape?” Ben quirked a brow.

Your lips rose to a faint smile. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

“This all you can do? Fuckin’ freeze people?” Ben tried to act goddamn normal, but every time he glanced at you, his heart almost exploded. “Can’t you hop through time as well? Chronokinetics can do that shit, right? Like the Terminator?”

You gave a soft chuckle. “I mean, yeah, I used to jump through time.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. “Used to?”

“It doesn’t work anymore. Long story,” you replied and didn’t elaborate further. “But hey, unless, you want me to drop off your ex during an Ice Age, this should be enough, right?”

Ben swiped his tongue over his lips, nodding slowly, still thinking. Still trying to make sense of it all.

Were you telling the truth or were you lying? Did you really not know him or just pretending you didn’t? Should he say something? Ask you flat out?

No, not yet…

His eyes fixed back on Countess, still frozen like a turkey before it was shoved into an oven.

“Why did you freeze her, anyway? She’s already tied up. Seems like overkill,” Ben said, glancing at you sideways.

Your gaze was on Countess too, head tilted, brows scrunched. Watching. Thinking. Judging. Ben could see the cogs turning in your head. He knew that look of yours well.

“She was annoying Butcher,” you replied with a hint of amusement. “And frankly me. She’s kinda a bitch.”

“Tell me about it.” He snorted a scoff, then nodded toward the door. “And Butcher? He’s the asshole outside?”

You simply nodded, a faint smirk twitching on your lips.

“What’s his deal?”

Your amusement didn’t fade when you replied, “Much like you, he’s clinging to revenge fantasies. He’s CIA.”

Ben’s brows shot up. “That asshole’s CIA?”

“Yeah,” you snorted. “Didn’t buy it either when he knocked on my door, but it’s true.”

“And you’re CIA, too?”

“Uh, no…” you said slowly at first and hesitated. “I mean, now I guess I am. I’ve only known the guy for a month. I don’t usually get involved with all this supe shit.”

Supe shit.

The way you said it made Ben think you didn’t count yourself as one of them. Like you were something better. Above it all – especially the theatrics that came with it.

But Ben didn’t like any of it. Didn’t like you being here. Didn’t like you working with these people. Didn’t like how that asshole out there used you to do his bidding like you were some goddamn pet.

Made him fuckin' angry.

Ben arched an eyebrow, gave you a little smile – harmless like a lamb. “And what did you do instead then, sweetheart? Before all this?”

“I was a physics professor at a small college in Canada,” you replied.

Huh. That fit. Fit with what you’d told him. And it made more sense to him than anything else in this world – more sense than seeing you here in the middle of this shit.

“You know, I can keep her like that, and you can just do your thing,” you noted carefully. “That way she won’t feel anything.”

Ben’s jaw tightened, his gaze swerving back to Countess. “No, I want her to fuckin’ feel it,” he said after a beat.

Your head bobbed thoughtfully. “You sure about that?”

Ben looked at you then, eyes finding yours. His heart stuttered. He almost smiled, thinking his hallucinations of you had never been far off.

But you were… real.

You might have lied to him about parts of your life – about who you truly were or where you came from – but underneath it all, you were still undeniably you. Still judging, still observing, still asking impossible question he never really had an answer to.

He swallowed once and kept his eyes on you as he spoke, “She lied to my face. Said she loved me but then fuckin’ left when I needed her the most.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t twitch a single muscle, like those words had no affect on you at all. You just listened and stared at him with a trace of sympathy in your eyes.

“Yeah, I saw what they did to you, you know?” you said. “Your old team. In Nicaragua.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. “How?”

“I can… glimpse into moments of time, too,” you explained. “Past, mostly. Future’s still fluctuating. Not as certain. Too many variables. But I can tell you who wins the next Super Bowl.”

You gave him a little grin. He matched it.

“Who?”

“Chiefs.”

Ben grunted, rolling his eyes back.

You giggled softly, the sound snaking into his heart. “You a Giants fan, huh?”

“Eagles.”

“Huh. Really?”

“I’m from Philly,” he found himself saying.

And then suddenly, it all became too much. Too fucking real. You had no idea who he was, who he’d been. You didn’t know him at all.

And what, was he supposed to pretend he didn’t know every part of you already, either? He wasn’t sure he could do that. How the fuck did he end up here?

Fuckin’ absurd…

His eyes landed back on his other ex tied to a chair. If he wanted a future with you, he had to clean up his past first. But he didn’t want you to see who he’d become. He just wanted you to see who he’d been.

“You’re gonna keep chattin’ or get the fuck out now? Don’t need a fuckin’ audience for this,” he said, colder now. He didn’t want you to watch. Maybe to protect you or maybe to protect himself. He wasn’t sure which one it was yet.

But he was determined to drag you out of this fucking mess with both hands.

‘Sides, what was he supposed to fucking do anyway? Walk back out there and say he’d changed his mind because the smartass with tits had a heart to heart with him?

No fuckin’ way.

He had to portray strength to his fucking enemies, or they’d come for him again. Sure, Ben hadn’t cared about shit, but if there was one thing he’d learned – no one else did fucking either.

But more importantly, a supe like you? The world would be coming for you.

To use you. To kill you.

You were too naive, too good, too fucking soft to see that. But he wasn’t – and he’d take fucking care of it.

Your brow scrunched at his harsher tone in that same miffed way of yours. It always had. It’s how he knew it’d work. You’d be fine.

“Gee, as you wish, asshole,” you huffed and then stomped your little feet back outside.

And as soon as the door swung shut behind you, Crimson Countess roared back to life – at least for the next ten minutes before it all went up in flames.

The asshole managed to pick the shittiest motel straight off the highway. It stank of mold, old cigarette smoke, and bleach. This was where someone came to murder fucking hookers – not have a goddamn reunion after eighty years with the love of their life.

But alas, here he was, in a bathroom with rusty red rims around the drains, as if people had already been dismembered by the fucking mob in here.

He’d washed of the grit and grime, the smoke and ash of earlier and found himself in a pair of gray sweats that fit a little too loose and a goddamn Giants jersey. You’d gotten it for him at a gas station. Gave it to him with a tiny smirk, like you were messing with him on purpose because he’d been unreasonably mean to you earlier.

And boy, had you fucking judged him once he’d walked out of that trailer – well, whatever had been left of it anyway. You didn’t say a word, not the whole car ride here, just glared at him every once in a while and let him feel it.

Luckily, that wasn’t entirely new. You’d done that to him in the past as well – the silent treatment, that fucking pout… Whenever he’d done something back then that irked you, you’d let him stew in it. Sometimes you’d even punished him for it – and not in the fucking fun way. Especially whenever he’d underestimated you, you’d hit him with a mental slap so hard his head was still spinning hours later. He’d secretly loved it, though. Turned him the fuck on.

But from experience he knew – your anger would pass. It always did.

For now, though, you were here, chatting outside this very bathroom with a British asshole and some scrawny kid that looked like he’d pissed himself after his girlfriend yelled a little at him.

But God, your fuckin’ voice…

He hadn’t heard that sound in decades – not the real thing at least. And the original was goddamn better than the stupid recording in his skull.

“Where are you guys off to?” your honeyed melody flowed through the thin wall – suspicious, pissed.

Those idiots out there thought he couldn’t hear them. But Ben could even hear the couple fucking three doors down.

“Supply run,” the asshole replied. “The patriotic princess in there gave us a ryder like he’s fuckin’ Mariah Carey. You’re on Cold War nuke duty, sunshine, while me and little Hughie go out there and shake down a cuppa dealers.”

Who the fuck is Mariah Carey?

“Wait, what?” String Bean threw in.

“Don’t worry 'bout it,” the asshole dismissed.

“Do I look like a fucking babysitter for a nuclear warhead to you?” you huffed. “I’m about to freeze both of you and walk out of here.”

Nuclear warhead? Babysitter?!

“Alright, alright,” the asshole soothed. “Look, sunshine, hate to break it to ya, but if grandpa in there goes nuclear again, you’re the only one who can cool down the bloody core, so to speak.”

Ah. So that was why they were leaving you with him – you were his goddamn fail-safe. Fuckin’ great…

“Oh, so you want me to freeze the Fat Man in there every time he’s about to fucking drop,” you realized dryly.

The fuck–

“Smart as always,” the asshole confirmed.

“Well, you know, there’s, like, a lot of people in this motel, and he’s not… stable,” String Bean said, voice weak and jittering, probably giving you a fucking puppy dog look on top of it. “You said so yourself.”

You have?

“Yeah, what he said, Doc.”

Ben could hear the asshole’s triumphant smirk through the goddamn door.

“‘Sides, would be nice if we could catch a couple hours of sleep. Maybe? Please?” The kid’s voice was pleading, and Ben knew you’d break at that whiny tone.

You exhaled a deep sigh, capitulated as expected. Ben waited a couple more minutes after they left, spritzed cold water on his face before feeling ready enough to face you.

When the bathroom door creaked open, you didn’t look up. He found you sitting on one of the beds, glowing rectangle in your hands, thumb gliding over the sleek surface like it was second nature. The phone flickered with light and colors like a handheld television from some alien planet, while you were all angles and distance, backlit by a blue hue.

Ben cleared his throat, but you didn’t even glance up.

“Bathroom didn’t explode. Guess that’s progress,” you commented wryly.

He pursed his lips, biting the insides of his cheeks. The room felt fucking suffocating. What was the goddamn plan here? Was he just supposed to talk to you and act like any of this was fucking normal?

He needed more goddamn answers. Drugs. Booze. Somethin’.

“So, they stuck you with babysittin’ duty, huh?” Ben asked with a small chuckle, trying to break the ice. Trying to bond. Talk to you like he used to.

“Yup,” you said and popped the p, still not looking up. “If you’re gonna be a good boy and not blow up, I’ll get you a juice box, some crayons, and a coloring book.”

Ben frowned, smacked his lips, and bobbed his head, sauntering over to the dresser where Butcher had put down the bottle of cheap whiskey.

Yeah, he needed some goddamn booze to survive this night…

“You know, I could hear you guys in there,” Ben noted lightly and flicked his chin toward the bathroom.

“I know.”

He then sighed a little and ran a hand through his hair. “You called me a nuclear warhead.”

“You are a nuclear warhead,” you replied unapologetically, eyes still focused on the screen.

“So…” Ben started, ignoring your little jab with a deep exhale. “You and that asshole?”

“What about it?” You still didn’t give him the time of day. Didn’t even flinch or shift.

And all Ben could think about was how you once looked at him like he hung the goddamn moon for you.

“You two a thing?” He tried to sound casual – not like a positive answer would cause him to torch this entire dump.

You snorted a loud laugh at that and finally looked at him. “What? No.”

Your nose scrunched, and Ben’s heart calmed slightly till the next thought crossed his mind.

“What about the twig? The one who looks like he’d snap in a stiff wind?”

You arched an eyebrow. “Who? Hughie?”

Ben hated how you said that name – caring, fond, familiar. You always had a soft spot for the weaklings.

“Yeah,” Ben grunted and gulped down a big sip of whiskey straight from the bottle.

Luckily, you chuckled in amusement. “No, nothing going on there. Hughie is like a little brother I have to keep from accidentally killing himself.”

Yeah, that makes sense, Ben thought with relief and felt his chest unclench. Just another kid playing soldier…

“Why are you asking about my love life?” you prompted with a suspicious smile, making his shoulders flinch subtly.

“‘M not,” Ben brushed it off casually with a sniff of his nose. “Just wondering how a smart girl like you ended up with that crew of fuckups.”

“It’s complicated,” you said simply and turned your focus back to your phone.

“Bet it is,” he muttered under his breath and took another gulp of whiskey. “Care to fuckin’ elaborate?”

“Not really…”

Ben rubbed his eyes, then his temples. Jesus fuck, you were harder to crack than the goddamn Zodiac Killer code. Had it been this hard the first time around, too? He couldn’t remember exactly, but he recalled he had to work for it back in ‘42 as well.

“Alright, just tell me what I’m gettin’ into here,” he said honestly, trying a new angle.

You looked up then, titled your head, and blew out a sigh between your lips. “Alright, fine. Butcher found me about a month ago. Wanted me to find a weapon.”

“Weapon?” Ben’s brow furrowed, keeping the whiskey bottle attached to his lips.

Your lips rose to a wry smile. “Yeah, you.”

Ben swallowed, drank more, and tried to ignore the tear in his gut. A weapon. So that was what you saw him as now – not someone to love, not a boyfriend. Just a walking nuke in need of round-the-clock supervision.

Great. That really put a dent into his romantic dinner plans.

“Well, technically, Butcher wanted me to find the weapon that killed you,” you clarified. “They discovered your death in Ohio was a cover-up by Vought. Frenchie has contacts in the Russian mob or something, I guess. He works for Butcher, too.” You shook your head, clearing your wandering mind. “Anyways, they found out about a botched operation in Nicaragua, so Butcher wanted me to look where the weapon is now.”

“With that little glimpsing thing of yours?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling in a way that made his heart ache. “Turned out the Russians didn’t kill you.”

“Damn straight they didn’t.” Ben nodded and downed more whiskey. He was already halfway through the bottle. Good thing the asshole went out on that supply run.

“But Butcher still wanted to find out how they knocked you out,” you said with a small grin. Teasing. “So he booked plane tickets to Russia.”

Ben nodded slowly, letting the information settle. “What does he need a weapon for?”

You let out a long breath, lips curling. “I’m sure he’s gonna tell you that himself. Can’t give away the big surprise. He kinda lives for that.”

Ben’s brow wrinkled, but he didn’t press. Frankly, he didn’t care enough to. He just wanted answers about you. “Why did you agree to help? You don’t seem like the type to get involved in all this… supe shit.”

You laughed a little, twitched your brows. “Yeah, I usually don’t. I honestly never had much contact with the others. And the few I’ve met so far were…” You licked your plush lips, trying to find the right words.

Ben found them for you.

“Psychotic little freaks?”

You snorted and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, why are you helping that British twat?” Ben ventured a little further.

Your head bobbed thoughtfully for a moment, like you were deciding if you could trust him or not. Ben ignored the stabbing feeling in his ribcage.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” you said, then bit down on your lower lip – thinking. “In physics, we have something called the Second Law of Thermodynamics. It describes how in a closed system, entropy always increases over time.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’d forgotten about that part – the endless physics lectures. At least back then, he’d get rewarded for listening – with you taking his cock into your mouth.

Now he’d just get the words without the fucking.

“Meaning…?” he played along as his fucking migraine started.

“Things naturally fall apart. Systems tend toward chaos, not order. It means you have to expend energy to maintain structure,” you explained with a small smile.

Ben mirrored it, finally understanding why you’d always loved standing in front of a blackboard.

Professor. Yeah, that made fucking sense now. You’d always gotten so turned on by teaching him shit.

Were you turned on right now, too? Ben was sure he could probably get you to fuck him. If he just upped the charm and went fully in, he could make you writhe underneath him tonight.

But then what? He needed to figure this shit out first.

“If we apply that to the modern world, we’re watching a complex societal system steadily lose coherence,” you continued. “Institutions are eroding. Trust is decaying. Information systems are overloaded. We’re heading toward maximum disorder – fast.”

Ben scoffed a chuckle. “Is this your way of telling me the world’s ending, sweetheart?”

“No, Earth will be fine. Humanity won’t be,” you said matter-of-factly. Logically. “Look, I don’t… agree with all of Butcher’s methods, but without intentional energy, we’ll spiral into decay. Entropy loves apathy. It starts with ‘who cares,’ ends with ‘Heil whatever.’ And sure, I could’ve stayed home, not gotten involved, and told myself it wasn’t my fucking problem, but eventually, decay would’ve come for me, too. Fascism thrives on unconsciousness. History always fucking repeats itself.”

“Ain’t that right,” Ben huffed in agreement with another sip of his drink. But something else tugged at him.

It all struck a nerve deep inside him. He had seen a lot of shit over the decades, but he’d never cared about it. Played hero for the glory and the money, but you spoke with such conviction as if you actually believed in the product you were selling.

You scoffed, tilting your head at him. “Really? You agree?”

Ben remained calm, even though he could see the challenging gleam in your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean, hm? I fought for my fuckin’ country.”

“Right.” You gave him a nod – sarcastic to the bone. Then you slowly leaned forward on your knees – collected, fearless, not backing the fuck down. “You killed my friend’s family back in the ‘80s. Called it collateral. You went after people till there was no one left when they came for you. You’re the fucking poster boy for decay. You talk like you’re fighting the rot, but you’re just part of the problem. You’re all manufactured patriotism, empty slogans, and fists over facts. Tell me – when’s the last time you actually cared about something that wasn’t your own goddamn ego?”

Well, fuck him. Brains won over brawn once again. He tried not to show how deep your words truly cut. His hallucination of you always called him fucking hollow. Seemed like real you did, too.

Ben nodded, clicked his tongue, and gave you a tight smile. “Not a fan, huh?”

“No.”

Simple, cold, and brutally honest. Just like you always had been. Made his heart swell for all the wrong reasons.

Ben’s face twitched. He could’ve argued. Said that the last time he cared about something, he’d cared about you. He could’ve even slipped on the mask like he would’ve done if anyone else had said that shit to him. Said some bullshit about how he wasn’t the rot, but the one that survived it. But instead, he went for something in between:

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart. Trust me.”

“I know enough,” you muttered just as quick and returned to your phone, not bothering to argue further.

Ben locked his jaw tight, clenched his fists subtly by his sides. So that was what you truly thought about him, huh? But the worst part was how fucking right you were in your assessment – and how much it fucking hurt.

Click, click, click.

Your eyes flicked to another strange device on the nightstand, brow furrowing as lights of green, yellow, and red flashed alive. Then your gaze landed on him.

“The fuck is that?” Ben gestured to the item in question.

“It’s a Geiger counter. Measures radiation. Tells me when you’re close to blowing a fuse,” you explained, narrowing your eyes at him, head tilting again. “Apparently, it’s tied to your emotions. Interesting. Is your pulse spiking?”

Fucking Christ on a cross…

“Turn it off,” he growled. He didn’t want a stupid little box to tell you when he was getting upset like some goddamn hall monitor.

“No,” you bit back with that fiery look in your eyes. “I’m trying to keep a block of civilians safe from you.”

“Just fuckin’ freeze me when I start glowing. That’s what you’re fuckin’ here for, right? How’s that?”

“Too risky,” you countered. Didn’t expand on your answer like you thought he was too stupid to understand it.

“Why?” Ben gritted through his teeth.

You let out an exhaustive sigh and contemplated something again. But after a beat, you seemed to cave. “It’s not that simple. Your powers–… the little nuclear reactor in your chest?”

“What about it?” Ben asked gruffly but slumped down on the second bed across from you, ready to listen nonetheless.

You licked your lips, surely weighing how much you could share without getting into trouble. Like he still couldn’t be fucking trusted.

“You don’t just go off like a regular bomb. As soon as you emit enough radiation, supes around you also lose their abilities. I think it’s because the nuclear energy reacted and bonded with the Compound V in your system in some way. Probably to help your body withstand that much energy. But back at the lab, you hit a friend of mine. You burnt the V right outta her. Made her human.”

Ben was quiet for a minute – a rarity. Good to know. And fucking bad for his enemies, which he had plenty of. But it also meant something else.

“So you can’t freeze me anymore when I’m too far gone. That what you’re sayin'?”

You nodded and smiled like he’d gotten an A on a test. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

Ben sighed and ran a hand over his face, drumming his palms on his thighs. “Alright,” he said at last. “Keep the fuckin' thing on, I guess.”

Frankly, he didn’t care as much about the junkies, prostitutes, and other scum in this shithole that could potentially die from his fallout. But he fucking cared about your safety.

Also wouldn’t be in his interest if you lost your fucking powers. He’d fling himself off a building if he had to keep playing pretend with you forever. The last few hours had already scorched him from the inside out.

“As you wish,” you said, but he caught the little winning smirk twitching on your lips.

It almost made him goddamn smile.

Ben rubbed his jaw then, watching you for a moment. You were right fucking there. And still, he couldn’t just reach out. It seemed like some goddamn cosmic joke. The Reds might’ve been done torturing him, but the universe clearly wasn’t.

And you obviously weren’t, either.

“Look, uhm, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Ben said, clearing his throat a little. “I’m not the same guy anymore, alright? Maybe I changed. Isn’t there some physics law for that shit too that you could apply?”

You smiled – genuine this time. And fuck, did it make his heart burn alive like it hadn’t in decades.

He still knew how to talk to you – like riding a fucking bike. Like you’d never fucking left.

“Newton’s First Law,” you replied.

“See? Well, let’s go with that,” he agreed casually and leaned back against the headboard, feet up, satisfied.

You snorted slightly and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you even know what it means?”

“Do I need to?” Ben raised his brow, although he knew the answer already, but he let you talk anyway, listened to your voice in his ears like it was gospel.

Because to him, it fucking was.

You giggled softly, the sound like warm honey. “Kinda, yeah. Would probably help. It just means that a person in motion stays in motion in the same direction – unless something acts on them. You don’t change paths because you want to. You change because something hits you hard enough to knock you off your trajectory.”

Ben nodded, drank a little more, then gave you another tight-lipped smile. “Well, consider me fuckin’ hit, sweetheart.”

And he was – by you.

“Guess we’ll see,” you replied with a part-intrigued and part-challenging shimmer in your eyes, but for once you seemed happy with his answer.

And thank fucking God for that. He wasn’t sure how many rounds he could’ve still held up before you’d knocked out his fucking brain.

“But maybe you’re not wrong,” you added and bit your lip, surprising him. “I mean, Vought did you dirty, right? Maybe you can finally use all that energy and anger you have and aim it at something that deserves it.”

“You bet your ass I will,” he said. Smirked. And your lips even hiked up a little. “So that’s what this little dysfunctional group is about? You guys wanna bring down fuckin’ Vought?”

“In a way, yeah. It’s part of it,” you replied as mysterious and closed off as ever.

Some things really never fucking changed.

“Alright, tell me somethin’. I’m curious. What beef you got with Vought?” he asked slyly. Felt fucking smug for being so clever. “I mean, you’re a chronokinetic or whatever. Rare ability, right? Powerful, too. ‘M sure they had their greedy claws all over you. What, got tired of being their little puppet?”

“I never was their puppet,” you said. “And sure, chronokinesis can be a… powerful, messy, possibly disastrous ability, which is why they probably wanted to kill me in the first place.”

“They, what?” His head snapped toward you.

“Don’t look so shocked,” you said with an amused snort like it wasn’t a big deal. “Vought was scared I could mess up the timeline, fuck with their business too much... You think someone like Stan Edgar is gonna risk keeping that around? There’s powerful, and then there’s too powerful. One’s useful, one’s a threat. You know that better than anyone.”

Ben nodded slowly, the words sinking in. “Stan Edgar? That bastard’s still around?”

“Yeah, he’s the CEO of Vought now.”

That slimy fucking asshole. Of course he was. Legend wasn’t the only one that survived like a goddamn cockroach.

“He the one that threatened you?” Ben tried to sound fucking calm, but he was grinding his molars down to dust.

“Yeah, he thought I was gonna mess up… history, I guess,” you said. “I didn’t really use my abilities in that way, though.”

Ben’s brow knitted slightly, putting the bottle back to his lips. He squinted his eyes, watched you closely. “How did you use ‘em?”

You pursed your lips, so he clocked instantly that you’d done some shit. They all fucking had – supes, that is. Ben understood the temptation only too well. The only question was:

What was your goddamn poison?

“You know… fun stuff. Things that made life a little easier. Like more time on homework or pranking very… bitchy classmates. Sometimes used it to teach people a lesson.”

Well, shit. Looked like he’d gotten himself a little trickster on his hands. Adorable – and fuckin’ exhausting.

He gave you a little smirk. Charming. Coaxing. “That all, sweetheart? Skip the high school years.”

And there it was – a little twinkle in your eyes. He still got it, and you still fucking fell for it.

“Well…” Your lip looked almost swollen the way you’d been chewing that thing. Made him fuckin’ crazy. “You know, I went to see historical events I was curious about or talk to famous scientists and philosophers… Went to concerts of old bands. Like sixties, seventies…”

Sixties. Old. Ben snorted internally at the pain in his chest.

“So you partied a little and talked to a bunch of dead nerds,” he summarized wryly.

He could handle that. Shut that shit down, even. Keep you in line.

“Guess so.” You giggled, cheeks turning a little rosy. “But I was always careful not to screw anything up. Never shared too much. Never stayed anywhere longer than three days. Except the last time.”

Ben’s jaw moved a little. “What happened last time? Where d’you go?”

“Middle Ages – on accident. There was a… glitch. Got stuck there for a week.”

Ben stalked one, two steps closer to you. “Stuck, huh?”

“Yeah, but before that, it was pretty awesome,” you said, a little grin crossing your lips. “I even had this whole birthday tradition of working through my bucket list of the coolest things history had to offer.”

Well, well, look how far a little smirk’ll get’cha…

Had he been on your bucket list? Was that why you came there? He couldn’t really blame you if that was the case. He’d had groupies before.

But you weren’t a fan, were you?

So, did you get stuck in ‘42? Was that why you stayed? Why you left?

“And how did you get out? Vought had you in their sights, right? I know they don’t lose track of their assets, and you’re clearly not in a body bag,” Ben noted slyly, smirking even though the thought hurt. “So, who did you break, burn, or bribe?”

You gave him a raised look. “No one,” you replied. “I still had my full abilities back then. Little hard to catch me.”

Oh, he knows…

“I disappeared to 1925 Paris. I met Paul Langevin at one of Gertrude Stein’s parties there,” you said, and Ben nodded like he knew who those fucking people were. Probably physicists, so who the fuck really cared? “He told me about McGill University in Canada. Went there the next day – my present time – stole some dead person’s ID, and kept my head down for the next few years. Got my PhD in Quantum Gravity.”

Ben didn’t even pretend to understand any of that. He also knew asking you more questions about it would only lead to more complicated words.

He understood gravity. It made things fucking fall. What more was there to know?

And then, suddenly, a memory hit him like a goddamn backhand to the face.

1983. That stupid meeting he had with Edgar. He’d put you on Vought’s radar back then, running his mouth like a fucking dumbass. And Edgar, that smug piece of shit, filed it away and fucking waited for you. Waited for Ben not to be around and protect you.

Stan had always been ten fucking steps ahead, hadn’t he?

Ben swore in that moment he’d kill the guy. Not like Stan hadn’t already been on his list, but now he’d make sure he’d enjoy it too – tearing that asshole apart piece by fucking piece. Slowly.

His blood was boiling, but he wasn’t just mad at Edgar. He was mostly mad at himself – and he hated admitting that more than anything else. But it was all his fucking fault, wasn’t it?

Ben was the reason you were here. He was the reason why Vought had hunted you. He was the reason why no one had protected you. Why you worked with all these assholes and put yourself in danger.

Because he hadn’t been there when you’d needed him the most. Hadn’t been the man he was supposed to be – the one he’d promised you he’d be.

You shouldn’t fucking be here.

Click, click, click, CLIIICK…

The Geiger counter’s needle spiked dangerously into the red. Your eyes flicked to the device, then warily to him.

Ben hated that fucking thing.

“You good?”

“Peachy,” he grumbled.

“You sure?”

His glare slowly wandered to you. “I said I’m fine.”

You pursed your lips and raised your hands in surrender, letting it go. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

Ben exhaled a frustrated breath and shook his head clear. “No, look, I’m good, alright? Promise,” he assured you, and your shoulders lost a little bit of their tension. “So you hauled up in Canada with the fucking leaf lickers for the past few years, huh?”

Your lips involuntarily curled into a smile. You tried to push it down – unsuccessfully. Ben felt like he won the goddamn Super Bowl. Fuck the Chiefs.

“Yep, lived in a cabin off the grid,” you said. “But it was kinda a blessing in disguise, you know?”

Ben’s brow pinched doubtfully. “How so? ‘Cause you got to date fuckin’ lumberjacks with moose breath?”

“Jesus,” you snorted, laughing. “What’s with the obsession over my dating life?”

“Nothin’,” he lied and shrugged it off. Gave you a lazy smirk. “Just making polite conversation.”

Phew. You bought that, right?

You quirked a brow. “That’s your idea of polite?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “What d’you know about it, huh? You’ve been living under a rock and buried in books for–… well, I don’t know how long, but I’m guessin’ it’s been a while since you can’t even hold a goddamn conversation like a normal fuckin’ person.”

“Says the guy who’s been frozen since the nineties,” you quipped. You then leaned your head softly back against the headboard and sighed almost theatrically – like you’d held that one in for hours already. “I can’t wait to get back to my old life. I miss my grad students.”

Ben watched you then for a long time. Didn’t even care to hide it. He’d seen that look in your eyes before – that… dread. You’d had it as well when he first met you. He understood it more now.

You’d been missing something, hadn't you?

“How old are you anyway?” he prompted, taking you by surprise. He cleared his throat more casually, got rid of the rasp in his voice and the awkwardness on his tongue. “I mean… you look a little young for a professor. You’re, what? Twenty? Twenty-… four, maybe?”

Luckily, you only laughed softly at his… well, whatever the fuck that was.

“Uh, flattering, but no. I’m twenty-nine.”

Twenty–… WHAT?!

His brain was fuckin’ hurtin'.

So, 2022 minus 29 was like… Nope. 42 plus 24… Nope, that didn’t sound right either. 2022 minus 24 plus 29… What the fuck was he missing?

You’d told him you were twenty-four in ‘42, but now you were twenty-nine, which meant… Well, what the hell did it mean?

Shit.

You should remember him, right? That was the whole goddamn point. He didn’t need fucking math for that answer.

So, what? Was it memory loss? Was he supposed to kiss you awake like you were some goddamn Disney princess?

No, he figured that wouldn’t go over well either just by looking at you right now. You still didn’t like him a whole lot.

What the hell did it mean?

Click, click, click, click…

Goddammit!

“Are you okay?” As expected, you cocked your head and looked at him like he was a toddler with a flamethrower. “You want some weed?”

His head lifted, eyes blinking. His brow raised. “You packin’?”

Well, there was something fun the two of you had never done together before.

“I bought some earlier at the gas station,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders.

“At the gas station?” His brow furrowed.

“Yeah, they had a shop there.”

“A shop?”

“What is this, Jeopardy?” you retorted before your eyes widened almost apologetically. “Oh, right! You don’t know. It’s legal now. You can just go in a store and buy it.”

“That shit’s legal now?”

You grinned, all teeth and sunshine. “Pretty cool, right?”

He huffed a sigh and let his head fall back, staring at the clattering AC in the ceiling. “First good news I’ve heard all week…”

And he meant it.

Ben then watched you pull a little vile from your jeans pocket and grab a small tin box from the nightstand. But as he tried to take it from you, you slapped his reaching hand away, which – bold fucking move.

But you didn’t seem to care. Didn’t twitch. Just carried on – like he couldn’t punch a hole into you.

It was sort of nice. You treated him like he was normal (well, sort of if he excluded the annoying clicking thing). But he couldn’t remember the last time anyone’s treated him like that.

And Ben didn’t know if it was the V in your blood and the fact you could just fuckin’ freeze people like they were some mere vegetables that made you so daring, or if it was just… you.

“Just trust me. I got this. This is your first time in a while, right?” you said, sounded excited even. He nodded slowly. “‘M gonna make it fucking hit.”

Did you ever fucking hear yourself sometimes?

“I’m not a virgin, y’know?” he retorted, smirking, but his eyes drifted to your skilled fingers as they rolled their little arts and crafts project.

“Oh, you are when it comes to this,” you said, tongue sticking out between your teeth in concentration. Drove him fuckin’ nuts. “You ever had a cross joint?”

He swayed his head from side to side, hummed. “Heard of it. Never had the pleasure.”

“Well, you’re about to be fucking pleasured.” You grinned all cheeky and smug, making his goddamn heart flip.

Seriously, did you not fucking hear yourself?!

“You know, there’s other ways to pleasure me, sweetheart.” He smirked. You didn’t say anything, just cocked your brow, waiting for him to talk circles around himself. And he did. “Just sayin’, it’s been forty years since I had some goddamn pussy.”

Your lips rose to a smile – amused. “And you’re going for a pity fuck?”

“Wouldn’t be pity, sweetheart. Trust me,” he replied smugly, gave you his most charming grin that always used to get your panties fucking wet.

The amusement grew on your face. “Trust me. It would be.”

He frowned. Sighed. “Whatever, suit yourself,” he huffed. “Your fuckin’ loss.”

Worth a shot.

Was this gonna take him fuckin’ months again? He’d already fucked you. What was the goddamn big deal? And now, you were right there. He could touch you. He could, couldn’t he?

Fucking absurd…

“And what a loss that is,” you retorted teasingly and went straight back to building your little weed airplane.

“You know what I don’t get–” he started, but you cut right in.

“I’m guessing a lot.”

Ben pursed his lips, swallowed another sigh down. “Careful.”

You looked up and blinked. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just–… you missed forty years of pop culture and technological advancement. Gotta be confusing. A lot happened since the ‘80s.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he muttered, his eyes drifting to the little sleek, black box next to you on the mattress. “So, that’s what counts as a phone these days, huh?”

Your gaze followed his. “Oh yeah, but it’s more than that. It’s a camera, a photo album, a TV, a shopping list, a… Walkmen.”

“Flashlight?”

“Yup.” You grabbed the phone and a light flared up with the tap of your finger. “Very handy when you need to pee at night.”

Fuck me.

Ben’s brow knitted more, eyes narrowing at the device. “Is that why everyone keeps staring at that thing like it’s a Sears catalogue and they just hit the lingerie section?”

“Something like that, yeah.” You snorted a laugh. “Guess it is a bad habit of the 21st century. Kinda guilty of doom scrolling myself. Pretty sure it’s part of our little entropy problem.”

“Didn’t understand a single word of that,” he said, chewing his bottom lip.

“Trust me. You’re lucky you don’t,” you said and then brought the half-finished joint to your lips, wet the paper with your pink tongue, and rolled it into a tight little stick between your delicate fingers.

God, he was fucking jealous of that thing.

“Is it done?”

“No. Now comes the best part. You’re gonna like this one,” you said and gave him a little smirk again. “Now, we make a small hole into the big one and thread the other one through it.”

And then you did just that, and Ben watched you make art out of junk again like he’d done so many times before, just spending endless afternoons sitting next to you in the shed, chatting your ear off and trying to poke holes into your walls while you performed brilliant little miracles.

“Look at this baby.” You grinned proudly and held up your creation. “It’s a marvel of combustion engineering.”

Fucking shoot him now.

“Christ, you’re even nerdy when it comes to fuckin’ drugs,” he muttered, sighing. And God, was he getting hard.

“How can you not be?” You smiled, unbothered, just happy in all your nerdy glory. “It’s a trifurcated burn front. You’re maximizing both surface area and burn velocity with this thing.”

Fuckin' cute.

“What that mean in fucking English?” he deadpanned.

“You get stupid high and it looks cool as hell,” you said, smirking wide, and handed the mother of all joints to him.

“How do I light this little science fair project?” Ben asked as he put the filtered tip between his lips and hauled out the Zippo from his pocket.

You grabbed not one but two more lighters from your little box, gave him a countdown like you were launching a fucking rocket to the moon, and then you lit the two ends on the sides while he did the middle one.

And Jesus fuck, did it hit.

He swallowed smoke and tried not to cough like a fucking pussy. He still huffed out a deep laugh with a cloud of weed. “Fuck me, you’re like the Cosby of fuckin’ joints, sweetheart.”

You gave him a look. “Uhm…”

“It’s a compliment.”

“Not sure about that one,” you mumbled in sing-song. “Does it help?”

Ben smirked lazily. “Best damn babysitter I ever had.”

“Well, as long as you don’t blow us all up now, I count it as a win,” you said and got up, plopping down on the old couch in the room, phone in hand.

“You want to?” Ben held out the reefer to you, but you shook your head.

“No, I’m good.”

He sighed a little again. So much for his plan to get you fucking high and crawl between your thighs. But he was a persistent motherfucker, and ‘giving up’ wasn’t really part of his vocabulary.

You used to steal his cigarettes and drinks. Now, look at you. What the fuck happened?

“So, tell me about me you,” he prompted, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Why?”

Jesus fuck.

“Just answer the question,” he retorted with a huff and a thin thread of patience. “I’m tryna make conversation. Hadn’t had one in a while with someone who speaks fuckin’ English. Not that you count. You don’t speak fucking English either most times.”

You smiled a little at that, amused. “Fair enough,” you relented and gave him your full attention then, folding your hands over your knees and leaning forward. “What d’you wanna know? First grade basics? Favorite color? Do I like unicorns?”

Ben scowled. “You know, back in my day, women were a little different.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘oppressed,’” you quipped all fucking smug.

His frown deepened, but he decided to move past it, knowing better than to fucking argue with you about that one. Wasn’t the first time he heard it, either. But Ben knew you'd been fucking happy back then. He'd made you happy.

Now you were treating him like he was the goddamn enemy of the state.

How did he fucking end up here? That shit surely hadn’t been on his damn bingo card.

He was supposed to have a house and kids and maybe a dog if you wanted one. He was supposed to watch you tinker on little inventions, get fucking rich, and live happily next to you till he dropped dead at a reasonable age.

That had been the dream. Simple, really.

And now? Now, he sat in a shitty motel, 103-years-old and a nuclear bomb, with a 74-years-younger girlfriend (he finally did the math), who couldn’t even fucking remember him. Never married. Never had kids. Never even had a fucking gold fish. Technically homeless as of this moment. And poor. And fake dead.

Fucking absurd.

But still, he found the silver lining – he could finally receive answers to questions he’d been asking himself for fucking decades.

“How about you just cut the sarcasm back a little and tell me where you grew up, huh? Can’t be that hard to fuckin’ answer,” he muttered.

Oh, but it was, wasn’t it? You never could tell him that. Guarded it like you knew where fucking Jesus went after his resurrection.

“Jersey.”

“Huh.” Ben stumped. Well, that was fucking easy this time ‘round. Jersey girl. Who knew?

“Grew up in a trailer park,” you added.

“No shit.” Ben tried to seem unaffected, but something curled inside of him. “That why you became a supe? Hoping it’s your ticket out?”

He couldn’t really blame you. He fell for that stupid trap himself. Even his reasons had been the same – escape the life he had. It could happen to anyone, even to the fucking smartest on this planet – like him and you.

“Wasn’t really my decision,” you replied, somewhat bitter. He sat up straighter at that and found your eyes. “My parents signed up for that Vought program.”

“What Vought program?”

The sting in his chest grew more intense. Like someone punched a fist between his ribs and squeezed.

“Vought ran these programs – recruited parents,” you explained slowly like you didn’t really want to talk about it. “Mostly from low-income families. They told them if they had kids, they could get them into Compound V trials. Have their kid become a hero, make money off of them… Well, you know the story.”

He did.

“They made parents sign NDAs too,” you continued. “Tell kids their abilities were a ‘natural gift.’ Truth didn’t come out till a couple years ago. Mostly because of Butcher, so he’s at least got that going for him, I guess.”

Ben was quiet for a moment, took a long drag from his weird-ass doobie. Tried not to make the fucking clicking thing go off again.

He’d heard it all before – in whispers in the hallways, in secret notes passed in meetings. Words like “special” and “God’s chosen” getting tossed around like warm bread.

Hell, they did it to him. He just didn’t give a fuck. Because he’d always known Santa Claus wasn’t fucking real. He knew where the fucking presents came from, and it wasn’t elves.

But what did he care if Vought shoved another fucking marketing lie down the public’s throat? Coca-Cola did it – “sugar is good for you.” Doctors recommended fucking Camels back then. News flash, ladies – diamonds weren’t fucking forever.

Hadn’t been his fucking problem…

“You believed that?” he asked after a pause.

You gave a small shrug of your shoulders. “Not really. For a while, yeah,” you replied at first, then bit your lip. “But when I was seven or eight, my powers really manifested, and I guess I was too curious not to peek. I had these weird dreams about it.”

“Nightmares?” he asked, and maybe he shot a little too quick at that one, but you didn’t seem to notice. Why would you?

“Kinda. I guess labs are scary for some people,” you mused. Ben frowned. “But they were actually just visions. So, you know, kinda ruined the magic.”

“So you were never actually human?”

His own question made him halt. You had no clue what it felt like?

There were days when he still missed it – not waking up with the screaming in his veins. Maybe that was the real reason why most supes were such fuckups. They didn’t know any better. Didn’t know what it was like to be free of burning poison.

You didn’t know.

“Guess not.” You shrugged simply like the thought had never even occurred to you at all.

“Your parents seriously signed you up for that shit?”

Another shrug. “Yeah, I mean, they were addicts, you know? They just thought in terms of their next fix. Heroin, meth, opioids… Saw my dad once drink antifreeze. Almost died. Did it again the next day. I mean, the only reason why they had me was to sell me. They didn’t want a kid beyond that. I used to sleep outside on an old cou–”

Click, click, click, CLIIIIIICK!

Your eyes flicked from the blinking counter to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked so innocently.

“‘M fine.”

He fucking wasn’t. This should’ve never fucking happened. You didn’t–… You hadn’t–…

He should’ve said something. Done something. Instead he just smiled for fucking cameras and let it fucking happen. He let you down. He just never thought you’d be around again to care. He never thought it would affect you.

But that didn’t really justify it, right? ‘Cause you’d argue that he was supposed to care anyway. He’d had that conversation before with you – just not the real you.

It was all his fucking fault, wasn’t it?

CLIIIIIIIICK!

“Jesus fuck! Can you shut it off?!”

“Are you nuts? It went off like five times in the last ten minutes. This is the worst time to shut it off,” you argued fiercely. Annoyed. “Just-… calm the fuck down for maybe three hours, and I’ll think about it.”

How was he supposed to fucking think clearly like this? A man needed fucking peace and quiet.

“Would you–” Your mouth opened. Closed. You groaned and lifted your eyes to the ceiling for a second. “Just take another hit, alright? Why are you so tense, anyway? I mean, you’re free now. Just relax for a minute instead of going straight on–, I don’t know, a killing spree.”

Ben snorted a laugh and took a long drag from his joint, chuckled till tears stung his eyes. Was he fucking losing his mind? That had to be it, right?

Free. Yeah, he felt so fucking free right now.

Felt more like some cosmic fucking prison. Like the universe had finally granted him his biggest wish and plopped you down right in front of him – all perfect and warm and fucking soft. And then it fucking told him not to touch.

Look but don’t taste.

Biggest fucking torture on the planet. Enough to break a man.

Who was fucking laughing at him now? God?

Click, click, click, click…

Ben groaned, let his head fall into his hands, you jumped up from your seat, and then were suddenly right in front of him. Kneeling.

What were you–

It was like you wanted this whole goddamn motel to go up in flames.

You put the little paper plane back into his mouth like he was a fucking toddler, lit it, and told him to breathe deep.

Thank fucking God you hadn’t told him to “open up” as he breathed into his fucking blue balls.

“Why did you get so upset when I told you that story?”

You didn’t move back to your old spot. You lingered. Sat down on the floor cross-legged in front of him, wide-eyed and curious.

Distraction.

“You know–” he started and smacked his lips, cleared his throat subtly like that one acting class Vought made him attend had taught him to. “Just upsetting. Fuckin’ Vought…” He gave a shake of his head. “Outrageous, really. You should be more angry about this…”

Your lips pursed, so he knew he was on the right track.

“You know, I didn’t know about it,” he added and licked his lips. Swallowed the guilt. And maybe he should’ve stopped right there. “If I had, I would’ve–…. You know, I-… I would’ve killed these bastards. This shit wouldn’t have happened on my watch, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” you said quietly, almost like you didn’t believe him. Then you were silent for a moment. “Wasn’t really your fault. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

He gave you a small nod and forced a smile, swallowing. “Yeah.”

The thought counted for fuckin’ nothin’.

“‘Sides, not sure there’s anything you could’ve done,” you added, voice soft and gentle like you were trying to make him feel better. He didn’t fucking deserve it. “Unless your plan would’ve been to burn down a whole lab with a bunch of perverted scientist in it.”

He should’ve done that! Why hadn’t he fucking thought of that? Why hadn’t he done exactly that?

This was why he needed you. You’d always been fucking smarter than him. You always had the best ideas.

God, fuckin’ shit.

He couldn’t figure this out on his own. You were the one who understood all that science and time crap. You were the one with the chalkboard. You could tell him what to fucking do here.

He should just fucking tell you the truth about everything. You’d know what to do. You’d understand all this shit, right? You could fix it. You wouldn’t think he was fucking crazy.

Right?

Yeah, he was just gonna tell you and ask for help. Tell you to make it right. Ask you to go back to ‘42 and fall in love with him.

Ah, fuck. That did sound fucking crazy. You’d probably run. Never speak to him again. Vanish.

Why couldn’t you fucking remember him? How could he explain that he’d already been in love with the girl sitting right next to him over eight decades ago?

You don’t, his brain chimed in. You sit there and fucking take it like a man.

And you just sat there too and stared at him like he was a fucking stranger – all perfect and close and out of reach. You were here but also weren’t. Like a fucking paradox.

Paradox…

You’d once said something about that. About cause and effect. Or was it fucking Schrödinger again? No…

No, Ben remembered the two of you were in the shed and you talked about it. Something about how actions have consequences. Said something about impossible situations. Called it a brain glitch.

Well, that didn’t sound fucking good, right?

Goddammit! Why couldn’t he remember the full fucking conversation? Why did that little shit back then have to stare at your ass so goddamn much?

If he could change time, he’d go back and tell that idiot to fucking listen for once.

Click, click, click, click…

“Jesus! What now?” You frowned and threw your arms up in frustration.

Ben shook his head, tried to clear his mind again. “Nothin’.” He then took another long drag of his joint.

He just had to stay fucking calm and figure this out on his own. Slowly. Not make any rash decisions like trying to fuck you into the floor. Not say something crazy like being in love with you for over eighty years.

“Maybe you should lay off the weed now,” you said, brow scrunched. “You’re getting kind of… sad… and… weird.”

Sad and weird. Fuckin’ great. Add lethal to that. Exactly what he’d been going for when it came to first impressions.

“You grew up on the streets, right? Did your parents sell you out, too? Is that why you’re so upset?”

Ben snapped out of his trance then and looked at you. He scratched his jaw, hesitating. You really didn’t know shit.

“Uh, no… to both,” he replied, clearing his throat, palms rubbing together like he could still fucking sweat. “Volunteered when I was twenty-five. Grew up rich, actually. Mansion.”

“Oh.”

Nope, didn’t seem to ring any bells for you. No mansion. No recognition. No memories. Even worse, Ben could feel your disappointment – as if the only thing you’d liked about him so far was a piece of Vought propaganda.

Yeah, he was tapping out for the night. Maybe forever. He couldn’t solve this shit. Couldn’t do fucking anything.

With a deep sigh that sounded more like a groan and defeat, he rose from the bed and paced the room, green eyes looking anywhere but you because if he did, he didn’t know how much longer he could control himself.

He just wanted to be with you. Just wanted to drag you out of this dump and live the fucking life he was supposed to have. Why couldn’t it be that fucking easy?

His eyes then landed on the little laminated pay-per-view program. A smile rose. “Well, look at that. They have some of my movies. Still bringing in the views.”

“In sleazy motels across America, maybe,” you muttered under your breath.

Ben ignored you and glanced over his shoulder, switching on the TV. “You ever seen one of mine?”

“Uh, not entirely, no,” you said, curling your lips. “Caught glimpses of some in those classics specials.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat, sweetheart.” He smirked broadly. “Wanna watch?”

You took a deep breath, exhaled a sigh, then gave him a fake fucking smile. “Sure. Whatever you want. I’m just here to babysit you, remember?”

Like he could fucking forget. You said it like it was a goddamn chore. Like you were getting paid to sit here and keep him calm – which to be fair, you sort of were.

Containment with a side of pity. That’s what he fucking got. Not admiration. Not love. Not you.

Something to manage, not something to miss.

But Ben didn’t let your mood deter him from his plan. He picked out a movie while you dragged yourself back to your old spot on the bed, settled in with another sigh – like you were humoring a petulant child.

Still, he plopped down next to you with a satisfied grin. You gave him a disapproving sideways glance and groaned slightly, but he didn’t care. He was gonna sit right next to you and enjoy this. Your look might’ve said “fuck off”, but your mouth didn’t, so he was gonna stay.

Maybe it wasn’t about the past at all. Maybe it was about the here and now. Maybe the universe was rewarding him.

He just needed to accept it and grab it. Make you fucking his again. Maybe that’s all there was to it. He’d just been fucking overthinking.

After everything he’d been through, after everything he’d fucking done for this country, he deserved to have nice things.

As the movie started with some obnoxious synth music, you still sat next to him, stiff and guarded. You kept just enough space for your thigh not to touch his – but still enough to drive him fucking insane.

Your shoulder brushed his arm slightly. Then you kicked off your shoes, stretched out those bare legs. His gaze followed naked skin from your ankle all the way up to where the hem of your jean shorts hugged your thigh. He almost goddamn came in his pants.

Yeah, maybe this had been a fucking bad idea after all.

“Is that Phoebe Cates?” Your head tilted at the screen and ripped him from his stupor.

“Huh?” His eyes squinted at the television where Phoebe’s character cooed and giggled and clung to his bicep. “Oh, yeah. She played my love interest.”

Your brows scrunched again. He used to kiss that spot above your nose where they met.

“She looks twelve.”

Ben frowned. Sighed internally this time. “She was twenty-one,” he huffed. Little too upset, maybe. “This was after she’d done Fast Times. Not so innocent. Trust me.”

“Still young,” you mumbled. Shrugged. “How old were you in this?”

“Vought billed me at thirty,” Ben said and stared stubbornly at the screen till the picture blurred, clearing his throat.

Slowly, your legs slid up to your chest as you rose to a sitting position, leaning forward. Raised your brows. Gave him a look.

Very judging.

“And in reality…? C’mon, I wanna know how many felonies I’m watching.”

Ben bit the insides of his cheeks. Hard. Might’ve tasted blood, then sniffed like it wasn’t a big fucking deal. “Born in 1919.”

“Fuck. Really?” A laugh spluttered out of you. Almost crippled you in half and threw you off the bed. “I mean, I knew you were in World War II, right? So–… Wait, that means you’re a… hundred-and–”

“Don’t do the fucking math.”

“–three! Holy shit!”

Ben groaned. Didn’t even hide it. He could still remember all of it. Same fire. Same mouth. Same razor-sharp wit that used to make him flinch and ache in equal measure. Never held back. Never tried to impress him. That was probably why he’d fallen so damn hard.

Fucking smart, too. He used to get off on it – literally. There were nights where you’d calculate the square root of something with his cock in your mouth just to screw with him.

The memory of your skin touching his burned through every inch of him. He could still feel you under him – warm and reckless and so fucking soft. The sounds you used to make. The way you used to bite your lip when you were trying not to laugh, how you’d curl your fingers into his shirt when he kissed you too hard, how you clung to him when he–

Click, click, click…

Of fucking course! Would only take a few seconds till you ask–

“You good?” Your eyes studied him.

Ben hummed and hoped you wouldn’t notice the damn ache in his sweats. “Yeah. Just excited to relive the glory days.”

“Sure.” You frowned, unconvinced.

You leaned back against the headboard and shifted, keeping a few strategic inches between you and him like it was habit. Like you’d done this kind of thing before with dangerous men who didn’t know where the line was.

“So…” He cleared his throat once more, gave you a smile that said he was probably trying a little too hard. “When’s your birthday?”

“I already told you,” you said, eyes not lifting from the glow of the TV.

“You told me your age,” he pointed out with as much patience as he could. “Didn’t tell me your birthday. When is it?”

“Why d’you wanna know?” Still didn’t look at him. Just dismissed him in hopes he’d go away.

Hadn’t worked for you the first time, though, had it?

“Humor me. Movie date etiquette,” he replied dryly, sent you a deadpan look that made you groan and roll your eyes. “March? December? January?”

“June.”

Huh. Well, fuck him. He hadn’t seen that one coming.

June. 1993. Twenty-nine. The world tilted on its axis. The moon dropped from the sky. The sun came with it. Nothing made fucking sense anymore.

Was this even the real you? Maybe it was a fucking clone. Or something else. Maybe he was dead and this was some weird fucking afterlife vision, his corpse still fueled by blue poison.

How was this possible? Unless–

Unless you fucking lied.

Ben jerked his head, narrowed his eyes, and watched you closely now. You’d always had an edge to you. You weren’t a full-blooded good girl. You’d always been that sweet spot in between.

So, okay... If he assumed you lied, he had to find out why, right?

The age thing – women lied about it all the time. Wasn’t a big deal. Over the years, he’d even begun to automatically add three to five years to whatever age they’d given him. He figured you’d lied, too.

But the birthday thing? That was fucking weird. Why would you do that? To blur your traces? To hide who you were? What you were?

Ben tried to remember the exact conversation. It was in his room–… No, the study. First night. You’d worn one of his shirts. You were still fucking closed off and guarded and didn’t like or trust him a whole lot – kinda like now. But he’d asked you to tell him at least one true thing about you, and you’d told him that today, January 24, was your birthday.

You hadn’t lied about it then. He could tell.

But you hadn’t actually said the date, had you? You’d just said today. Which might’ve been true – for you.

A half-truth.

Ben grinned smugly. He’d figured something out – without your help. You hadn’t been of any fucking help at all, actually.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked and furrowed your brow at him.

Oh shit. He’d still been staring.

“Would you ever, you know, lie about your age?”

The question threw you, but not as much anymore. Like you’d gotten used to the weirdness.

“Well, if you’re asking for yourself, I’d definitely lie next time you go on a date,” you replied wryly.

Good enough.

The two of you then went back to watching TV. He didn’t ask more weird questions and left you in peace. You looked tired. He was, too.

He tried not to get worked up whenever you accidentally touched him or he’d catch a whiff of your scent when the AC would graciously carry it to his nose. He didn’t know the shampoo or the perfume but recognized what was underneath it.

He wanted to touch you. Wanted to close the space, let his hand rest on your thigh, let his thumb brush over your skin, see if you’d still arch into him the way you used to when you were tangled up in his sheets.

Touch me, Ben thought, almost hoping his thoughts were loud enough for you to hear. Just once like you used to. Just look at me like I’m still that guy.

But you didn’t. You kept watching the screen. He followed your eyes and looked at Phoebe moaning his name under a fake rain machine – barely resisted the urge to shut it off.

You were younger than Phoebe. Smarter than all of them. You were the first woman who’d ever rolled her eyes at him – shocking, yes. The first one to tell him he was full of shit and then kiss him like she meant it. And when you’d kissed him, it hadn’t been about movies or hero worship or fear.

You’d kissed him because you wanted to.

Because even when he was just a rich asshole with nothing but a fast car and a faster mouth, you saw through all of it.

Now you didn’t see him at all.

And he was scared shitless that maybe you never would again.

If you didn’t remember him, it meant this you next to him hadn’t gone back and met the past version of him yet. But it’d also meant you must’ve known him then because you knew him now.

God, his head was startin’ to hurt again.

You hadn’t told him anything. Pretended you didn’t know him already – like he was doing now.

Ben figured you had your reasons, probably smart ones, so maybe he was actually onto something here, too. Maybe he had to just keep playing the game – like you had.

But for how fucking long?

You’d stayed in 1942 for five months? Six? It was fucking July now. Your next birthday was in eleven months – and that was best case fucking scenario. Could be five more years, could be fucking ten… And you’d told him your abilities didn’t even work in that way anymore. That was another fucking problem.

Shit.

“Hey, so, that time jumping thing, how does it–” But Ben stopped mid-question when he glanced down and noticed you’d dozed off.

You were out cold, curled up on your side, head tipped slightly toward him like it had just happened mid-eye roll. You’d made it a point to keep space between you the entire night, but now your head was resting against his arm.

Funny how that worked.

Ben didn’t dare move for a long moment. Just watched you while the credits rolled to that awfully cheesy ‘80s synth again. Watched your chest fall and rise, watched your eyelashes rest against your cheek.

He hadn’t seen you sleep in eighty years. Took everything in him not to reach out and pull you into his side.

“Missed you, sweetheart.”

He sighed softly under his breath, tipped his head back, eased into the mattress, and shut his eyes. And for the first time since 1942, he let himself fall asleep beside you again.

▶️ Chapter 14: I'm Going to Have a Lot of Drinks – JUNE 29

Poor guy, will he ever figure it out? The answer is yes – in the next part 😉 (aka the part where Ben realizes he needs to switch tactics and becomes a complete asshole). We'll see how it goes. It won't be a battle won by math skills for sure 😆

Coming Up:

Rough fuckin’ morning… And it had only been the first goddamn day of many.

At least, he had some Bennies to get over the pain above (and the ache below) – well… until you fucking ruined that, too.

Because you watched him. Sitting on the bed, cross-legged, sipping coffee and still working that damn straw. Eyes on him.

His back was half-turned, but he still caught it in his periphery as he was halfway through crushing pills to dust with his knife.

Judging.

“Problem, sweetheart?” His voice was a little too gruff, a little too deep, a little too defensive. Too confrontational.

“No,” you replied, bored. Almost deadpan. Then you casually opened the folder in your lap, directed your gaze there, took a slurp of coffee through the straw, and added: “My parents always snorted their breakfast, too.”

Then, you gave a shrug of your shoulders and started reading – innocent. Like you hadn’t just launched him into complete chaos.

You liked teaching people lessons, alright. You also liked fucking with them. On purpose.

This was the goddamn problem with smart women – especially if they fucking knew it, too. They knew exactly where to hit and make it stick.

But Ben couldn’t help the little smirk twitching on his lips – almost proud.

Back then, your brilliance and genius was cute – not threatening. Now, though? With all you could do? All that power wrapped inside one tiny girl? A little scary.

Dangerous.

And well, he was a little dangerous, too. You and him had always made a good team in the past. Now, the two of you could be unstoppable.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

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@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

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@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

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@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

#time after time #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x supe!reader #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys season 3 #the boys s3 #the boys x reader #the boys fanfiction #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy angst #soldier boy smut #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jackles

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elodiah · 1 day ago

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Five Favourite Fics

I was sent the “five fave fics” ask by the wonderful @blackbirdofasgard, and my partner in “wtf are we even doing??” @lokimobius. Thank you!

However, after stewing on it for days, and struggling to come up with a list of fics I like best (without rereading a whole heap of them, at least, which I don’t really want to do), the incomparable @kcscribbler suggested I flip it, and instead ask my followers what YOUR fave fics of mine are.

So don’t be shy, hit me! Are there any individual fics I’ve written that have left a lasting impression? One that you’ve come back to more than once for whatever reason? One that hit right for angst, feels, fluff or silliness? I would love to know!

And if you can’t remember the title, feel free to say “the one where [xyz] happened”. ☺️

I am braced for crickets on this post, btw, but if I do happen to get some answers, it might also help give me some direction for future fic ideas.

Cheers!

#lokius #loki #mobius #loki fic #loki fanfic #my fic #fic asks #fic writing games

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nenoname · 7 months ago

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summerween honestly has one of the most fascinating shots in the entire series

like this green kid is just trick or treating with waddles??? who are they???

candy and grenda are on the bottom right corner, despite the fact that they should be hanging out with the twins and soos

and you can see stan's summerween nemeses just to the left, when those two kids are still at the mystery shack at this point

and most funny of all is gorney on the top left corner who was eaten by the trickster like 3 minutes ago

#this is just an establishing shot that's on screen for one second at most #and they ain't coming up with a billion designs for just that #but i just find all these details hilarious lol #gravity falls #also the conflict of summerween is important!!! it's a foil to d&m vs the future!!! however.#while dipper and mabel are angsting over growing up and feeling too old for trick or treating #it's pretty funny seeing blubs and durland doing it and not needing the 'we're chaperoning kids' excuse while having a great time

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roboyomo · 5 months ago

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we're gonna deal psychic damage to kenix by making him have to look after the main trio but as kids

#they're all Troubling kids. yaku is drastically different too. the most quiet serious kid that has grown into a childish adult #smth smth age regression as a coping mechanism with being forced to mature far too early.#amor is just a mean stubborn kid but tbh i can't really say anything else he is a sweet boy. However #little fucker who hated his peers so much he learned to write and read to write in his dairy—#— just to hate on those kids. Apollo was the only exception that is His Best Friend of Ever #amor ignored the fact that his parents neglected him 90% of the time because they simply are never home and he had the butlers—#— look after him. Yes amor still doesn't recognize that his parents did not give him much attention as a kid #apollo is just. My poor boy. little guy who was forced into maturing for the sake of being allowed to survive #all of these kids have issues even then. and all have ties to kenix in the future. Now he has to Look after them #idk. Fun scenario. But also sad because that'd be like. The best he could offer them knowing that he can't be—#— a better familial figure in the future for them. smth smth we are still doing Angst ^_^#yomo ocs?!#kenix #yaku #amor #apollo

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arkiwii · 1 year ago

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ask game

arknights

1, at what point did you start shipping your otp

12, what actually got you into the game

15, what character for the chopping block

thank you for the ask, and for adding the question with it!! seriously helps lmao <- too lazy to switch between replying to the answer and the post

1. I think I already explained it in the past, but it's still a funny fact to me; I actually started to ship them before I even played Arknights. For those who fell asleep and did not followed, my otp is Saria/Silence. Why? Because a friend presented me some characters, and explained to me that Saria and Silence were exes and had an adoptive daughter. Which is, not exactly canon! But I DID believed it was. When I actually played the game and checked their files, I realized that there was nothing in canon that stated they were in a relationship pffft - basically I got gaslighted and believed there was something canonically romantic between them

Well that doesn't stop me. I can't remember when I really, really got into the ship, but mayybeee after I read the manhua? Anyway, all of this to say, I've been shipping them for a year now, and the insanity can't be cured

12. The. the birds. Well! Technically, it's because a few of my closest friends were playing the game and I started to get intrigued, but maybe I wouldn't have started if it weren't for the Liberi. "Imagine I play the game just to collect the birds /j /j" I said a year ago. yeah. that statement didn't aged well.

But the game seemed interesting too! and most of all, I already loved some characters my best friend presented to me, which were Aciddrop, Projekt Red and Silence. So of course I wanted to get to know them more!

15. I'm not sure if I understand the question, but I suppose it means which character I'd pick to kill in the story? mmh. Oren 💥💥💥

Jokes aside (all my homies hate Oren), I don't really know who I could pick. Arknights is already doing a great job at killing characters and making these deaths memorable and justifiable (FrostNova and Outcast,,,), I never told myself "why they killed this character??", and it's very good for a story. So naturally, I don't really want anyone in particular to die, and if I do, that's because they were destined to die in canon anyway, like Parvis, Gertrude or Mandragora (she's alive if you're delusional). The only character I can think about, and it's a really big hot take but also my extremely angsty side talking, would be Ptilopsis. Don't get me wrong, I love her! But she's already dying in some way, her fate is sealed - and god, it would be so fucking sad and angsty if it were to happen. I love my meals SPICY

#yippee thanks for the ask!!#my other options for the chop block was other very infected characters #like ifrit or eyja #but they're characters who are still developing and growing up #joyce's character is... pretty much done in a way #i'd love to see more of her however but i can hardly imagine something that would be really big to make her grow up as a character #she's already content with her life #what would be interesting to see is her past more than her future #anyway as i said this is a hot take you may or may not agree #just imagine the angst. yummy #arknights #askiwi

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tap1rs · 2 months ago

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the funniest thing is that sometimes you just have one really bad day. like, a bunch of fairly small things that on other days you could totally handle pile up and then you just Can't anymore. my monday was supposed to be something else (i had dvds to return to the library!) and I feel almost like I was in stasis. except it very much wasn't as my hair can attest to. and now I have hair that needed to be washed two days ago and technically clean laundry to do because they only had the type of detergent that triggers headaches for me and an additional fun context to me going "yeah I hate late spring it's a bad time of year for me"

#'man julianna for someone who Doesn't Want To Talk About It you sure are talking about it a lot on a public forum' first of all. i am #alluding to it. i am dancing around the subject. you can draw conclusions i am not stopping you. second of all physically journaling seems #to increase the angst in my emotions by like a factor of ten. i am here to briefly throw some spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks.#and go back to finding a way to email my advisor hiiiiii i am back in society yes i know the note says i got out thursday #and no i will not be in class friday. i have follow ups i didnt choose the time for and also start crying approx every 45 minutes 👍#also the massive amounts of incompletes i think im gonna end up taking in all but one of my courses #the sheer amount of beauracratic bullshit in my future is really not helping my state of mind #i do however find it funny that i have like. whatever the opposite of sad is going on.

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fushitoru · 6 months ago

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an imperial command a knight!choso fic

pairing ⸺ knight/warrior!choso x princess!reader

summary ⸺ you, the princess of the nation, and choso, the son of your father's most trusted general, have been inseperable since birth. but after many deem it inappropriate for him to be so close to you, the distance between you and him only deepens after he leaves for war. when he comes back older and a more handsome, bigger version of the choso of your childhood, you both grapple with love, duty, and test the bounds of propierty.

warnings ⸺ smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, reader has a vagina, classism? not really, reader may seem pushy at times, not edited, very sweet love confession, happy ending, fingering, breast worship, virgin reader, mutual loss of virginity, mentions of sexism and archaic beliefs about virginity, pathetic choso, soft dom choso, p i v sex, gentle choso :(, me being really horny about his HAPPY TRAIL

a/n it's something about a hot decorated warrior that crumbles at the thought of you...

general masterlist

You and Choso had been inseparable since birth.

As the princess of the realm and the son of the general—your father’s most trusted advisor and sworn brother—it seemed ordained by fate itself that you should become steadfast companions. And companions you were; as babes, you darted through the royal gardens, frolicked in the halls of the palace, and devised schemes to escape the ever-watchful eyes of your tutors. Only the constraints of your education would separate you. You were confined to lessons in the classical tongues, the harp, and courtly diplomacy, while Choso immersed himself in the arts of the sword, the strategies of war, and the unyielding discipline of a soldier.

“Choso!” you squealed, your laughter ringing through the royal gardens as you fled from an imagined dragon. You ran toward him, your skirts billowing behind you, and found him poised and ready. His knees were bent, his gaze unwavering, and his small wooden sword clutched tightly in his hands. He glared past you at the phantom threat with the solemnity of a true knight.

“I will save you, Your Highness!” he roared and lunged, hacking away at the demon passionately. You cheered him on, giggling at his act.

“You’ve done it!” you cheered, clapping your hands in delight. But then your eyes widened in feigned terror. “Look, another one approaches!”

Choso spun around at your warning, his attention diverted just as you had planned. Seizing the moment, you imagined the dreadful beast closing in on his unguarded back.

“Watch out!” you exclaimed, grabbing a fallen branch to defend him. With a bold leap, you placed yourself between Choso and the imagined peril, brandishing your twig as though it were a knight’s blade.

“I’ve got you!” you declared, laughing as you swung your newfound weapon, the pair of you lost in the unrestrained joy of childhood.

Of course, while the king, your father, appreciated you so closely acquainted with his general’s son, your mother did not seem to think it wise that you become estranged from the daughters of nobles; after all, you would need to forge relationships early on to strengthen your future court. This led to many a playdates being interrupted.

“You didn’t need to save me!” Choso whined, pouting while crossing his arms.

However, you held out a pudgy hand, patting his hair as if to soothe him. “It’s okay, Choso. If you ever need saving, I’ll always be there—” “YOUR HIGHNESS!” You heard footsteps running towards where the both of you were sitting idly. When parrying the imaginary monster’s attacks, you had tumbled on top of Choso, your dress and limbs entangled with his and both of your hair unruly. Hearing your governess’ voice led you to pout, for you were sure to earn a scolding for fooling around with Choso rather than practicing the violin for the nth time. Alas, you couldn’t escape her—as well as Choso’s nannies, who had appeared—and you both looked sheepishly at their horrified faces.

Frowning, Choso’s nanny stomped towards the both of you, untangling you both impatiently and, once you were both standing, giving Choso a light smack on his head while bowing towards you. “Your Highness, I apologize, but the both of you mustn’t do such things anymore. You both are far past the age that this is appropriate.”

“What?” You pouted, disappointed in having to back to your room, confined to practice your violin with those dreadful, boring tunes. “What isn’t appropriate about this? We’re just playing—”

“Your Highness,” your governess began, her strained smile barely masking her displeasure. “It is not fitting for a princess to engage in such… undignified behavior. You must remember your station. A young lady of your rank is expected to conduct herself with grace and decorum at all times.”

Choso’s nanny, now tidying his tousled hair with brisk, efficient motions, added in a sharper tone, “And you, young master, should remember your place. You are not her equal but her servant’s son. Such familiarity is unbecoming.”

At her words, Choso’s face turned pale, his gaze dropping to the ground. His hands clenched into small fists at his sides, but he said nothing, his lips pressed tightly together. You could see the effort it took him to remain still, his shoulders stiff with tension.

“Choso?” you called softly, tilting your head to catch his eye.

However, he did not look up, though his voice came, quiet and steady. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I… I won’t do it again.”

Your brows furrowed, your chest tightening at the sight of his downcast expression. “What are you apologizing for?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve done nothing wrong! We were only playing.”

“Your Highness!” your governess interjected, her tone scandalized. “Such defiance is unbecoming. You must understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” you snapped, cutting her off. “I understand that I don’t care for these rules. Choso is my friend, and I decide what is and isn’t proper!”

Choso’s nanny inhaled sharply, but he quickly stepped forward, shaking his head fervently. “Please, Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. “Don’t… don’t say such things for me. I’ll… I’ll do as I’m told. I promise.”

“Choso!” you exclaim, betrayed as the sting of his words settling in your chest. His gaze still refused to meet yours, fixed instead on the ground between you.

Your governess, sensing her victory, straightened. “Your Highness, you must return to your chambers immediately. Your music tutor is waiting. And as for you, Master Choso, your training will resume at once. I trust there will be no further disruptions.”

Neither of you spoke as the governess and the nanny ushered you away in opposite directions, their sharp voices ringing in your ears. Yet, as you glanced over your shoulder, you caught one last fleeting glimpse of Choso, his hesitant gaze finally meeting yours for the briefest of moments. It held a quiet resolve that only deepened your frustration.

“Wait and see,” you muttered under your breath as you were dragged back toward your chambers. “I’ll change this someday.”

That was the last time he ever spoke your name aloud; now, you were only Your Highness and The Royal Princess. It irritated you to no end; you were his friend, not his superior. But he insisted, falling deeper and deeper into the depths of social proprietary and hierarchy his nannies and parents were no doubt pressuring him into. You could only take what you had; if he was refusing your affection, he would at least not refuse royal commands of rendezvous.

Years had gracefully unfolded since that day, and now, as teenagers, your clandestine meetings in the royal gardens had blossomed into cherished rituals beneath the cloak of night. The gardens, adorned with that glowed under the moon's gentle gaze, became the sanctuary where you and Choso could momentarily escape the rigid expectations of courtly life.

As you approached the secluded alcove near the ancient marble fountain, your heart fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement.

And there he was.

Choso waited beneath the willow tree, his dark eyes darting between the swaying branches and the dimly lit path beyond. The shadows stretched long in the garden, and the faint sound of patrolling guards put a furrow in his brow. He shifted on his feet, arms crossed tightly as though bracing himself for some reprimand.

When you finally appeared, dressed in your lighter night robes, he let out a small breath of relief. “Your Highness, you shouldn’t—”

“Can you stop that?” You whine, brushing him off and making a move to sit in the swing right by the tree. You lightly swing your feet, establishing a gentle rhythm while you grin mischievously at him, meeting your lighthearted eyes with his furrowed, slightly worried ones. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Choso. No one’s going to catch us.”

He can only shake his head, for after years of friendship had led him to know one universal truth: if there was one thing, it was that your mind, once resolute, could not be changed. “I don’t know how you keep wanting to risk them discovering this.” Then, he sighs, lamenting weakly, “and why I have to dragged into this.”

You flash him an innocent smile, about to give a cocky response about how you’re the princess and it’s not like Choso doesn’t want this…right? but both of you pause, deadly still, when you hear the undeniable clinks of armor.

Patrolling guards.

Choso’s head snapped toward the sound, his body going rigid. It kind of dazes you, in a way, how his curriculum as a warrior leads him to be so alert. It’s also this moment that you realize how grown you both are becoming; it feels as if you’re stuck as a dainty princess, while he’s steadily growing taller and bigger, a smaller picture of his formidable father.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

You froze, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with him before instinctively ducking behind the grand marble fountain. The cold stone pressed against your back as the guards’ footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the bobbing light of their lanterns.

“Who’s there?” one of them called out, his voice sharp and commanding.

Choso shifted beside you, his breath quick and shallow. Your hand brushed against his arm in reassurance, but it did little to ease the tension radiating off him. The guards’ lanterns swept methodically across the gardens, their shadows flickering on the trees.

“Stay still,” Choso mouthed, his dark eyes fixed on the approaching light.

The guards drew closer, their boots crunching against the gravel path. You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears, each second dragging on unbearably.

Then, a faint rustle to your left—a squirrel darting across the underbrush. The guards turned toward the noise, their lanterns swinging wide.

“Must’ve been an animal,” one muttered, though he sounded unconvinced.

“Keep looking,” the other replied gruffly. “The king’s orders were clear—no one’s to linger in the gardens after dark.”

The pair continued past, their voices fading as they moved toward the far side of the grounds.

You let out a shaky breath, but before you could fully relax, Choso grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet. “We need to go deeper,” he said urgently, his voice low.

Without waiting for your agreement, he led you away from the fountain, weaving through the hedges and into the denser parts of the forest. The shadows thickened as the soft glow of the garden lanterns disappeared behind you. Branches brushed against your arms, and the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves filled the air as you ran.

“Choso!” you whispered breathlessly, struggling to keep up with his longer strides. “They’re gone!”

“Not far enough,” he replied, glancing back at you. “We can’t risk them doubling back.”

The forest grew darker the deeper you went, the canopy above blocking out most of the moonlight. Finally, when the sound of your own breathing seemed louder than anything else, Choso slowed to a halt beneath a towering oak.

“We should be safe here,” he murmured, releasing your hand.

You both sank to the ground, the soft carpet of moss cushioning your fall. For a moment, neither of you spoke, too winded to do anything but sit there, catching your breath. Then, a stifled giggle bubbled out of you, unable to contain the absurdity of the chase.

Choso shot you a warning look, but his resolve cracked when you pressed your hands over your mouth, failing to muffle your laughter. A small laugh escaped him in turn, and soon you were both doubled over, trying in vain to quiet yourselves.

“Shhh!” Choso whispered, though he was grinning. “You’ll get us caught.”

“You’re the loud one,” you whispered back, nudging him playfully.

Soon, the laughter slowly subsided, leaving only the sound of rustling leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Choso leaned back against the tree, his expression softening as he glanced up at the canopy. His eyes caught on something above, and he pointed. “Look—fruit.”

Following his gaze, you spotted the cluster of small, round pomengrenates hanging from a low branch. Choso stood, brushing dirt from his trousers, and reached up to pluck one. He examined it briefly before biting into it, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

“Are you just going to eat that without offering me one?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He smirked, holding another pomengrenate aloft. “You want it?”

“Obviously.”

But instead of handing it over, Choso lifted it above his head, his smirk widening. “Come and get it.” You stood up, moving closer to him to make a motion to grab the fruit. Alas, the effort was not fruitful.

“Choso!” you hissed, glaring at him as he kept the fruit just out of reach. You try many things: you grab his shoulder, tickle him on his stomach, and arms. However, it all is in vain.

“You’re the one who wants it,” he said, his head peering down at you in amusement.

You stood, determination written all over your face. “Fine. If you think I can’t—”

You leapt, swatting at his hand, but he easily moved the fruit higher, his height giving him the upper hand.

“You’re insufferable!” you said, laughing despite yourself as you tried again, this time jumping with more force. Still, you missed.

“Perhaps you should’ve been born taller,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Or perhaps you should stop being such a—” Before you could finish, he lowered the fruit suddenly, pressing it into your hand.

“There,” he said, smirking. “Satisfied?”

You took a triumphant bite, your glare softening into a grin. “For now.”

Settling back down, you both shared the fruit in companionable silence, the earlier tension of the night dissipating in the quiet forest. Yet, as you sat side by side, something about the way his gaze lingered on you—or perhaps the warmth blooming in your chest—made you wonder if these late-night meetings were becoming something more.

And then, years later, he left for war. Choso left for the battlefield, summoned to serve alongside his father as the general’s son.

The morning he departed was etched into your memory with painful clarity. The air was crisp, the kind that stung your lungs when you breathed too deeply, and the courtyard was alive with the sounds of preparation. Soldiers moved with purpose, their boots striking against the cobblestones in rhythmic determination. Horses snorted and pawed at the ground, their breaths rising like smoke in the cold air.

You stood at the edge of it all, your hands clasped tightly in front of you, trying to keep your expression composed. This was no place for a princess to display her feelings, no matter how tightly they knotted in her chest. Your father was nearby, speaking with the general in low, serious tones, his gaze sweeping over the troops with pride. Your mother was absent, as always, too preoccupied with courtly matters to concern herself with the departure of soldiers—even one who had once been your constant companion.

When Choso emerged from the crowd, his figure clad in the red, utilitarian uniform of a soldier, it was as though the rest of the scene blurred. The boy who had once darted through the gardens with you, his hair wild and his hands dirtied by mischief, now looked every inch the man his father had raised him to be. His hair was tied back, his face set in an unreadable mask of calm, and he carried himself with a solemnity that felt foreign.

He always did make you feel like a child. While you were still delaying acceptance of your fate as the princes—future queen—-he had grown into a man, fated to be a war general.

He approached slowly, each step deliberate. When he stopped before you, he did not smile. Instead, he bowed low, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours. “Your Highness—”

But you had enough of that godforsaken title. “Why must you leave?” You cried, your voice breaking as Choso stood before you in the courtyard.

The image of the steeled soldier crumbled as his eyes softened in fondness and melancholy. “You know I must.”

You shook your head fervently, as if to vehemently deny what was undeniably the truth. “You know that’s not true.” And it wasn’t, for it would only take an imperial command of yours to bar him from ever entering the battlefield.

But it was his dream; you saw the way he looked at his father. To deny Choso the sword and the glory he was destined for was to chain him down, and you knew that. So instead, you shook off the idea, then blurted, “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with expectation. He hesitated, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before it smoothed back into neutrality. “If time allows.”

That was all he offered. No promises. No reassurances. Just a vague, distant answer that left your heart sinking.

Outraged, and a bit petulant, you exclaimed. “What do you mean if time allows? Will you be so busy that you won’t have time? Are you not at least going to grant me some peace of mi—what is that?”

In the corner of your eye, you see something in his hand catch the sunlight, and glimmer. He hesitates, his hand clenching before inevitably opening his palm. A timid, “For you, Your Highness.”

An instinctual don’t call me that dies out in your throat as he shows you what he was hiding. In it he uncovers a small, delicate object—a pin shaped like a blooming flower, its petals carved with meticulous detail and painted in hues of white and gold.

You stared at it, your hands trembling as you took it from him. “What is this for?”

“It’s a symbol,” he explained, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Of where I’ll always be, even if I’m not here. Keep it with you, and you’ll know that... that I’ll do everything I can to return.”

“Oh, Choso.” Your bottom lip trembled as tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Your fingers closed around the pin, the intricate craftsmanship biting into your palm. Somehow, the weight of it felt heavier than it should’ve been. “I don’t want a pin, Choso,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I want you to stay.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might reach out to you. But then he stilled, the rigidity in his posture a clear reminder of the boundaries he refused to cross.

Even so, you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. The gift, despite your pain, was beautiful, and its meaning wasn’t lost on you. You sniffled, brushing a tear from your cheek with a trembling hand. “But it is beautiful, regardless,” you murmured, holding it up to the light. The golden edges of the petals gleamed softly, like sunlight captured in metal. “Put it in my hair?”

Choso blinked, caught off guard by the request. His gaze flickered between you and the pin, uncertainty etched into his features. “Your Highness, I—”

“Please,” you interrupted gently, tilting your head slightly toward him. “Just this once.”

He hesitated for a long moment, his fingers flexing at his sides as though he were battling some internal conflict. Finally, with a barely audible sigh, he reached out and took the pin from your hand.

You held your breath as he stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. His hand brushed against your hair and your neck as he carefully gathered a small section, his touch warm and deliberate. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips, earned from countless hours of swordsmanship, yet his movements were painstakingly gentle.

“There,” he said softly, stepping back to examine his work. His gaze lingered on you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his formal mask cracked ever so slightly. There was something in his eyes—something raw and unspoken—that made your chest tighten.

You reached up instinctively, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of the pin now nestled securely in your hair. “How does it look?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though the lump in your throat made it difficult.

Choso’s lips parted, but no words came. He swallowed hard, his gaze darting away as if he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. “It’s beautiful,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The horn sounded again, louder this time, breaking the fragile moment between you. Choso stepped back, the walls of propriety rising between you once more.

“Thank you,” you managed, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

He bowed deeply, avoiding your eyes. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the faint scent of earth and steel, the pin in your hair a bittersweet reminder of the distance that now separated you.

For weeks after, you found yourself restless, wandering the garden paths where you had once talked and laughed together. You scribbled letter after letter, pouring out questions and updates, recounting bits of palace gossip and even sending sketches of the places you’d been. But no reply ever came.

At first, you tried to excuse it—surely, he was too busy, too occupied with the rigors of war to respond. Still, you kept writing, sending your letters to the front lines with the faint hope that one day, you’d receive one in return.

“Any news of the general’s son?” you would ask your father over dinner, feigning casual interest.

“He’s doing well,” your father would reply, distractedly cutting into his meal. “His tactics in the northern campaign have earned him commendation. A fine young soldier.”

You pressed further, ignoring the disapproving look your mother shot you. “And... is he safe?”

Your father raised a brow but indulged you. “Of course. The reports say he’s advancing quickly through the ranks. A promotion to captain is already under consideration.”

Your chest swelled with pride at the thought, but it was quickly eclipsed by frustration. If he was receiving such accolades, surely he could find the time to write a simple letter?

“Why do you trouble your father with such questions?” your mother chided later, her tone clipped. “The general’s son is serving the nation. You should focus on more important matters, like preparing for your duties.”

But your concern for Choso only grew. Whenever news from the front lines arrived, you would listen intently, hoping to hear his name mentioned. When you did, it brought a fleeting sense of relief, but it never lasted long.

The silence from him felt heavier with each passing month. You couldn’t understand it—how could someone who had once been your closest companion, who had sworn to always protect you, sever that bond so easily?

And yet, you never stopped writing. Each letter was folded with care, sealed with your personal wax stamp, and sent off with the same unwavering hope. Even if he didn’t reply, even if you didn’t understand why, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

The city was alive with celebration, a symphony of cheers, music, and the occasional crackle of fireworks that lit up the night sky. The soldiers had finally come home after a long winded war, and you just couldn’t miss out on the excitement. After Choso’s departure, you had grown. Before you were a gangly teenager, but now you were a young woman. With this came you forming your own opinion, independent of our parents, and had developed a habit of frequently sneaking out of the palace.

You couldn’t bear to stay confined to the palace, not when the air was thick with excitement and the news of the army’s triumphant return had set the entire city alight. The soldiers, clad in polished armor that gleamed even in the dim light, strode through the streets in small groups while the people cheered on the sidelines. They carried themselves with the confidence of men who had seen battle and emerged victorious.

Young ladies lingered at the edges of the crowd, their eyes alight with hope as they watched the soldiers pass. Some called out to them, their voices playful and lilting, while others merely smiled shyly, clutching kerchiefs or flowers they clearly longed to offer. The soldiers, for the most part, maintained a stoic demeanor, though a few exchanged grins or nodded in acknowledgment, their faces betraying a mix of pride and exhaustion.

Children darted between legs, waving tiny flags and shouting in delight, while their parents looked on with a mix of relief and gratitude. The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced wine wafted through the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the soldiers’ armor. It was a night of unity, of celebration, where the lines between commoner and noble blurred in the shared joy of victory.

Draped in a simple cloak to conceal your identity, you slipped past the guards at the palace gates, your heart pounding with both exhilaration and trepidation. The anonymity of the cloak felt liberating as you merged with the crowd, the world suddenly vast and unguarded in a way it never was within the palace walls.

Laughter surrounded you, the contagious energy of the revelry lifting your spirits as you wandered farther from the familiar confines of royal life. You paused to admire a street performer juggling flaming torches, your cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. But before you could move on, a sudden gust snatched the handkerchief tucked into your cloak.

You gasped, your fingers grasping for it, but the delicate fabric was already airborne, dancing above the heads of the crowd. You watched helplessly as it soared higher, carried by the playful wind. Instinctively, you gave chase, weaving through the throng of revelers as your heart raced with the thrill of pursuit.

The handkerchief drifted out of sight, disappearing beyond the swell of people. Your steps faltered, and you stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowd in vain. It was only then that a firm hand shot up above the sea of heads, catching the fluttering fabric mid-air. The sight of your handkerchief, caught in a strong, gloved grip, sent a jolt through you.

Your gaze traveled upward, and there he stood—a figure that was at once familiar and startlingly different. His broad shoulders and proud stance were unmistakable even before he turned, his dark eyes locking with yours.

“Your Highness?” His voice was deep, steady, and entirely too familiar. Then, his eyes went to your hair—you, still wearing the hairpin he gave you that day—and they filled with a conflicted, longing sort of expression.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you froze. He looked so much…bigger. He always had muscles due to his frequent physical lessons, but he was so much taller now, his face a lot more sculpted. Before you could interpret what the lurching in your heart meant, he took a step towards you. But before he could take another step toward you, you turned and ran instinctively, the sound of his voice chasing you as surely as his footsteps.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! If Choso knew you had sneaked out, he would send you right back, citing useless things about duty and protecting you. While your traitorous heart started beating faster as soon as you saw him—different, but still undeniably Choso—you knew your liberty was at an end if he sent you home and informed your parents of what you did.

You bolted as fast as you could, your cloak billowing behind you as you darted into a narrow alley. Footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, heavy and deliberate, chasing you down. You reached the end of the alley and stopped, your chest heaving, unsure whether to keep running or face him.

“Your Highness,” the voice came again, closer this time.

You spun around, and there he was. Choso. But he wasn’t the boy you remembered—he was a man now. Broad shoulders filled out his uniform, the insignia of his rank glinting on his chest. His hair was tied back, revealing a face hardened by battle and time. Yet his eyes, dark and intense, still held the same quiet depth you’d known as children.

He dropped to one knee, his hand over his heart. “Your Highness.”

You gaped at his display. Since when did he start kneeling? “What are you doing?”

His voice came out, devoid of the warmth you had once known. “It’s protocol, Your Highness.” His head remained bowed, his knee pressed to the uneven cobblestones, the hand holding your handkerchief resting against his heart.

But you were in denial, scrambling to pull him up by his arms. It was futile; he was way stronger than you, and at your touch, he jumped back, as if stung. Wounded, you urged him. “Get up,” you stepped closer, “Choso, it’s me. You don’t need to—”

“I must, Your Highness.” His tone was calm but resolute, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Unless you are issuing an imperial command, I have no choice but to honor the rules set forth by your station.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “An imperial command?” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. You didn’t want commands; you wanted familiarity, the easy camaraderie you once shared.

“Yes, Your Highness.” He finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “If you do not wish me to kneel, then say it as such. Otherwise…” He lowered his head again. “This is my place.”

“Your place?” You felt a flicker of anger rise in your chest. “Choso, your place is by my side, as it always has been! Don’t—don’t treat me like some distant monarch.”

His shoulders tensed, and you thought you caught a flash of something—guilt, perhaps?—in the way his fingers tightened around the handkerchief. But still, he didn’t move.

Frustrated, you stepped even closer, your voice rising despite your efforts to remain calm. “Get up,” you said, reaching out and tugging at his arm. “I said, get up!”

“I cannot,” he said softly, the words cutting through your frustration like a blade. “Not unless you order it as my superior.”

You stared at him, a mix of hurt and disbelief swirling in your chest. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling. “If that’s what it takes, then I command you—get up, Choso. I command you to stand!”

For a moment, the tension lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Slowly, reluctantly, he rose to his feet, towering over you with a presence that felt both familiar and foreign.

But as you looked up at him, your frustration only grew. “This isn’t you,” you said, your voice softer now, tinged with sadness. “You’re treating me like I’m just your princess, like I’m someone you barely know. Do you even know how much it hurt when you never wrote back to me? I kept sending letter after letter, but it was like you didn’t care. Like you forgot about me.”

Choso’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It wasn’t my place to respond, Your Highness.”

It was that damn phrase. “Your place?” you echoed, now even more bitterly. “You were my friend, Choso. My closest friend. Now you stand here, calling me Your Highness like I’m a stranger, like we never ran through the gardens or talked under the stars. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

For a moment, his expression softened, but it was fleeting. He straightened, his demeanor distant once more. “It’s dangerous for you to be here,” he said quietly. “I need to call for a carriage to take you back to the palace.”

Your heart sunk to your derriere. If Choso did indeed send you back, your parents would undeniably discover that you’ve been sneaking out. “No!” you snapped, stepping forward. “You can’t. If my parents find out I was here, they’ll—”

“They’ll ensure your safety,” he interrupted, his voice steady but firm. “And that’s what matters.”

You stared at him, now anger bubbling in your chest. “So you’ll just hand me over like I’m some burden to be dealt with? What about you?” Then, in a strong fit, you bursted out. “Are you going to stay here and fool around with girls while I’m locked away in the palace?”

His eyes widened briefly at your accusation, a flicker of surprise breaking through his stoic mask. But then his expression hardened, and he took a step back. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly.

“Fair?” you shot back, your voice trembling. “What’s fair about any of this, Choso? You’re not even trying to fight for us—for the friendship we used to have.”

He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then make it simple!” you demanded, your heart aching with every word. “Stop pushing me away. Stop acting like I don’t matter to you anymore.”

For a moment, you thought he might say something—something real, something that would bridge the growing chasm between you. But instead, he turned away, his voice steady and distant as he said, “Wait here. I’ll call for the carriage.”

You watched him walk away, the ache in your chest spreading until it felt like it would consume you entirely. The handkerchief in your hand trembled as you clenched your fingers around it, your anger and sadness swirling into a storm of emotion.

And yet, even as he disappeared into the bustling streets, a part of you refused to believe this was the end. You couldn’t let it be.

Ever since his return to the palace, Choso has been ignoring you.

It’s not that you were spending every hour and every minute with him before, when he was just your childhood friend. However, you would meet everyday, whether it to be sneak off into the gardens at night, or meet for lunch or dinner. Even a request of yours could’ve secured a visit to town, the both of you going to town to eat pastries and street food while accompanied by a chaperone. Of course, that was due to your incessant pleas to your disapproving mother, but you could score an occasional playdate outside the palace every month or so.

But it feels…different. And he feels different.

You oft find yourself daydreaming about him, older and a decorated soldier. And before you can catch yourself, you find your cheeks heated and your heart set aflutter. It’s a bit mind-boggling, really. Ever since Choso left, none of the future dukes and lords had ever caught your attention, even at balls. Their gentle, weak disposition didn’t compare to your Choso, you always thought. Back then, you had always thought of it as pride for your best friend, but now…..

Musing aside, you’re tired of this distance Choso has created between you. So you choose to seek him out.

The castle courtyard was alive with the sharp clang of swords and the rhythmic stomp of boots on hard-packed dirt. You leaned over the balustrade of the upper terrace, concealed behind a stone pillar, watching the soldiers below. It wasn’t the sparring or the strategy that captivated you—it was Choso.

The sun bore down on him as he moved with precision and power, his blade a silver blur as he sparred with one of the veteran knights. His whole torso is bare; damp with sweat, the sun shines against the cords and cords of muscle that then lead to a string of hair that trails into his trousers. The muscles in his arms ripple with every swing and parry. You bite your lip, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks that you stubbornly attributed to the summer heat.

He had changed so much. Gone was the boy who had laughed with you under the willow tree and run with you through the gardens. In his place was a man who carried the weight of war on his broad shoulders, his every movement deliberate, his expression unreadable. And yet, despite the distance he put between you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

When the sparring session ended, Choso handed his sword to a squire and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. You straightened as he turned, half-expecting him to glance up and spot you. But he didn’t. Instead, he spoke briefly to the knight, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. You couldn’t keep hiding and watching from afar. You had to speak to him, to demand answers for why he had been avoiding you since the day in the alley.

Quickly, you made your way down to the courtyard, your pulse racing as you rehearsed what you would say. But when you reached the training grounds, Choso was already heading toward the barracks.

“Choso!” you called out, your voice echoing across the courtyard.

He froze mid-step, his shoulders tensing before he turned slowly to face you. His expression was neutral, guarded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something he quickly masked.

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head. “What brings you here?”

You frowned, frustrated by the formality in his tone. “I wanted to speak with you,” you said, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy with training and my duties.”

“That’s a lie,” you said, crossing your arms. “You always find a reason to leave whenever I try to approach you. You didn’t even look at me after the alley—”

“Your Highness,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not proper for you to be seen in the training grounds.”

“Proper?” you repeated, anger flaring in your chest. “Since when do you care about what’s proper? You didn’t care when we were sneaking out or when we were running through the gardens—”

“That was different,” he said, his tone softer now. “We were children. Things aren’t the same anymore.”

“Why not?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why are you pushing me away?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the soldiers milling about in the distance. “I’m not pushing you away,” he said finally. “I’m doing what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “How can ignoring me and avoiding me be what’s best for me?”

Choso didn’t answer. Instead, he bowed his head again, his hands clenched at his sides. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I need to return to my duties.”

And before you could stop him, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the courtyard, your heart aching with every step he took.

You paced the length of your chambers, clutching the skirts of your dress. It’s been two times that Choso dismissed since his arrival. Did he abhor you so?

It was as if an invisible wall had been erected between you, the builder of it Choso for some mysterious reason. Proprietary aside, it would be okay for the occasional chat, would it not? After all, he was still a noble in his own regard, and a conversation or two wouldn’t be frowned upon. So why was he ignoring you entirely?

You couldn’t take it anymore. If he wouldn’t come to you, then you would ensure he had no choice but to stay by your side. If he truly detests it, you will let him go, no matter how painful it would be and how ardently you would mourn your friendship. But you needed to know.

Resolved, you marched to your parents’ audience chamber, where they were seated in quiet discussion. Your father looked up first, his brows furrowing slightly at your abrupt entrance. “What is it, my dear? You seem troubled.”

Your mother glanced at you as well, seated right next to the king, her sharp gaze assessing. “Has something happened?”

You straightened your shoulders, facing them both, willing your voice to remain steady. “Father, Mother, I have a request.”

Your father tilted his head, curious. “Go on.”

You hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “I would like Choso to be assigned as my personal guard.”

The queen blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line, and questioned, “Choso?”

“Yes,” you said quickly to prevent your mother from getting a word in. “He’s proven himself in battle, hasn’t he? He’s been promoted several times for his skill and loyalty. Who better to protect me?”

Your father leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “It’s true he’s risen quickly through the ranks. He’s a fine soldier.”

“And he’s someone I trust,” you added, stepping closer. “He’s been by my side since we were children. I feel safer with him than with anyone else. With me growing into adulthood, there would be no one better to be by my side.”

Your mother’s gaze sharpened. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with his recent return to the palace, would it?”

You met her eyes, refusing to back down. “It has everything to do with the fact that I need someone I can rely on. Someone who knows me.”

Your father exchanged a look with your mother, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. I will speak to the general about the arrangement.” Then, a little wryly, he adds, “Although, I did hear that it was him that reported you when you were sneaking out in public. Perhaps it would be a fine match.” At that, your mother visibly bristled at the memory of hearing that you were out, unguarded.

At the king’s words, relief washed over you, but it was quickly tempered by your mother’s stern voice. “This is highly unusual, you know. A princess requesting a specific guard. People will talk.”

Inwardly, you rolled your eyes, but showing sass to your mother would mean that she would argue further. Instead, you went and showed her your pride. “Let them,” you said, lifting your chin. “I don’t care what they say.”

Your father chuckled softly, knowing you would say something of the sort. “Spoken like a true princess.”

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head. “Both of you, Father and Mother.”

As you left the chamber, your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was your chance—your chance to bring Choso back into your life. Whatever walls he had built between you, you were determined to tear them down.

The water was warm, steam curling gently around you as you leaned back in the large marble tub. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the tiled floor. It was one of the few moments you had to yourself, free from the watchful eyes of attendants and the endless constraints of royal duty. You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the water, allowing yourself to relax—until the door to your bathing chamber slammed open.

“Your Highness, why did you—” At first, Choso raised his voice slightly, storming in. Then, he stopped right in his tracks as he noticed you, and your face, your neck and then the rest of your body engorged in soapy, steamy water. Blushing furiously, he turned, scrambling for the door. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to—”

He was rigid as he stormed toward the exit, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the sight. “Choso, wait,” you called, your voice laced with amusement. He stopped abruptly, halting awkwardly in his tracks. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm for your new title,” you teased, “I’d prefer if you didn’t barge into the bathing chamber. Let us count ourselves lucky that you had not seen… more.”

It was nearly impossible not to laugh now. Even the back of his neck was flushed a deep crimson, and it struck you as absurdly endearing. The aloof and stoic soldier who had spent weeks ignoring you had crumbled into a shy boy at the mere sight of you in a tub. You supposed it made sense—he’d likely not had much interaction with women, what with his rigid dedication to the army. Still, his reaction felt... exaggerated.

Choso let out a shaky exhale, his voice strained when he finally spoke. “I apologize,” he said, his tone clipped as though to mask his discomfort. “But I must ask—why did you instate me as your guard?”

The answer was simple, and you played absentmindedly with a soap bubble as you replied, “Because there is no one I trust more than you.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint dripping of water. Then, Choso spoke, his voice low and almost pained. “Why must you do this to me? Why must you torment me so?”

What?

His words pierced through the lighthearted atmosphere, leaving you stunned. A pang of hurt welled in your chest at the sharpness of his tone. “Does it torment you to be in my company?” you asked, laughing scornfully to hide the sting.

When he didn’t answer, the silence was louder than any words could have been.

“If it torments you,” you continued bitterly, “then so be it. You have already had my one liberty stripped away. Mother and Father have doubled the surveillance on me, all thanks to you.” The memory of your recent restrictions only added fuel to the fire of your frustration. “Is this not fair? An eye for an eye, then. Perhaps your torment will teach you to stop pretending you know what’s best for me.”

Still brimming with anger, you lifted your chin and gestured to the door. “You may leave now.”

For a moment, he stood there, the weight of his presence filling the room. Then, with a stiff nod, he turned to the door. “Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice cold and formal.

And then, he was gone.

You really do abhor dinner parties.

There’s much wrong with them, and if you had to, you could do a systematic rundown of every single grievance. The first and foremost was the absurd inability to properly enjoy the food. The chefs’ hard work deserved to be indulged in, not nibbled delicately with those ridiculous little spoons. And then there was the matter of breathing, which you could barely manage with your waist cinched so tightly and your bodice forcing your chest up like some cruel display. Sitting down practically demanded you forgo the simple luxury of air.

But the worst part? Having to entertain men.

“And I have acquired double the profits of Lord Gojo,” Lord Naoya declared, puffing his chest like a rooster preening in the henhouse. His voice boomed with self-importance, his words spilling out in a showy, rehearsed cadence.

You couldn’t help yourself—you smiled. And while it appeared to him as admiration, it was born of pure amusement. The man clearly thought you were too dim to know better, but you were well-versed in state finances. Lord Naoya’s exaggerated claims were as transparent as glass.

On your right, Choso sat silently, his role as your personal guard justifying his unusually close position. He had been quiet all evening, his eyes scanning the room more than his plate.

“And surely, a woman as lovely as yourself would agree that business acumen is the truest mark of a man’s value,” Naoya continued, leaning closer to you with a smirk you found utterly punchable.

You giggled, not at his words, but at the sheer absurdity of them. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, but your amusement couldn’t be fully hidden.

When you finally turned to glance at Choso, however, your mirth faltered. He wasn’t looking at Naoya anymore—his dark eyes were locked on you, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

He looked very upset.

You blinked, confused, before glancing back at Naoya, who was still prattling on, utterly oblivious. Was Choso… angry at you?

It didn’t make sense. After you had initiated him as your guard, he’d been resigned after that confrontation in your bathing chambers. Ever since, you’d seen him stoic, protective, and even exasperated, but this—this was different. The weight of his gaze lingered on you like a reprimand, and it unsettled you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

“Your Highness, I trust you’d agree,” Naoya pressed, oblivious to the charged air.

“Agree?” you echoed, snapping back to attention. You hadn’t been listening, too distracted by Choso’s silent brooding. “Oh, of course,” you said vaguely, waving your hand with a polite smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Naoya looked pleased with himself, but you barely noticed. Your focus shifted back to Choso, who had turned his head forward, his jaw tight. You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Is something the matter?”

He didn’t look at you, his tone curt. “Nothing, Your Highness.”

Your stomach twisted at the formality. The night had already been exhausting enough, and now Choso was acting like you’d personally offended him.

“Choso,” you pressed, your voice softer now, “if I’ve done something to upset you—”

“It’s not my place to say,” he interrupted, finally looking at you. His gaze was sharp, cutting through your defenses. “But if I may offer counsel, I’d suggest not wasting your smiles on men like him.”

You blinked, taken aback. His words weren’t loud, but they struck with the force of a hammer.

“What does that mean?” you whispered, your amusement long gone, replaced by confusion—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“It means,” Choso said, his voice low, “that he’s not worth it.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication.

Before you could respond, the clinking of glasses drew everyone’s attention, and you were forced to look away as a toast was made. But even as the room filled with polite applause and laughter, your thoughts were consumed by Choso’s quiet but pointed remarks.

When you glanced back at him, his focus was elsewhere, his expression carefully neutral. Yet something about the tension in his shoulders told you that the conversation wasn’t over—not really.

And for the rest of the evening, Naoya’s words became nothing more than background noise, drowned out by the quiet storm brewing in Choso’s eyes.

The air in your chambers was warm, the faint crackle of the fireplace soothing you as your maid finished tugging the laces of your nightgown into place. The fabric was delicate, thin enough to feel the cool evening breeze against your skin despite the room's warmth. With a bow, the maid excused herself, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Ever since that dinner party with Naoya, Choso had been more distant than ever. Before, it had seemed that he had warmed up to the task of being your guard; whenever you walked through the garden, you eventually warmed him enough that the both of you could converse during the stroll. Of course, it hadn’t returned to what it was like before, but it was still progress. However, now it seemed that all he had to offer was curt responses and avoidant stares.

The change grated on you, more than you cared to admit. You weren’t naïve; you knew something had shifted that night. The way he had looked at you, the way his words had cut—it all lingered, a splinter in your chest that you couldn’t pull free.

Still, tonight was meant to be routine, a brief reprieve from the emotional turmoil. You always ended your evenings with a massage, a small luxury that helped soothe the tension from the day. Summoning Choso to your chambers, you intended for him to call for the maid who usually performed the task.

When he arrived, his expression was as stony as ever. “You called for me, Your Highness?”

“Yes, Choso,” you said, smoothing your hands over the hem of your nightgown. You lazed back on your chaise lounge, head against pillow as you looked at him. “I need the maid for my massage. Could you fetch her?”

He hesitated. “The maids have retired for the night. Shall I summon someone from the servants’ quarters?”

You frowned. The thought of disturbing anyone at this hour felt excessive. Then, your gaze drifted to Choso, his broad shoulders rigid, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual formal stance. An idea struck you, and you spoke before fully thinking it through.

“Then you’ll do it.”

His dark eyes snapped to yours, wide with disbelief. “Your Highness, I—”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence but unable to fully hide the mischief in your smile. “Oh, come now, Choso. You’re stronger than any maid. Surely, your hands would be better suited for the task.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you as though you’d just declared the sky was green. His lips parted, but no words came out, his gaze darting nervously around the room before settling back on you. “I don’t think that’s… appropriate,” he said carefully, his voice low and strained.

You leaned back slightly, arching a brow. “And why not? It’s just a massage. Surely, as my personal guard, it’s your duty to ensure my comfort, no?”

“Your Highness—”

“Choso,” you interrupted, your tone softening as you leaned forward slightly, letting your hair cascade over one shoulder. “You’ve sworn an oath to protect me. Are you really going to deny me such a simple request? Besides,” you added with a teasing smile, “I trust you. Who better to take care of me?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his shoulders visibly tensing. It was rare to see him so uncharacteristically flustered, and you found it almost endearing. Still, you could see the war waging behind his eyes—the struggle between his rigid sense of propriety and his inability to deny you.

“Choso,” you said again, gentler this time, “it’s just us here. No one else needs to know. Please?”

The word seemed to undo him. After a long, weighted pause, he exhaled sharply, his hands clenching at his sides before he gave a stiff nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

You smiled in satisfaction and shifted, lying down on the chaise lounge with your head resting on your folded arms. The thin fabric of your nightgown clung to your back and shoulders, leaving little to the imagination, but you paid it no mind. Choso, however, hesitated, his gaze flickering over you before he finally moved to kneel beside you, his movements almost painfully hesitant.

You settled onto the chaise lounge, lying on your stomach and pulling your hair over one shoulder to expose the curve of your neck. The thin fabric of your nightgown clung to your body, leaving little to the imagination, but you paid no mind to it. Choso, however, lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his dark eyes flickering over the exposed skin before quickly darting away.

The tension in the room was palpable, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his hesitation. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until finally, he knelt beside you, his movements stiff and deliberate. His hands hovered just above your shoulders for a moment, as if he were debating whether to go through with it, before he finally made contact.

The first press of his palms was firm, his calloused hands warm against your skin. He worked in silence, but his touch was tentative, almost reluctant, as though every movement was a battle against himself. His fingers found the knots in your shoulders, but his grip tightened slightly as you let out a soft sigh of relief.

“You’re good at this,” you murmured, your voice languid. “I should’ve asked you sooner.”

Choso didn’t respond, but his hands stilled for the briefest moment, his jaw tightening. He resumed a beat later, his touch growing more confident as his fingers moved lower, kneading along the length of your spine. Yet, there was something almost possessive in the way he worked, his hands lingering at the curve of your back, brushing the edges of your nightgown with an intimacy that felt deliberate, even if unspoken.

Heat pooled in your belly, but the mood shifted when Choso spoke, his voice low and edged with something that made your breath catch.

“Do you let all your guards do this to you?”

Your eyes snapped open, the sharpness of his tone cutting through the haze. You turned your head to look at him, frowning. “What?”

He straightened, pulling his hands away, anger visible on his face. “Do you let all your guards touch you like this, or am I just the special fool?”

The accusation in his voice stung. You sat up on the chaise lounge, clutching the fabric of your nightgown to your chest. “What are you implying?”

“I’m implying,” he said, his eyes dark and filled with something unnameable, “that you smiled at Naoya like he was the only man in the room. That you entertained his nonsense—his lies—like you actually enjoyed it.”

A sharp laugh escaped you, incredulous and hurt. “You think I was flirting with Naoya? That I would ever entertain a fool like him?”

“You did tonight,” Choso shot back, his jaw clenched tightly. “You smiled and laughed at him, as if he deserved it. As if you weren’t above him. The you I knew wouldn’t have entertained someone like Naoya for a second. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

That cut deeper than it should have. Your breath hitched, and frustration welled in your chest, bursting free before you could stop it.

“You don’t know me anymore?” you echoed, your voice trembling with emotion. “Well, Choso, I don’t know you either! You’re the one who left me without a word. You’re the one who never answered my letters, who pushed me away for no reason. You didn’t answer them for years, Choso. For years! How can you stand there and talk about me changing when you’ve done everything you could to shut me out?”

He flinched, as if your words struck a nerve. His gaze fell to the floor, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I didn’t answer because I thought it was better that way,” he said quietly. “Because I knew… whatever this was—whatever we were—it couldn’t last. I didn’t want to make it harder for you.”

Your heart cracked at his words, tears threatening to spill over. “You didn’t want to make it harder for me?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You made it unbearable, Choso! You didn’t just leave me, you abandoned me. Without explanation, without closure. You were my friend, my closest ally, and you just… disappeared!”

“I was avoiding the inevitable,” he said, his tone low and bitter. “I was saving us both from something that could never be.”

“And why not?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why couldn’t we have stayed friends? Why couldn’t you have stayed as someone I trusted, someone I could rely on?”

Choso let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, his head bowing as his hands rose to rub at his temples. When he looked back at you, his eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You think I just want to be your ally?” Choso’s voice cracked, his tone harsh and trembling, a storm barely contained within him. He stepped closer, his shadow stretching toward you in the dim light. His dark eyes blazed, raw and unguarded, piercing straight through you.

“Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life standing at your side, pretending it doesn’t destroy me every time you smile at another man?” he continued, his voice rising with emotion. “Do you think I want to be some nameless figure in your life, someone who exists only to bow, to nod, to follow orders while the rest of the world gets to bask in your warmth?”

Your breath hitched as he took another step, the space between you shrinking.

“I don’t want to be your ally, your friend, or some loyal servant,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I want you. I have always wanted you.”

His confession struck you like lightning, setting every nerve ablaze. You could see the anguish etched into his features, the way his hands shook as if he was struggling to hold himself back.

“I want to touch you without wondering if it’s inappropriate,” he went on, his words tumbling out, unrestrained. “I want to kiss you without the weight of the crown between us. I want to wake up beside you every morning, knowing you’re mine—truly mine—and not just some unattainable dream I’ve been foolish enough to carry.”

“Choso…” you whispered, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

“I want to tear apart every damned rule, every line drawn between us,” he continued, his voice thick with frustration and desire. “I want the world to see that you’re mine—not Naoya’s, not some prince’s, not anyone else’s. Mine.”

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling further. “But that’s not what the world allows, is it?” he said, his tone laced with venom. “Because I’m not a prince or a duke or anyone worthy of you. I’m just a man—a soldier. And the world says I can’t have you.”

His chest heaved with the force of his confession, and his eyes—God, his eyes—burned with a pain so deep it was almost unbearable to witness.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “You could have had me,” you said, your voice trembling, tears stinging your eyes. “If you’d just stayed, if you’d let me in instead of shutting me out. We could have figured this out together, Choso. I would have fought for you.”

His expression faltered, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his anger. “And what would you have me do?” he asked hoarsely. “Stand beside you while everyone whispers that I’m unworthy? Watch as suitors line up for your hand, knowing I can’t stop them because it’s my duty to protect you, not love you?”

“I don’t care what the world says!” you burst out, stepping closer, your voice rising with desperation. “I don’t care about duty or station or rules. All I ever wanted was you, Choso. You, as my friend, my ally, my—”

“Your what?” he interrupted, his voice low and rough. “Say it. Say what I’ve been longing to hear and dreading all at once.”

Your breath hitched, tears streaming down your face as you met his gaze. “My everything,” you whispered.

For a moment, the tension between you hung thick and electric, the weight of years of unspoken words pressing down on you both. Then Choso stepped back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight.

“That’s why I stayed away,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “Because I knew if I didn’t, I’d lose myself in you completely. And I wouldn’t be able to let you go. This is why I must stay away.”

For a moment, he lingered there, his hand flexing at his side as if fighting some invisible force. His gaze dropped, and when he finally turned away, it was slow, deliberate, each step a struggle. He didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold, the heavy sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence.

The silence in your room was suffocating. Curtains drawn tightly, the dim flicker of a single candle cast wavering shadows on the stone walls. Plates of untouched food sat on a tray near the door, abandoned by the maids you had dismissed hours ago. The only sound was the faint rustle of your gown as you shifted on the edge of your bed, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold your broken pieces together.

A soft knock broke the stillness, tentative and almost hesitant. You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to see anyone, let alone speak. Whoever it was would surely leave if you didn’t respond.

But the door creaked open.

Your heart twisted. “I told you all to leave me be,” you said hoarsely, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I’m not one of your maids,” came a quiet reply from a voice that was all-too-familiar.

Your head snapped up, breath catching in your throat as Choso stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. His dark eyes, always so steady and unreadable, now held an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

“Get out,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, though the hurt behind it was impossible to mask. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“I know,” he murmured, taking a hesitant step forward. He held something in his hands—a small stack of parchment, edges worn and yellowed. “But I have something to say to you.”

You frowned, your gaze darting to the papers he carried. “What is that?”

“Letters,” Choso said, his voice thick with emotion. He swallowed hard before continuing, “The ones I wrote to you but never sent.”

You stiffened, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. “Why are you showing me this now?”

“Because I should have given them to you a long time ago,” he said simply. “And because I need you to know… what I couldn’t say before. But what I feel I must say now, for I am done with pretending I am not a selfish, selfish man.”

He stepped closer, setting the letters on the bed beside you. For a moment, he hesitated, then knelt before you, his hands resting on his thighs as he looked up at you with a mixture of guilt and determination, as if he had made a decision. And you fight desperately to not yourself believe that, perhaps, he has changed his mind, that he will finally take you in the way you desire.

But you steel your heart as you cautiously look at him.

“Read them,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the stack, the paper cool and rough beneath your touch. The first letter was dated years ago, the ink slightly smudged, as if his hand had lingered too long on the words.

My dearest friend,

I’ve written and torn up this letter a dozen times. How do I explain the ache I feel every night I march under foreign stars? How do I explain that even on the battlefield, amidst the chaos, my mind drifts to you? I think of our secret meetings in the garden, the way you’d laugh as you dared me to meet you in the willow tree every night. Do you remember that night we barely escaped the guards? Your laughter, your gown splayed across the forest floor. I dream of those nights—of you leaning close to steal the fruit in my palm, staring up at me, the world disappearing, and wishing I could ask for more. For you close to me not under the pretense of stealing the pomegranate in my hand, but for something more.

Your voice broke as you read, tears pooling in your eyes. Choso remained silent, his head bowed, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

You moved to the next letter.

The scent of jasmine haunted me on the journey here. Every step of the way, I remembered you crouched beneath the trellis, daring me to pluck the flowers despite the gardener’s wrath. When I handed you the bouquet, your smile made me feel invincible, as though I could conquer kingdoms just to see it again. I wished then that I could have told you the truth—that every reckless moment we shared was a reprieve from the weight of duty. I wanted to kiss you in the moonlight, to tell you that you were more than a dream to me. I tried to, in part, with the hairpin I gave you, one that amplified your gentle beauty even more than I thought possible. But how could I ruin what little time we had?

“Choso,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Why didn’t you send these?”

“I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought it was kinder to stay away. To bury how I felt. But it wasn’t kinder, was it?”

You shook your head, unable to speak as you continued reading, each letter peeling away the walls you’d built to protect yourself from the pain of his absence.

When you reached the last letter, your breath hitched.

If I were braver, I’d tell you this to your face: I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time we ran barefoot through the gardens, laughing until we couldn’t breathe. I’ve loved you since you bandaged my hand after my sparring lessons, scolding me and treating me gently as if I weren’t a warrior, as if my rough, damaged hands were worth your care. I love you with a desperation that terrifies me, that kept me awake in camp as I replayed your smile over and over. If I lose you now, it will be my own doing. But still, I love you.

Your tears fell freely now, soaking the parchment. Choso rose slowly, his hands lifting as if to touch you but stopping just shy of your skin.

“Say something,” he pleaded, his voice raw.

Instead, you surged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet you. Your lips found his in a kiss that was fierce and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of longing, anger, and love into the connection.

Choso froze for a heartbeat before melting into you. The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched your own.

His hands moved to grasp your waist, as if afraid you might vanish. Before they could touch you, he paused as if doubting his ability to be able to touch you. To your frustration, the heat of his almost-contact pulled away. “Your Highness—”

“Choso,” you pleaded, grasping his hands in yours and placing them on their rightful place: your body. You dragged his hands down your torso, helping him explore your curves sensually, intimately as he squeezed his brows together, eyes shut, conveying his inner turmoil. His resolve almost cracked as you begged him, “Take me. Please.”

With agitation, he withdrew his hands from your grasp, painfully clenching them by his sides as he groaned. “Your Highness, you’re playing with fire. I mustn’t. Your body is of a thousand gold, and I would never dare to touch you with my hands—”

But you interrupted him by snorting. “If it is of a thousand gold, or whatever archaic term the royal legends have invented, then you are a thousand gold richer.” You gently took his face in your arms, kissing his forehead. “I am yours, and if you believe that anyone will have my heart after you, then you are most grievously mistaken.”

He still looked at you, both kneeling on your bed, with a conflicted expression. You gave him a reassuring look before pressing another gentle kiss to his lips. Then, you teased him softly. “Will you not fight for my hand? Will you truly let me be promised to another man after this?”

His eyes darkened in a possessive manner, as he joined his lips against yourself furiously. “I would never,” he punctuated his interruptions with a searing kiss. “let anyone have you after this.”

With tender hands that heavily contrasted his desperation, he slipped the shoulder of your dress, dragging the hem down and down until your breasts were bare to the air. “So, so beautiful,” he whispered before enclosing your nubs in his mouth, kissing them both tenderly.

You could only but gasp, victim to his ministrations as he sneaked another hand up your legs, gently caressing your thighs until he met your core. He groaned, louder than ever, when he was met with the bare heat, wet with your desire and arousal all for him. With painstaking gentleness, he eased a finger in, drinking in your moans and sounds of pleasure.

He couldn’t help but smile at the small scream that escaped you when he curled his fingers up. It seemed he had found the place that pleasured you most, one that you had stayed unbeknownst to. And he definitely couldn’t stop himself from torturing and repeatedly hitting against it with the way squeals of his name left your mouth whenever he did so.

Before you knew it, an unknown feeling washed over you as Choso kept continuing his touches, one that seemed like worship with how he was looking for your reactions, for your pleasure. A gush of slick escaped you, and Choso kissed your breasts one final time before drawing out his finger.

You peered down at him, flushed, as his eyes stayed trained on you while he slowly drew his finger inside his mouth, seeming to savor your taste. At last, he pulled it away from his mouth and asked, voice hoarse, “how are you feeling?”

You laugh bashfully and look away, blushing. “You know you don’t need to ask that. But,” and you pause, looking at him through your lashes, “you know I want more.”

The flush that was only apparent on his cheeks spread to his entire face and neck and he whines as he buries his face in your breasts once more, now to evade eye contact. “Don’t say things like that. It makes holding back even more arduous.”

You stroke his hair, smiling softly. “Would you have any qualms about taking my…maidenhood if you were my husband.”

His answer is immediate. “Absolutely not.”

“So you want to…make love with me?” You heat up at your own words, nervously looking at him in fear of his rejection.

He pauses, but then slowly nods. “Well, yes, but—”

“Then we shall put archaic traditions aside. Choso,” and you look at him mischievously as he squints at you, “I command you to make love to me.”

The reaction is immediate. As if animated again, he pins you down against your mattress, eyes feral as he takes your lips with his once more. With both hands, a riiiip echoes across the room as he entirely tears your shift in his bare hands. Mind you, it was not weak material, and you lay dumbfounded as he strips his shirt off.

You don’t even have time to admire his bare torso, muscled as you knew it would be. Your eyes automatically trail down to the string of hair that leads down to his v-line as he rids himself of his trousers.

What gets uncovered makes you pray for your life, and you gasp, eyes wide. “How is that even supposed to go inside—”

He says your name, reassuringly, as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I will take the utmost care of you. I promise.” He lines his length with your entrance, and, with another kiss, he pushes in gently.

When his member first breaches you, you gasp, dizzied by the fullness. Then, as he slowly bottoms out, you whine while impaled on his cock. “More.”

Basking in the euphoria of your clenching heat around him, at your request, he curses. He pulls out his length—slowly, gently—and then slams back in, and you squeal, whispering a breathless utter of his name once more.

He continues making love to you, the sounds of his devotion echoing across the room. When you both climax, it is down with a prayer of the other’s name, as a promise. That you are both each other’s, and no qualms about proprietary and status could any longer apprehend either of you.

When the both of you settle down, him having gently cleaned you with a cloth, he collapses next to you in bed, bare arms engulfing you and pulling you closer. As you both lie there, skin to skin, you giggle at your own thoughts.

At the sound, Choso perks up, looking at you in soft amusement. “What’s the matter, my love?”

Ignoring the way your heart fluttered at the nickname, you replied, “I daresay you will be the strongest prince consort in the history of our kingdom.”

The mention of the weak nobles that had ascended the throne in centuries past makes him snicker smugly. “I would agree,” he muses, amused like you. “They would not have been as tall as me, or as strong, or as good in bed—-”

“Choso!” you squealed, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it.

Grinning like a devil, he dodged with ease, catching your wrist and pulling you down onto the bed. Before you could protest, he wrestled himself on top of you, pinning your arms above your head and smothering you in kisses.

After his barrage was over, he turned solemn once more. “I’m serious,” he murmured, his tone softer, more sincere. His dark eyes searched yours, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I’ll protect you, stand beside you, love you until my last breath. You’re my queen in every way that matters. And no matter what, I’ll never leave your side again.”

Your breath hitched, his words settling deep in your chest. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you smiled, warmth flooding your heart. “And I’ll hold you to that, my love.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was equal parts promise and devotion. It wasn’t hurried or frenzied, but slow, a tangible declaration of everything you both had endured to reach this moment. Here, in the quiet of your chamber, with his weight grounding you and his lips marking you as his, you found the only place you wanted to be—by his side, now and always.

general masterlist

a/n AHH HI POOKIES!! I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED MY FIRST CHOSO FIC?? let me know if i do him justice this was written with my pussy and me having a specific hyperfixation :3 anyways i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you guys did too :')

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #choso #choso smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #choso kamo #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk choso #choso kamo x you #aashi writes

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iceunhie · 11 months ago

Text

— PUSH AND PULL : honkai star rail.

premise. as someone who's always believed in the term “try and try again,” (peak delusion, you know) rooting yourself in their heart has always been your goal, no matter the cold rejections and curt declines you receive. however, even you have your limits; perhaps this little push and pull you two have going isn't worth your time after all... but what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? (oh, how the turns have tabled.)

...or, when you play hard to get with them.

— ft. sunday, aventurine, jing yuan.

warnings: angst n fluff, messy messy, these boys are in love but are wayyy too chicken to admit they actually adore you, genderless reader.

a/n. inspired by @/xiaowhore's playing hard to get headcanons! my holy trinity 😇 n MY FAVES RAHHH

NEXT : BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX

SUNDAY is perplexed. very much aware of his qualities which enlists him as one of the finer (finest) bachelors of Penacony (he was the Robin's one and only blood, and was also the head of one of the main guiding forces of the Family, after all), sunday isn't sure he's ever come across someone as.... tenacious as you.

foolish, to be more precise, for he cannot for the life of him comprehend exactly why you are the way you are with... him.

no matter his respectful declines of your invitations to promenade around Penacony (re: going on dates), you really didn't know how to leave him be. though he hasn't exactly said he hated it, sunday was, admittedly, rather... affronted. your gifts, in particular, were your loud declarations of your affection (that make his wings flutter more rapidly than he'd like); but sunday was rather inconvenienced at the whole thing.

nonetheless, he does still accept them. reluctantly, mind you. not because he was fond of your constant shower of affections, which seemed so permanent that he began to look forward to them got used to it. to your credit, your gifts were very much to his tastes. (Robin once gave him a rather soul-searching look when he found himself wearing the gloves you gifted, light blue and white in color. he still uses it, just not when his sister is in the vicinity.)

in fact, perhaps he may have gotten too comfortable. little by little, your constant intrusions on his time have thawed a way to his heart; making sunday look forward to your jovial greetings and grandeur elaborations on your day, and such a thing makes him feel scared sunday needed to nip this in the bud, and fast.

so he confronts you, abruptly one day as you give him his newest gift—a jewelry box for his earrings. (surely, the rapid thumping of his heart was due to his irritation at your constant persistence, right?) “i'm afraid this can no longer continue. i am flattered by your... fancy for me, but i do not wish to enter a relationship in the near future.”

the utter silence that follows is torture to him—but he endures. he tries not to look at the momentary flash of hurt on your face. you seemed to quickly recover, though. giving him a simple smile (it didn't reach your eyes. it shocks him how his chest ached at the realization) and shaking your head when he returns the gift to you.

“i understand, mr. sunday.” the formal usage of his name instead of your chipper ‘sunday!’ makes his face twitch. “but please, keep the gift. think of this as my last declaration. it... would do me a great comfort, just this last time, if you accepted it instead.”

(if he had grabbed your hand at that moment as you left for the door, would he regret it?)

when you leave, sunday thought it would put the conflicting feelings in his mind at ease—but it doesn't. a week and two days counting, true to your word, sunday receives no flagrant gifts, nor little messages on his phone that tell him to take care of himself, to eat, and to make sure to remember to check up on Robin.

instead, contrary to the feeling of ease, regret follows him instead.

it's at two weeks and five days counting when sunday could no longer stand the sight of papers that stacked atop his desk and the image of you leaving for the door replaying in his head far too many times for him to count, that he contacts Robin.

and she, once hearing about the situation, gives him a very, very enlightening talk. (of course, not without giving her brother a lecture of the lifetime. part of him felt shame to know that his sister knew of his... turbulent love life, but she was the only one who he could trust, anyway).

“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she says. “but in your case, brother, your heart has already decided it's course, right?”

sunday eyes the smooth velvet of the jewelry box you gifted, ruminating. his earrings lie there, carefully pristine and beautiful, gold and silver intertwined. he has worn them without fail, clean and spotless. (of course it was. such a design so intricate was only chosen by you. the thought makes his ears warm).

the next days are agonizing. vigor renewed and epiphanies well-spent, sunday spends the rest of his time after finishing his duties researching and painstakingly finding the best jeweller he can find (even employing the suggestions of a certain gambler, much to his dislike), and spending a god awful amount of time revisiting and rechecking which spots you like, which places you enjoy, to the point it comes up in Penacony's headlines that sunday is interested in someone.

surely, it should've reached your ears by now, yes? sunday panics. your preferences are well-accounted for, and he's sure the Bloodhound family members that report to him have to tell you that the person he had in mind was you. even Robin, who was your closest friend, has probably told you already.

it's embarrassing to admit, but; to hell with it, the day he meets you after three weeks and sees you having a pleasant chat with aventurine, of all people, sunday thinks his heart had shattered into little pieces and stabbed themselves into his body. not so much as sparing him a glance, moreso.

so when, finally at his wits end, sunday chooses to corner you at the dewlight pavilion and spills out how he has royally screwed up in the worst way possible, no one is surprised. at this rate, you would be swept up in the charms of that wretched gambler, and what sunday lacked in, aventurine more than made up for.

“wait, don't go to that gambler just yet.” he's breathless, he's chaotic—and something in his heart squeezes when you finally look at him. “i... i wish to take up your time now, if that's possible.” (he wishes he would take up your time forever, really, but that was still too early).

you eye his getup. all of your gifts, lined on the man you spent so long chasing after—you see the gloves you gifted, the tie with not so much as a single crease, and the earrings that shine more brightly in the light of the pavilion. (it suits him. like you) it was as if sunday had completely surrendered himself to you, had all but decided to proclaim that he was yours, and this was nothing short of a plea for you to hear him.

“please.” he says. almost begs. “i can't bear not seeing you anymore. allow me to correct such a damning mistake.”

and if you were skeptical, the way sunday looks at you would dispel any doubt you could ever have. (his wings, they were fluttering.)

(months later, after a nerve-ending confession, many days of dinners, shared gifts involving matching jewelry and promenading to your wishes, it dawns on sunday he was absolutely dancing to your tune. did he regret it, though?

....no, most certainly not.)

if AVENTURINE were to be honest with himself, he saw you as a useful “friend” rather than a romantic interest. was it bad of him? of a sort. but risk cutting himself open and letting someone he might grow to care for know about all the ugliness that follows his life? no, he's fine as it is, thanks.

the first thing he notices is that you're kind—though he distrusted most of his colleagues and preferred none to get close to him, aventurine, in some morbid moment of curiosity, instead allowed himself to bask in your attention. instead of curtly disparaging you, he flirts back at your compliments (the way your face heated up in return was far too endearing that he can't help but want to kiss you he finds it amusing) and consistently texts you a “did you get home safe” or a “i bought you this because it reminded me of you”; at this point, it was like you two were dating.

was it leading you on? yes, but he supposes it was a win-win; he could send you those tiny bits of validation that was enough for you to stay respectfully at a distance while he probed at your intentions. unlike others who attempt to garner his favor, you're genuine, and you seriously take the time to know him. because you always text back with hearts, always reassure him, tell him to stay safe and wish him luck at every gamble, every high stakes bet he finds himself in. you even complimented his perfume once (and, if he had to be honest, he could not stop thinking about it all day—because that perfume he commissioned exclusively was based off of your own favorite scents and it was extremely embarrassing that he loved hugging you knowing that you loved the way he smelled and that it felt extremely domestic).

(sometimes, he doesn't reply. for months on end. suddenly the golden-haired man you love goes cold and you know then that aventurine ghosts you and then returns when he's in need of a friend—never a lover. it hurts you, but at the very least, you know he cares in his own way.)

and, if aventurine had to be honest, it was killing him from the inside bit by bit. as if to drive the knife deeper, you never danced around what exactly was going on with you two. you never ask why he ghosts you, then sends you a bundle of gifts all of a sudden and then rapidly spends time with you and repeating the cycle. no, you were consistently by his side, so warm and so caring—so unlike him—that aventurine wonders if it's really all right to open his heart to you.

if, by some chance, he actually wanted to be with you, would you treat him even more sweetly than before? aventurine thinks you would—you were beautiful in your entirety, and he was practically undeserving of you. he imagines himself kissing your hand and having you in his arms—and that feels like ice cold water being dumped onto his head, because you could do so much better and yet, why him?

so when aventurine hears about how a certain doctor was visiting you for some unknown reason, his already fragile sense of security in this little will-they, won't they crumbles.

and when he finds out that you were staying over with ratio? something twisted lodges itself in the little brushes of his heart, coiling and coiling—making him feel green. aventurine is aware you and the doctor are good friends, and ratio was the one who even told you to make a move on him! how could he just—suddenly interrupt?!

(was it dramatic? extremely. but knowing his friend and the person he secretly adores might end up together? you can't really blame him.)

he supposes this can be attributed to him. it was an egregious mistake, a blunder aventurine made—he never gave you a clear sight of whether he truly loved you or not and now you're slipping away from him.

so, he does something very unexpected.

at 3:00 AM in the wee early morning hours, aventurine practically barges into one Dr. veritas ratio's home, demanding what the hell was going on between you. and as if he had expected it, his doctor friend merely gives him a shrug in return.

“perhaps they were simply getting fed up by a certain IPC member—who is clearly head over heels in love with them—giving them mixed signals.” ratio's tone is stern, and aventurine definitely knows that the look he gives him is the one he gives only to fools.

you idiot, the doctor seems to say. yeah, yeah, he is; aventurine ignores the clear pinprick at his dignity.

yes, he supposes he is the fool here. “ah.”

“yes, ‘ah,’ indeed. now, let me propose a question.” the purple-haired man says. “will you react in such a way when i tell you that in order for my friend to stop their anguish, i managed to get them to fraternize with one of my colleagues?”

“...what?”

“they will be having a meet-up seven system hours from now.” ratio shrugs. eyes aventurine, who's looking at him like a gaping, stupid fish. “i can only hope that no one would dare to disrupt.”

...it doesn't take him long to be rid of the gambler by then.

(a few hours later, you stop by the Intelligentsia Guild to see one veritas ratio with a smug smile, eyeing the fur coat draped around your shoulders, and the flushed and happy expression written on your face.

“did it work?” he asks.

you laugh, “splendidly.”

indeed, that gambler was a fool, and there's nothing more than dr. ratio loved than to educate such fools to shape.

“that will teach him.”)

as a quote unquote ‘old man’ who knows that he's well up in his years for a relationship, JING YUAN finds you to be quite amusing.

it doesn't take a detailed analysis to know that you were smitten with him, really. you're a complete open book by his standards—if your heated face and slightly airy voice whenever you were even placed in the same vicinity with the Dozing General was anything to come by. while flattering, he also shares the similar mindset of being too old for any love his way—and he could be mara-struck at any given time, and jing yuan does not wish such a life filled with anguish and pain for the one who may steal his heart. but, worry not, brave suitor of the Arbiter General! unlike the other two above, this man has the experience of millenia, and is open-minded and aware that you truly wish to be perceived as a potential lover.

in fact, jing yuan's recent favorite habit is sneaking off the Seat of Divine Foresight purely to freak you out, watching you scramble up your words, seeing the heat crawl up your nape and bloom all across your face. adorable. you certainly knew how to appeal, that's for sure.

(“heh, it seems i've found a new place to stay in so that the Diviner Fu won't grill me alive when she sees me.”

and when he's rewarded with a bashful and speechless look in return, a smile and your, “i'm glad, general.” it surprisingly lightens up his mood by more than he expected.

that, in turn, gives him a frightening 30% energy boost; fu xuan was utterly shocked to see the languid man actually working and looking like he enjoyed it, for once.

“did something good happen today, jing yuan? why so enthusiastic?”

“i just felt like working more than usual, diviner Fu. i seem to have my energy levels at a high.”)

now, jing yuan is considerate and perceptive first and foremost, so there's a high chance that out of all the men here, he is the most open to giving you the chance to pursue him. he does inform you beforehand that he has no plans of accepting your confessions in the future, and that is where the ‘hard to get’ part comes in.

it's like playing a confusing romance visual novel with a fickle love interest—you never really know what you're doing, whether it's something jing yuan would like or not, and you don't know if he even thinks your attempts are moving his heart. (tldr: he friend zones you).

he maintains the same distance no matter his banters with you, no matter how many times you tell him that you'd help yanqing out with sword lessons. it's like he was just... treating you as he would a friend, and that you were basically stuck in the friend-zone forever.

(he keeps it to himself, but something warm stirs in his chest when he sees yanqing sleeping on your shoulder after training practice, with your arm protectively around the boy's side.

your sleeping face didn't make it easy to look away either; it's one of the few moments in which jing yuan shows just the slightest bit of reciprocating your pursuits; he brushes back the stray hairs covering your face, and drapes a blanket over the two of you.

of course, perhaps to tease yanqing, he also takes the calligraphy brush and makes a work out of his face, doodling all over it.

when you wake up, there's a lingering scent of ink and yellowed paper that fills your senses. when you turn to the boy beside you, you almost giggle out loud.)

it's a little disheartening—and while jing yuan did acknowledge that you were slowly, slowly burrowing yourself in his heart, he doesn't act on it fast enough, and instead lets the realization sit in his mind for a while.

it gets to the point where it feels as though he were preparing to distance himself, and even yanqing had asked if he was well. your visits with the Arbiter General also decrease, as he suddenly buried himself in his work even more than before.

he doesn't get to see you all that much afterwards, despite the lingering feeling of missing you filling his heart.

....that's until jing yuan hears word of a recent mara-struck incident involving the Sky-faring Commission; with your name listed among those heavily injured.

when he visits Bailu's clinic after yanqing urges him, jing yuan takes in the sight of you, littered in injuries from head to toe. your life, about to snap. he never even told you that you won; you did manage to steal his heart and for the first time in a long time, jing yuan allows himself to love.

so if, after three weeks later when you're finally healed up and ready to go, jing yuan brings you into his arms and drags you to let him sleep in your lap, you can't really blame him now, can you?

a/n: i love yearner hsr men,,, might do a pt 2 though. thinking of mayb ratio, jiaoqiu and f/heng next time...... sighs dreamily

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

7K notes · View notes

saintobio · 3 months ago

Text

THE COLONEL'S SAINT.

in wartime, there are no saints. only broken souls, like yours and his, both scarred by battles fought in a world that has forgotten mercy. but perhaps peace was simply never meant for everyone. perhaps it only ever comes at a cost—freedom paid for by the ruin of another.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au, 18+

➤ tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, wartime, unrequited love, profanity, violence, explicit smut, depression, PTSD, recollection of extremely traumatic events, references to past sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, morally gray dynamics, grief, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbing—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 9.8k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. all i can say is i enjoyed writing this au so much :)) reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

➤ previous. 001 the colonel’s keeper | colonel caleb playlist

“I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m here now. I’ve killed every single one of ‘em for you,” he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. “I’ll take you home. No one’s gonna touch you ever again.”

The irony, however, presented itself the moment Caleb touched you. Because rather than feeling a sense of relief in his own way of apologizing, a deep, all-consuming dread wrapped around your bones instead.

Because this wasn’t salvation. This wasn’t a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.

Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a final, cruel joke. You thought being here—being dragged through hell, used, and discarded—was the worst fate imaginable.

But, no.

The true horror was returning to Caleb.

Because you knew now. You finally understood. There was no future for you. Not in his arms. Not in this world. And the look in his eyes, that dangerous, unhinged gleam that he would never let you go. Not now. Not ever.

So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.

His own gun. His own weapon.

For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. “Y/N—”

The barrel was already pressed to your temple.

…

But you couldn’t pull the trigger.

You thought you could. You had rehearsed it in your mind over and over again—how the metal would feel in your hands, how your fingers would squeeze the trigger with defiance instead of hesitation. In the fantasy, it was clean. Controlled. Almost poetic as you would have told him he deserved to be left by the women he loved.

Reality wasn’t like that, however.

Because the moment Caleb dropped to his knees before you, his face contorted into something grotesque, something desperate, something inhuman, and you froze. Not out of fear. Not exactly. It was something deeper. You lay there, your heart thudding like a drum as your trembling fingers closed around his gun. You could still feel the warmth of his hand on the grip, still smell the gunpowder and oil. The heavy weight of the weapon wasn’t just from the metal, it was the amount of men he killed with it. With an obsession for power and control.

In another life, maybe you did it.

In another life, you imagined yourself pulling the trigger without flinching. In another life, maybe you were brave enough—or broken enough—to leave like that. To end the story on your own terms.

But in this one?

You couldn’t. God, you just couldn’t. You were a coward. And when Caleb whispered your name—his voice cracked, soft, pleading. It shattered the illusion completely. “Don’t do this, baby,” he begged. “I’m taking you home.”

And you didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You didn’t even look away. You just let him. You let him take your hand, let him lift you to your feet as if your bones hadn’t turned to ash. You let him wrap his coat around your shoulders and murmur something unintelligible against your hair, his breath warm, his touch careful.

“I’ll protect you, Y/N.”

You didn’t believe him, of course. But you let him.

You let Caleb bring you back to the base—not because you forgave him, not because you trusted him, and certainly not because you still loved him, but because you were done fighting. Because your body moved without you, like something detached from soul and will. You weren’t a woman anymore. Not in that moment.

You were something to be carried. Something to be watched and managed and contained. You were no longer a person. You were property of a war, of a man worse than the devil.

And still, you walked beside him.

Because sometimes survival doesn’t feel like victory.

Sometimes, it just feels like surrender.

Back at base, the atmosphere was more chilling than you remembered. Or maybe you were just too far gone to feel warmth. Maybe you’d become so detached, so hollowed out, that even warmth refused to settle in your bones anymore. The world moved around you like normal. People walked, spoke, ate, lived—but you? You couldn’t feel a part of it. You were merely a presence.

Yet, everyone stared. They always did. In passing, in the corridors, during drills, in the infirmary. Some in pity, others with quiet contempt. A few just looked because they could. Because even bruised and broken, you were a spectacle. Like you always were.

“Has she gone crazy?” “Is it the PTSD kicking in?”

You didn’t meet their eyes. You stopped meeting even your own in the mirror. And as the days passed, Caleb didn’t leave your side. He was always hovering, always watching you in silence, always studying the catatonic expression on your face as you moved with listless effort. Perhaps he was watching you out of guilt, or perhaps out of something sinister. Did he enjoy the look of desolation in your eyes? Did he think he’d won this war, now that you no longer fought him?

The whispers followed you even into the mess hall, the one place people pretended to be too busy to gossip. Except now, they didn’t pretend at all. Not when it was you sitting there, quietly picking at your food like a prisoner fed only to stay alive. Today’s rationed meals were stale bread and bland starchy soup—a probable reason why they’d rather channel their energy towards you than their food.

“She brought it on herself.”

“Should’ve stayed in her place.”

“He only wants her because she reminds him of the wife.”

The spoon in your hand paused midair, with your eyes fixed on the dull metal surface, seeing your reflection warped and small in the curve. You set it down slowly, and let out a short, broken laugh. There was nothing funny, of course. But for you, the humor was in the hell you returned to. Did they think the worst had already happened? They were wrong. The worst was this. Coming back. Living.

And while in your hysteria, silence suddenly filled the hall. A strange stillness swept through like a cold wind, and you didn’t even need to look to know why. As boots stomped across the tiled floor, you already knew what caused the sudden silence within the slate grey walls.

Caleb, stern as ever.

Surely, he never came here before. High-ranking officers often ate in private rooms or their quarters, never with the rest of the unit and the civilians. But here he was now, his commanding presence turning heads and stiffening spines. No one dared look your way anymore. Not when he was near.

And as for him, he approached you slowly like how he would to a skittish animal. Yet you kept your gaze on your tray, eyes glazed over, expression unreadable. The frenzied smile left your face the moment he was near. It was as if he didn’t exist.

He stood there for a moment. Then, to everyone’s quiet horror, he sat beside you. No, he lowered himself beside you, crouching so his face was nearly level with yours.

“What are you doing eating here?” he asked softly. “You know the food’s better in my quarters.”

You didn’t answer. You never really spoke to him. You hadn’t even opened your mouth to say anything at all since the day he ‘rescued’ you, and simply because words had abandoned you. Everything had. And the odd part about this was the fact that Caleb was openly speaking to you like this. Because before everything fell apart, he never acknowledged you in public. Not once did he show everyone that you were someone he cared for. So, what cruel actor was crouching down next to you now?

You stared forward like he wasn’t even there.

And you could hear him sigh, at least before his voice dropped even lower, gentle enough that only you could hear it. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “Let me nurse you back to health. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything. Just stop tuning me out.”

And still, you said nothing.

Because what could you want from a man who said he wanted you, but only knew how to possess? From a world where the only safety you were offered came in the shape of your captor’s hands, life was absolutely brutal. You sat in silence, surrounded by soldiers, nurses, and civilians who couldn’t even look at you anymore. And yet, the only person who truly saw you—saw the hollow, broken wreck you’d become—was the very man who helped destroy you.

Night flight was always the quietest kind of hell.

The sky was an endless stretch before him, a black void littered with stars he no longer believed in. Inside the cockpit of the FY-29, the most advanced multirole fighter in their fleet, the world shrank down to the hum of electronics and the flickering glow of digital readouts. HUD projection blinked green against his helmet visor. Altitude holding steady. Speed: Mach 1.4. Engine thrust calibrated to optimal efficiency.

“Colonel, enemy radar ping detected. Recon drone at ten o’clock, altitude three hundred feet below,” came the voice in his comms.

“Visual confirmed,” Caleb replied flatly, adjusting his yoke with one hand. “Engage radar dampeners. Veer five degrees north. Let the bastard scan a ghost trail.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sharp tilt of the aircraft rolled the horizon sideways. Caleb barely noticed.

He’d done this too many times—cutting through foreign airspace like a silent reaper, completely invisible in the dark. His hands moved with muscle memory, flipping switches, adjusting trajectory. But his mind…

His mind drifted.

To you.

To the way your voice once sounded when you still spoke to him with warmth. The way your eyes used to light up when he returned from missions. Now, they were empty. Now, they didn’t even flinch when he entered the room.

Guilt had lodged itself into the pit of his stomach and made a home there. He told himself he had brought you back to protect you. He told himself you needed someone to hold you up. But lately, he couldn’t tell who was holding whom hostage.

You had begged him once, asked him to love you, asked him to forget about his dead wife and just be with you. Now, with the way you were acting, it felt as though he was no better than the monsters who took you.

The truth was—he knew he had made a grave miscalculation. He never truly meant for the punishment to go that far. It had been anger, impulse, the heat of a moment he should’ve controlled. He should’ve gone to the frontlines sooner. He should’ve been there before the enemy got to you… before they shattered the sanctity of your body and stole the softness that once defined you.

Goddamn it.

A flicker on the monitor snapped him back. One of the secondary comms flashed: High Priority Incoming – Ground Squad Gamma 4. He tapped it.

“Colonel,” came the crackling report, “we’ve captured a batch of civilians—all women, army wives. Enemy ranks. Found hiding in one of the ravaged villages, just outside Sector 11. Orders?”

Caleb didn’t answer at first.

Instead, his jaw clenched. He closed his eyes briefly, long enough to picture your face contorted in sleep; how you cried out some nights from dreams you never remembered, or maybe remembered too well. How sometimes you whispered “Please don’t touch me,” to a room that was empty but for him. How you devastatingly screamed, “No more! No more!” as the memories of traumatizing hands touching you over and over, flooded back to you in a form of a nightmare.

His voice, when it came, was cold steel.

“Do what you want with them,” he said in full conviction. “Leave none behind.”

There was a pause on the other end. Hesitation.

“Sir…?” the voice wavered.

“You heard me,” was Caleb’s firm response. “Whatever they did to ours—we’ll repay it in kind.”

He didn’t wait for confirmation. He cut the channel, flipped the frequency, and angled the jet into descent mode.

Everything you do is morally justified during war, Caleb.

Lights flickered overhead as he walked through the empty corridor of the officers wing, the soles of his boots bouncing too loud against concrete. He didn’t bother knocking the second he arrived at his quarters, seeing that his room was dark, and you lay curled under the thin blanket, hair stuck to your face from cold sweat. Seeing you like that made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

And then the screaming started.

You thrashed—kicking off the sheet, twisting against invisible restraints. Your cries weren’t words but whimpers, pleading, raw sounds from your throat like you were being torn apart all over again. Caleb froze in the doorway. For a second, his legs wouldn’t move. The war inside his chest, the storm he unleashed with just a single order—it all paled in comparison to the agony carved into your sleep. When he finally stepped forward, his hand twitched as it reached out.

“Hey,” he whispered, kneeling beside you. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re not there anymore.”

You didn’t wake, and neither did you calm. You just screamed harder, fingers digging into the mattress like it was the only thing keeping you shackled to this world. Caleb embraced you in his arms like a fragile object he was protecting, but nothing comforted you at this point. Not his storm-violet eyes nor his saintly face.

Even when he wiped your sweat, brought you tea, and sat in silence.

And perhaps, he finally understood. The reason for your silence hadn’t been just the trauma. It wasn’t just the violence or the bruises or the way your voice cracked when you said nothing at all. No, it was simpler than that. More human. It was because he had never actually said sorry.

Sure, he remembered whispering it in a shattered breath when he pulled you out of the enemy’s grasp—covered in bruises, half-alive, delirious. But that wasn’t the kind of apology you needed. That had been panic. Guilt. A bandage over a wound that needed surgery. And you, you deserved something slower, softer, and more honest. Something earned.

And so he found himself sitting at the edge of your bed now, studying the glazed look in your eyes. You weren’t with him. You were locked somewhere far inside yourself, behind doors he had helped bolt shut.

“You feel hot,” Caleb murmured as he reached for your forehead, calloused fingers brushing your clammy skin with an unexpected tenderness. “Should I call one of the nurses? They can wipe you down with a cold towel.”

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have allowed anyone near you. His protectiveness knew no bounds, especially not after what happened. But tonight, he understood. You didn’t want his touch. Maybe you couldn’t bear it. Maybe the thought of his skin on yours only reminded you of everything you had survived.

So he offered space, even if it killed him.

But you didn’t respond. You just quietly rose from the bed like a graceful ghost. Your bare feet padded across the cold floor, not a sound made with every step. The moonlight slashed across your face as you entered the bathroom, and then you undressed slowly, wordlessly, under its silver glow.

He knew better than to follow. But he still did. Only to make sure you were safe. Only to watch over you, because watching was all he could do now. From the doorway, he saw your silhouette curled under the cascade of water. You weren’t washing. You were scrubbing. Frantically. Desperately. Your fingernails dug into your own skin as you scrubbed, over and over, rubbing raw the places where their hands had once been. You weren’t trying to get clean. You were trying to disappear. As if your skin still remembered the hands that touched you. As if water could erase what the world had done to you.

You sobbed without sound, and that was somehow worse. Because your pain had learned to stay quiet.

Without thinking, Caleb stepped inside. His boots soaked instantly, and the water darkened the fabric of his uniform in seconds, but he didn’t care. He grabbed a towel from the rack and walked toward you slowly.

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”

You didn’t flinch when he wrapped it around you. You kept scrubbing even when he gently pulled you into his arms and let yourself cry like someone who had run out of ways to survive.

He just held you in silence. In stillness. And in that moment, something in his gentleness made you snap. Your hands shook violently and your voice cracked into a shriek. “You m-monster!” you sobbed, your throat raw from disuse and despair. It was the first time you spoke to him again since… “Y-You animal!”

“Y/N—”

“You let me—” your voice choked on grief. “You let them do that to me! You left me! And now you act like y-you… like you care—?”

Caleb took every word, every blow, and let it tear through him. He didn’t know how to fix something so broken. It was like a shattered glass that can never be repaired. The cracks would always show, no matter how hard he tried to put them all back together.

You collapsed against him, the towel sliding loose. “Why n-now?” you whispered, tears flooding your eyes. “Why are you pretending like I still matter? Isn’t this w-what you wanted?”

“I’m not pretending,” he said hoarsely, barely able to speak past the guilt in his throat. “And no, I didn’t want this, Y/N. I didn’t.”

You shook your head violently, water flinging from your hair. “No. No, I’m dead, Caleb. You won. This is what you wanted me to become—someone who’s been passed around like a rag. I’ll never be like your wife!”

While he held his breath, you must have expected him to deny it. To recoil. To offer some hollow line about how you were still you and that he didn’t care about his dead wife anymore. Instead, Caleb wrapped your body again with the towel, tighter this time around, before he carried you out of the bathroom.

“I still grieve for her every day,” he said. “But I’m not leaving you again.”

You shut your eyes and refused to meet his again. His words seemingly have no effect on you anymore.

I should’ve gone sooner, he thought to himself. I should’ve lowered my pride and reached you faster. I should’ve said sorry when it still mattered.

“I can’t take back what happened,” Caleb said, chest rising and falling raggedly. “But if there’s a version of hell where I can stay with you, then I’ll take it. I’ll live there. With you.”

He would learn how to love you gently, if you’d let him.

He would speak with actions now: the soft blankets, the untouched side of the bed he never crossed, the way he learned the names of every nurse you trusted, the way he installed new locks on your door so you would feel safe again, the way he trained the soldiers himself—brutally—so no one would ever think of hurting you again.

And when he wasn’t looking, when you were too tired to keep your eyes open, he would sit at your bedside every night and whisper a prayer. Not for redemption.

But for your peace.

A YEAR AGO — INFIRMARY

“This might sting a little, sir.”

A gentle furrow settled between your brows as you dabbed at Caleb’s shoulder, cleaning the angry gash that sliced through his skin. He sat still, shirt peeled halfway down, and his jaw tense, but not from pain. He wasn’t even looking at the wound. His gaze, all of it, was fixed on you like he was considering a thought.

Your hand paused.

“…What?” you asked, a nervous laugh escaping.

“Nothing,” he murmured. “You’re just… very good at what you do.”

You smiled faintly. “You say that every time you come in here half-dead.”

“I like repeating things that are true.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were warm. He saw that, too. You tried to turn your back to his shoulder, resuming your task, or rather, to hide the heat that suffused your cheeks. “Do you ever get tired of coming back here wounded?” you asked. “I know you're high-ranking and invincible and all, but maybe don't catch bullets with your body next time.”

He chuckled. “But didn’t you say you wanted to see me a lot?”

“Well…” You looked away, blushing. He knew about your silly little crush on him, that’s for sure. “Not in this way, sir.”

There was a long pause. Comfortable, almost. So comfortable that you could almost hear Caleb’s breathing. And then, like it had been on his mind the whole time, he asked, “Do you want to move in with me?”

Your hand froze again, gauze hovering just above the wound. “…I’m sorry?”

He turned slightly to face you, wincing only a little. His voice was calmer than you expected. “It’s cold in my quarters. Too quiet. And I keep thinking how I’d rather have you there.”

You stared at him, stunned. You knew what he wanted. You knew why he asked for it.

“You barely know me,” you whispered, heart racing in your chest.

“I know enough,” Caleb replied, eyes searching yours. “I know you care more than most people do. I know you’re smart, and patient, and you smell like peppermint and laundry soap.”

Your lips parted, caught between surprise and disbelief.

“And I know,” he added, softer, “that I feel a lot less lonely when I’m around you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Tense, but not in fear. And when your eyes flickered to his lips, just for a second, he noticed. He took that as a sign to lean in slowly. Like a man trained to read danger, but still willing to take the risk. His hand, still rough and bloodied, hovered at your cheek, asking without words.

You didn’t stop him.

The kiss was soft and hesitant at first. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as his lips pressed gently to yours and moved with perfect sync. For a moment, you forgot the war. Forgot who he was and what you were. You just remembered what it felt like to be wanted.

When you pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead to yours before pecking your lips once more.

“I’ll look forward to your answer, Nurse Y/N,” Caleb whispered through your lips. “You’ll live a more comfortable life if you’re with me.”

INT. CALEB’S PRIVATE QUARTERS – NIGHT

The storm outside was brewing with anger, but it didn’t reflect in the way he kissed you.

He was right, sleeping in the private quarters was much better than the bunkers, but that wasn’t the main prize. It was him, Caleb, the man you offered your heart and yourself to, knowing full well that he wanted you just the same.

“Mmh—Caleb!”

The room only carried the flicker of an old lamp forming shadows over military-issued sheets and disheveled clothes strewn across the floor. Your bodies were tangled in the warmth of each other, breathless, bare. Caleb had you laying sideways, and him positioned at your back, lifting your leg so he could get better access. His skin was slick with sweat, his hand moving to squeeze your mound, anchoring you close like he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

It wasn’t rushed this time. Neither desperate.

He moved with reverence. As if he wanted to memorize the exact shape of your body, the slope of your waist, the sound you made when his member hit your sweetest spot. And you, you let yourself melt into him, allowing him to fill you in for as many times as you both wanted, so long as you still had the strength.

“Caleb,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair.

His grip tightened on your hip. This time, he was increasing his pace. Ramming into you sideways might be his new favorite thing, because whenever he was near, he would usually go for the traditional missionary. Not this time, however.

“Fuck. You’re so tight for me, baby.” And just when you were at the peak of your pleasure, he suddenly whispered another woman’s name.

His wife’s name.

You froze.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did—and just kept kissing your neck, as if saying her name didn’t gut the room into silence.

You didn’t say anything. Not that night.

Even when it was over. You cuddled deeper into his chest, heart twisting, the back of your throat stinging. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe he wasn’t even fully awake. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself his body was warm, his arms wrapped around you, his breath even and calm—and that should be enough.

You told yourself you were alive, and she wasn’t.

INT. CALEB’S PRIVATE QUARTERS – AFTERNOON

Supper was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat across from Caleb at the small table he rarely ever used—usually preferring to eat on the go, or not at all. But tonight, he had insisted you two start dining together so you didn’t have to leave the room. The portions were modest: military rations dressed up with a little too much seasoning, but it was so much better than MRE, or even the ones served at the mess hall. And you could ask for seconds if you wanted to.

Yet, no matter how abundant your table was, the silence was what was making you full. Your fork scraped softly against the plate, wondering why Caleb wasn’t eating much. He was just pushing food around with the edge of his fork, his eyebrows furrowed after what appeared to be a terrible day in the skies.

You cut into the silence with the question that had been gnawing at you since dawn. “Do you think you’ll ever remarry?”

Caleb’s body stiffened. His fork stilled mid-motion. His features were blank, but something behind his eyes tightened, like he wasn’t sure he had heard you right that he even had to repeat it. “Remarry?”

You nodded, keeping your tone as casual as possible, though your hand trembled just slightly where it gripped the stem of the water glass. “I mean, the war can’t last forever. Things might calm down someday. You’re still young. Still capable of—”

“Stop.” He cut you off, voice low and firm.

You swallowed. “It’s just a question, darling.”

“No, it’s not,” he muttered, dropping his fork with a quiet clatter. “You’re tryin’ to make me say something I’m not ready to say.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” you replied, your voice soft. “I just want to know where I stand.”

His expression hardened, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Don’t turn this into some kind of—what, a proposal? A plea for commitment? Because if that’s what this is—”

“No, Caleb… I just,” you paused, looking away and exhaling through your nose. “I don’t want to feel like I’m competing with a dead person.”

Silence.

He didn’t like it. Your words, how callously you called his wife a dead person. The sharpness of his eyes seemed to have considered ways of killing you. But Caleb stood abruptly, and his chair scraped back with an ugly screech.

“Lost my appetite.” He didn’t look at you as he said it. He just turned, grabbed his coat from the hook near the door, and walked out—quiet, controlled steps, like if he didn’t leave now, he might say something he couldn’t take back. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth and don’t talk about this bullshit with me ever again.”

You were staring at the ceiling again.

Stiff sheets under your back. The sharp antiseptic sting of alcohol soaked into gauze. Somewhere far off, a nurse was whispering instructions—Claire. You recognized her voice all too well.

She never liked you before. She loathed you even more now.

“She’s acting like some kind of war princess,” she scoffed not even a meter away. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s carrying every disease known to man. After what she’s been through? God, Colonel should’ve left her to rot.”

You didn’t react. You simply shut your eyes, allowing her words to come and go without making an impact. Empathy was a luxury no one could afford in wartime, and you’d long stopped expecting it from anyone, least of all her.

“She lost a lot of blood. The glass… it was lodged deep—”

“She’s lucky she didn’t hit an artery. If she wants to kill herself, at least do it right.”

Lucky.

You almost laughed.

Because it wasn’t your first time trying.

They thought Caleb had it all figured out. They thought that locking you away in his quarters, removing every shard of metal, every sliver of risk, every ounce of danger would be enough to keep you alive. You were a silent prisoner under the guise of protection. Doors locked from the outside. Soldiers who shadowed your every step when you were allowed to walk beyond four walls. They even took your combs, your mirror, your goddamn belt—anything that could snap or slice or wrap around your throat.

They watched you like you were sacred.

But no one realized that glass, when cracked the right way, could become a weapon, too.

It had started with something so small, during the time when Caleb had to leave base for a few days. It was from a small picture frame that had Caleb’s formal military photo inside. During an intense, heavy bombing outside, you were alone, unsupervised for the first time in days. The entire base shook with a violent thud, and the picture frame fell on the floor. You tried to pick it up and aimed to put it back.

Only to see that the glass had shattered.

And you had just… stared. At the jagged edge sticking out of the frame. At the glittering fragments on the floor.

You didn’t hesitate.

You grabbed a shard like it was salvation, and before your brain could catch up, your arm was already bleeding. The kind of bleeding you don’t come back from if you were left alone long enough. You slumped against the wall. Felt the warmth of it leaking down your skin, soaking into your lap. You welcomed the numbness, the strong smell of iron gushing out of your open wound.

But someone found you too soon.

You remembered the soldier’s face as he stumbled into the room—young, horrified, hands shaking as he shouted for help. “She’s cut—fuck, she’s bleeding bad! Get the medics! Get the fucking medics—!”

Now, back in the present, one of the guards paced at the edge of your hospital bed, too afraid to look you in the eye. “The Colonel might kill us for letting it happen. For not watching you close enough.”

You blinked slowly, eyes unfocused, lips cracked.

“Then he should kill himself, too,” you whispered.

The room fell silent. You turned your head slightly toward the door—the new one they’d installed. Reinforced. Bulletproof. No cracks this time. Just a clear view of the world you weren’t allowed to be part of anymore.

“We can’t reach Colonel Caleb—he’s at the outposts, but he’ll be back soon,” was the last thing you heard from him before the medicine took over. “As for what happened to you in enemy territory, miss… don’t worry about it. The Colonel made sure to return the favor.”

Caleb stepped into the room, the heavy door creaking as it closed behind him. His footsteps were deliberate, yet silent, as he made his way toward the bed where you sat, eyes cast downward and clearly avoiding his gaze. The silence between you two was suffocating, so much so that he forgot he had ears for a second.

He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the bandages wrapped around your arm to look at the remnants of your self-inflicted wounds that he had heard about during the day. His jaw tightened, but he remained silent, studying the way the white bandages were stained with a deep red. Finally, eventually, his voice cut through the thick air. “When are you going to stop hurting yourself?”

Your heart clenched, and without lifting your eyes to meet his, you muttered, “When you die.”

The grudge had been simmering inside you for so long. Now, spoken aloud, you couldn’t look at him. You didn’t want to see the effect it had on him. But you also couldn’t stop yourself from continuing.

“Every time you’re out there, I pray…” you paused, closing your eyes. “I pray that a bullet finds its way to you or that your jet crashes somewhere far from here.”

Even if it was the darkest part of your soul that had spoken, it felt true. The thought of him gone, of being free from the torment, it made your chest ache and flutter at the same time.

Caleb’s lips, on the other hand, pressed into a hard line. His gaze narrowed ever so slightly, though the pain in his eyes was undeniable. He didn’t speak right away. His hand moved toward the bandage on your arm, fingers brushing over the rough cloth. “You really want me dead?”

“I do.” You met his gaze then, your eyes bloodshot, heart raw. “I want you dead and forgotten.”

Strangely, Caleb’s fingers lingered on your skin, a tender touch that felt out of place given everything that had happened between you. His thumb brushed over your bandaged arm, then gently cupped your face, tilting your chin up so that you had no choice but to meet his eyes. The distance between you two felt like a chasm, a vast emptiness, and yet, somehow, his touch still grounded you. It made your heart race, and you hated it.

“You hate me that much?” His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You closed your eyes, and for a good minute, it was almost peaceful. The quiet of the room, the warmth of his hand on your skin. But then you remembered the things he had done, the way he’d broken you down and built you up again, only to crush you once more. You pulled away slightly, but Caleb wouldn’t let you. He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve killed everyone who touched you. And will continue to do so for as long as I’m alive.”

You didn’t say anything. The words were stuck in your throat, the ones that you really wanted to say. The ones that would’ve made it easier to break away, to cut the ties that had bound you together for so long.

But out of everything he could have done, he chose to kiss you. Not like the first time. Not passionate or filled with fire. This kiss was different. It was filled with regret, with longing, with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. It was slow, gentle, like he was afraid to break you even more than he already had.

When he pulled away, his eyes were filled with something more than guilt. “I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered, but the words didn’t fix anything. Nothing could. Even if your tears were falling freely now. You didn’t even know what you were crying for—him, or the person you used to be. The one you had lost along the way. Still, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to his chest like you were something fragile he wanted to protect, even if he’d been the one to break you. You could feel the slow, steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. At least, until he pulled away, tucked the blankets around you with care, and planted a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I have business in the morning,” he murmured, like you were a wife he needed to give an update to. “I might not come home for a few days.”

When he said he wouldn’t be home for a few days, you welcomed it as a small mercy. A pocket of peace. Because his absence was like hell quieting down, as if the demon retreated to its shadows. And yet, despite the relief, you couldn’t help but feel a strange unease curling in your stomach. A gut feeling whispering that maybe he was up to something far more than he let on.

And just as you suspected, the muffled sound of soldiers’ voices filtered through the door carried everything you ought to know. Their words were barely distinguishable as they spoke in low tones. But something—an instinct, maybe—had your heart racing, and you could swear you caught bits and pieces of their conversation.

“The medical convoy has been rerouted. New order,” one of them said, his voice hoarse. “No explanation. A few nurses, including one named Claire..."

The fragments of the conversation hit you like a punch to the gut. Then and there, every muscle in your body tensed. Claire. Claire was one of the nurses that had been tormenting you ever since you had been back at the base. And then there was Caleb whose orders were law. It all clicked into place.

You could feel the edges of your mind unraveling as the pieces fell together. Caleb wasn’t just holding you hostage here. He was controlling everything. Manipulating the people around you like pieces on a chessboard. The convoy rerouting wasn’t some minor shift—it was a move. A dangerous one. And you weren’t sure if you were ready to know what it meant, but you had to.

Swallowing down the nausea rising in your throat, you took a deep breath and turned toward the guards outside your door. You didn’t have time to waste. Whatever Caleb was planning, whatever he thought he was going to do, you had to stop him.

“I want to see Caleb,” you demanded sharply, a command that left no room for argument. The guards didn’t even flinch. They just stood there, their backs rigid, as if they were expecting you to say something like that.

“You know we can’t do that, miss,” one of them said. “Orders.”

“Then, I’ll tell you what,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes, “I’ll tell him that you touched me. I’ll tell him that you hurt me, and forced yourself into me.”

The look in their eyes was one of pure terror and scandal. It was as if you just sentenced them to death. One of them even shifted uncomfortably, but neither of them moved toward you. They were afraid—afraid of Caleb and everything that had to do with him. But you knew something they didn’t. They were afraid of losing their position, of Caleb’s wrath, but you? You had nothing left to lose.

“He had ordered to burn a traitor alive once,” you threatened, your voice dangerously calm now. “And had the remains be fed to the dogs.”

They hesitated, glancing at each other. You could see the way their eyes flickered, like they were torn between their orders and the realization that you meant what you said. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the taller of the two guards stepped forward.

“Fine,” he hissed, the words practically escaping his lips against his will. “But if this gets out of hand, it’s on you.”

You didn’t care. You were past caring about the consequences.

They led you down the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing ominously as you moved deeper into the compound. You could feel it, the sickening feeling of being trapped, and for the first time since everything had gone to hell, you felt a spark of clarity. This was your chance to stop him, to put a stop to whatever Caleb was planning.

The guards led you into the central area of the base, a sterile, almost mechanical hall, and you could see the tension in their faces as they approached the place where their colonel was. In the shadows of a hangar they thought no one would check, Caleb stood with his pistol raised, and the muzzle? It was pointed directly at Claire’s quivering skull.

She was on her knees, sobbing, shaking, the usual scorn from her lips long gone. “Colonel, I never meant it, please—I didn’t mean it! I won’t be n-near her ever again!”

“Do I shoot you in the mouth instead?” For Caleb, it wasn’t a question. It was mockery wrapped in death, even though his face remained cold and terrifyingly composed. “You certainly had a lot to say before. But has anyone ever told you that I’d kill every single soul that dared insult my woman?”

Even though Claire had never treated you with decency, never once acknowledged you as anything but filth—the issue wasn’t about defending her. It was about stopping Caleb before he added another life to his ledger. Not for you. Not because of you. You’d already seen too much blood spilled in your name.

You couldn’t bear to be the reason again.

And you were tired of bleeding for a man who only knew how to destroy.

So you ran. You ignored the pain screaming through your body, ignored the way your knees buckled with every step. You ran until you were standing between his gun and its target. “Caleb.” Your voice cracked. “That’s enough.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for the first time in weeks, he looked startled. “Why are you here? Go back to your room,” he ordered, sternly. “I don’t want you interfering with this.”

“No more killing!” you shouted, your voice louder than you thought you still possessed. “Not for me. Not because of me!”

“I’m doing this for you,” he said flatly. As if it were a universal truth. As if murder could be dressed up as love. “These people will never respect you, not until I give them all a lesson.”

You laughed. Respect? How ironic of him to say.

But you weren’t listening anymore. You were done with being his puppet. You were done with the pain, the manipulation, and the suffocating control he had over everything in your life. “I don’t want your protection. I don’t want anything from you anymore!” you spat. “I’m done chasing your love. I’m disgusted with you and things you’ve done! They’re not love, Caleb. Do us all a favor and go to hell!”

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he faltered. He stood in the crossroads of his own making: one path paved in control and power, and the other, threatened by the woman who once shivered under his icy stare.

And to everyone’s surprise, he lowered the gun.

Just as you asked.

Everyone knew and could feel that the war was winding down. Slowly, like an old machine losing steam. Gunfire no longer echoed through the mountains. Missives came in with fewer red marks. Still and all, the air around Caleb remained tense, as if he was standing at the eye of a storm.

You hadn’t seen much of him in recent weeks. At least, not as much as he let you. He came and went in silence, never bothering you or speaking to you since the day you asked him to go to hell. But the good outcome from that last interaction led to no more outbursts in the days that followed, no heated arguments. Just long hours spent in the shadows of the base, pouring over confidential papers, taking hushed calls with unnamed officials, signing things he didn’t let you see.

What you didn’t know was that he had spent the last few weeks building you a way out.

An escape plan masked as a gift: forged new identity papers with your maiden name, a secluded property far from the wreckage of war, monthly financial deposits that would keep you fed for decades, and official documents that ensured no one, not even the government, could drag you back into this life.

He was sealing off every door behind you. Quietly, meticulously.

And you? You were doing your best to pretend you still belonged to the world of the living.

You volunteered at the children’s infirmary more often. Spent time folding clean sheets and organizing medicine cabinets just to feel useful. You didn’t talk much. You weren’t trying to heal—you were just trying not to rot.

That night, you were in your shared quarters, folding the same shirt three times over just to get the sleeves right, when the door creaked open. You didn’t bother turning around. Caleb had been in and out, never staying long. Most days he’d never even greet you. Some days, he would come home and take a shower, slipping into his side of the bed without a word, his back turned to you as he tried to get a wink of sleep. There wasn’t even any eye contact to be shared.

But this time was different.

Although he still didn’t say anything. He walked in, closed the door behind him with a soft click, let you feel his presence before you saw him. He was closing the distance, sure. But what surprised you was how he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Tightly. With his face buried in your shoulder. You froze at first as his embrace was firm, almost desperate. One hand gripped your waist, the other pressed flat against your stomach like he was anchoring himself. His breath was warm against your neck, but his voice never came.

“Let me go,” you murmured, not moving.

“Just five minutes,” he whispered at last. “Just… stay still. That’s all I ask.”

You did. Your fingers uncurled from the fabric in your hand, and for once, you let your body rest against his without resistance, while he held you like a man trying to memorize the shape of something he could never return to. Time stretched between you like a slow heartbeat. An extremely, dangerously slow heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let go entirely. He just placed a kiss on your cheek. No explanation. No apology.

“I’ll make it right, Y/N,” he simply said, holding your face with a gentle hand and running his thumb across your cheek. His stare was earnest as he looked into your eyes. “I’ll make sure you never have to think of me again.”

And just as quietly as he came, he turned and left the room. You knew something in your chest tightened, the way it does when you sense someone saying goodbye without actually saying the words. But you didn’t run after him. You stood there for a long time after the door closed… wondering what, exactly, he was leaving behind. And what you were about to lose.

Caleb had always preferred solitude during these moments before a mission—just him, the whirr of his jet’s engines, and the distant thrum of his thoughts. And tonight, a rare calm and quiet night, was exactly what he wanted. The sky was unusually clear for wartime. There were no anti-air guns firing in the distance, no buzz of enemy drones, just the cold serenity of the atmosphere wrapping around him, welcoming him.

He sat in the cockpit, surrounded by the soft blue glow of the control panel. His gloved fingers adjusted the dials with precision, movements rehearsed a thousand times over. Everything was ready. Everything had been planned.

And yet, his thoughts couldn’t stay present. They drifted, inevitably, to you. You had been on his mind constantly, every minute of every day. The hatred in your eyes when you told him to go to hell, when you told him you wanted him dead. He couldn’t blame you. After all, he had stolen your peace, your happiness, and maybe even your will to live.

The comms in his ear cut him from his trance. “Specter-01, this is base command,” came a low voice. “Caleb, what’s your heading? You’re a few degrees off course.”

He tapped a switch, cleared his throat. “Still en route. Just adjusting for wind drift.”

There was a pause before the voice returned—Gideon. One of the few people Caleb could stand to have at his side. Loyal to a fault. And too sharp for his own good. “Don’t bullshit me, Colonel. You’re not following protocol.” There was tension in his voice now, the kind that could only come from fear. “This isn’t like you.”

Caleb exhaled slowly, the breath fogging inside his helmet. “I’m fine, Gideon,” he replied, voice calm, almost detached. “Just needed some air. That’s all.”

“But you're flying into a dead zone. No support, no backup, no exit route. If something goes wrong—”

“I know,” he cut in softly.

Another long silence stretched between them.

“...Don’t do this.”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the radar, the blinking dots, the calculated trajectory. Everything had been mapped out—every lie, every angle, every detail to make it look accidental. So that no one would question. So that no one would stop you from moving on.

“Take care of ‘em, Gideon,” he said at last, and his voice made it clear—this wasn’t just a briefing anymore. “Take care of the team. And… her. Make sure she gets what I left behind. All of it.”

“Caleb—” Gideon’s voice was sharper this time. “Caleb, don’t do this. You pull that throttle one more degree and you’re not coming back. You hear me?”

Caleb didn’t respond immediately.

He stared ahead, the horizon fading into black. Then he glanced down at the radar, his destination marked in red, blinking faintly like a dying heartbeat. His fingers danced across the console with quiet certainty. There was no trembling now. Only resolve.

He flicked the comms one last time, the channel still open to Gideon.

“This is Colonel Caleb Xia,” he began, voice steady, almost ceremonial. “Serial Number X-02. Former DAA Fighter Pilot. 5th Skyborne Division. Head of Tactical Recon. Shadow Commander of the Ninth Flight. Loyal son of the war.”

While Gideon was holding his breath on the other line, Caleb exhaled on his.

“Signing off.”

“Wait—Caleb, don’t you fucking dare—!”

Then he switched the comms off.

Silence flooded the cockpit again, but it was a cruel relief. The kind that felt like surrender. He gripped the joystick and pushed the throttle forward, feeling the jet surge under his hands. The roar of the engines was deafening now. He wasn’t afraid. In fact, the familiar vibrations of the jet beneath him felt oddly soothing. The plane climbed higher, slicing through clouds like paper. The city below looked small now, insignificant—like all the things he used to care about. A dot among dots. A place where people still hoped, still dreamed.

And you were somewhere down there. Breathing. Alive.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could picture your face one last time. As if he could imprint it onto whatever eternity waited for him. Then, his fingers hovered over the control panel, the slightest tremor in them now. He entered the override, veered sharply, and… the jet dipped lower.

There would be no mayday. No beacon.

Just one last act of penance.

With a faint smile—equal parts grief and relief—Caleb let go.

1 MONTH AFTER

The somber grey clouds had a mission today. Not stormy, not weeping—just still. And heavy.

Unlike the usual stark white uniform you donned as a war nurse, you stood in an all-black attire before a modest grave now, staring at the name etched into the headstone that was so clean it could’ve been carved yesterday.

(MC) Xia

Beloved Wife. Devoted Friend. A Soul That Endured the War.

A month had passed since the ceasefire, since the war gasped its last violent breath, since the tower’s red lights blinked for the last time. They no longer raised the war ensign, and instead, replaced it with a regular flag. It was a month full of hope, of joy, of good news. A month of normalcy. Of peace.

It had also been a month since Caleb’s jet spiraled off the radar, only to never land again.

You were in his quarters when the news arrived—delivered not with ceremony, but in a voice worn thin by grief. It was his closest friend Gideon who told you, his eyes bloodshot and hollow, aged more by sorrow than war. Caleb’s jet had gone down, he said. It was too late to save him. His jet turned into a comet over the mountains, and that was the last anyone saw of him. They told you the wreckage was scattered beyond recognition. That there were no remains to bury. No bones to hold the ceremony over, not even fragments for a grave. Only soot, swallowed by wind, vanishing like vapor.

At first, there was no reaction. Just silence. An unbearable stillness. You stood motionless, eyes dazed, like everything was just a part of a cruel dream. Isn’t this what I wanted? you asked yourself, again and again, trying to summon a feeling—relief, peace, something. But nothing came. Not even the tears.

Instead, your legs gave out. You collapsed to the floor with trembling hands and an aching heart, but remained dry-eyed for most of it. Grief had not yet found its shape. It simply throbbed inside your chest, like something inside you shattered so loud you thought the world could hear it.

Moving on didn’t come easily, either. A month may have passed, but it wasn’t enough. It was too soon, too early to even expect yourself to be fine again. And how could you begin to accept death, when it had left no trace behind?

So, you came here instead. To her grave. To return him to her.

Caleb’s first love. His wife. The woman who haunted the corners of his mind like a fading photograph and whose memory bled into everything you had shared with him. This was the only place that felt honest. The only place where both your griefs could sit side by side without judgement.

The wind danced with the soft rustling of leaves as you stood still beneath the shadow of a tree, the kind that had lived through more seasons than any of the soldiers buried here ever would. The grave in front of you was well-cared for, and the flowers beside it were fresh—carefully arranged lilies and white chrysanthemums, the ones Caleb always said reminded him of peace. Maybe he brought them. Surely, he did. Your hand rested gently on the headstone, fingers tracing the grooves of her name as if they were familiar and sacred.

“Please take care of him.” You spoke softly, too softly as if she was one with the wind. “I’m sure he’s with you now. That’s where he always belonged.” Glancing down, you blinked past the sting behind your eyes. “I used to wonder why he never looked at me the same. Why he always held me like I was glass but never gold. But I understand now. You were his home. And when you died, he lost the only map he ever followed.”

A small, bitter smile flickered across your lips.

“He loved you. So fiercely. So painfully.” A pause, only for you to swallow the weakness forcing its way up your throat. “If only you had survived the war… he wouldn’t have turned into what he became. I was just the aftermath. I was the damage. But still, I hope you can forgive him. And I hope you can forgive me, too.”

As you took a deep, cathartic exhale, footsteps broke the silence behind you.

“Still raining,” said Dr. Zayne, holding the umbrella over your head. You let the drizzle kiss your cheeks like tears from the sky. “She was our childhood,” he added quietly. “Mine and Caleb’s.”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t on good terms with him,” he admitted. “I loved her, too. But I set it aside because I wanted to be happy for them.”

You finally looked up at him. His expression was solemn as he reached into his coat.

“Before he left… he asked me to give you this.”

A letter. Plain. Folded like an airplane. Your name written in his unmistakable, sharp script. You took it with trembling hands.

Zayne didn’t say more. He simply nodded at the grave, and then at you. “We should go. The roads are closing soon.”

You nodded, lips parting but no words falling. The letter simply grew heavier in your hands, and your fingers itched to open them. You knew this wasn’t closure exactly.

But it was something close enough to carry forward.

To my sweetest girl, If you’re reading this, I probably don’t exist anymore. I don’t know what state you’ll be in when this reaches your hands—if you’ll cry, if you’ll laugh, or if you’ll crumple this letter and curse my name like I deserve. I don’t expect forgiveness. I never did. But I need you to know what I’ve done. Not to earn your love, but to settle a debt that I created the moment I took your life and bent it into something unrecognizable. Inside the envelope I left with my friend, Zayne, you’ll find everything you need to start over. A full civilian identity under your maiden name—clean records, a background, even a fabricated work history. There’s a house registered to that name in a quiet part of the world where no one will know you, where the war won’t reach, and neither will I. I’ve transferred assets to accounts only accessible by you and under your new credentials. The funds should last you a lifetime, or maybe two. You’ll find documents for land ownership, health coverage, and immunity against any wartime tribunal trying to drag your name through the dirt. You won’t owe anyone anything. Not even me. It’s not enough. I know it’s not enough. There is no currency in the world that can pay back the things I did to you—directly or by consequence. But this… this is the only form of apology I know how to give. My death is not redemption. But I know it’s your freedom. You once told me you prayed for the war to end and for me to vanish with it. So here I am, granting your prayer. A little too late. A little too broken. But still yours, in whatever way this bitter world will allow. I don’t want you to mourn me. I just want you to live. Live like the girl who smiled before she met me. Live like the woman I watched patch bullet wounds and hold broken men together with shaking hands. And if you ever look up to the sky and wonder where I went, I hope the stars lie to you. I hope they tell you I made it somewhere better. That way, you won’t carry the burden of my passing. Only the start of your beginning. Don’t look back. Don’t come searching for ghosts. Just go. And never stop going. Yours in another life, Caleb

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norristeria · 1 month ago

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Oddity¹ ! LN04

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Oscar's PA! FemReader, Oscar Piastri x PA! FemReader ( platonic )

SUMMARY 𝄡 Though Oscar's teammate is the strangest man you've ever met, you cannot help but find this oddity charming.

IN THIS CHAPTER... Desperate for a job, you apply to be a personal assistant for a ‘one-of-a-kind young talent in motorsports.’ It's harder than it looks, but only because your new employer is dead set on being a pain in the ass. And what's the deal with his new teammate?

TAGS 𝄡 Angst. Fluff.

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 6k.

NOTE 𝄡 Everyone loved the pairing, so I wrote the series⏤it's as simple as that. What do we think? Not much Lando in this chapter but Oscar and Reader's subplot has my entire heart! I tweaked the chronology a bit because I can. ( not edited. if you see a typo⏤no, you didn't. ) <33

For a better experience, read this story in light mode! ( use of black writing on transparent background )

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

━━━━ ❦ Chapter II.

‘Mark Webber’ sounded like an important name, enough to have its gold plaque hanging on a solid oak door.

The man who opened it matched that image—serene and proud, the kind of man that had known glory, however small, in the past. Mark Webber's charisma was undeniable, yes, but the expectation that lit up his face as he extended a hand toward you, the need for recognition clearly visible in his eyes, made him so painfully human that your shoulders relaxed.

He may have been the manager of your future client—a ‘one-of-a-kind young talent in motorsports' according to the job description—but he was still a man, and you knew how to deal with those. Had been doing it for years during your bachelor’s degree and, later on, your master’s in business administration and management. Those so-called “sons of” or “self-made men” proliferated in Harvard, waiting for one thing only: for you to recognize them without ever needing to introduce themselves.

But because you desperately needed this job and hadn’t gone through three interviews for nothing, you swallowed your pride, smiled, and extended your hand.

“Mr. Webber, it’s an honour to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss L/N. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m afraid time is not on our side right now. I do hope you had a moment to look over the contract HR sent you.”

He led you to his office, cluttered with paperwork. You winced at the chaos, resisting the urge to bring order to the madness. Instead, you sat down, crossed your legs, and pulled the employment contract from your folder.

Your very own Holy Grail.

“Here’s my copy. Initialled and signed.”

You had shed a few tears as you slid the pen across the page—a strange blend of relief and frustration. One of those emotions only fate itself could concoct. Because you had not planned this. Not at all. For years, you had envisioned yourself as a talent agent, maybe a manager at a publicly traded company—but certainly not the personal assistant to one Oscar Piastri, whose name you hadn’t even known three weeks earlier.

When life gives you lemons, learn to make lemonade or suffer their bitterness, your grandmother used to say.

You had chosen your side quickly, picked the lemons yourself, pressed them, sweetened the juice, and learned to savour the taste. You who had never liked citrus fruits had now convinced yourself to see in that pale yellow flesh a sign of future success, of stability.

How many lemon trees would you need to harvest before your parents got used to the sourness?

Watching their prodigy of a daughter become a ‘rich man’s servant’, after paying for five years at Harvard, was a truth they struggled to swallow—a sourness lodged in the throat, leaving behind the bitter tang of defeat.

When you had graduated summa cum laude, your parents had imagined you’d be drowning in job offers. But reality hit hard. Brutally hard. Intelligence alone wasn’t enough. The world’s best companies didn’t hire without connections, and you had none.

The first disillusionment in life stings like nothing else.

So, you had to swallow your pride, lower your standards, and look elsewhere. Anything, really—anything but unemployment and long days spent contemplating the wreckage of your ambitions.

Anything but failure.

The job description had arrived in your inbox amid hundreds of others. That night, you had drunk two glasses of red wine—maybe more—your cheeks streaked with mascara and the remnants of your frustration. You had received two rejections that very morning. Overqualified, they had said.

Bullshit, you replied. They just didn’t want to pay you what your degrees were worth.

For months now, you had been suffering—stuck in this purgatory. Too qualified for some roles, not enough for others. The adjectives varied, but the outcome remained the same. You barely needed to read the emails anymore. You knew the words by heart.

After reviewing your profile, and despite its many strengths, we have decided not to move forward with your application.

It was with those words echoing in your mind that you clicked on the job offer. Personal Assistant. Your eyes widened at the jaw-dropping salary and the list of benefits.

“What the actual fuck?” you mumbled.

Suddenly sobered, you sat up straight and read the required qualifications eagerly, a flicker of hope warming your chest for the first time in weeks. The words were generic—experience, organisation, management, flexibility—but you welcomed their familiarity.

Your internship with one of New York’s top CEOs—the one your classmates had mocked, claiming “it wasn’t a real internship with real responsibilities”—was finally proving useful.

You took another long sip of wine and hastily drafted a cover letter, attached your resumé, and submitted them via the designated portal.

The next day, you received an email with an interview date.

A month later, you found yourself in the heart of London, ready to sign your first real contract—no matter what your parents thought on the matter.

You blinked away the sound of their voices. You wouldn’t let a few bitter scraps of lemon zest ruin what was beginning to look like a stroke of fate. Instead, you watched Mr. Webber sign the contract. With each initial written on the paper, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.

That’s it, you thought. I have a job.

Yes, being a personal assistant wasn’t the career you had dreamt of; yes, you were overqualified—but it was still a job. And a well-paid one. Probably better than a quarter of your former classmates now working as marketing consultants.

Mark Webber capped his pen and smiled at you.

“Well then, welcome aboard.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh of pure relief that shook your shoulders as you tucked the signed contract back into the folder.

Webber rummaged through the chaos on his desk and pulled from its depths a rectangular white box, which he slid across to you. A brand-new iPhone 14.

“Here’s your work phone. I’ve already inserted the SIM card. I don’t know if you’ve worked with this kind of setup before, but it’s a bit different from a regular iPhone—more secure, more restricted. Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part: HR should send you an email within the next couple of days with information you need to have, including Oscar’s number.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough. I’d like the two of you to feel comfortable around each other as soon as possible. It’s his first season as a full-time driver and his first time working with a personal assistant. I want everything to go smoothly.”

“Naturally.”

Mark Webber sank back into his chair, eyes fixed on you. You held his gaze. He smiled.

“I’ve got a good feeling about you. I had it the moment I saw your CV.”

“I won’t let you down,” you promised.

Just like Mark—who had insisted you call him that—had said, the meeting with Oscar came swiftly. An email arrived in your inbox four days after your interviews, listing a time and an address.

Six days later, as winter tightened its grip on England with sharp winds and grey skies, you wandered through the deserted streets of Hertford for several minutes before stumbling upon a building that looked quintessentially British—red brick walls, single-hung white windows—the kind your grandparents had once lived in. It was unremarkable, to the point that you wondered if you had typed in the wrong address in Maps. Didn’t Formula 1 drivers earn outrageous salaries?

A gust of wind stung your cheeks. You pulled your coat tighter around you and pressed the doorbell labeled “O. Piastri.” The ink on the name was nearly washed away, chased by the rain and all the other pleasantries of English weather. Mother Nature herself seemed determined to guard his anonymity.

“You can come up. Third floor, last door on the left.”

Mark’s voice crackled through the intercom, as though his client had no voice of his own. Your mind wandered: would he sound the same, or had his years in England worn away his accent, like the ink on his doorbell?

Apartment 3B’s door appeared sooner than you expected, leaving you no time to steel yourself. This was a decisive moment. If Oscar Piastri didn’t like you—if he deemed you unfit for any reason—they would terminate your probationary period, and you would be cast back into the labyrinth of professional limbo.

I just need him to like me. Simple enough, right?

As you adjusted the collar of your sweater, the door opened to reveal Mark. He greeted you with a nod and stepped aside. You didn’t spare a glance for the apartment. Instead, your eyes fell immediately on the young man seated at the table. Your gazes locked.

You gulped.

You had read Oscar Piastri’s Wikipedia page, of course. Before you became an assistant, you had been a student, and if there was one thing you had mastered during that time, it was research. You had stuck only to the facts, never clicking on the suggested videos or press interviews—resolute in forming your own impression.

“Hello. I’m Y/N, pleased to meet you.”

“Oscar.”

Your handshake offered little reassurance, nor did the driver’s impassive expression. You swallowed again and instinctively hugged your notebook to your chest before taking a seat opposite him.

You listened half-heartedly as Mark launched into a stream of benign, reassuring remarks—an overview of your role you had already read over multiple times. Realizing you wouldn’t need to speak, you let yourself drift from the monologue and instead studied the boy you would be working for, scanning his impassive face for any hint on your potential dynamic.

Like many, you had seen The Devil Wears Prada, and while you were aware you weren’t going to work for Vogue, Formula 1 seemed every bit as cutthroat as the fashion world—catfights and sabotage didn’t seem far-fetched in a microcosm so thoroughly built by and for men.

“So, that’s everything,” Mark concluded. “Any questions?”

Oscar shook his head. You mirrored the gesture.

You both shook hands again, before you left Hertford with a new file in your handbag and a knot in your stomach.

December faded; January dawned, bringing with it a new year and its obligations. You moved to Hertford, into a small townhouse not far from Oscar’s apartment, though you never found the courage to cross the neighborhood that separated you.

Instead, you improvised a home office on your dining table, where you set up your laptop and phone—devices you would stare at for hours, waiting for the screen to light up, though it never did despite the messages you had sent Oscar.

Would you like me to order a coffee for your video call with Zak Brown?

Do you need anything specific before your trip to Monaco?

When are you planning to leave for Australia? I’ll book the tickets.

You always left your ringer on, even through the night. Just in case he calls, you told yourself. But it never came. No calls. No messages. No requests. Just silence—heavy—and that infuriating “seen” icon.

At least Mark had the decency to keep you in the loop regarding Oscar’s upcoming obligations. The driver himself had all but vanished. His absence brewed a storm of emotions in you.

First doubt. Then anger.

Did Oscar think you incompetent? Did he consider himself above you?

You lasted a week before you snapped. One week of avoidance. One week of “seen.” One week of voicemails.

You retreated from your desk to your bed, turned off your ringer, and replaced calls and messages with emails—though those, too, went unanswered.

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/[email protected] > To: Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > CC: Mark WEBBER < [email protected] > Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > Subject: London–Australia Flight / Dec 14, 10:30

Dear Oscar,

Please find attached your outbound ticket to Melbourne, departing from London Gatwick on Dec 14 at 10:30 AM. A taxi has been booked to pick you up at 7:00 AM.

Let me know your preferred return date, and I’ll handle the booking promptly.

P.S. Don’t forget your Zoom meeting with Mr. Ellis Woodward from McLaren HR on Dec 18 at 9:30 AM London time (6:30 PM Melbourne time). Here's once again the link: https://zoom.us/j/814553

Wishing you happy holidays.

Kind regards, Y/N L/N y/n.l/[email protected]

[Attachment: Flight_OPiastri_LGWMEL_1412.pdf]

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/[email protected] > To: Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > CC: Mark WEBBER < [email protected] > Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > Subject: Offlane B.V. Meeting

Oscar,

Offlane would like to schedule a video call to discuss your website’s new branding. Mark emphasized that it should be handled before the New Year. Please let me know your availability.

Attached are the proposed designs for your review.

Regards,

Y/N L/N y/n.l/[email protected]

[Attachment: OSCARPIASTRI_FINAL_1224.zip]

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/[email protected] > To: Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > CC: Mark WEBBER < [email protected] > Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > Subject: Schedule & Meeting Change / Dec 30–Jan 5

Please find attached your schedule for the week. I’ve managed to free up Dec 31 to Jan 2.

Note that your meeting with Thomas Rogers from McLaren’s comms department has been moved from 7:30 PM to 8:30 PM (Melbourne time).

Y/N L/N y/n.l/[email protected]

[Attachment: Schedule_OP_06120125.pdf]

“I don’t understand why you hired me if Oscar flat-out refuses my help," you said one day, matter-of-factly. “He won’t even answer my emails.”

On your MacBook screen, Mark sighed. The sound crackled harshly in your ears. You grimaced, but quickly composed yourself, afraid he’d take the gesture personally, before turning the volume down and glancing around.

You had chosen this café for its peace. The barista was humming a familiar tune as he prepared lattes, and the only other customer was far too engrossed in her novel to care about you.

You found comfort in this silence. It was unlike the one at home—less oppressive, more soothing.

Your latte, sweetened with vanilla syrup, was going cold. Yet even masked by sugar, you couldn’t get rid of the bitterness that had seeped into all your meals.

Lately, the lemons life gave you were either underripe or rotten. Oscar Piastri had spoiled the lemonade recipe you had spent years perfecting. You had forgotten its tangy sweetness and were now biting into the bitter rind of failure.

“Oscar is... a guarded young man,” Mark replied after a suffocating pause. “That mess with Alpine and his contract didn’t help. From his perspective, you could betray him just like they did. McLaren are the only one he trusts right now. I think that’s why he’s counting on their PR assistant for now.”

You frowned. The statement stung more than you cared to admit. Mark must have sensed it, because he quickly added: “But don’t worry—I’ll speak to him. Things will improve. Whether he likes it or not, he needs an assistant. I’ve made that clear. Everything’s about to speed up come late January, and I want him focused on racing.”

“Then why didn’t you ask McLaren to hire someone if he trusts them so much?” you asked, your tongue thick with resentment.

“Because a contract is just that. A contract. It expires and no one knows what tomorrow will bring. I want him to trust someone outside of that system. And if that means we pay your salary ourselves, so be it. It’s worth it. Loyalty is rare in this sport. I want to give it a chance to bloom without any influence.”

You nodded, but a lump had settled in your throat. Guilt. On your parents’ advice, you had begun quietly looking for other jobs.

You can’t go on like this, they’d told you. You deserve respect. And painful as it was to admit—they were right.

“I understand,” you finally said. “And I understand his trust issues. God knows I’ve been betrayed more than once during internships. I don’t blame him for that. But I’d appreciate it if he at least acknowledged my emails.”

“I’ll speak to him,” Mark repeated. “In the meantime, keep doing your job. I see every email you send, and I want to commend you—not just for your efficiency and initiative, but for your professionalism despite Oscar’s behaviour. Your efforts are not in vain.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded. It was hard to accept praise when the one person you were meant to work for gave you no recognition at all.

“I have to go. McLaren call in five minutes. Keep it up—I’ll handle Oscar.”

Your tired and discouraged face stared back at you on the black screen. You sighed, took a sip of cold coffee, and began typing a new email.

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/[email protected] > To: Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > CC: Mark WEBBER < [email protected] > Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > Subject: Quad Lock

Oscar,

As Mark and your new McLaren PR assistant may have informed you, Quad Lock (an Australian brand for sports phone mounts) is interested in sponsoring you in 2023.

They’re only available on Thursday, January 16 at 10:30 AM, but you’re scheduled for a padel session then. Would you prefer I reschedule, or can you make yourself available?

Y/N L/N y/n.l/[email protected]

That evening, you nearly choked on your red wine when your phone buzzed. You immediately recognized the sound—your inbox—and tapped the notification with a trembling finger.

"What the fuck?"

From: Oscar PIASTRI < [email protected] > To: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/[email protected] > CC: Mark WEBBER < [email protected] > Subject: RE: Quad Lock

Jan 16 works. Cancel padel.

Oscar

You ended up staring at the screen for far too long. Since when did a simple email affect you so deeply? You had studied at Harvard, for God’s sake. Interned at prestigious firms. Yet here you were—shaken by a curt reply from a bull-headed driver.

If your parents could see you now, they’d sigh.

You typed a reply, erased it, retyped the same one, changed a word, fixed a typo, then—uncertain—rewrote it altogether.

Then deleted it again.

And finally typed: “Thanks, I’ll inform them.”

You tossed your phone across the bed and drained your wine in one big gulp.

You didn’t know what to make of the sudden shift, but one thing was certain: you could count on Mark. And there was nothing more reassuring than not feeling alone in your corner.

You longed for the sense of excitement that had animated you when you had signed your contract in this very office, just a few weeks ago. The golden plaque on the door still bore Mark’s name but it no longer gleamed as it had that first day. It appeared dull now—faded, even.

He had summoned you to discuss Oscar’s upcoming first days with McLaren, and the logistical arrangements it would require.

Upon your arrival, the secretary had promptly informed you that the Australian would be running late. Something about a meeting “too important to be cut short.”

So, you had sat down in one of the waiting room chairs and begun flipping through your notebook to review the brief Mark had sent two days prior. But muffled voices soon broke your concentration.

You looked up. The office door stood slightly ajar.

You immediately recognized Mark’s voice. Another, deeper and more assertive, kept interrupting him.

Oscar.

Eyes wide, you gently closed your notebook and placed it on the seat beside you before moving closer to the door.

“This can’t go on,” said Mark. “Besides your blatant lack of professionalism, you're making things harder for yourself on purpose.”

“I don’t need an assistant.”

They’re talking about me, you realized.

You swallowed hard and leaned in.

“And I’m telling you that you do. You’re stepping into the big leagues, Oscar. That means four times the responsibilities, four times the meetings. Your little Google Calendar might’ve worked in F2 and in 2022, but that’s no longer the case. You need someone.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here to help you negotiate contracts, not book your flights or your hair appointments. I have enough on my plate as it is, and you do too. You’re literally starting at McLaren in two weeks!”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But why Y/N?”

“Why not?”

“I’ve read her résumé. She doesn’t belong here,” he spat.

You recoiled. The words stung, not just because of what he said, but how he said it. You had expected indifference from Oscar, but never cruelty.

“You can complain all you want,” Mark replied coolly. “It won’t change a damn thing. She is your assistant—and given the excellent work she’s done despite your shitty attitude, she will remain as such. So get used to seeing her around.”

“Whatever,” Oscar muttered.

Silence followed, then soft but steady footsteps.

Your stomach twisted. You scrambled back to your seat, notebook now trembling in your damp hands. Your heartbeat was so loud you could feel it pounding in your temples.

Oscar soon appeared in the doorway. His dark eyes immediately found yours. You froze, gaze fixed on a blurry sentence, your heart in your throat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stop. His stare scorched the right side of your face. Your cheeks burned—whether from fury or adrenaline, you couldn’t say. Perhaps both.

After what felt like an eternity, the driver turned and walked away. Without a word. As always.

He didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face, you thought.

Something inside you cracked at that realization—the last stronghold of patience, the final tower of understanding.

Rage surged through your veins and turned your chest into a battlefield. Amid the carnage, a voice pierced your armour. You looked up and saw Mark, one hand on the door handle.

“Are you coming?”

You followed him into the office mechanically, sat down in the leather chair, opened your notebook, nodded silently at every sentence he spoke, scribbled down notes you knew you would never read, and asked no questions.

More than once, Mark raised an eyebrow at your uncharacteristic silence, but you deliberately ignored his questioning glances.

Gone was the eager assistant, determined to prove herself, always anticipating her client’s needs. In her place sat a woman with furrowed brows and brisk, sharp movements—hardened by a fresh wave of anger.

One of the first management courses you had taken at Harvard had introduced the idea of professional archetypes. Who was motivated by emotion? Rewards? Everyone prided themselves for their individuality, their uniqueness, but, at the end, we all fell a category. And you knew you thrived for acknowledgment—something Oscar had never given you. Not once.

And that hurt.

So no, you didn’t feel guilty for not listening during the meeting. Mark continued with his verbose explanations, but you knew the spiel…

Oscar’s debut at McLaren was fast approaching. It would be a critical moment—for him, for Mark, for you.

And yet, despite knowing all that, you couldn’t bring herself to care.

She doesn’t belong here.

At the memory of those words, you tightened your grip on your pen.

“Y/N,” Mark said eventually, his tone tentative. “About Oscar… I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”

You stifled a bitter laugh and nodded. He eventually dismissed you, realizing you had nothing further to say, and you didn’t hesitate to walk out—slamming the door behind you, decorum be damned.

Once home, you glanced at your makeshift desk on the dining table, then at your work phone—silent, as always.

That was the final straw—the dark screen.

On impulse, you reached out to your cousin, a doctor.

One of your professors had once spoken at length about the value of networking and connections. You finally understood the importance of those when, thirty minutes later, a five-day medical leave form landed in your inbox.

You forwarded it to Mark, turned off your phone, and threw it into a drawer.

If Oscar didn’t need you, then he could handle his McLaren debut on his own.

During the first two days, you didn’t leave your bed. You stayed under the covers and ignored the world outside—though the latter seemed determined not to ignore you. Your parents kept sending you links to job offers, and Mark had started calling your personal number.

On the third day, someone knocked.

Oscar.

The moment you saw him standing there, you didn’t think—you tried to slam the door in his face. But the driver was faster—damn reflexes—and caught it with one hand.

“We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please.”

That one word made you falter.

“I know you took medical leave,” he continued. “Mark told me. I also know you’re not really sick and it’s because of me.”

That caught your attention. Oscar took advantage of the hesitation and slipped through the gap. You protested, pushed against his chest to get him out, but you were no match to his strength.

Soon, Oscar Piastri was standing in your apartment.

The sight was so surreal you blinked, convinced you were hallucinating. But no, he was real and had just turned your worst nightmare into reality.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said. “I was an asshole.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms.

“Understatement of the fucking year.”

Oscar took your hand and held it in his.

Your eyes widened.

“I thought I didn’t need an assistant, but I was wrong.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling away.

“Oh, right. So what? You had some epiphany while I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

“I missed three meetings with McLaren and was late to two others because I didn’t get your reminder emails.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Mark didn’t send anything?”

It was surprising, given how insistent he’d been about professionalism before Oscar’s debut.

“He said it was to ‘help me realize how much I fucked up.’”

You stifled a smile as a warm wave washed over you—part pride, part relief. Mark had stood up for you. Your heart felt just a little lighter.

You looked up at Oscar.

But then a memory—sharp and cold—soured the moment.

“You said I didn’t belong there,” you whispered.

You hated yourself for voicing it, for letting the insecurity slip through. The same one your parents had spent years nurturing.

A heavy silence followed.

“You heard us,” he simply said. “Mark and me. The other day.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer. Oscar ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“You don’t belong here. That’s true.”

You opened your mouth in disbelief.

“Did you read your résumé?” he went on, undeterred.

“What kind of stupid question is–”

“Because I did,” he cut you off. “And you’re overqualified. You graduated from Harvard, for fuck’s sake! You deserve so much more than being my personal assistant.”

For the first time, you were speechless.

“But I guess I’m selfish,” he sighed. “I still think you deserve better, but now that I know how much I need you, I don’t want you to leave.”

He stepped closer.

“So please, forgive me. I’ll give you a raise—just name your price. But don’t quit.”

You hesitated, frozen in the middle of your living room, facing a visibly nervous Oscar. Were you making a mistake? Giving in too easily? What if this was just a momentary change of heart? What if, in three weeks’ time, everything went back to how it was?

As if reading your thoughts, Oscar took another step and rushed to reassure you.

“I’ll try harder. I’ll communicate better. I’ll learn to trust you.”

“And reply to my emails?”

He smiled, and the sight of those bunny teeth softened something in your chest.

“That too.”

You had come to love this job in the past weeks. It quenched your thirst of order and precision. And, Oscar aside, it was relatively simple.

The salary didn’t hurt either.

“You have no self-respect, woman,” you muttered under your breath before taking a deep breath and speaking aloud. “Fine.”

You said it quickly, as if speaking too slowly would give regret the time to catch up.

Maybe forgiving him wasn’t the best decision. Maybe your first impression hadn’t been good either.

Maybe you had both made mistakes.

“What?”

“I said, fine.”

Oscar looked as though he wanted to hug you—you saw it in the way his muscles tensed—but he thought better of it and rested a hand on your shoulder instead.

“Thank you.”

Yoy offered him a small smile and straightened up. Oscar’s hand fell back to his side.

“Well… Let’s start over, shall we?”

You held out a hand.

“Hello, I’m Y/N. I’ll be your personal assistant. If you need anything, I’m here.”

Oscar took it and gave it a gentle shake.

“Hi, I’m Oscar and I won’t screw up this time.”

Woking was a rather dreary town, you concluded as you watched its brick buildings pass by through the window of Oscar’s car. A typical English town, with uniform neighbourhoods and a colour palette of browns and whites.

“Feeling nervous?” you asked, glancing at Oscar’s hands, clenched so tightly around the steering wheel they were turning white.

“Yes."

“Good. It would’ve been strange if you weren’t. It means you care.“"”

He sighed and turned down the radio.

“Mark warned me they’d drown me with information. I’m worried I won’t remember anything and that I’ll come across as a rookie.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Just try to remember the essentials, and I’ll take care of the rest,” you replied, giving your black notebook a shake.

The movement caught Oscar’s attention, and he glanced away from the road for a second. He hummed in acknowledgment, and silence settled once again over the car.

There remained in your interactions traces of your chaotic beginnings. The team-building week Mark had forced you into, squeezed into the slim window of time leading up to today, had helped, but one didn’t simply erase a month of mutual silence with the wave of a wand.

Both of you had promised Oscar’s manager to try. You had sealed the pact without hesitation—anything was preferable to playing yet another damned escape room.

Oscar eventually gestured toward the notebook with a nod.

“You’ll need an orange one.”

You clutched it to your chest with a grimace. Loose pages and stray Post-its crinkled against your wool winter coat. It was an organized chaos of contracts and printed emails—a reflection of the turbulent start to Oscar’s F1 career, and their own beginnings.

“It’s not even full yet! And I don’t like orange.”

“A sticker, then.”

You pursed your lips.

“I suppose. But only if I get to pick the design.”

‘It has to be related to the team or me, though.”

“It is related to you. It contains your entire life for the next eight months.”

Oscar cut the conversation short when he took a sharp turn.

“Look—we’re here.”

You blinked at the building.

What kind of Avengers shit is this?

The building looked like it had been plucked straight from the future and placed with uncanny precision beside the lake. Everything about it exuded innovation and ambition—the kind of place you had imagined yourself working for after graduating.

Today, you were entering it as a mere personal assistant.

A part of you felt bitter at the thought, but you quickly buried the feeling when Oscar opened his door and offered you a hand.

Mark was already waiting at the entrance, flanked by a man you recognized as Zak Brown, and another with tanned skin and graying hair.

“Andrea Stella, the team principal,” Oscar murmured in your ear, seeing your confused expression.

Zak and Andrea greeted you politely—nothing more—before turning their full attention to Oscar. Mark, on the other hand, walked over to you with a sly smile on his thin lips.

“You managed the drive without killing each other? I’m impressed.”

As if he hadn’t just forced the two of you into a three-hour tug-of-war last Wednesday…

You all entered the building together. You were left speechless by the modern architecture and followed the group of men on autopilot. Very quickly, Oscar began meeting the team—one person after another. The receptionists. The mechanics. The engineers. The technicians. The designers. You jotted down as much as you could in your little notebook, but even you soon felt overwhelmed, your wrist aching.

“Of course you know Cecilia, your PR assistant,” announced Zak Brown as they entered the office area.

That was enough to catch your attention. You snapped your head up so fast your neck cracked. You couldn’t help narrowing your eyes, givng a once-over to the woman who’d had such a good job back in November. Beside you, Mark stifled a laugh.

“Careful—you almost look jealous.”

“I don’t care.”

But you couldn’t hide your satisfied smile as you observed the interaction between the two—cordial and awkward.

Take that, Cecilia.

“Ah!” Zak exclaimed. “Just the man we were looking for! Lando, come meet your new teammate.”

You rose onto your toes to catch sight of the newcomer.

Of course, you knew who Lando Norris was. A McLaren driver since 2019 and now Oscar’s teammate. Nothing more—just the essentials. That was enough. Memorizing the information Mark and Oscar fed you already took up a quarter of your time; you didn’t have room for another driver.

He shook hands with everyone with the ease of someone familiar in his environment. There was no hesitation in his movements, just a quiet confidence.

“Nice to meet you, Oscar.”

“Likewise.”

The Australian stepped aside, revealing you behind him. Your eyes met. Lando’s widened.

“And this is—”

But before Oscar could introduce you, Lando stumbled and fell at your feet.

You blinked. Then rushed to help him. Your knees hit the smooth floor, but you had no time to feel the pain; your hand quickly found the Brit’s shoulder.

“My God! Are you alright?”

Lando sprang back up and recoiled from your touch as though burned, his face flushed crimson.

“Y-yes,” he stammered, eyes fixed on the floor.

He mumbled words you didn’t catch—something about an engineer and a meeting—then spun around and disappeared down the corridor.

You blinked once, twice, then shook your head and hurried to rejoin the group for the rest of the tour, which lasted another two long hours.

“Lando…” you began once you and Oscar were back in the car.

“What about him?”

“He’s a bit… odd, don’t you think?”

Oscar shot you a quick glance before focusing back on the road. Already, the McLaren Technology Centre was nothing more than a vague grey blur in the rearview mirror. The engine roared, churning your stomach—or perhaps that was the regret creeping onto your tongue.

You and Oscar weren’t yet close enough for you to speak so freely. What would he think of you, openly criticizing his future teammate?

“I suppose,” he admitted, to your utmost relief. “I haven’t really had the chance to talk with him yet. We’re planning to meet up before the first tests. He mentioned something about padel.”

You pulled your notebook from your bag and uncapped your fountain pen, glad for the change in topic.

“Do you already have a date in mind?”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

1K notes · View notes

pellucid-constellations · 4 months ago

Text

I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Falling in love with Azriel had never been in the cards. Falling in love with anyone other than the husband your father appointed to you had always been a far-fetched notion. And that was a truth you had lived by. 10 years ago.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Yearning, pining, all that is longing and angst and exes to lovers <3

a/n: Guys I adored writing this so I hope you love it!! Inspired by 'We Hug Now' by Sydney Rose. I so so appreciate hearing what you think. Thank you for reading!!

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

Main Masterlist ♡

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, passing it over your knuckle and twisting it back down.

Your stomach hurt, pain and nausea mingling with such severity you feared you would be sick. The thought was comical, in a way. The company at the table would be so concerned over their dresses and the obscenely expensive tablecloth that you could probably sneak away. But that would still be a feat considering the heavy palm resting on your thigh.

Warren was a nice man. He fulfilled his duties as the man you were to marry with dutiful purpose. He learned your favorite foods, how you liked your tea in the morning, and the shops you frequented. He touched you kindly, respectfully, and he was always nice to your friends. He was nice. But you were not in love with him.

In Warren’s defense, you were never going to be in love with him. Your father had decided that you should be, however, so you were promised to him from a young age. That was typical of the high fae with your family’s rank, and you had evaded that duty for some time now. Your father had given into your whims for several years, allowing you to “galavant around”, as he would say, acting as the Winter Court’s emissary until Warren’s family grew impatient.

Your return to Winter had been met with immediate wedding planning. You had been called upon for floral arrangements and the menu and to finalize the color scheme. Warren had done his best to quell his incessant mother’s demands, but the wedding was a court affair and everyone was thrilled.

Well, most were.

Before you had stepped foot in the Night Court ten years ago, you had been indifferent about the wedding. Sure, it wasn’t optimal to have to marry a man you knew so little about, but it had been an expectation since your birth. Warren may not have been your choice, but he was certainly not the worst choice when compared to the other eligible bachelors in the pool. You had left to act as emissary with a gentle begrudging that cared little for the future.

You had returned with so much indescribable longing that you had trouble speaking to others.

Every decision you made was accompanied by an inundating weight that threatened to crush you. You chose daisies for the aisle and you thought of him. You wore that ridiculous wedding dress with the high neck and drapey sleeves and you remembered how he used to touch you. You sat at this dinner, celebrating the joining of two families, and you reminisced on how it felt to sit with him, with his family, and to feel that you belonged somewhere.

The urge to be sick persisted as your future mother-in-law hoisted her glass in the air, bubbles losing weight and flying up to the rim.

It was cruel—all the mundane things that reminded you of him.

“To my son,” Warren’s mother toasted, white furs puffing around her cheeks. “And his new bride-to-be. We are overjoyed that the long-awaited day meets us!”

You gritted through your smile, raising your glass to your lips. The edge hit your teeth and the sound of the impact vibrated your brain.

“Oops,” you giggled, the splattering of fae wine against cobblestone suddenly hilarious. “Who did that?”

“I believe you are the only one in this alleyway, my love.” Azriel’s smooth voice sent a pleasant warmth up your spine.

You whirled around, night air kissing your bare shoulders. It felt electric when accompanied by Azriel’s adoring smile—addicting.

“You followed me,” you mused, curling your glass into your chest and stepping closer to the Shadowsinger.

Azriel met your steps without pause. “Of course I did.” You smiled at him, light and airy. He brought soft fingers up to brush along your face as he asked, “Are you alright?”

“More than alright,” you were quick to reply. “Just needed some air. It gets so hot in there.”

He hummed, eyes tracing over your features. “Want to go home?”

“I feel that Mor would be angry with me.”

“She would only be angry for a day. Buy her those shoes she was eyeing.”

“And why should I choose to go home with you?”

Azriel pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. He moved back, only an inch, and whispered, “Come with me and you’ll find out.”

“That reminds me of when Warren climbed that icy tree in the courtyard. Oh, what a silly child he was!” A boisterous aunt clapped her hands as she shouted, snapping you out of the memory with a small jump.

Your chest ached as you breathed out a laugh and rejoined the table.

Beside you, Warren chuckled, his hand brushing lightly near your knee. “Please, do not bring up anything I’ve done before the age of twenty,” he pleaded. His eyes shone their pretty blues. His hair looked enticingly soft. “I don’t need y/n to have those images in her mind.”

He turned slightly, flashing you a small smile that spelled marital secrets and private conversations through eyes.

Where you should have felt the lightness of new love elating you, buzzing at your skin, you felt the increasing urge to cry. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the night you left him.

“I’m sure it would only make you that much more endearing,” you teased, swallowing hard when Warren took your words as an opening to dive into a tale of the past.

He didn’t deserve this, in all honesty.

Warren was a nice man.

But Azriel—

“You are so beautiful.”

“You’re supposed to be watching, Az,” you admonished, tucking your face into his arm to hide the heat on your face.

“I am watching,” he argued. He leaned down, your back pressed to his chest, and kissed the skin above your ear.

“Not me. The stars,” you clarified.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting the crook of his elbow where it rounded your shoulders. He kissed you again and again, mapping out the top of your head with the delicate pecks. You laughed and that only egged him on. He turned you and pressed you back until your spine met the railing of the balcony, and then he was kissing your cheeks and your temple—the bridge of your nose and your brow.

“Azriel,” you tried again, but his smile was against your skin and he wasn’t listening. “You’re missing Starfall!”

“I can see it next year,” he murmured against you.

“And you can kiss me whenever you want.”

He paused, pulling back to catch your eyes. You smiled, confused at the serious moment in the otherwise light mood. He had no response to your confusion, only leaning back in to brush his nose against yours.

Maybe he had known.

You had foolishly thought this all to be avoidable, figuring your father would understand that you had found happiness. That he would have cared and given up on this unwanted marriage.

He hadn’t.

“Isn’t that right?”

You blinked, turning to your fiance with a haze in your eyes.

You hadn’t been listening.

The cake on your plate was becoming stale, its untouched state starkly contrasted with the empty glass of champagne to the left. You pulled your lips into a line, searching Warren’s encouraging eyes as he tried to help you. It didn’t work; you had no idea where the conversation was left.

“I’m sorry,” you bluntly stated, voice turned up into the posh tone your father had ingrained in you. You turned to address the table. “I seem to have been lost in my head. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Catch me up?”

Warren gave your knee a fond squeeze before removing his hand to place it on the back of your chair. He leaned down slightly, his voice lowering as he offered a gentle excuse for you. She has been so incredibly busy, he offered warmly, she’ll be even busier when the wedding is over.

You felt as if you were underwater. Your face lit up with another asinine smile and it was difficult to breathe. Not because you weren’t used to this setting—not because Warren was a bad man. This was supposed to be your life. This was what you were supposed to be doing.

There had never been any indication of a different path.

“I love you.”

You whipped your head to the side, abandoning the sketchbook in your lap as your charcoal rolled into the seat cushions.

“What?”

Azriel smiled. He leaned over the pillow separating you, tucking your knees further into your chest as he closed the space on the loveseat. “I said I love you,” he repeated, breath fanning over your lips. “I’ve told you before, but you haven’t heard me.”

You let out an incredulous huff of laughter, your gaze bouncing between both of his eyes. “When? I don’t remember that.”

“At the Sidra yesterday. Last week at the shops. Three days ago when you fell asleep on me.”

“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.”

Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear and left his hand resting on your cheek. “You are often oblivious to your surroundings, my love. Especially when something is interesting in front of you like fish or jewels.”

You scoffed. “Not true. My father made sure I was very observant. My tutor would smack the back of my neck any time I got distracted.”

Azriel tutted, disapproval darkening his eyes as he brushed his scarred hand to cup the back of your neck. He shifted on the loveseat so you were sat on his lap, his other hand finding a home on the side of your thighs.

“That is cruel,” Azriel remarked. “Being distracted is in your nature. I don’t know if there is a time you are not distracted.”

“There are many interesting things to look at,” you mused, humming as his fingers inched up your scalp.

“I’m sure.” A pause. Azriel had the gall to look unsure. “You do not have to love me back.”

Your posture stiffened, the words leaving you before you could consider them. “I love you, Azriel. I love you, too.”

He seemed to slump against you at that, tension you didn’t know was there leaving his body. He offered you a warm smile and then kissed you—and kissed you and kissed you.

It had seemed like there was another path.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Warren announced to the table. A musician had begun to play the harp in the corner of the restaurant. “My bride and I have much to discuss tonight so we must retire. Please, continue to enjoy the night.”

Confused and disoriented, you took his gloved hand in yours and said goodbye to the correct people. You weren’t supposed to be the first to leave. This was your rehearsal dinner.

Warren guided you into the winding hall, his grip soft and reassuring. You attempted not to trip on your dress as you went, your head throbbing with an invisible pain that seemed to linger these months back in Winter.

It had been months without seeing him.

You were getting married the next day.

It would be final then.

The first step outside the restaurant was both invigorating and unpleasant, the cold air assaulting your senses. It did the job of snapping you out of your thoughts, but then you were left standing in the snow before Warren, and that was a similar form of torture.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted, tugging your cloak over your shoulders. You had missed him grabbing it from the coat check. “You’ve been off since you returned but it’s worse tonight.”

Warren had known you peripherally before you left for the Night Court. You were to be married, so he made it a point to at least meet you before you were gone. He had not known you would be gone for years, but neither had you. The last time you spoke to Warren before you had met Azriel, a wilted salad sat between him and your father, the pair discussing politics and import prices.

Warren would not have known something was wrong, he hardly knew you, but he did anyway. Because he had made it a point to be a good husband.

That’s what made this even more tortuous.

Maybe, if he were terrible, it would be easy.

Your chin wobbled for a moment of breath. You’d pass it off as a chill.

“Nothing is wrong,” you smiled, cheeks already stiff from the cold. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”

Warren closed his eyes, breath a white puff before him. “Don’t lie.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!”

Azriel tugged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed, feet taking him in a disorganized line around the room. “You are engaged.”

“Not by choice. I don’t know him, not really. I could tell my father—”

“You would be shunned—cut off. I know how noble families are, y/n.”

The use of your name struck you, a stark contrast to the soft, endearing terms Azriel so loved to use around you. You flinched unconsciously, eyes darting around his room to find some sort of explanation for this.

“I don’t care about any of that,” you urged. You remained rooted in the doorway, unable to move. “I’d stay here. I wouldn’t go back.”

“You would leave your family? Your… fiancé?” Azriel spit out the last word. The crumbled missive crinkled in your hand as you clutched it tighter.

“I would do anything to be with you.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my decision.”

The paper fell from your fingers. You brought your palm to your chest, ignoring the harshness of his tone. “No, I know. This isn’t—this is my choice, Azriel. I want to stay here. To be with you.”

“I can’t be the reason you abandon your family. Your responsibilities. You—You lied, y/n. You never told me about any of this,” Azriel bit out, hands curled into fists.

“I’m sorry! I wanted to—I did—but I was so afraid you would be angry. And then I fell in love with you and—”

Azriel held his hand up, abruptly stopping your teary explanation. His chest visibility heaved. “You should go.”

“What?”

“Answer your father. Tell him you’ll comply with the date.”

Tears wet your cheeks, the silence following his demand pressing them down in heavy streaks. He stared back at you and he looked so angry, his eyes a calculated cold. He had never looked at you like that.

“You’re hurt,” you spoke, voice a mess of tears. “You don’t mean that.”

He only shook his head slightly. “I do.”

“Azriel, I love you. I was promised to marry him when I was born. I don’t—”

The muscle in his jaw feathered, effectively silencing you. His shadows were going haywire, half of them wrapped around their master, protecting him, the other half twining around your chest. Did they know you were in pain? Did they know your chest wouldn’t move?

“Okay,” you relented. More tears fell when Azriel only gave you a hard stare. “Okay, I—I’m sorry, Azriel. I love you—”

You choked on a sob when he turned around, apparently unable to watch as you broke down.

And that's what made this the most torturous of all; you could leave Warren—maybe—and Azriel still wouldn’t want you back.

You decided you wouldn’t lie to Warren just as you didn’t to Azriel.

“I fell in love.”

Warren nodded, barely blinking at your admission. “In Night?”

Your brow furrowed. “Yes, but—you aren’t angry?”

“I couldn’t expect you to tie yourself to me. You didn’t know me when we were engaged and I didn’t do the best job at getting to know you when we came of age.”

“I left.”

“To meet your soulmate, it seems.”

“We had no mating bond.”

Warren’s mouth ticked up at the corner. He adjusted the collar of your cloak and dusted the snow from your shoulder. “A mating bond is not always the answer.”

Faelight from the post beside the restaurant gleamed off the bronze hues in Warren’s hair. He leaned back, hands encasing your upper arms. “I’ve missed my chance then.”

Something soft fractured inside of you—because he was right. Warren could be all things kind and loving and he wouldn’t be Azriel. No one would be.

“I’m sorry,” you softly spoke. “I never meant—”

“Don’t apologize. Go to him.”

Your lips parted. “Warren, I couldn’t. We’re to be married tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to you. And our families would be enraged.”

“I’m hardly concerned about our families. As much as I would have enjoyed marrying you—and I would have, please do not get that misconstrued—there are several noble ladies my mother has lined up and already ready, I’m sure. And as for your family… to be honest, y/n, you came back from Night brighter than I remember you. It seems you have another family waiting for you.”

It all sounded wonderful—wonderful and so, so easy. You’d have Warren as an ally and you could return to the people you’d called home for so many years. You’d feel at home. The loss of your homeland would sting, but it was a worthy sacrifice.

But then you remembered the anger and hurt in Azriel’s eyes, and this was no longer easy.

The light extinguished from your eyes, shoulders deflating in Warren’s hold. “I can’t. He was so angry with me.”

“When?”

You met the blues of his eyes, chest hollow. “He found out about our engagement the night before I returned. He told me to go. He was—Warren, he wouldn’t want me back.”

Warren clicked his tongue. “I can guarantee that he’s kicking himself over that. He didn’t mean it. Imagine you learned he was engaged after so many years together. That can’t have been easy.”

“I know,” you mumbled, ashamed.

“But—” he continued “—if he loves you, he would have regretted that the moment you left. Go back to him. Speak with him. If he turns you away we can still be married in the morning.”

“You would still marry me?” you deadpanned, brow raised in amusement.

“It’s either you or the girl my mother surely has on standby.”

You scoffed out a laugh and pushed at his chest. He grabbed his sweater in mock pain, a charming smile playing on his face.

Despite the task that awaited you, you felt lighter. You let out a resolute sigh before saying, “You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Warren.”

He looked up at you from where he had bent his neck, peeking out from below his lashes. “Just not to you?” he asked.

“Not to me,” you affirmed.

The air in the Night Court felt different—shimmering, somehow, although that may have been chalked up to the anxiety coursing through your veins. The crystalline silk dress still adorning your frame stood out against the dark hues of the court.

It had been a feat to get up to the house. After winnowing into the outskirts of Velaris, you had prayed Mor was home to the tune of several knocks on her door. She was—thankfully—and seemingly more than happy to see you. She had rushed through a tale of how terrible Azriel was doing without you that quickly morphed into a lecture about how pissed she was that you left without a proper farewell.

You had apologized, and she had sent for someone with wings.

Cassian appeared next, rattling off much of the same as Mor only with more shouting and less snapping. After several apologies, Cassian brought you up to the House and then promptly left to the opposite side of the House.

And so, you were left alone with an insurmountable task.

The halls of the House were painfully familiar, each step a reminder of the life you once thought to be forever. You passed your room—only used for the first few months before you made a home in Azriel’s—several sitting rooms, the kitchen; Azriel’s door was closed.

You hadn’t knocked on it in years.

You sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill your chest and then your stomach, and then you knocked. And knocked again.

“I told you to leave it, Cassian,” came Azriel’s reply. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

His voice was rough and thick. You knocked again, listening close to the wood for the sound of footfall or movement. You only heard Azriel’s bed shift.

You knocked again.

No answer.

Well, if you were going to do this it wasn’t going to be halfway.

You turned the knob, the metal cold and reassuring under your palm. You had done that before.

Azriel’s room was much of the same. Some things were missing; paintings on the wall had been removed, the side of the bed you typically slept on looked all but bare, his curtains had been changed.

Your gaze went out before it went in, and when it went in, you saw him. Hunched over on the side of his bed, Azriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fingers were threaded through his hair, his room almost unseeably dark. He didn’t look up when you entered.

“I want to be left alone,” he grunted out. He sniffed. “Tell me after she’s married and only then.”

He knew you were getting married tomorrow. He had kept track.

Obviously, that had been a possibility, but you had expected more avoidance. He was angry with you—at you. He couldn’t even look at you when you left, hadn’t told you he loved you as you packed your things and vanished. It would have made sense if he resented you. If he stayed away from all things that involved you.

“I am not getting married.”

His head snapped up at a vicious speed, hands falling into his lap just as quickly. His shadows, once in a clump at his feet, exclaimed in the air before cautiously edging towards you. He took you in, eyes roving over your figure in a panic. You caught the reflection on his cheekbones in the small amount of light filtering past his curtains. His eyes were swollen, his face gaunt.

His voice cracked as it formed the sounds of your name.

Nerves caught up with you. You closed the door behind you and stayed rooted in the same spot you had left him in, feet creating an indent by the wall. You played with your fingers at your waist.

“Um, hello,” you greeted, clearing your throat. It hurt to look at him, you realized. You tore your eyes from his ruined expression to gaze down at your hands. “I realize you told me to leave. And I did—I had every intention of following my father’s requests as you told me to do. But—um. Warren could tell something was off. I was trying my best, I swear I was, but it was hard to fall back into that role after spending so much time here. After being comfortable here. With you.”

You chewed at your cheek for a moment. A bad habit you had picked up in the months back in Winter. Azriel’s bed creaked. He’d stood up.

He was going to leave. You needed to get this out, quickly.

“I know you’re angry and I’m so sorry, Azriel. I had foolishly thought I could avoid the fate my father had set out if I just ignored it. If I just lived out my life here with you. I thought it would all go away so I never told you about Warren and—”

“Please,” Azriel interrupted. “Stop saying his name.”

You could feel his presence. Now directly in front of you, his shadows became more comfortable and had taken to sliding along your skin. Azriel stepped forward until you could hear his breath, but you refused to look up. You couldn’t.

You apologized instead. “I just came back because… I just wanted you to know that you have become my family. You had said that I was making a choice between you and my family, but that’s not true. I feel at home here. And you can tell me to leave again. You can and I’ll—”

“Look at me.”

You sucked in a breath, picking at the skin of your palm.

Azriel placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up to his. The first touch of his skin against yours had warmth blooming in your gut, but it was quickly replaced with a tight ball of anxiety when his eyes met yours.

“Gods, I’ve missed your eyes,” he all but sighed. You backed up a step until your back met his door. He followed. “Is it my turn to talk?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded.

“Letting you leave—speaking to you like that—has been my greatest regret,” he began, the gravelly nature of his voice conveying more than his words ever could. His lashes were damp as they fanned against his cheeks.

“I didn’t tell you the truth. You had every right—”

Azriel pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and trained his eyes on the skin he displaced. He winced with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking, my love.”

He continued. ��I did not have the right. I was hurt, you were correct, but I wasn’t listening. It was unfair of me to react that way. I wanted you to come back the moment you left.”

“Then why didn’t you come get me?” you whispered.

“I thought you had everything you wanted. I figured—y/n, I have never been the best option. I’m a killer. I have hang-ups. I wanted you to have a way out.”

“I didn’t want a way out,” you stressed, gripping Azriel’s wrist. He had moved his hand back to cup your jaw. “I wanted you. I didn’t care about any of that. I was willing to throw away my entire life in Winter to stay.”

“I know.”

“And then you told me to leave.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

Azriel let out a tortured breath. His shoulders sagged and his forehead met yours, even though he didn’t ask, even though you weren’t sure who was mad at who anymore. You kept your eyes open as his closed, watching his face twist.

“Wanted?”

You drew back. “What?”

Azriel’s eyes opened. “You said wanted. That you wanted me. That you were willing to stay.”

You could only stare at him.

“Does that mean… is this irreparable?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Azriel?” A broken, defeated smile donned your face. “I don’t think we could ever be irreparable. I don’t think I’d have the strength to keep that up.”

He was kissing you, a hurried press of his lips against yours, and his sticky cheeks became wet once more as they brushed against yours. His hands found the back of your head, your waist, pulling you in closer. His wings came around to keep you in place—unnecessary. You weren’t going to leave.

He pressed harder still, barely enough air between you to breathe. He took the small amount that was there, whispering apologies and declarations against your lips.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Azriel.”

“Please don’t marry him.”

“I won’t.”

“I love you. So much.”

You kissed him more, softer, and he let you set the pace. At some point, his feet had guided you to the plush surface of his bed, positioning you at the head without ever breaking from your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said again—a kiss to your jaw, one along your temple. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Showing you how much I love you.”

“It’s okay, Azriel. I’m sorry too—”

“Don’t. Please. I played out you returning to me so many times in my head. You never apologized in them. You have no reason to.”

You threaded your fingers through the hair on his nape, eyes cast softly up as he hovered above you. “I could have been more open.”

“I’ve thought about that. I—I was foolish to think you’d want that future. You are nothing like the woman they have forced you into the mold of.”

A small smile. “So you’ve noticed?”

Azriel only kissed you once more before a seriousness cast over his face. “Were you… treated well?”

“Treated well?”

“I believe his name is Warren.”

You fought back a laugh at the way he mumbled the words. “You’re worried he was cruel?”

“Among other things. I know how noblemen can behave.”

“And when did you begin to worry about that.”

“From the moment you said his name was Warren.”

You did laugh that time, shifting on the bed until Azriel laid on his back. You rested along his side, palm flat on his chest. Like a moth to a flame, Azriel’s wings captured you in their own hold. “Warren would have made a good husband. He is a kind man—doting, even.” Azriel tensed beneath you, but you only smoothed your fingers down the plane of his chest. “But I didn’t love him. Maybe I could have tried, before I met you. But not after.”

Azriel rested his hand atop yours, squeezing your fingers. “I will thank him then. For caring for you when I did not.”

You looked at him softly, removing your hand to brush stray hairs from his forehead. “He told me to go to you. I was at my rehearsal dinner. I think if I had opened my mouth I would have said your name.”

He responded with a hand rubbing circles into your back. You laid your head on his chest. “Things will be different now. I can’t go home for a while.”

“You are home,” he replied. “Things may be different, but I will never be different. Not when it comes to you.”

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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jaylaxies · 3 months ago

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THE ONLY EXCEPTION

PAIRING: heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, brother's best friend trope, fluff, slight angst, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cunnilingus, penetration, breeding, usage of nicknames, themes of jealousy, mentions of jake (brother) and other enha members, mentions of karina from aespa, Imk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 10.7k words

SYNOPSIS: Jake was an overprotective brother and he did not fail to show it, warning all the guys to stay away from you, his best friends were no exception. So, how will you make it work when you return back after graduating school, only to find that your crush is paying more attention to you than ever? It most certainly doesn't help that it’s Lee Heeseung, to whom, you are strictly off limits.

PLAYLIST: here!

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi, my loves <3 anonnie(s) requested for me to make a heeseung version of my haechan fic so here we are! (both fics are mine) i hope you guys enjoy it! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

The music blasting from the speakers, reverberating around the room full of university students, the wretched smell of alcohol mixed with cigarettes lingered in the air as your sharp eyes adorned with perfectly winged liner focused around the room, greeting everyone who was shocked to find you at the party.

It felt good to be back.

Leaving for a boarding school wasn’t on your bucket list, yet it was an opportunity you couldn’t miss, the school being a prestigious one with a degree that would only be helpful in the future, which left you no choice but to disappear for three years, only to suddenly reappear today, straight making an appearance at the party.

“Told you, your celebrity status is still intact,” Karina winked at you, her being the only friend who was stubborn enough to not break contact with you, and you loved her for the same.

Raising your brow at her, you took another swing of beer which you had loosely gripped in your hand, “it’s not mine, it all belongs to my brother,” you said, “I don’t want this attention, especially when it’s only valid because I’m Jake’s sister who had a glow up over my time of not being in the town.”

Your brother was well known in the university—the same university which you’d be attending soon along with the people who also attended the same middle school as you, however, his reputation preceded him as he, along with his friends, had turned into the group all girls desired to be with, yet they never let anyone stick around for long.

Settling down wasn’t their forte, unfortunately.

People snogging around every corner of the house wasn’t a sight you were willing to witness, granted you had a long flight and were exhausted. Not having any ride back home was another factor which made you approach your brother—who wasn’t locked up in a room with some girl for once.

“I wanna go home,” you huffed, standing next to Jake, who was quick to excuse himself from the conversation he was having.

“I can’t drive you back, I’m buzzed dude,” he says, “my baby sis is all grown up,” he looks your way, patting your head before you step back, disgusted at his overly affectionate big brother act.

He acted as if everything was normal when in reality, he was the one who always deprived you of every single thing, not allowing you to go out, not allowing you to meet boys, and most importantly, not letting his friends interact with you.

“Ew, drink this and sober up.” You passed on the water bottle in your hand to him, “how am I supposed to go back? Should I take a cab?”

“No, that’s not safe. You wait here, I’ll get my friend to drop you off,” he asked you to wait by the front door.

The shock on your face was evident, yet it was better to get a ride with one of his friends rather than fending for yourself this late at night. With a nonchalant nod, you walked away, waiting by the door.

It wasn’t hard for Jake to find his group, they were sprawled across the sofa as if they owned it, surrounded by girls sitting around them; or on their lap.

“Who’s not drunk here?” He asked, straight up eliminating Sunghoon from the list, who was taking big gulps from his can, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “minus Hoon.”

Heeseung was quick to ignore the girl who was leaning down to kiss him, eyes tired yet lined with the perfect amount of eyeliner—a look he went for whenever a party was concerned.

“I am sober. Driver duties, why?” He asked.

Even though there was nothing but truth in his words, it would be hard to accept it, provided that his eyes were the perfect shade of brown which harboured the ideal amount of brightness during the day, and just the exact amount of intoxication at night.

“I had one beer,” Jay said, sitting with a bored expression on his face, probably not in the mood to entertain the girls at the given moment, unlike Sunghoon and Jungwon, who basked in the attention of them.

“Y/n wants to go back home,” Jake explained, grabbing another can of beer, “and I obviously can’t go to drop her off.”

“Y/n? Is she back?” Heeseung asked, playing with his silver rings before unbuttoning the top of his black button up, exposing his chain clad neck and clavicle, which was valid given how hot the room was.

“Yeah, she came back in the afternoon today. Jay can you drop her back home?” Jay chuckles at the offended look Heeseung threw his way.

“Of course man,” Jay agreed.

“He’s drunk too, in case you overlooked that, I’m the sober one right now,” Heeseung said, pointing out the obvious.

“Yeah, dude there’s no way I’m letting you go alone with my sister,” Jake laughed, “lord knows you can’t keep it in your pants,” he added.

Heeseung was quick to raise his eyebrow, scoffing, pushing his tongue inside his cheek, “and he can?” He asked, pointing at Jay.

“He knows where to draw a line, unlike you, and she’s my baby sister, I’m not risking anything,” Jake explained enthusiastically, as if it was a joke, because it caused an uproar of laughter, which only infuriated Heeseung more.

“I know when to stop,” he said, annoyed.

“You didn’t know that when you fucked our principal’s daughter,” Sunghoon provided.

“And when you did so in his office, with cameras installed,” Jungwon not so helpfully added.

Heeseung agrees that they were right to a certain extent, but their lack of trust was always something that bothered him. If there was someone who actually didn’t know where to stop, that would be them, because he did not appreciate the insults thrown his way.

It also didn’t help how he genuinely wanted to see you after years of you being away, but now his mood was ruined, courtesy of Jake.

Jake then proceeded to list out a few more things as to prove that Heeseung wasn’t fit for being anywhere close to his sister, “I just don’t trust you with her,” he shrugged as if he wasn’t insulting you, asking Jay to drop you off, ending the conversation.

Meanwhile, it had been a solid seven minutes and twenty six seconds since you started waiting for Jake’s friend to come and pick you up, and you made sure to put the time into good use by observing your surroundings yet again.

In the farther right corner, you spotted your old crush, Choi Beomgyu, who was in your ethics class. He never paid attention to you, granted your brother made sure to warn the whole school population that you were off limits.

You couldn’t deny, it was good to see him happy and you swore you noticed him giggling too, talking to your old classmate, who you remember was called one of the beauties of your school, before he pulled her into a sweet kiss.

Your observation was cut short when one of Jake’s friends, whom you had not seen in the past three years appeared in front of you with a small smile. Park Jongseong, or more commonly, Jay, was charming from the bottom to the top.

“Welcome back, Y/n,” he smiled, voice slutry, which came naturally to him.

You offered him a smile in return, shamelessly checking him out, he had gotten buff. You were not expecting him to come here, but then again, your subconscious wanted to see that one boy whose eyes reminded you of honey and doe.

You wondered how he looked now. Does he even remember you? A sigh left your glossy lips as you admitted that you still might have a teeny tiny crush on Lee Heeseung after all this while, and deep inside, you wished to see him again.

With a smile, you followed Jay to the car as he engaged you in a conversation. It was probably the first time he had been given the permission to interact with you, and even he couldn’t deny, he loved to see the development, the confidence that you had come back with.

While you were getting back home, Heeseung was fuming with anger, kicking the pavement as he had left the party, his mind formulating ideas for a plausible revenge against everyone. He was rebellious, he’d give himself that, yet in the depth of his heart, he meant well, not wanting to hurt anyone intentionally, only for the sake of having unharmed fun.

It wasn’t as if his friends were any different, so why should he be the one who’s labelled to be the worst of them all? This time, he wanted to hurt someone on purpose, the someone being Jake Sim.

Solution? Get as close to you as humanly possible—which would also mean that he’d have to work to get a place in your heart. But he didn’t mind it, especially when he had liked you all this while.

Jake wanted him to stay away? Tough luck because Heeseung wanted you.

Thinking about you reminded him of when you first met through Jake, he had priorly informed everyone to stay away from you, despite the fact you were in fifth grade, almost isolating you from the world. However, it wasn’t enough for Heeseung to stop greeting you with his pretty smiles, which caused you to smile back at him too.

That’s the most exchange you guys have had over these years.

Heeseung was gonna change that, and so, he found himself walking towards your house, knowing well that Jake won’t be around to stop him, and your parents would be dead asleep given that it was past midnight.

Climbing up your room wasn’t hard, especially when he was aware of the ladder kept in your backyard, but being silent after entering your room through a window was tough.

The lights were dim, just how you liked it when you slept. With a few steps, Heeseung reached your bed, eyes fixated on your sleeping figure.

A small, genuine smile graced his face when he noticed the small pout on your moisturized lips. Adorable—that’s how he perceived you, yet there was no denying how much you had grown up to be prettier than ever, and he couldn’t help but caress your cheek with his thumb, even the slightest touch making you stir in your sleep, causing him to chuckle.

Was it creepy for him to be in your room as you slept? Yes. Was he in his right mind despite being sober? No. However, he had good intentions.

Intentions to have you all to himself.

You weren’t sure if it was a dream or had Heeseung actually visited you at night, though, the latter idea seemed nothing less than a delusion. Maybe it was your brain playing tricks with you, but it wasn’t your biggest concern at the given moment as you wanted nothing more than to freshen up and eat.

What you did not expect was to see your mom catering the four boys sprawled across your living room, the guy in your dream wasn’t anywhere to be seen still.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” your mom sweetly pulled you in her embrace, gaining the attention of your brother and his friends, who were sitting together playing some video games.

“Good morning, mum,” you smiled, having missed her while you were away for school.

“Yo, I almost forgot you were back for a second,” Jake commented as your mom asked everyone to sit down.

You looked at him with a sour expression, “yeah, right. Cause there was no one to tell you that you’re wearing two different designs of socks,” you pointed out, getting a snigger out of Sunghoon, who passed you a sweet smile when you looked his way, averting his gaze within a second, a habit of all his friends who weren’t allowed to stare at you.

“Or that you’re wearing your T-shirt inside out,” you scrunch your nose as others see a very clueless Jake trying to get everything in order, your mom also amused by the sudden liveliness in the home, “no, but how are you this unaware about yourself?” You mused.

Jake didn’t get to reply or whine when the front door opened to reveal the guy of your dreams, quite literally.

Lee Heeseung came into the room as if he owned the place, your eyes fixated on his messy hair as he said hello to your mother, who was more than happy to see him here.

Heeseung was her favourite out of all Jake’s friends.

Other guys were quick to apologize to Heeseung, you wondered why, and Jake had apparently apologized on text last night for crossing the line.

He looked carefree and unbothered, so you didn’t ponder upon it much till he sat down next to you for breakfast, finally looking in your eyes.

You blinked once, focusing on his eyes which looked like they had honey swirling around them, his skin was tanned to the prettiest shade as he passed you a small smile, “hey, Y/n,” he acknowledged your presence, lips almost upturned into what seemed to be a smirk.

For a second, you couldn’t quite focus as you were too enthralled observing the little freckles scattered across his face, his soft pink lips—

Yeah, that thought shook you awake, “hey, Heeseung,” you greeted back, thinking that calling him Hee might just be too friendly.

“So, are we on for our trip tomorrow?” Jay asked, cutting your interaction short.

“Wait, what trip?” You asked, knowing that your parents were gonna be out for a business trip too, and you weren’t one to enjoy being home alone in such a big house.

“Didn’t Jake tell you?” Your mom asked and shook your head, throwing an accusatory look his way, “They all are having a stay in at Hee’s beach house.”

“And me? Am I supposed to be staying alone for what—how many days?” You asked, clearly not expecting this when you had just come back home after years.

“A week,” Jake informed, unaffected.

“I’m not staying home alone for a whole week, mum, this isn’t fair.” The distress was clear on your face.

“Call your friends over then,” your mom suggested.

“For a week? We’d rather go out for vacation too,” you pouted, not noticing the stare of two boys.

“Join the trip with Jake then,” she recommended, placing the fluffy pancake on your plate.

“What? Why? No,” Jake protested and the room bursted into a web of chaos with everyone discussing it.

Only Heeseung was silent, his eyes still on your face, admiring your side view shamelessly, but also careful not to give out his intentions in front of Jake.

“It’s a boys trip, mom. Y’know? Boy stuff,” he winced, trying to explain without explaining that all they planned on doing was drink, smoke and invite girls over, “guys, tell them?”

“Yeah—he’s right,” they all agreed, not maintaining eye contact, looking at each other awkwardly.

“Okay, since the beach house is Heeseung’s, why don’t we let him decide?” Your mom sighs, looking at Heeseung.

Now that the sole attention is on him, he tries to act clueless with a helpless look on his face, especially when you are looking at him with big eyes, lower lip jutting out in a pout.

Then he looked back at his friends, who clearly wanted the girl to go, minus Jake at least. Lastly, he looked at your mom, who only smiled, and that was enough of an excuse for Heeseung to say with the sweetest smile—

“Of course, Y/n and her friend are always invited.”

“He said yes,” you were on the phone, explaining the whole situation to Karina, knowing well that she’d be more than ready to accompany you for your rendezvous.

“He what?” She exclaimed, knowing that the boys would never take your side, especially in front of Jake.

“I know, mom sorta helped cause Heeseung never says no to mom, it’s like he’s her favourite child or something,” a humorous laugh left your lips.

“Well, he will be once he becomes your boyfriend,” Karina gushed, “we’ll make sure he notices you this time, we’ve got a whole week to make it work.”

You had rushed up the stairs and into your room as soon as the decision had been made, followed by the loud complaints of Jake—which you did not bother to hear, calling Karina to fill her in with the situation instead.

She was packing as you were speaking.

In all honesty, it never crossed your mind that you would actually want to seduce Heeseung, provided that he was Jake’s friend, which would lead to fights you definitely didn’t wish to be a part of, but you were an adult, so Jake held no authority over you.

There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun after all.

“I’m not giving you a ride,” Jake deadpanned when you got back downstairs, your mother looking at him with disappointment.

“I’ll take a cab then,” you rolled your eyes.

“No need, you’re taking two cars and it’s enough to fit you all,” your mom finally said, “who’s driving?”

“Me and Jake,” Heeseung replied, voice innocent as you turned to look his way, “Jake is taking the bigger one.”

“Is that so? All boys can go with Jake then. Won’t you give a lift to Y/n and Karina, Hee?” Your mom asked, knowing he won’t say no.

She was good at persuasion, unknowingly giving Heeseung the full opportunity to be with you, which is exactly what he was aiming for in the first place.

Heeseung only nodded earnestly, eyes almost shining as he looked back at you, “of course, you can ride with me,” he said, ignoring the glare thrown his way by Jake as your name rolled off his tongue, “Y/n.”

As if his voice and gaze wasn’t enough for you to stop breathing in a room full of people, the subtle smirk on his lips successfully had your knees buckling with anticipation.

Never in a million years have you thought that you’d be riding shotgun in Heeseung’s car, with him driving and humming along to songs under his breath. You had worn the shortest skirt you managed to find in your closet and the little trick had worked as you saw him staring at your legs when you first came downstairs, announcing that you and Karina were ready to leave for the trip.

Not only did it grab the attention of the boy you had been targeting, but also it garnered attention of Jay, who at least tried to act respectful by gulping and looking away.

Heeseung on the other hand believed that he should blatantly stare at the things which are to be admired, including your legs.

It didn’t take long for you guys to load your bags into his car, as the other one left ten minutes before you guys. Karina wasn’t a fan of long drives—two hours in your case, so she put on her AirPods and closed her eyes the second she got into the back seat, also to give you privacy with Heeseung.

He drove with one hand, the other resting on his thigh. The rings and chain adorning his body caught your attention for a second too long. His hands were definitely bigger than yours, veins popping out whenever he gripped the steering wheel.

The aura around him was too strong, as if he was a magnet ready to pull everyone towards him, you were no exception.

“Like the rings, darling?” He asked, eyes on the road with the corner of his lip upturned.

The question successfully broke your train of thoughts. It was probably the first conversation you had with him, excluding the usual greetings.

And he kick-started it by calling you darling.

“They’re—pretty,” you replied, not letting the nickname phase you, despite heat creeping up your neck.

His smile widened at your answer and he swiftly got a ring off his finger, passing it to you—again, without even looking your way.

“They’ll look prettier on you,” he says ever so smoothly, and you bite your lips, trying to stop the smile from widening as your fingers brush against his, taking the ring and inspecting the design, “don’t wear that in front of the boys though, they’ll flip.”

An amused chuckle left your lips, something which Heeseung did not expect, “why? Still scared of Jake and his empty threats?” You asked.

He pissed you off too much with his don’t come near my sister or I’ll make your life a living hell threat to others, and you were bitter about it.

“Now, why would I be scared of Jake?” He scoffed.

“Because you’re one of his friends who isn’t even allowed to look my way,” you said as a matter of fact, breath hitching the second you felt his fingers on your thigh, the warmth of his palm juxtaposing the cold metal of his rings.

The car was stopped at the red light, “I’ve always looked you in the eye, sweetheart,” he whispered, confirming his statement by turning his head and staring right into your eyes, the tension palpable as your gazes locked, the look being too alluring for you to break the eye contact.

His whole demeanour changed in a second when his serious expression morphed into a sweet smile, the kind that makes you melt right before he shifted his focus back on the road as if he hadn’t just provided you a sliver of hope about him being interested in you.

He, however, didn’t bother moving his hand which was gripping your thigh lightly, his fingers were long and looked exceptionally pretty on your skin. You couldn’t help but look out of the window, trying not to let your thoughts get out of hand.

It certainly didn’t help that he was singing explicit yet somewhat romantic songs with all his might while your best friend was sleeping peacefully in the backseat.

Heeseung loved every single reaction he got out of you, your little shivers when he caressed your thigh, your breath hitching for the very same reason midway a conversation, and your sweet blabber as you he initiated a conversation.

“How was school?” He asked after a while.

The conversation flowed smoothly after, the ride wasn’t long after all, his hand caressing your thigh throughout the journey, and you wished for it to be longer.

The beach house wasn’t a house apparently, but a mansion with how grand it was. Meaning, everyone would easily get their own rooms. Jake’s car was already parked as they reached earlier, but you saw Jay coming out when he heard the sound of Heeseung’s car, helping you take the bags inside with his ever so charming smile while Karina and you silently gushed about the beach view.

Others were busy preparing for the party that was to be held at night—which was news to you.

The interior was in the shades of black, white, and greys, matching Heeseung’s personality in a peculiar manner, granted that he was filled with colours of all sorts in himself.

You and Karina selected the adjacent rooms on the first floor, the balcony giving you a pretty view wasn’t something you’d want to miss out on. Heeseung occupying the room which was right in front of your room is another thing which boosted your excitement.

The next few hours flew by as you rested on the beach with Karina, soaking up warmth of the sand with the cold ocean waves reaching your toes. It felt peaceful.

“So, what are you gonna wear to woo Heeseung today?” Karina asked, sipping on her iced beverage.

The sun was about to set, your eyes never leaving the sky which displayed all shades of red, yellow and orange, “what do you mean?”

“I mean that there’s no way they won’t be inviting girls, it was supposed to be a boys trip after all to get their dicks wet,” she said as a matter of fact.

You winced again, not having it in you to watch your brother surrounded by girls.

“And if Heeseung was flirting with you, then it’s your chance to flirt back now, given that Jake would be drunk beyond the point of recovery. Not to mention how you’ll have to do something so he doesn’t stray off and give attention to other girls,” Karina listed out.

She was right, it wasn’t like you were going to get this chance again, “red dress or black dress?” You asked with a playful smile and she squealed, rushing you into your room to help you get ready.

The music was blaring by the time you applied the last swatch of lipstick, smacking your lips for the colour to blend in perfectly, complementing your skin tone ever so perfectly. Karina doing the same beside you.

You weren’t sure how they managed to gather all this crowd for a party, granted you guys didn’t even live here, yet who would question these boys, an online invite and people would come running to attend their parties.

Which was the case at the given moment as well. The second you stepped out from your assorted room, you found Sunghoon practically eating a girl’s face off with how passionately they were kissing right beside the door, the music blaring in the background as you tried to overcome the initial shock of seeing your brother’s friend going what you’d consider wild.

Making your way downstairs, you put on your best confident expression, your eyes immediately looking around, trying to find a certain black haired guy.

Karina stopped you, pointing at the corner of the room where Heeseung was sitting with girls surrounding him, Jungwon right next to him, a scoff of disbelief leaving your lips when one of them oh so comfortably sat down on his lap, his arm wrapping around her waist so naturally.

Yet you couldn’t deny just how effortlessly attractive he looked in that black button up, the first few buttons undone to reveal his chest. The eyeshadow enhancing the look of his eyes to appear more slutry than they already seemed to be.

Great. This is what you came on this trip for—to see Heeseung tilting the chin of a random girl, shoving his tongue inside her mouth.

This won’t do, you averted your gaze, going straight to get alcohol, any kind would do, you just needed a boost of confidence to work upon your plan. Karina knew exactly what you were up to, winking at you before wandering off in the crowd.

“Not dancing tonight?” Jay asked, standing right next to you as he poured himself a drink.

His presence made your job easier, especially when he looked so good tonight. His dark hair was a little messy, sleeves rolled up as he was clad in all black, a simple chain adorning his slender neck.

Perfect bait to get a reaction out of Heeseung, (‘sorry Jay’ you thought to yourself).

If he’d bother to look your way, that is.

“Talking to me tonight? Not scared of my brother anymore?” Your lips curled up, amused.

That earned a laugh out of him, “he’s locked up in a room as we speak,” he said over the music. Translation: he was busy fucking someone and he won’t be here to monitor your moves.

Your nose scrunched, not wanting to think about your brother doing the deed. Jay walked alongside you as you took up his offer to dance, but also made sure that you could see Heeseung clearly with your spot.

His eyes turned your way for the first time tonight the second you started moving your body along to the rhythm. The distance was fair, yet it felt as if you were the only person in this room and he was the only spectator to your actions.

Jay’s hand came to rest on your waist, your body in sync with his moves, the proximity close and a blissful expression on your face.

Again, you subtly looked Heeseung’s way, only to find his eyes darker than ever, not straying away from you for even a second, the girl on his lap long forgotten as he couldn’t find a reason to give her his attention anymore.

Not when you were dancing with Jay, not when your dress rode up, revealing your thighs, not when Jay whispered in your ear and you chuckled, getting closer to him.

He couldn’t stand it, the muscle in his jaw clenched, his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek with annoyance bubbling up in his body.

You turned around, only to find Heeseung missing from the spot he was sitting at. All of a sudden, you excused yourself from Jay and made your way around the room, to find him again and you failed to do so.

The room’s atmosphere got stuffy as the night progressed and you made your way upstairs to your room in need of fresh air which was very well provided by the grand balcony.

Just as you twisted the door knob, getting inside the room, you gasped as Heeseung closed the door behind you, pushing you against the wooden surface of the door, his scent taking over your senses seamlessly as you breathed in deeply.

“Hee—” you whispered, hyper aware of how close he was to you, his body pressed against yours in a way you could feel his torso muscles. His face tilted ever so slightly, just enough for your noses to brush against each other.

The position alone sent you into a state of frenzy, and he didn’t even let you finish speaking out his name as he chuckled darkly.

“Didn’t know you were into Jay, darling,” he whispered, causing you to gulp down the nervousness, which was of no use as your knees felt even weaker with his slender finger tracing your cheek, stopping right by your lips, “dancing with him while wearing the ring that I gave you.” His thumb caressing your bottom lip, parting it ever so slightly, “doesn’t really sound fair to me now, does it, baby?” He asked, stopping his actions and looking your right in the eye.

You couldn’t show him how affected you were with possessiveness laced tone, “I don’t see how it’s unfair, Heeseung,” you smiled sweetly, keeping your hand on his chest.

“Wrong,” he said in a beat, “his intentions aren’t pure,” he provided.

You chuckled, turning your face to the side for a second, “what about your intentions?” You dared to ask.

His hold on you tightened, “you wanna know my intentions?” He asked, voice so low it gave you goosebumps as he moved even closer to you, his lips on the verge of touching yours.

They never fully touched, your hand becoming a barrier between you two, “maybe some other day,” you whispered, the expression in his eyes unreadable, “someday when you don’t come here with tainted lips after kissing god knows how many girls,” you smiled tightly, pushing him aside, the alcohol only providing you with unadulterated courage.

He pulled you back, hand wrapped around your wrist so his torso was pressed against your back, which vibrated with his chuckles, “didn’t know it bothered you that much, pretty,” his lips touched your earlobe.

“It doesn’t,” you seethed out, trying not to sound breathless as you shrugged out of his hold, “besides, we mean nothing to each other. I won’t stop you from snogging anyone and you can’t stop me from dancing with anyone.”

That’s all you said before slipping out of his grasp, rushing in and closing the bathroom door behind you and breathing in deeply. The feeling of his touch still lingering on your body, he was jealous as you were and he was so close.

So close to kissing you.

Heeseung leaned against the door on the opposite side of you, “we mean nothing to each other?” He scoffed under his breath, the image of Jay’s hands on your waist coming back to his mind. He was wrong to pay attention to someone else, he admits, but now he was determined to give you all his attention.

“You’re mine, you just don’t know that yet,” he says, knowing you won’t be able to hear him, “all mine,” his tone was possessive still as he walked out of the room.

The boys woke up all hungover the next morning, while you and Karina snuck out of the mansion before others woke up, only to avoid Heeseung, which was almost funny given that you were here to get his attention.

Regardless, you sat in this cute cafe you found nearby, explaining the whole situation to your best friend. The slight smirk on her face gave away the fact that she was proud of you for not giving him attention last night. It’ll only make him want you more, she had said.

Jake called you right after you finished your meal, “where are you?” He asked, panicked, “don’t tell me you got kidnapped,” the horror was clear in his voice and you rolled your eyes, not understanding how his brain worked.

“I literally left a note on the fridge that I’ll be out for lunch and shopping, Jake,” you explained, almost laughing when you heard him say oh. He was standing right in front of the fridge apparently.

“Right, have fun,” he said, hanging up the call.

He wasn’t the best brother but he did care. At times, more than he needed to.

“Okay so here’s the plan,” Karina started to explain. She loved giving out ideas and they always worked, which is why you found yourself in the swimsuit store, purchasing the one which flattered your body in the best manner.

“And don’t lock your room at night. Knowing Heeseung, he would definitely give you a little visit after seeing you pull that stunt.”

The sun was setting and you were almost back at the mansion. You enjoyed the day and it was a great plan to get Heeseung out of your head, even though it wasn’t possible despite the fact that it had been only two days since you came back and met him again.

Tonight’s plan was to have a bonfire by the beach, grill meat and have a good time. Jake had finally accepted and asked everyone to tone down and make the trip more family friendly, hence the bonfire.

The place was empty when you got back in, and you saw the boys setting up the barbecue when you changed into your dress before making your way to join them.

“Remember the plan?” Karina asked and you nodded, loving the feel of cold sand beneath your foot.

Heeseung was the first one to notice your presence, his dark eyes fixated on your figure as you walked towards them, Jay being the second one as he smiled your way, to which you smiled back sweetly.

You still had Heeseung’s ring on as you approached the place where Heeseung and Jay were grilling the meat, Jake was sitting down and playing his guitar while Sunghoon and Jungwon sang along to the song, Karina being a great singer also joined those three.

“Can I have a taste?” You asked, looking at Jay with hopeful eyes.

The weather was cold yet the burning stare of a certain someone had you feeling all kinds of warmth, yet you didn’t look his way.

“Of course, say ah,” Jay said, eyes shining as he held the piece of meat for you and you gladly accepted it, your lips touching his fingers in a caress, the juicy taste making you hum out in pleasure.

In a second, you were turned around, “there’s something on your lips,” Heeseung muttered, expression stoic as he brushed his thumb on your lower lip, “all cleaned.”

You would have laughed at the jealousy had his action not been so intimidating, as if he was warning you not to do this.

“Thanks,” you said, voice extra sweet before you looked back at Jay who was confused at the exchange, “can I have more?” You asked.

“Here.” Heeseung shoved a plate in your hands before Jay could even reply, “enjoy your food,” he said, smiling but his eye twitched in the process, making you bite your lower lip to contain your laugh yet again and you sat down finally.

“Do you think the water would be cold right now?” Sunghoon asked no one in general, his intrusive thoughts winning.

“Why? Wanna take a dip?” Jake asked with a laugh, eyebrows raising once he realized that Sunghoon was serious about it.

“It’ll be fun,” he said as everyone laughed around him.

“There’s no light out here, Hoon,” Jungwon said.

“It’ll be fun.”

“The waves are strong too,” Jake reasoned.

“It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, his vocabulary is limited,” Heeseung said, sitting by you as Jay handed over the plates to everyone, Jake sparing a glance to make sure Heeseung didn’t sit too close to you.

“We can go one hour after eating, just dip our toes in,” Karina suggested and you guys agreed as Jake resumed playing his guitar.

“Have more, Y/n.” Jay smiled, giving you more pieces to eat from his own plate.

Heeseung didn’t remember the last time he felt so pissed over something this small, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. It had been two whole days since you made your comeback in his life but those two days were enough for him to want you, granted he did have a crush on you for the longest time, only now it wasn’t just your sweetness he was attracted to.

“Thank you, Jongie,” you beamed, the nickname only infuriating Heeseung more while you could see Jay blush faintly and you truly wondered how all these goofballs pulled girls so easily.

“Jongie,” Heeseung mocked under his breath, Karina noticing the atmosphere and slightly pushing you towards him.

“You’re doing brilliantly,” she whispered, “he looks like he’ll blow up anytime now.”

It felt nice, sitting in front of the bonfire while listening to others singing. You knew you were trying to make Heeseung jealous yet it was hard not to stare at his face, which basked in the glow of fire. He was already looking your way, noticing how you still had his ring on, which only tempted him to pull you on his lap, yet he knew it was impossible with your brother monitoring his every move.

“Let’s go into the water,” Sunghoon repeated, as Jake smirked.

“On the count of one, two,” he said, and didn’t even finish before your eyes widened as your brother came to pick you up in hopes of throwing you into the cold water.

Jake was escapable. Sunghoon on the other hand, not so much and it didn’t help how they both had lifted you up despite your thrashing and whining and ran towards the water.

“Jake I swear I’ll kill you—” you warned and Karina had the time of her life recording this whole scene.

Jungwon continuously reminded the boys to stay safe while also doing god’s work by providing you with the flashlight set on the highest setting from his phone.

Within a second, you were screaming and thrashing as the boys dropped you into the cold water, laughing and doing the same with a horrified Jungwon before rushing towards the mansion, especially Jake, leaving you all cold.

Heeseung rushed to close the flashlight.

You were wearing white, and the water only made your clothes look transparent, which is why Heeseung was taking his jacket off, but yet again, Jay was quick to wrap his leather jacket around your shivering frame.

He was glad that you were covered but the annoyance was clear on his face, the amusement long gone even with you muttering and plotting Jake and Sunghoon’s murder with Jungwon.

Nor did he enjoy the sight of Jay taking you back to the villa, acting all protective as if he was your knight in shining armour.

“You’re making it so obvious that you’re jealous,” Karina quipped, noticing how everyone walked ahead of them, rushing to the mansion.

He laughed out, ending it with a scoff, “I have no reason to be,” he said, voice calm, “she’s mine anyways,” he shrugged, determination clear in his eyes.

“Wow, you’re not even scared to admit it out loud? What if Jake hears?” She asks and Heeseung’s expression sours.

“He wouldn’t approve. That’s a given but that’s not enough to stop me,” he shrugged yet again.

“Okay Mr. Someone is stealing your girl as we speak though,” Karina pointed out, a fake sympathetic scowl on her face.

Heeseung hated feeling this way, the feeling where things do not go his way. He hadn’t felt this way since—forever. He had everything he wanted, but not you. Jake being a hindrance is something he considered to be normal till some extent, but Jay? That’s unacceptable.

“I’ll take care of it.”

It was one in the morning and you were wrapped up in a blanket, sitting down near the balcony to observe the spectrum of stars which you could have sworn were shining.

Being thrown into the water wasn’t the best experience per se, but you knew it would soon turn into a funny memory you guys would look back at someday in the future. Yet, it wasn’t something you were thinking about much, granted you had better things to ponder about.

Lee Heeseung.

You well expected him to show at least a sliver of reaction, some sort of outburst during the evening, however it never came. Either he was plotting revenge or he simply didn’t care enough. Or he was trying to keep it in, your mind tried to reason with you.

You sighed, getting up and closing the sliding doors of the big balcony in hopes of getting a cozy sleep. You needed that warmth after all. Just as you dropped the blanket on the bed, the door swung open—which shouldn’t have happened, given that you were sure you had locked it.

Heeseung entered the room, closing the door behind him and you couldn’t help but stand at your place, shocked at his sudden appearance, “how did you—”

“It’s my place, I can get in and out anytime I want,” he replied, voice smooth, giving you goosebumps as he walked closer to you.

He was clad in sweatpants and a white T-shirt, the attire was simple, yet he made it look a hundred times more attractive than the usual.

“Oh,” you breathed out, the dim lights of the room caused his skin to glow a beautiful shade of golden.

There wasn’t a single ounce of jealousy on his face, rather, he looked content with the setting, settling down and sitting on the corner of the bed, his dark eyes staring at you, the silence louder than ever.

“Uhm, so—did you want something?” You asked, wincing at your tone as you suddenly felt conscious under his gaze, slightly aroused too, not knowing what he was actually here for.

He clicked his tongue, looking away for a second before his eyes settled on you for the second time.

Heeseung gave you no time to process anything as his hands grabbed your wrist, pulling you to him in a single hard tug, which had your body stumbling forward and right on his lap.

He held on to your waist, helping you stabilize your balance, “what’s wrong, princess? You were so confident, getting cozy with Jay, huh?” He raise his brow, letting the possessiveness show on his face, the I don’t give a fuck facade disappearing.

Your breath hitched with the movement of his fingers on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles on the part where your top had ridden up to expose your skin.

“He was just being nice,” you breathed out, shivering slightly.

He rolled his eyes at your statement, a scoff leaving his lips before he leaned in, earning a gasp out of you. His nose caressed yours, and you were scared to move, his lips hovering above yours.

“Just being nice my ass,” he clicked his tongue yet again, and suddenly you were hyper aware about the fact that you were breathing in the same air, “you wanted to know my intentions, right, princess?” He asked, “then listen, I want you all to myself,” his tone was raspy, your fingers digging into his shoulders for support, “don’t think I didn’t notice your subtle glances towards me, especially when you were with Jay,” he chuckled and you gulped, looking elsewhere.

He was quick to grab your chin, making you look right in his eyes, “trying to get me jealous, darling? Well, good for you, it fucking worked.”

“Hee—” you whimper, your body heating up as you realized you were sitting right on his crotch.

“Shh, bad girls don’t get to talk,” he shook his head, disappointed, “now what do we do about this? Maybe I’ll just have to claim your body to make you understand that you don’t need to make me jealous to have all my attention,” he suggested.

You could feel the wetness down in your lacy panties and he hadn’t even touched you. Something about the way his voice came out so luscious, something about the way his touch made you feel like putty, something about his eyes made you feel mesmerized.

“Tell me, baby. Can I mark you mine?” He asked and you felt your heart flutter, his voice was gentle when he asked for your consent, and you couldn’t hold back from wanting him anymore, nodding gently, “use your words, love,” he urged, lips parted.

“Yes,” you whispered, grabbing on to him as he bit your lip, eliciting another gasp out of you, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Yeah? You sure you can handle it?” He asked and you tugged on to his collar, impatiently pulling you to him.

“Let’s find out,” you mumbled.

Without any more delay, you closed the distance between you both, his hand coming to rest on your nape, tilting your head to kiss you passionately, his tongue brushing over your lips, parting them with ease for your tongue to graze the tip of his own.

The room felt misty as you continued to kiss, his kisses getting more possessive by second, thinking about how no one else should have you, that you belong to him. He picked you up with ease, putting you underneath him on the bed, his kisses trailing down as you took a deep breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbled midway kisses, some were long, especially the ones around your clavicle and neck region while the others were feather soft, driving you insane to the point of no return. It only ascended when his fingers finally lifted up your top, exploring the expanse of your skin with teasing touches.

Your back arched as soon as he caresses the skin under your tits, before cupping them fully, leaning back to get rid of your top altogether. You couldn’t shy under his gaze, the way he looked at you only boosted your confidence, as if he was a predator hungry for a meal and you were his precious prey, all ready to be devoured.

He had no time to waste, his mouth working fast to lean down, swirling his tongue around your hardened nipples, noticing how you react to his each touch, fondling your other tit, hearing you whimper and beg for more, his name chanting on your lips out of sheer pleasure.

“It’s so fucking cute how your body reacts to every little touch of mine,” he whispered, biting your earlobe in the process, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he stuffed his pretty fingers inside your shorts, chuckling when he realizes how soiled your lacy panties had gotten, “fuck, I wanna taste that pretty cunt,” he says, taking off his T-shirt before doing the same to your shorts, dragging your panties down alongside it.

You found yourself drooling at the sight of Heeseung’s muscles, he had started going to the gym and the results were clearly visible on his body, but you were ripped out of your thought train when he bit your inner thigh, causing you to clench around nothing, giving you kisses and licks all over, but not touching the part where you needed him the most.

“P—please,” you cried out of frustration, and he immersed himself, licking a big stripe of your wet cunt, genuinely loving the taste as he hummed with satisfaction, holding your thighs open with his strong arms, “oh god,” you moaned out, causing him to smirk against your wetness, pressing sweet kisses to your clit.

It felt like heaven when you were being destroyed by the demon himself.

Heeseung was hard, his thick cock barely containing itself from splitting your pussy into two, but he wanted to see you fall apart on his tongue first, “your cunt,” he said, licking it to make a point, “belongs to me,” he whispered and you nodded.

“It’s yours—all yours.”

“That’s my good fucking girl, you’re all mine,” he said, his tongue prodding at your entrance, fucking your pussy, which gave you more pleasure than you had ever felt through your life.

It didn’t take long for you to feel your lower abdomen tightening, your fingers tugging on his silky black roots as he ate you out like a madman, as if he was drunk in the essence of your pussy. With a cry, you found yourself falling apart all over his tongue and he lapped it up, coming to kiss you right after, letting you taste yourself in his mouth. He knew you’d be overstimulated, but that’s exactly what he was aiming for when he finally pulled out his cock. You knew he’d be thick, but you underestimated him still, knowing well his cock wouldn’t fit in your cunt.

“Gonna claim you mine,” he whispered, intertwining his fingers with yours as he positioned himself on your entrance, “fuck, you’re all mine,” he said, kissing you deeply to absorb all yours moans as he pushed himself inside you.

Your wetness helped him, yet he had to thrust in a few times to bottom out and could feel yourself clenching around him uncontrollably, loving the stretch and also the fact that he was twitching inside of you.

His fingers grabbed your hips in a tight hold as he started pistoning into you at a pace which you hadn’t expected, and you were sure you looked crazy with how your eyes were teary, your hair a mess and your lips swollen, courtesy of the boy who groaned and slapped your cunt, fucking you deeper.

“That’s it, baby, you’re taking me so well,” he praised and you let out broken sentences which he couldn’t comprehend, you were too gone, pushed into your subspace to the point you simply let Heeseung do all the work, moaning and whimpering for him, trying to keep your noises at bay in case anyone wakes up.

Just when you both were about to read your high, he stopped fucking you, making you whimper out in distress, only to have you flipped with your ass up and head down on the pillow.

It didn’t take him a second before he was entering your cunt again, fucking you from behind in hopes of giving you the brutal backshots you deserved, to fuck you in a way that you’ll be ruined forever, not even wanting to go back to another guy for their cock.

This also gave him the perfect opportunity to spank your ass, the hurt only making you clench around him harder.

“Fuck—I’m so—so close,” you sobbed, voice coming out muffled and Heeseung circled your clit to stimulate you further.

“Go on, baby. Give me everything,” he urged and you both finally let go, groaning and whining as he filled you up with his cum, mixing it with your juices.

It felt as if the universe had blessed you with the highest amount of unadulterated pleasure one could have, and your eyes closed shut as Heeseung lay down next to you, breathing in and out just as quick as you to regain his strength to breathe properly.

“Y/n,” he whispered, more gently this time, pulling you into a sweet kiss as you smiled into it, finding it amusing that he was the same guy who brutally fucked you not even a few minutes back, “you really are mine, yeah?” He said, caressing your cheek.

“Yeah?” You asked in a whisper and he nodded earnestly, getting a washcloth and helping you into the bathroom, feeling proud when you couldn’t stand up properly.

He was sweet. Sweeter than you had ever expected him to be and that’s why you found yourself kissing him again, and again as you both washed up in the shower, turning it to the point you both couldn’t help but giggle, his forehead resting against yours.

“I really do like you, baby,” he whispered.

“I really like you too, Heeseung,” you replied, feeling happier than you had ever felt, spending a while in his embrace, talking and kissing and eventually, falling asleep in his arms as you both smiled faintly, even in your deep slumber.

Hurt.

That’s what your body felt the second you blinked open your eyes. Images from last night revisiting you as a montage, a small smile lingered on your face, discarding the fact that you were disappointed, not having Heeseung by your side when you woke up, but then again, it was still better than getting caught by Jake.

With the support of the bedside tables, you managed to stand up on your wobbly feet, stablizing yourself before going into the bathroom to freshen up, you needed that long bath to soothe down your muscles.

Now wrapped up in your bath robe, you passed by the door, only to hear the sound of someone arguing. Curiosity got the best of you as you walked back, twisting the knob to open it just the right amount for it to not be noticeable, gladly the door opened seamlessly.

“Stop playing with her feelings,” Jay whisper-yelled, and your heartbeat rose when you saw how it was directed towards Heeseung.

“Who the fuck even said I’m playing with her?” Heeseung asked, his voice full of exasperation and anger.

Jay scoffed, you hadn’t seen that expression on his face, ever. “So you’re just gonna go around fucking her right after Jake told you, specifically might I add, to stay away from her. What are you trying to do here? Take revenge by proving a point?”

Your heart dropped hearing that sentence. Sneaking around made sense because Jake would, without any doubts, be against this setting, but what revenge was Jay talking about? When did Jake ask Heeseung to stay away from her, specifically at that?

“That’s none of your business,” Heeseung replied, teeth gritted, “besides, weren’t you the one begging for her attention by putting up your good boy act? We aren’t that different, Jay,” he mocked, “you only want her cause she’s Jake’s sister.”

Your lip wobbled at his confession, he hadn’t agreed to Jay’s claims yet he hadn’t denied it either and suddenly you didn’t feel comfortable, all the positive energy drained as you rushed to get dressed, to get out.

You trusted Heeseung too easily, and you knew you’d have to confront him about this, but you didn’t feel like doing it now. You wanted to go back home, alone, to deal with your inconvenience which would bother you for a while now.

So you did what you had to do: run away from your problems.

You texted Jake that you’d be taking his car, also mentioning it to Karina that you’ll be going back home, as you rushed to get dressed up and sneak out of the place without Heeseung knowing, and you were successful in doing so, sighing as soon as you started driving back.

Heeseung thought you were sleeping in, and he couldn’t enter your room with everyone being awake and roaming around, especially when Jay knew what you two had done last night.

The reminder only made him smile, as cliche as it sounds, he had never felt this way with other girls, your little confession only made his heart beat faster. You liked him back, and that’s all that mattered.

“Yo, why did Y/n leave? She’s not picking up the calls either?” Heeseung heard Jake ask Karina, who knew exactly what was up.

“She’s got some work to take care of, you don’t have to worry about it,” Karina patted his shoulder before making her way out to the beach to call you again. She knows you want space, but she also knows you like it when she checks up on you.

Now, that was news to Heeseung, his eyes widening as he rushed to open the door to your room, only to find you weren’t actually there.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, getting his phone out and calling you, only for it to get declined, “no, fuck,” he groaned, thinking about if he upset you in any way, yet he couldn’t understand why you’d leave, especially when you were so happy when you went to sleep.

Or maybe she heard you talking to Jay, his subconscious spoke up, making him lose his mind and punch the wall next to him, running down the stairs to follow Karina, calling out her name which caused her to pause and remove her sunglasses.

“Where is Y/n?” He asked, breathing heavily.

“Are you playing with her feelings?” She asked instead of replying to his question, “cause if that’s the case then I don’t care if we’re staying at your mansion, I’ll have to kick and break your baby making machine.” Her smile was threatening.

“Oh god, that’s not it!” Heeseung was frustrated, “I’ve liked her since we were kids, I'm not joking around,” he said earnestly, “is she upset, why did she leave?”

Karina watched the boy with amusement in her eyes, “you’re so dumb actually. If you like her enough then why aren’t you running after her right now? Get in your car and get your girl, shoo,” she dismissed him and Heeseung didn’t wait to chat about how she shouldn’t shoo him away, rather, he ran to grab his car keys, not paying attention to Jungwon who asked why he was in such a hurry.

Heeseung didn’t want any miscommunications whatsoever, it had been an hour since you had left, and it’ll probably be impossible to cover that distance in a short while so he decided to drive faster and get to your place.

“Y/n, baby, please listen to me,” he muttered to himself, trying to call you again.

You weren’t dating. It had barely been a week since you came back, a few days since he had started to get to know this new side of you and he didn’t want it to stop, not when he’s genuinely liked you for so long, minus his fuckboy ways of course.

Jake had tried to call him a few times too, sensing that something was up, yet Heeseung didn’t pick up those calls, focusing on driving till he finally reached your place, relieved to see Jake’s car parked there.

He knew there was an extra key under the third potted plant on the entrance, and that’s exactly what he took and opened the door. The living room was empty, which caused him to rush up the stairs to find you in your room, his chest heaving up and down.

The sudden voice startled you, your mouth going dry at the sight of Heeseung.

You couldn’t avoid him after all.

“Heeseung, is everything okay? What are you doing here—why are you here?” You asked, pretending to be okay.

“Did you hear us in the morning?” He asked, eyes softer than you had ever seen.

You opened your mouth to speak, but stopped, gulping down your emotions before staring at your feet, “I did,” you whispered, “but it’s fine, Heeseung. The sex was great—”

You didn’t look up while rambling, and it was cut short when Heeseung pulled you into his embrace, warmth spreading all over your body with how he held you close to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so broken seeing someone’s face, and he couldn’t handle that it was because of him that you felt this hurt.

“That’s not true,” he whispered, holding you tighter, you could feel tears forming in your eyes.

“N—no one’s ever approached me because of Jake,” your voice came out muffled, and Heeseung leaned back slightly just to look at your face, his thumb wiping the stray tear that cascaded down your cheek, “i felt like no one wanted to befriend me for me, all girls wanted to get to him through me and all the boys were so scared,” you laughed pathetically, knowing that your story wasn’t even sob worthy, “but you were the only one who still talked to me, even if it was just greeting me, asking me about my day,” you let out your breath.

“Baby,” Heeseung cupped your cheeks.

“You were the only exception, Heeseung. Maybe that’s the reason I’ve always liked you so much. So tell me, was it all a joke?” You asked, eyes serious.

“It wasn’t,” he shook his head, gulping down before explaining it to you, “it happened at the party when I offered to drop you home but Jake was against it, thinking that I would use you to only fuck you, but that was not my intention I swear,” he says with a frown.

“So that’s what you did,” your voice barely came out, it sounded broken.

“God—no. No. I could never do that to you,” he felt helpless, trying to word his sentence properly, “I’ve liked you since we were kids, and I was heartbroken when you switched schools and cities. But I just got so excited when Jake told us that you were back—I wanted to see you, talk to you, but Jake only gave me a reminder that I couldn’t have you.”

You listened to him, your heart undoubtedly fluttering with how earnest his eyes looked, how the distress of being denied of you flashed clearly on his face.

You really wanted to kiss him.

“And when he gave all those permissions to Jay, I couldn’t help it. I did not have revenge in my mind Y/n. I like you too much to hurt you, and I know we’re not even dating right now, but I don’t want anyone to ruin it for us even before our story starts and I swear to god I’ll fight Jake if it means that I can have you,” he breathed out, cheeks flushed as he had confessed to someone for the very first time.

You broke into a smile despite the tears in your eyes, “you promise?” You held up your pinky finger.

He laced his pinky finger with yours, tugging it so you stumble slightly, and he takes it as an opportunity to pull you into a deep kiss, his soft lips caressing yours in a possessive hold, promising that he’ll take care of you.

“Good, cause I was going to be really upset if you didn’t,” you mumbled against his lips.

He chuckled before saying, “don’t ever run away from me, yeah?”

You nodded, hugging him back tighter as you felt your anxiety calming down, your smile widening as he kissed your forehead, easing out your worries and you were sure you wanted to give it a try—you wanted to give you both a try.

Yet another problem lingered in your mind.

“So, about Jake,” you winced, knowing it’ll be disastrous.

“Shh, we’ll think about him later,” he mumbled, but the peacefulness wasn’t here to stay for long as a loud voice boomed up, indicating that Jay had snitched.

“Lee fucking Heeseung , I told you to stay away from my sister!” Jake shouted, your eyes widening as you both looked at each other.

“Fuck, hide!”

Despite the chaos of hiding in your closet, you knew that Heeseung would always be your exception.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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#fic : the only exception #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #kpop smut #enhypen #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #enha smut #enhypen hard thoughts

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atrwriting · 1 year ago

Text

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

#corio smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #corio snow smut #corio fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fic #coriolanus imagine #corio imagine #the hunger games #lucy gray #sejanus plinth #young coriolanus snow

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jaylver · 3 months ago

Text

WE CAN'T BE FRIENDS (WAIT FOR YOUR LOVE) — P.SH

SYNOPSIS: Loving someone was easy, but losing them without knowing the truth was far from easy. How Park Sunghoon returned into your life wasn’t the same as what you had in mind. The heartbreak you experienced over the years he was gone had materialised and was haunting you wherever you went. Dealing with your emotions wasn’t enough when Sunghoon was there, waiting for your love. You knew you had two choices to overcome this: either to regret loving him and lose him yet again, or to rediscover your love for him.

PAIRINGS: writer!sunghoon x editor!afab!reader

GENRE: exes to lovers, angst, romance, slow burn, forced proximity

WARNING(S): mentions of drinking/alcohol, profanities, (lots of) miscommunication

WC: 25k

PLAYLIST: we can't be friends (wait for your love) by ariana grande, back to friends by sombr, the great war by taylor swift

AUTHOR'S NOTE: first fic of 2025! a quite lengthy one too! can't believe time is passing by so quicky, and i haven't been posting since november TT hope you enjoy this one where i (tried my best) to pour every emotion into! please leave a feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah xx

How did you end up standing in front of your first love after years of not crossing paths?

It should've been just like any other day where you came to work with a cup of coffee in hand, waiting for the day of endless typing and proofreading to end, but somehow, the universe always had a way to surprise you. This surprise, however, was an unfortunate one that would take years for you to recover from.

“Y/N, meet Park Sunghoon, the author of ‘Chaconne’,” your boss, Miss Lee was smiling ear to ear at eight in the morning at the prospect of having one of the country's biggest authors to be in her publishing house. “Sunghoon, this is Y/N L/N, chief editor. She'll be working with you for your new novel,”

No matter how you tried, you just couldn't reciprocate her enthusiasm. Even if you tried to put on a smile, the muscles on your face failed to cooperate with your mind and it only resulted in a deeper frown forming instead. There, standing before you wasn't the famous author that made a name for himself through his breakout novel, but in actuality, it was your first love, Park Sunghoon.

The same man who left you stranded when you needed him most. The very man that broke your heart and left it in pieces. Those teenage years spent together praying for a future where you and him would chase your dreams side-by-side had gone to waste. To you, it looked as if he was the one who succeeded the most out of the two of you. Was it resentment or anger? It didn't matter what it was, after all it was no use denying that there was an underlying grudge you held for the man who achieved everything he wanted after leaving you with no explanations. After those long years of not seeing him in person, fate managed to play him into your life. How funny.

Sunghoon doesn’t look equally excited to be working with you either. He, too, had an expression that was far from enthusiastic. There was a slight tinge of guilt that you sensed, unless it was a figment of your imagination that told you so. He could barely meet your eyes, an uncomfortable unfamiliarity about him hung in the air.

No, he wasn't the same Park Sunghoon that you knew. He was probably a stranger. Despite knowing him well in the past, you couldn’t bear to cling onto the small hope that he was who he used to be. If he was, he wouldn’t have left the country without telling you in the first place and proceeded going no contact till the point where the news became your source of confirming he was alive and well, living too well while basking in fresh money from his newly published book.

“N–new novel?” you looked over at Miss Lee, trying your best to mask the panic in your voice. Out of many publishing houses, must he really choose the one you worked in? What happened to the one publishing his previous books? The question marks were probably written all over your face at some point.

“Yes, a new novel,” Miss Lee affirmed, the unwavering smile sitting perfectly on her expression. “Sunghoon here is planning to publish his new book next year. It’s called ‘Wait For Your Love’. Isn’t that exciting? Anyway, I’ll leave him to you to explain the content, you’ll be working together starting from today onwards. By the way, meeting starts in five minutes, we need to discuss everything about the new book,”

“Right, I’ll get ready,” you watched as your boss disappeared into her own office, heaving a sigh of relief now that she was out of sight and you could finally drop the act of being nice. If anything, you were feeling everything but nice. You met Sunghoon's eyes almost in an instant, the awkward silence filling the space between you and him only made the atmosphere worse.

Out of decent respect, you bowed your head a little and left to head back to your own workspace, hopefully taking advantage of that five minutes to sort out your thoughts. You took one step forward just to be stopped by him calling your name. The sound of your name coming out of his mouth was something that you dreamt of for ages. However, hearing it in reality seemed to have crushed every part of your fantasy.

“Hey Y/N,”

You turned around, slowly and cautiously. In that split second, a million possible scenarios played out in your mind. Maybe he was finally going to explain himself for leaving you, or what if he was offering an overdue apology? An unmistakable feeling of anticipation and hope swelled in your abdomen. It was all wishful thinking.

There was a faint smile on his lips. The look in his eyes said otherwise with an icy barrier that prevented you from reading him further. He truly has changed. Other than the freshly dyed hair and being a couple inches taller, he remained physically the same man from your past that returned to your life recently, the only difference was that he wasn't someone you knew anymore.

“I look forward to working with you,”

He was the first to draw the line.

Just as he's always done, from the point where he disappeared from your life till pretending as if you weren't his first love, he's drawn an invisible line that you failed to realise, an indicator for you to know that you were no longer needed in his life.

You tried to swallow the lump growing in your throat, blinking back the tears piercing your eyes, the corners of your lips twitching in spite. “Right. I hope everything will work out smoothly.”

Truth be told, you wished you had quit your job instead of facing Park Sunghoon once again.

There wasn’t a day in your teenage years transitioning to your early 20s where you hadn’t wondered what exactly went wrong, specifically between you and Sunghoon.

There were countless times you found yourself stuck in endless thoughts of whether it was you who was the one that drove him away. How could he do such a thing to someone he loved? Was it ever truly real? The hurt you experienced was immeasurable, it left a deep cut that was taking forever to heal. Over the last four years since Sunghoon’s departure, you were practically spending your days alone. You were too afraid to get close to anyone to start a serious relationship, neither having the energy to attend those stupid blind dates your friends proposed. All of them were deemed worthless to you anyway, because as much as you hated, dreaded to admit it, some part of you still longed for Sunghoon.

Now that he was actually here, back in your life, crashing into you and your already fragile mental state with no prior warning, you didn’t think the same as before. You wished he had kept his distance from you. Actually, you wished he had stayed far away in the foreign land he was residing in.

Luckily for you, it was another Wednesday with a cup of coffee drunk halfway sitting next to your laptop, overly preoccupied with a pile of work to settle to even think about Sunghoon for a second, that was until you were met with your actual task which you should be tackling instead of doing other things in order to avoid it. The bright screen of your laptop displayed the bolded italic letters, ‘WAIT FOR YOUR LOVE’. Just from the title alone, it ignited an odd sense of ill feelings that dreaded you to scroll down further.

“Hey,” Yunjin tapped you on your shoulder, pulling a chair to sit next to you. She was your coworker that has transcended the tier of being just work friends. You could still remember the first time she introduced herself to you where she accidentally spilled coffee over a newly bought carpet in the office and proceeded to get away by lying. From the point where you promised her you wouldn’t snitch, you somehow built a strong friendship with her.

“What’s up? Lunch break isn’t until an hour later,”

“I know that,” Yunjin broke out in a small smile at the fact you thought she was about to pull you to some new cafe she found. On the contrary, food wasn’t on her mind. She nodded to your laptop, the screen on display with Sunghoon’s name under his book title. “I want to ask about the author,”

“Sunghoon?”

Yunjin raised an eyebrow at you, looking both inquisitive but also interested. "You say his name so naturally,"

"Do I?" you unconsciously bite the insides of your cheek, a habit you’ve grown to have whenever you are anxious. His name alone was enough to send a wave of anxiety through your bones. It also didn't help that Yunjin pointed out how his name rolled off your tongue like second nature. “Whatever. What's up with him?”

“Were you guys … from the same highschool?” the pause in Yunjin’s sentence before finishing it whole almost caused your heart to stop. You expected her to confront you about your past with Sunghoon knowing how well she utilises social media to her will. Did she manage to dig up your past that you tried so hard to escape from?

“We were,”

“Did you know him well?”

What’s with the sudden interrogation going on?

“Somewhat,” you supposed being vague was the safest way to dodge her question, and it seemed she had taken the bait too.

“I saw you in his old post. You were with him and a bunch of other people too,” Yunjin shrugged, mentioning that ever so nonchalantly, but all you could do at that moment was feel the horrors of knowing she’s seen the picture of you and him together. You were more surprised he kept a remnant of you in his account that he barely posted on. Now that he had gained a reputation for himself, you expected him to have deleted his old posts, but you were wrong.

“Oh, right. We had mutual friends,”

“Is that so? What was he like? I’m down to get some inside scoop of a famous author’s past,” she raised her eyebrows, displaying a cheeky smirk that told you she was up to no good. Between work gossip was definitely one way to fuel passionate energy for the rest of the day.

“He’s…” what could you even say? Tell the truth about how great of a person he was to you or lie and say something he wasn’t? Either way, that version of him solely existed in the past, there was no longer any credibility to your words if you were to compare the person he was in present times. “He’s alright, I guess? Don’t know him that much,”

Lies.

“I was thinking you’d have much more information on this guy. He was in America for years before coming back. No one really knows him much, huh? There’s barely anything about him,”

“I guess you can put it that way.”

Avoidant couldn’t last forever. It was proven by Sunghoon’s presence and his draft waiting for you to be edited once you got back from lunch. The screen was still stuck on the front page just as you’ve left it, only then finding a small bit of courage to scroll down to where the main content lied. Staring at the number of pages you had to read through had pulled a groan out of you, and oddly enough, whether it was a coincidence or not, the three numbers of the total pages was also the date of your birthday. Maybe it was a strange coincidence the same as angel numbers were, except you chose not to believe in whatever hidden meaning it has behind it.

Adjusting the pillow behind your back, you settled into your chair for some hours of reading. The story began with two characters in their youth who befriended each other after an interesting accident, getting closer as they spent more time together, and before you knew it, feelings developed. All of those brought a saddening sense of reminiscence to you, every feeling evoked from his words was strangely familiar, even the characters and storyline were somehow relatable in some ways. How weird.

The more you read his story, the distance between you and the screen of your laptop only becomes smaller. You couldn't believe what you were comprehending and the things your eyes were reading. It was a retelling of your life story with Sunghoon that was replaced by fictional characters that had turned into a plot that Park Sunghoon could manipulate into whatever he wants. The confession between the characters, their first date, them in college together, every one of those specific scenarios were exactly what you experienced in the past.

Were you just a short, momentary phase in the story of his life?

This was the story that he's planning to publish? Was he playing some sick joke on you by coming to your publishing house in the first place? To let you know that he's written a story about how you and him first met leading up to the part where he left? If this was a way of him explaining his side of a story through fictional characters in some alternate universe, then it's a shit way of saying sorry.

Slamming your laptop shut, you swallowed down a groan that was threatening to escape. You closed your eyes, wishing you could stop thinking about the draft that brought back a flood of memories that you missed. Even then, you couldn't help picturing those moments you had together, there was a bitter taste in the roof of your mouth at the constant haunting of Park Sunghoon.

You had no choice, there wasn't any other way to face this. So, your hands moved according to their will, picking up your phone and finding the contact under the name ‘Author Park (BLOCK AFTER)’. One press of a finger and it started to ring. For the first time since his reappearance, you didn't feel an impending sense of doom or even the slightest of weariness. Blinding rage at his audacity played a role in it.

“Mr Park, I have some things to discuss with you about the draft.”

Sitting before your ex lover, now a renowned author that you're working with was a foreign and incomprehensible concept.

Agreeing to meet up at a cafe was probably a good choice. The awkward silence between you and him was masked by the loud conversations in the vicinity. He took a particularly long, loud sip from his cup, earning a furtive glance over the laptop from you.

“Mr Park, I think there are some … issues about the plot,” you slid your laptop over to him, making sure he's reading every highlighted sentence along with your careful annotations and remarks.

Other than the obvious fact that he was basing the story off of his life with you as a focus, there were actual plot developments that you needed to address with him. One of them was a major plot hole where the main character, Lee Eunhyeok, disappeared out of the blue, thus introducing a new character as a second male lead for a certain time being. How cliche.

Sunghoon pushed your laptop back over to you, an impassive look on his face that you couldn't read, unable to determine what he was thinking or even feeling about your opinions on his story. Sure, you wanted to write out every curse word you knew and pour your heart out the moment you finished analyzing the story, but for the sake of keeping your job and staying professional, you would rather not do so.

You took his silence as an initiative for you to continue, scared of any possible outburst, though you knew it was unlikely with Sunghoon's personality. Despite the fierce look he had on all the time, he has a gentle heart that would never change.

“Mr Park, I think you shouldn't—I mean—reconsider making some adjustments to the part where Eunhyeok leaves Saeon's life and a new lead appears. It's quite a massive plot hole that might be deemed unfavourable,” you were trying your best to remain as courteous as you could. Frankly, the thought of the main character disappearing and making his appearance years later was hitting too close to home. But why should you be surprised at this point onwards? Sunghoon was the one who took inspiration from the pain he caused, not even bothering to add some closure for the characters that neither you nor him got.

Fingers drumming softly on the wooden table, Sunghoon seemed to be collecting his every thought as he stared at you for a split second then averted his gaze to a potted plant that sat at a corner. A sigh escaped his lips. "You're right, Miss … L/N," there was a hint of reluctance when he spoke of your name with formality, as if it somehow pained him to act unfamiliar with you even though he was the first to push you away. “I'll make some adjustments and send them to you over the weekend,”

You nodded slowly, not expecting him to have gone with your idea that easily. Job's done for the day, you thought. You had pictured him to be a little more resistant towards your constructive criticism or at least fight back with an argument, but he didn't do either of those you envisioned.

“Thank you for your time today, Mr Park. I'll take my leave now, and I'll see you at the next meeting.”

The sharp scrap of your chair against the floor filled the silence that followed. You had your laptop packed up, your bag held tightly in your hands, prepared to leave at once to escape whatever this awkward and suffocating situation. You were already standing, ready to take your leave when Sunghoon said your name, the ring of it sounding just like the last you've remembered in the past. Soft, careful.

“Y/N,” he started, following suit to stand as well, seemingly much more intimidating compared to him sitting. You held your breath, not daring to let out a single word that might interrupt what he was about to say. As much as you hated to admit it, you still held onto a ridiculous amount of hope that some miracle would happen to you and Sunghoon, especially at times like this where Sunghoon reminded you of the person you once knew.

“H–how have you been?”

You blinked. Once, then twice. It was something out of a scenario you've imagined one two many times. How have you been? Are you doing well? Those sort of questions were what you armed yourself to face if you happen to run into Sunghoon with the condition that he somehow had the decency to talk to you. Well, this was playing out exactly how you wished for it to be. Answers such as 'I'm doing good, great, fantastic actually. I'm the chief editor too' that you prepared for this day only ended up dying in your throat.

How were you to answer his question either? It was simply agitating to see him acting as if nothing had happened. Pretending like he hadn't ruined your life before this then coming back to play the role of an old friend, what was he truly hiding? You wished you could understand, you wished you had a reason to understand.

“I'll be done with the next round of editing before our team meeting.”

There was nothing left to hide the coldness in your voice and the sadness that flowed in your irises. Just as he had done before, it was your chance to draw the line as well. The more you created a distance between you and him, the closer he was trying to get to you.

Maybe everything would've hurt less if you went back to the days where you were stuck wondering whether Sunghoon remembered you rather than pretending like you don't know each other at all.

“You're seriously going to stay here to complete your editing?”

The clock had struck five o'clock on the dot, just in time for everyone to pack up and leave for the day, except for you. It was a new week, another day in the office, yet you couldn't stop thinking about the last private meeting you had with Sunghoon at the cafe. Him sending his newly edited draft to you over the weekend only spurred you into further madness as though he's announced his existence was not a figment of your imagination. He was a thorn stuck to your side, annoyingly and frustratingly stubborn.

That perfectly explained why you were feeling a massive block when it came to editing his story. Nothing could go through your mind when you read through his freshly edited story that contained new content and back stories. Your brain was as blank as a sheet of paper. The moment you thought of his story, you'd think of him, and that pathetic 'how are you' which you brushed off.

Who told you that it'd be a great idea to say you would be done with the editing before the meeting in two days? You were suffering the consequences of your own actions now that you were stuck with a non-proofread script.

Bidding farewells to your colleagues was almost as if you were bidding your freedom goodbye as you watched them leave one by one until nobody else was there except for you. The worst part of all was that you were the one willing to stay back, because you knew if you brought your work back home, nothing would be completed after a long day at work.

The sun outside of the window eventually set, the dark hues of pink and purple faded into a bleary black sky with stars accompanying your lonely figure. It should be dinner time for you, you should be thinking of what you eat, but fatigue was the only thing pricking you and enticing you to sleep.

So, that was exactly what you did. Head laid in your arms, you slept before your laptop that was wide open, not even bothering to shut it off even though the brightness was bothering you. A power nap, that was it, a ten minute recharge that would spring you back into action then you'd only think of dinner, right!

Wrong.

You've slept for an hour. It was past eight, close to nine, and the sole reason you got to know was because someone had woken you up. That 'someone' happened to be Park Sunghoon. At times like this, you couldn't but think if he was simply a part of your dream, but then his feathery touch was too much for it to be just a dream.

“Y/N?”

It took some effort for Sunghoon to shake you awake until he heard a groan from you, one eye opening just the slightest to realise where you were and who you were facing. Though groggy, your back straightened out of pure shock and impulse,

“Sunghoon—I mean, Mr Park?”

The small falter in his expression went unnoticed by you in your haggard state, still unable to get the sleepy state out of your system. Sunghoon, however, felt a pang of disappointment at you maintaining your formality, though he chose to shake it off.

“What time is it?”

“It's close to nine,”

Nine? Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the thought of your power nap turning into a full blown nap time that turned another day into unproductiveness. A sigh left your lips, deciding to let go of your mistake, and your focus was now on Sunghoon, who you just realised was squatting in front of you. At this angle, you could finally see his face fully. The mole of his nose sat prominently as it always did, the faded freckles which decorated the expanse of his cheeks were a telling of how time slipped past both of you.

“Drink some water,” he handed you a bottle of mineral water, making an attempt for you to stop your gaze intensely lingering on his skin that made him crawl in discomfort. You carefully accepted without any questions asked, taking a big gulp.

“What are you doing here?” You set the bottle down on your desk, piercing eyes following his every move as he stood up to his full height. You didn't mean to cut straight to the point, but your bluntness definitely caused a slight rise of awkward tension.

“I texted you and you didn't answer, so I called you, but you didn't pick up either. I asked your colleague and she told me you're here,” his hand reached for his shoulder and rubbed it softly, an unconscious habit of his whenever he got embarrassed or uncomfortable.

“You called?”

His eyes widened a little, just a fraction that you didn't seem to have seen. There was an abashed smile to his face. “I—uh—wanted to ask you something,”

“Is it urgent?” You shifted in your seat, back aching from the sleeping position, but it didn't bug you as much as the reason behind Sunghoon's sudden appearance.

“No, not exactly …” he muttered, trailing off for a bit and pressing his lips into a thin line as he figured what to say after. “I just wanted to see you,”

The silence was practically deafening. What Sunghoon failed to realise was the weight of his words that befall onto you. As simple as a slip of a tongue that confession might be, in the context of the history you had with Sunghoon, nothing about what he said was simple or casual.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Taking advantage of your lack of response, he managed to switch the topic even if it pained him to see his words rebounding off of the walls you built around yourself.

“I haven't,” admittedly, you had the urge to run away like how you always did whenever you were met with an awkward situation, but given the effort Sunghoon was putting, you gave him a chance. Besides, your stomach was about to betray you for the hunger you've put it through.

“Me too,” a beat passed, his hand that once rested on his shoulder travelled to the back of his neck, the sound of your breathing was loud enough to fill the quietness lingering in the air. “Do you … want to grab dinner together? I can pay,”

There was an edge to his voice, as if he was trying his best to persuade you into joining him for dinner. Was it desperation that you saw flickering in his eyes or were you just mistaken? You didn't understand why he was bothering to get close to you after years of being apart that he caused to happen in the first place.

“You don't have to be so nice to me,” it was quietly uttered, another unconscious barrier you put up against him.

Sunghoon averted his gaze away from you, looking out of the window and letting out a small sigh. He turned back to you, a hint of hurt present in those once shining eyes of his. “But I want to.”

There you were, sitting opposite him once again in a restaurant close to your office which you frequented, waiting for your food to arrive as another round of spine crawling silence sets in between you and him. Should you be the first to speak? You couldn't figure out what to say, or where you should even start. The many unexplained questions that lulled in the air contributed to the quietness. Neither of you were willing to budge, not one bit.

Sunghoon let out a rather strained cough, then proceeded to take a big gulp out of his glass of water. You regretted not ordering any drinks, you needed something to gulp down for some faux confidence as well.

“I just wanted to ask you how your progress is doing,” Sunghoon spoke out of the blue, breaking the icy silence that formed. “That's why I texted you in the first place. I added quite a lot,”

The feeling of your heart dropping to the pits of your abdomen shouldn't be bothering you, but it unfortunately did after Sunghoon revealed the reason for his visit. You were to blame for expecting something more from him, thinking he might've come to tell you a more important thing that wasn't related to work. Alas, you were disappointed to know he wasn't there to explain himself. You should expect less from him.

“Oh,” you bit back a frown, remaining tight lipped. “Quite frankly, I haven't really started yet. I'm having a little editor's block,” you bowed your head, smiling apologetically.

“Don’t be sorry, I understand. I experience writer’s block too, it’s only natural to be stuck sometimes,” he waved his hands frantically, a panicked expression plastered on his face. The small details as such made your smile progressively sadder, every little thing about him was the same as it was before, reminding you of his specific habits and motions he’d do at different times. “It’s not the content that’s the problem, right?”

Everything about the content of his story was a problem to you. How he managed to feign ignorance about the inspiration of his story despite being the creator behind it was astounding to you. You hated it. You hated pretending everything was normal, that he was just someone you’re working with and not your first love. In the end, you remained as a coward that was scared to confront him anyway.

“I haven’t fully reviewed it yet,” you said dismissively, hoping your food would arrive sooner just so that you could stop this conversation from progressing.

Sunghoon hummed in acknowledgement, nodding a little. “What do you think about the story so far? Or about the characters?”

If you could let out a scoff at that moment, you would’ve. The sheer audacity of him to play games with you was an indirect slap to your face. There was no way he had zero idea of what he was doing or the meaning behind his words. What was Park Sunghoon doing?

“I think Eunhyeok is an asshole,” your eye contact never once wavered, neither were you backing down from the fight he initiated from the start. “He abandoned Saeon when she needed him most, then disappeared without a trace just to come back and expect her to accept him back. It’s quite confusing, really, his character and the way he thinks,” you swallowed, pausing for a second to gather yourself. “I just wish I could understand him,” you put on a small smile in an attempt to diffuse the tension right after seeing Sunghoon's furrowed eyebrows. Surely you didn't touch a nerve … right?

“I agree,” you tried to mask your shock from his response, thinking he would've attempted to redirect the conversation away from the fact that you indirectly called him an asshole. The smile he had on his face was small, but it had a twinge of guilt and sadness to it. “Saeon went through a lot because of him,”

You were glad your hands were out of sight from Sunghoon with the way they were clenched into tight fists, turning nearly white, indents of your fingernails were probably formed on your palm. “I'm sure what she needed most is an explanation from him,”

“Do you think she hated him at some point?”

There was a suspenseful pause that gripped onto your skin, finding yourself unable to open your mouth to say something, literally anything. He had struck bullseye at landing on your weakest point: the unspoken grudge you held against him for leaving.

“I think she has always hated him ever since he left without saying anything.”

If there was a hole that would swallow you whole during dinner and teleport you back home, you would've climbed into it as quickly as you could. The atmosphere surrounding you and Sunghoon throughout dinner could only be described in one word: unfortunate. Stemming from the unresolved tension created from the short conversation you had while waiting for your food, neither of you wanted to talk anymore, both of you were still soaking in the responses from all the questions asked.

“Thanks for the dinner. I can pay you back—”

“There's no need, Miss L/N. I was the one who invited you out for dinner anyway,” he shook his head, smiling. “Treat it as a token of gratitude from me for your hard work,”

“Well then, thank you. I appreciate it,” for the first time ever since his return, you smiled with full genuinity instead of those awkward, half sincere smiles you put on out of courtesy.

Sunghook waved his hands, shaking his head a little. It was a common thing for him to do as a response to people thanking him. Another part of him that stayed the same. “How are you heading home?”

“I drove to the office today, and my car's just around the corner. I can walk back,”

“In the dark? I'll drive you back to the office,” his words had a finality to it, determined to not take ‘no’ as an answer.

“You don't have to. You've already paid for dinner,”

“And put your life at risk? I'm not doing that, especially not to you, Y/N,”

You didn’t know what came over you when he uttered your name with some ounces of emotions you never knew he would still harbour for you. Longing, desperation and guilt, a total mix of tragic feelings that bled through his voice and piercing into your heart. He had no rights for showing you his weakest parts after all the things you’ve been through because of him.

“Fine. I’ll come along.”

The car ride lasted no more than ten minutes, yet that short duration you spent in his car felt longer thanks to the uncomfortable atmosphere that never went away. Years ago, you’d never once thought Sunghoon’s presence as bothersome, not even the slightest, it never occurred to you that one day you’d find yourself wanting to implode instead of spending another passing second next to him.

The line drawn between you and Sunghoon for the sake of professionalism was turning into a blur. Sunghoon was doing his best to salvage whatever that was left of your ruined relationship while you put everything in maintaining a tall wall between you and him. His efforts, to you, were in vain despite his determination. No matter how he tried, nothing could return to how it was back then.

You and Sunghoon couldn’t be friends.

“Thanks for the ride,” you unbuckle your seatbelt once the car comes to a stop, turning to look at Sunghoon with an appreciative smile. “And also for dinner,”

“Like I said, it’s nothing. I hope you’re not overworking yourself,” there it was, the shred of worry and care that overstepped a boundary you set. It would’ve hurt less if he was cold to you, and yet, he was still the same as ever, soft hearted and always looking out for others. For once, just this one, you wished he gave you a reason to hate him, but he was only making it difficult for you. “I’ll see you at the next team meeting,”

“Right. I’ll make sure I’ll have some progress in the editing,”

Sunghoon nodded, another round of silence filled the spaces around you and him. You took it as your queue to leave. “I’ll get going now then. Drive safe. Goodnight,” you reached for the handle, hoping to get a breath of fresh air and away from the stifling tension that has yet to be resolved, but a hand stopped you. It was Sunghoon.

You looked down at his hand that rested on your shoulder, then you met his eyes that widened in both shock and panic. He retracted his hand away, averting his gaze for a moment from pure awkwardness and letting out a cough to diffuse the situation.

“Is there … anything?” You stared back at him, curiosity filled your expecting gaze. Sunghoon didn't respond at once, choosing to stay quiet for a few seconds without taking his eyes off of you.

“I … I just wanted to say I’m sorry,”

“What?”

Sunghoon's jaw was tense, his grip on the steering wheel was tightening as each second passed, knuckles gradually turning white. He knew he couldn’t turn back on his word now that he’s said it. “I'm sorry for the pain that I've caused, for letting you go so easily and giving up. It's just … there’s a reason behind all this,”

You should've ran out of the car right before he had the chance to stop you.

A part of you had high hopes for where this was heading, that you were finally getting the apology and explanation that you deserved, but the other part has long given up on wanting or needing to know. You find yourself struggling between the two, yet you knew what you had to do.

“You don't get to do this right now,” you murmured, barely audible enough for him to catch and almost as if you were saying it to yourself.

“What?”

“I don't need your apology,” you found some courage at last, your tone combined with the straightforward response was harsh and absolutely throat-cutting for Sunghoon to hear. Unbeknownst to him, your heart was breaking despite being the one to say the cruel truth. “Let's just maintain this professional relationship while your book is still in progress,”

“Y/N, please—”

“You know we can’t be friends,”

You should be used to the amount of uncomfortable and suffocating silence by then, but nothing could prepare the sting you got from your own words. It was painfully true, the fact that your connections with him couldn’t just be “casual” or platonic, neither was it easy to shift from something deeper to something more casual or distant. You couldn’t see him as a friend, not after having history together, one that was too deep to disregard.

Sunghoon couldn't even get the rest of his sentence out, mouth closing to digest what you had just thrown into his face: a reality ever so cruel and blunt where the pain of being together overwhelmed the pain you experienced while apart.

“But I'd like to just pretend … that maybe we can—that we have a chance,”

“What chance is there now when you never once gave me a chance from the start?” You brushed a hand through your hair in frustration, mentally chanting positive affirmations to yourself so that you wouldn't be the first to break. “Look, I–I think we should talk about this some other time, maybe after we're done with your book. You should sort your thoughts out first. For now, let's just be professional,” you paused, gouging his reaction that was hard to decipher. “I'll get going.”

Sunghoon didn't respond, mainly because he couldn't bring himself to, feeling as if his lips were sewn shut from either embarrassment or a mix of guilt and shame. He merely nodded, and you took it as a sign to leave, closing the door shut in his face as you slipped through his fingers once more.

He could cling to his papers and pen, writing as many stories as he could with the perfect ending that he couldn't recreate in his reality, but in the end, it wouldn't bring him back to the time where you were by his side.

We can't be friends. Sunghoon just had to accept the fact that he was at fault for letting you go even if you didn't know the actual truth behind it.

Things weren't the same as it was before.

Hell, it never once was the same between you and Sunghoon in the present ever since he came back, but the entire interaction that night only turned the dynamic into something worse. Throughout the entire team meeting with Sunghoon in the room, you couldn't fix your attention on anything. Your mind would often drift to Sunghoon and the memory of his desperation or the part he almost revealed the truth constantly plagued you with the reminder sitting at the other end of the room.

Right, the truth. He wanted to tell you about it, or it was implied that he wanted to. You were close to finding out the reason behind his erasure from your life. Alas, it was your ego that won over your heart, choosing to let Sunghoon bathe in the consequences of his actions first before you could reach your desires.

“How was work? You look extra dishevelled these days,” Minjeong, your roommate and life-long best friend since high school, brushed a finger through your hair, then took a seat next to you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled at the last part she added, suddenly craving for a beer to drown away your sorrows. “It's just some work stress,”

“Didn't you mention you were editing Sunghoon's book?”

“I did,”

“How's it going? Sunghoon, that's what I mean,” Minjeong was picking her words carefully, you could tell. She was the only person to have seen you at your lowest point when Sunghoon left, being the witness of you and Sunghoon's relationship throughout high school and even coming to your defence by dialing his number the entire night that he left. The least you could do was be honest to her about how you felt when it came to Sunghoon.

“It's … rough,” you exhaled sharply through your nose, letting your true exhaustion bleed through your voice. “His new story's about me … about us, actually,”

“No way!”

“That's why I'm going insane,” you groaned, throwing your head back to lay your head on the headrest of the couch. “I'm reliving our every moment together through editing his story,”

“That's evil,” she shook her head, placing a hand on yours in an attempt to provide some comfort. “I'm going to beat him up if I see him. How could he do that to you? And also for leaving without telling any of us,”

“He tried to explain himself the other night, he apologised too,”

Minjeong scooted closer to you, eager to dig out more information from you. “Then? What did you say?” She pressed on, staring closely with full expectations.

“Nothing. I didn't really accept his apology and I told him I'll hear him out another time,”

“What?” She shrieked, body fully jerking backwards from the shock that coursed through her. Somehow, she managed to regain her composure. “You know what? Good on you. I would've done that too,”

“Would you?”

Several changes of expressions flashed across her face, ranging from deep consideration to disgust. “Maybe?”

You chuckled, shaking your head knowing there was little to none truth value to that. “Is it a mistake? Drawing a line and keeping a distance?”

Minjeong pursed her lips thoughtfully, crossing her arms. “Honestly, you're entitled to do that until you're ready and your heart is fully healed. After all, he was the one who broke it in the first place.”

The whole entire situation was pathetic. Minjeong has already seen you losing it over Sunghoon in the past, you couldn't believe she would be getting a part two as well. However, you and her were no longer in your teen years, which meant Minjeong had an excuse to drag you to her favourite club as a getaway even if it meant you had to be stuck in hell.

“How is this going to make me feel better?” You were referring to the bodies of people dancing in one place, the stench of alcohol and smoke lingering in the air, the unfavourable vibe of being in a club itself was present with the loud music screaming into your eardrums.

“Get drunk, then there's no need to think anymore,” Minjeong pointed to her head, giggling, but it was more to herself.

“You're a really bad influence,” you mumbled, clutching onto her forearm for both physical and mental support.

The place she led you off to was the bar, ushering for you to take a seat next to her designated spot (you had no idea how and why she had one). You let her take the initiative by ordering her favourite drinks, then listened as she poured her heart out over the loud music that distracted you. Her plan was working. At least the music was too loud for you to hear your own thoughts.

“I didn't think this would be your favourite club,”

Minjeong made a face, shrugging. “It's one of my favourites. A colleague brought me here, and even though it's not the best, I still find myself coming back. It's weird,”

You hummed, finding her words ringing in your mind, feeling oddly close to your heart and the emotions you had. “That's lowkey really deep. Are you drunk already?”

“Ha-ha,” she let out dryly, completely unamused, but still cracked a smile after. “I wish I was. This is a call for some more drinks!”

You were mostly on the sidelines trying to control Minjeong with her alcohol intake, consuming only a few shots and calling it a night to be the designated sober one. At that point, you wondered if it was you or Minjeong that needed to destress the most judging from the difference in manner.

The time has come for you to end your night and find Minjeong to take her home before she ends up regretting it in the morning. The dance floor was packed with people, it took you barely a minute to give up your search and give yourself another five minutes to catch your breath. You lingered around the area, walking past booths occupied by groups of people.

There was a particular group that attracted your attention, a voice piercing through the loud music which you knew too well who it belonged to. Minjeong wasn't on the dance floor grooving her worries away, instead she was busy screaming at someone drunkenly. You were going to ban her from coming out ever again.

You rushed to the booth, seeing Minjeong's back while a man loomed over her figure. Was it her ex? There was no reason for Minjeong to get herself into fights when she was too cowardly to raise her voice up at someone in the first place. It didn't matter, all you needed was to pull her out of there or else something worse might happen.

“You fucking bastard—”

“Minjeong!” You yelled over the music, hoping that she somehow managed to hear you in her drunken state. Grasping onto her arm, you made sure she was intact physically. She was fine, eyes a little bloodshot and makeup slightly smudged, but other than that, she was fine.

“I'm sorry—” you turned to the person she was yelling at, only to find yourself unable to continue speaking. You were not fine. “Sunghoon?” Minjeong hadn't seen her ex, it was your ex that she ran into.

“Y/N,” your name left his lips in a hushed, breathless manner, as if he was having a hard time comprehending that you were there and that you had actually said his name without some formality that he scorned. Despite that, the cold, piercing look in your eyes never wavered once while you stared at him.

“I'm sorry about Minjeong. She's a little drunk,” you wrapped a hand around her waist, letting her lean onto you for support as she slipped in and out of consciousness, blabbering incoherently.

“I figured. I didn't expect this to be my first time meeting her again, especially not here,” he sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment, pondering. “I didn't think you'd feel … that way about me,” he looked up at you, this time with an expression you couldn't read.

Your eyes widened a bit, mostly in panic and confusion. “What? What did she say? She's drunk, don't take her words seriously—” you averted your gaze over his shoulders for a split second, catching some of his friends looking, but you didn't miss the girls that were in the group, particularly a girl that sat next to an empty spot you assumed to be Sunghoon's. She was the same girl you saw on one of his friend's posts online, posing next to Sunghoon in almost every group picture they had.

You sucked in a sharp breath, rushing to say something before Sunghoon had the chance to do so. There was a gutting feeling to you that you hated, it wasn't foreign, more or less something you've grown to adapt around Sunghoon after he came back into your life. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your—” you couldn't help but spare another glance behind him, the girl was staring right at you, “—fun. I'll be leaving, please don't take any of her words seriously, she's drunk. I'll tell Minjeong to apologise in the morning.”

“Y/N, wait—”

It was cruel for turning away and practically running into the crowd with your drunk friend to escape your ex, you'd admit it, but you'd rather get blackout drunk than to face Sunghoon for another second with his friends around. The chilly night air was welcomed into your lungs once you stepped out into the open, realising it was almost one in the morning. Minjeong was slightly more sober after you forcefully had her chug a bottle of water. She was seated on a curb while you looked through options to call a cab.

“Y/N,”

What you expected was Minjeong calling for you, but the last you recalled, her voice wasn't deep and masculine. Your head snapped towards the source only to be met with the same person you were trying your hardest to get away from. The exhaustion was clear in his face, the worn out expression he had paired with the lingering smell of alcohol hung on him definitely got some pity points out of you. You sighed, your voice suddenly trapped in your throat as you didn't know what to say. Unlike you, it seemed Sunghoon did know what he would like to say.

“Are you really going to leave like this?”

“What?”

“Are you going to continue being cold to me?” Sunghoon's breath was shaky, the question he held in for far too long was actually leaving his lips, the slight smell of alcohol traceable. “Do you hate me?”

“I—” lost for words was what you were experiencing. The amount of times you've pictured yourself having a confrontational conversation with Sunghoon ended up turning into a waste. Nothing could've possibly prepared you for the moment where it actually happened, and you were the complete opposite to what you imagined yourself to be. “I–I don't hate you,”

“Then why are you treating me like you do?”

There it was. He had successfully touched a nerve. “Are you seriously asking me that? Sunghoon, you were the one who left me without saying anything. You came back thinking I'm going to be jumping when I see you? What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?”

“Can you please give me a chance to explain myself,”

“No, Sunghoon. Actually, I wish life was back to the times where I find myself thinking about you instead of having to face you. It’s much harder this way—to live pretending like we don’t know each other, to know you left me and embarrassed me, to make me feel like I’m not enough for you. So, no, Sunghoon, I want to move on and you’re only making it harder to,”

You were almost catching your breath at that point. The pain in your heart was much bigger than the feeling of your fingernails digging into the skin of your palm. It was impossible to hide your vulnerability by then, your upper lip was quivering and the hairs on the back of your neck were standing upright.

The whole situation was laughable, you were going into a state of frenzied disbelief and shock, something not even alcohol could induce but purely from the audacity of Park Sunghoon. “Okay, I admit it, I never got over you, so what? But I've learnt to live with the pain of knowing you're never coming back,” you were turning into a pile of pitiness, your voice becoming smaller just as how you felt as you poured your heart out. “Why are you back in my life, Sunghoon? I never asked you to come back,” the last part nearly came out as a desperate sob, the amount of mental fatigue was overwhelming.

Sunghoon opened his mouth just to close it after a beat. He was speechless, practically unmoving from the effects of your emotions slapping him in his face. Defeated, that was how he looked, shoulders slumped and eyes brimmed with tears that were threatening to flow out at any moment. “I never … I never meant to let you go in the first place. I should've never left, but I was too selfish,”

Your frown deepened, practically etching fine lines into your skin. “What? What do you mean?”

“It was my father, you knew how he was, always obsessed with the family business, he was the one who made me pick. Either I was going abroad or he was going to force me into a marriage with another woman to strengthen the family's business,” he let out a laugh, sounding nearly maniacally as he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Funny, isn't it? Sounds almost like a plot from a movie. But that was exactly what I had to face, and I know it's selfish. It's just … I didn’t want to lose you completely, and I didn’t want to make it harder for you so I left without telling you. It was one of the worst decisions I’ve made in my life, I realised I still lost you in the end,”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Feeling betrayed was an understatement. Certainly, that was a tough pill to swallow. You thought Sunghoon's father, despite being the cliche epitome of a rich, strict businessman, had accepted you as Sunghoon's partner. Instead, it was the contrary where he rather Sunghoon marry someone on his ‘level’. For a second, you mistook yourself for the main character in some low budget film.

“I thought it would be easier if you hated me instead,”

“Well, congrats, you got what you wanted,” you scoffed, taking a step back when he tried to get closer. Distance was what you needed in that moment, not closure in any shape or form, all you wanted was to be away from him. “I'm sorry that happened to you, but I don't think anything could change or fix the damage that's already been done,”

“Wait—”

You were already backing away from him, another excuse for you to run away yet again like a coward that didn't wish to face reality. Wasn't this what you wanted after all? The real truth being revealed on a random night where Sunghoon was slightly buzzed and your friend was on the verge of blacking out was the last you wanted. There was no space for you to absorb the truth, so you chose the easier way out by running away.

Calling Minjeong's boyfriend, Jaehyun, was the best decision you made right before Sunghoon appeared. He seemed to have answered your prayers and arrived just in time to pick the two of you up. You did feel bad for calling him this late in the night, and you swore to buy him lunch as a way to pay him back.

By the time you hoisted Minjeong up, wrapping a hand around her waist and letting her place her support on you, Sunghoon had already made a few cautious steps towards you two. You met his eyes, body facing him despite the weight that was about to crush you, not that it could compare to the weight of his gaze that fell onto you.

“Sunghoon, let's talk about this another time, please? I need time to think, and editing your book isn't helping all that much with this whole … pile of something,” you were making wild gestures with one hand, a frenzied look to your face. “Go back to your—” you paused, the faint memory of the girl coming back to your mind for a beat, “—friends.”

Sunghoon couldn't respond, all he did was watch your figure disappearing into the car of some other man that he didn't know. You left him out in the street, many unspoken frustrations that were unable to be poured out through alcohol stuck with you like a sore thorn. Jaehyun turned to ask if you're alright, but you shrugged it off, though knowing you were the complete opposite of just 'fine'.

You didn't know how to forgive Sunghoon. That is if you could even find the courage to forgive him in the first place.

Whoever initiated a team dinner with Sunghoon should be out there watching their backs.

You hadn't seen Sunghoon ever since that night. The last time you heard his name was when Minjeong told you about her lengthy apology to him, and that was it. He didn't turn up to the publishing house either, most times you had to communicate through email—yes, email—in order to get a hold of him. That was how bad it got, straight till the point where your boss asked you of his whereabouts. You could tell he was reluctant to show his face again. Just the same as you were in avoiding him.

That was until a scheduled team dinner at some fancy restaurant to celebrate the progress of Sunghoon's soon published book. The hours leading up to it was dreadful to say the least. You hadn’t felt this way since your petty fight with Minjeong over the last slice of pizza. It was the horrible gut feeling where you knew you had to either confront or be confronted. Both of which were equally despised.

“Once this book is out, our workload will be less,” Yunjin stretched her arms, letting out a yawn while adjusting in her seat. “I’m glad everything is in its final stage now, all there’s left is the printing, and it isn’t our job!” she laughed gleefully, shooting you a knowing wink that you responded with a smile.

Once everything was over with Sunghoon’s book, would the ties between you and him finally become severed? Was there a chance that after this fateful reunion, things would return back to normal? For him to come into your life and mess things up again then leave was quite unfair for you. There was no other chance but to find a way out of this, as much as you hated confrontations.

Speaking of confrontations, the seating arrangements seemed to have set you up for a perfect opportunity. Not only was it a roundtable, but Sunghoon was also somehow pushed to sit to your right, leaving you no space to run like how you always did.

“Heard the food here is good,” Yunjin whispered to you, flipping through the menu with a happy smirk, totally in blissful ignorance of the blaring ‘SOS’ screaming in your eyes. “I think I’d like to order this one…” she trailed off with the look of gluttony, whereas you were aimlessly staring at a specific bowl of rice in the menu, trying to not make it obvious that you were bothered by Sunghoon’s presence.

The longer you sat there pretending he wasn’t literally next to you, the more suffocated you felt. This wasn’t the way to go. You knew that you had no choice but to be the person to speak up first, to officially break the ice and ease the odd tension even if you weren’t the type to do so. It was either that or a lifelong torture of living with the truth that you left the relationship to die.

You breathed in deeply, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Hey, Sunghoon—”

“Sunghoon!” your boss announced her presence with a shout of Sunghoon’s name, barrelling into the room and making a bee-line towards the man sitting beside you. As expected, your voice was naturally drowned out by your boss, his attention was focused on your boss’s attack of praises and excitement. There you were, stranded and shrinking back into your shell.

That was what you got for trying.

You shouldn’t be bothered by the constant glances from Sunghoon all throughout dinner, but you were. Living up to your reputation of being stubborn, you persisted to ignore his advances. The glances, the occasional accidental skin contact, you feigned ignorance to all of them. Being the first to reach out and failing, you no longer dared to do it again, and instead, Sunghoon was forced to come crawling back.

At the end of the night, the team insisted on having drinks at a bar downtown, but you decided to call it a night and declined their invitations. They didn’t know you had already promised Minjeong to a session of binge watching ‘Sex and the City’. The front of the restaurant was crowded with you and your team, still stalling for time by having lengthy conversations before making the journey downtown.

“Hey,”

You spun around, quick enough for the wind to be knocked out from your lungs, abruptly facing Sunghoon head on with nowhere to hide. It was hard to place a finger on it, yet you had a feeling he was hiding his emotions despite always wearing his heart on his sleeves. Was he trying to create an imaginary boundary?

“Hey,” you said softly, slipping a hand into your pocket to hide your nervousness and easing the chills running through you. “How have you been? I … didn’t see you in a while,”

“I’ve been fine,” he nodded, following with a pulsating silence that was eating you alive. He kept his answer short and simple, leaving room for discomfort only. There was a moment of uncertainty, not knowing which one of you would be the first to speak. That was until Sunghoon took the initiative to start the conversation. “Look,” one sharp inhale of a breath, he steadied himself. “I’m sorry for the other night, really sorry … for dumping all of that on you,”

“It’s fine. I think it was time for me to learn the truth,” you shook your head, looking at anywhere but him. “This is probably not the best place to talk about this, but after you avoided me for a while, I had lots of thoughts about … us,”

Sunghoon winced at the harshly thrown word, ‘avoided’, even though it was mostly true. He stayed silent, aware that there was no rebuttal to deny that he had done that. “I can’t bring myself to forgive you completely, Sunghoon, I hope you understand that. It may take time … for the wound to heal,” you paused, the tension in his shoulder yet to disappear as he waited for you to continue. “But I don’t want us to end. I missed you, I really do, and I don’t want to lose you again,”

The wall was starting to crack, emotions began to stream into his eyes like watercolour on a wet paper, the conflicted furrow of his eyebrows spoke louder than words did. “You won’t lose me again. Never. I’m here to stay,” he reached out for your hands, and you let him, powerless against his touch. At that point of time, you were glad you were standing in a corner and away from your coworkers.

“I still love you,”

Those words came out of his mouth almost like a spear to your heart. Despite knowing deep in your heart that he always did, hearing it from him was different compared to your imaginations. You froze, shell shocked and wide eyed. The only sound you were hearing was the hammering of your heart against your ribs. He still loves you. His voice echoing those exact same words played in your head, and for a moment, you wondered if you had even heard him correctly. Maybe you had misunderstood, or perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you.

Your eyes searched his face, hoping for a sign that he was joking, but there was none. His expression was serious, vulnerable even, and that made it all the harder to breathe.

The weight of it pressed down on your chest, too much to bear, yet too real to ignore. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You were scared to say anything, to confess that you weren’t on the same wavelength as he was, to admit that the spark of your love for him wasn’t as bright as his. There he was—still standing before you with all those unspoken feelings laid bare.

This couldn’t be real. Not after everything…

“I’m sorry,” he dropped your hand, momentarily panicking from your lack of response, eyes widening at what he had just said. “I shouldn’t—I—you’re probably uncomfortable—I don’t know—” he turned into a stuttering mess, and again, an invisible wall started to build between you and him again.

You shook yourself out of the state you were in, sheepishly mustering a smile that did nothing to salvage the situation at hand. “It’s alright, I’m totally fine and I’m not uncomfortable at all. Just a little … shocked,”

Sunghoon attempted a smile that ended up too stiff and asymmetrical, his body language was blaring red. Oh God, how did this turn from bad to worse? He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his voice quiet, almost to himself. “I didn’t mean to make you feel weird or anything... I just—” He stopped himself, breathing out in frustration, unsure of how to put his thoughts together. “I don’t know how to explain this... I guess I just thought... maybe... if I said it out loud, it wouldn’t be something I regret not saying later.”

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, glancing down at the ground before looking back up at you, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry if that was too much. I didn’t want to make you feel like... like you owe me anything. Or like I’m putting pressure on you.” His eyes flickered away for a moment, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I just—honestly, I didn’t know how else to handle it.”

You swallowed, similarly not knowing how to handle his sudden outburst of a confession.

“You don't have to say anything, I understand. I'm not expecting you to reciprocate, all I want is for you to know,” Sunghoon wore a sad smile, an attempt to mask his actual feelings. To you, he was easy to read like an open book, it was hard to know the truth and pretend that you didn't.

“Sunghoon—” you started slowly, bracing yourself to say whatever that came to mind, ignoring the confused thoughts playing in the back. What were your actual feelings when it came to him anyway?

It was never truly hatred to begin with. Resentment was probably the most fitting. As time passed, with the interactions you had together, everything boiled down to be a confusing mess. You didn't know what Park Sunghoon meant to you anymore.

“Sunghoon! We’re leaving for the bar! Come on!”

The voice of your colleague calling for him interjected at the right time. You were saved from having to reply while Sunghoon was saved from knowing the truth. Either way, you didn't wish to be confrontational at all, not when your thoughts were in a mess from his sudden confession.

You and Sunghoon exchanged a brief look, an awkward one where you both realised it's time to depart. More likely, it was an official end to the conversation that either of you wanted out of for separate reasons.

“I—I think—” Sunghoon nodded over to your colleagues, offering half a smile.

“Right, right, you have to go,” you let out a small laugh to fill in the still air. “It's alright. Go, have fun. I'll talk to you soon.”

Sunghoon casted a rather reluctant glance at you as he walked away, whereas you stood rooted to the ground watching him leave. Your words rang in the back of your mind, you doubted if you'd ever get the chance to talk to him again, especially after the entire conversation you had.

The night ended up turning into a sleepless one as you tossed and turned in bed, wide awake and haunted by the face of your ex together with the words he said. All you wanted to do was address the problem in the room, not creating a larger one that blew up in your face. He still loved you after all this time, while you only grew larger resentment in that period of his absence, it just seemed unfair to you for not knowing.

A loud knock on your front door brought you away from your string of thoughts. It was then followed by your door bell ringing, alternating between the two and it became an annoying combination that assaulted your ears in the dead of the night. Groggy, and rather annoyed, you got out of bed to check who was bothering you through the peephole.

The figure on the other side of your door was slumped against the wall, eyes barely open. Yet, there wasn’t any mistake in recognising the person that terrorised you both day and night. “Sunghoon?” you half-shouted, scared to open the door as you didn’t dare to face him, maintaining your position at the peephole, monitoring his every movement. “Hey, are you okay—” your hand was nearly on your doorknob until he spoke, sounding sluggish but panicked.

“Don’t. Don’t open the door,” he was almost begging you, the desperation in his voice was evident, and so was the fact that he was very likely drunk out of his mind. You wondered what exactly was his thought process when it came to calling a cab straight to your place. The hand you had on the doorknob remained there, but you didn’t have the strength to turn it. “I … I just wanted to hear your voice,”

“What?”

There was a moment’s worth of silence. You took a look through the peephole, seeing Sunghoon slumped against your door, unmoving. You thought he was unconscious and had fallen asleep somehow, but when a choked sob sounded past his lips, you figured it wasn’t that simple. You called out his name again, palm pressed against your door, feeling rather helpless, but also too much of a coward to burst straight through your door and face him crying.

“I–I’m sorry, I’m a mess, fuck,” he mumbled, still audible for you to hear and distinguish the pain in his tone, as if every word he said to you was physically tormenting him. “I’m just scared,”

You paused, slightly dumbfounded. “Scared? Of what?”

“Of losing you,” he sounded as if he had given up on trying to hold the truth back, letting his vulnerability take over the lonesome hanging in the cold night air. “I tried so many times, to fix things, to make us … us again, but I think I’m just fucking things up instead,” his hands curled into a fist, resting on your door. “I know I’m selfish for wanting you back, I’m aware that I don’t deserve you … but I can’t let you go,”

You couldn’t let him go either. Despite the initial burning hatred and resentment you had for him and what he did, you realised those feelings gradually dissipated the longer you were with him. All those times where he poured his heart out, revealing the truth and what not, you came to a conclusion at last: you had finally let go of your past grudges. Although it was true that you weren’t as cold as you were to him, you still found yourself having a hard time opening up to him. The trust that was built over the years was broken the moment he left, as for now, time was what you needed.

“Please … please … Y/N,” Sunghoon let out a sob, louder than the last, the alcohol seeping into his system and taking charge. After all these years, Sunghoon remained an emotional drunk. Some things never change, do they? “I won’t ever leave, so please … don’t leave me too,”

A deep sigh left your lips unknowingly, your hand fell from the door knob, suddenly breathless and powerless against yourself. You’ve never seen Sunghoon in such a state, weak and pathetic in contrast to his composed self. The walls you tried so hard to maintain between you and him were crumbling in front of you, before you knew it, you had fallen into a deep hole that you couldn’t crawl out of. There was no turning back, not after you pulled your door open, facing a pair of blood-shot eyes.

Sunghoon didn’t expect you to actually open the door, to witness him in a dishevelled state that was embarrassing to the human eye. Even in his drunken mind, he could remember your every feature that seemed to have engraved itself into his memory. There was a round of silence, you were trying to gouge the situation standing before you while Sunghoon was stunned into quietness.

Thinking straight wasn’t your first option, instead you did something you would only dare to do if you were drunk. You reached out for Sunghoon’s arm, grabbing onto him and pulling him in with every ounce of your strength. He crashed softly onto you, and at a speed faster than he could process, you embraced him into your chest, wrapping your arms around his larger body.

You could feel him freezing into your embrace, the touch that was once so familiar to him needed some time to get used to. It didn’t take long before he melted into you, letting his head fall onto your shoulder and engulfing you closer to him with his arms. The position was oddly intimate, but you didn’t mind it at all. Your hearts were much closer than it had been in years, both physically and mentally. In fact, you hadn’t felt this way in a long time, a specific feeling that only Sunghoon could rekindle.

No words were exchanged, but you understood much more than before. Sunghoon’s arms tightened around you, scared that you were a figment of his imagination, that you were going to leave just as he had feared. Your hand reached for his head that rested on your shoulder, slowly and carefully making the initial move to stroke his hair.

“I’m not leaving, Sunghoon,” you whispered, hoping that he was sober enough to process your words and take it into account. “I’ll always be here,” you paused, blinking away a sudden wave of tears that threatened to fall out of nowhere. “Just … just don’t leave me, you jerk,”

He removed his head from the crook of your neck, pulling away ever so slightly, just enough to face you, barely minding the small gap between you and him. “I promise, I promise I won’t ever make the same mistakes. I’ll be by your side for as long as you need,”

His words, though shaky, settled in your chest like a comforting weight. For some reason, he managed to say the right things that caused the past to wither away gradually from your mind. But the reality of the moment hit harder than you expected. You weren't sure what would come next or if you could fully trust him again, but right now, in this fleeting moment, it didn't matter.

Neither of you dared to break eye contact, holding each other tightly, terrified to let go. All of a sudden, those past months where you acted cold to one another seemed to be much further than imagined, as if it never happened. You stared deeply into those saccharine eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was sincerity, mixed with exhaustion and regret. A part of you wanted to pull away, to keep your distance, but you didn’t. For once, you let yourself breathe, let yourself lean into this fragile connection, even if it was built on broken trust.

“I forgive you, Sunghoon,” you started off slowly, cautiously, picking your words one by one. “But, you’ve got a lot to prove, and I don’t know if I can forget everything right away,” you paused, feeling a tightness in your throat, “maybe we can start over. Maybe.”

Sunghoon’s eyes softened, the momentary glaze over his eyes were gone, a telling sign that he was somehow much sober than earlier on. A faint, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’ll prove it to you. Every day, if I have to.”

You nodded slowly, still unsure of everything but knowing one thing for certain: this was not the end. There was too much history, too much love, even in its broken state, for it to end here. You and him couldn’t be friends, not when there was something more than that existed between the two of you.

As cliche as it sounded, you knew fate had a play in hand. There was no denying that life led him back to you. Despite all odds, there you were, holding onto the warmth of his embrace, discarding the questions left to be answered after for a glint of hope. A fragile hope that, perhaps, things could still be fixed, even if they never fully returned to what they once were.

For now, you stayed in his arms, while he couldn’t bear to let you go, waiting for your love to return the way it used to be.

In the next month, with Sunghoon’s book being officially published, the office had turned increasingly busy managing the marketing, promotions, sales and much more. Each department was scrambling to settle the piling work, including the editors, who were thrown into the mix to help out the rest of the team. That meant you were equally busy too.

First, it was the book launching party.

Sunghoon seemed to have a loyal local fanbase, garnering a full house that sat patiently waiting for him. The cheers were indeed loud once he entered the room, his handsome face paired with great writing skills definitely was one way to be favoured by the crowd. He took a seat on the chair situated in the middle of the mini stage.

“I’m grateful that you’re all here to celebrate the launch of my new book. I believe it’s one of the few books I’ve published here since coming back from America,” he paused, eyes flickering, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It’s also a book that I wrote based on my experiences here … ” in a room filled with strangers and staff, he managed to find you in the midst of them, eyes locked onto you and the silence somehow thickened.

He averted his attention back to the crowd, and cleared his throat, his voice was noticeably softer now, as if he was choosing his words carefully. “… I wrote this book with a lot of personal feelings, a lot of things that I’ve been holding onto, and some of those feelings, well…” He let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh before his eyes flickered back to you, the intensity unmistakable despite the crowd around you. “Some of those feelings are about a person who's meant a lot to me. One I might never be able to fully explain how much they’ve impacted me, and sometimes…” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, as if he was hiding something. “… sometimes you just hope they’re listening. Even if they don’t always know it.”

The room was still, the noise from the crowd seemingly muted. It felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you, that the people in the vicinity had disappeared. His words hang in the air with unspoken weight. Sunghoon’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at you, the faintest twitch in his lips betraying the emotion in his tone.

“I guess, in the end,” he continued, lowering his voice just a little more, “it’s the things you can’t say out loud that end up being the most important to you.” He quickly shifted his focus back to the audience, his smile returning, but the brief crack in his composure lingered like a delicate thread between you both. “So, that is why I dedicate this book to my first love,”

The shock didn’t just pass through the crowd of readers, but also in the group of staff standing around you. You were lucky that nobody else noticed his tunnel vision that was trained on solely you. It didn’t need a second thought to know that he was referring to you. Just as you were his first love, he was also yours, it should be a no brainer that the book he wrote about the two of you was dedicated to you.

Sunghoon cracked a smile, breathing out a small laugh to ease the collective shock in the room. “I hope this book resonates with you, for those who experienced an unforgettable romance with your first love and stay up thinking about the endless possibilities. Pour your regrets, sadness and anguish into this book,”

His gaze wandered over the crowd, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking at anyone, he was making an effort not to stray his gaze to your figure. However, old habits are hard to die. His eyes, those familiar eyes, drifted back to you once again, the intensity of his stare never breaking, making the room feel even smaller, forcing you into an imaginary corner.

“Sometimes, the people who mean the most to you… are the ones who leave you with all the things you wish you could’ve said,” Sunghoon continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, but still reaching you as if the words were meant only for your ears. “But I think… I think that’s what keeps the memories alive. It’s not about the things you lost, but the things you never got to say.”

His hand hovered over the microphone for a second, fingers brushing it lightly, and for a brief moment, the faint tremor in his hand betrayed the calm composure he was trying to maintain. The air between you felt charged, an unspoken tension that made it hard to breathe.

“I guess we all have our regrets. But it's how we carry them, how we turn them into something meaningful, that makes all the difference,” he said with a slight shrug, a soft, almost sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His gaze lingered on you for just a heartbeat longer before he shifted his attention back to the audience. It was then you could breathe properly again.

The tension remained in the room, thick and unspoken, as the silence stretched just a bit too long before the next round of applause broke it. His speech was moving, sure, but to you, the meaning behind every word was deeper than what it seemed, following you around throughout the day like some pesky itch.

The event rolled by with questions answered, a short reading session and book signing. You and your team were tasked to run around setting things up, making sure everything was in place so that the event would run smoothly. Thankfully, it did, and your hard work had paid off. Being occupied for most of the time, you momentarily forgot about Sunghoon and what he said, unbeknownst to you, it was sitting in the back of your mind waiting for you.

At the end of the day, you and your colleagues were working hard to clean and put things away, loud laughs and noisy conversations filled the empty venue, replacing the crowd from hours ago. The atmosphere was only heightened when Sunghoon made his presence known, hands carrying multiple bags of take out coffee. “Thanks for the hard work! Here’s some coffee, my treat,” loud hollers followed suit in celebration of free drinks, he bowed to those around him, lending a helping hand to carry the boxes while the drinks were taken from his hands. “I’m having a small party tomorrow night to celebrate the release of the book, and I hope every one of you will be there too. Don’t worry, food and drinks are all prepared,”

The thought of another celebration had pleased your colleagues and brightened the entire mood despite the tiredness. Coffee was passed around just as the job was done. Instead of heading home immediately, everyone chose to stay for a little more to chat and finish their coffee. You, on the other hand, lingered in a corner to arrange the books in a box. In reality, you were mostly using it as an excuse to hide and think. Turns out, Sunghoon’s words never left your head once, and the intensity of his eyes had burned itself into your memory.

It was then you were startled by a tap on your shoulder, basically spinning around to see who it was. Speaking of the devil … Park Sunghoon stood right before you, a cup of coffee in one of his hands, the other retracted in a blink of an eye. Seeing him right after thinking about everything he had said felt like a whiplash, or quite close to a slap to your face.

“Coffee?” he extended the coffee cup towards you, wearing a wry smile.

You accepted his coffee, taking a quick sip to hide the embarrassment from showing on your expressions. “Thanks,” you replied, lowering the cup from your face, swallowing at the unexpected awkwardness that grew between the silence. One glance at him, you met his eyes, the silence suddenly became less uncomfortable, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Hey,”

Sunghoon couldn’t help smiling, being much more transparent with you than yourself. He shook his head, amused. “Hey,”

“Good job today, Author Park Sunghoon,”

“You too, my dear editor,”

The softness in his voice and the genuine smile he had shouldn’t have tugged at your heart strings, but it did, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. The moment you decided to break down the walls and opened your heart to him was when you realised there was no turning back.

“I’m expecting you at my party tomorrow. No backing out,” he continued, pointing a finger sternly at you.

You let out a quiet laugh, mostly at his action, totally unaware of the fact that his eyes wavered for a second, his smile faltering at the realisation that you were laughing, and it was because of him, even if it was merely a giggle. “I’ll be there, don’t you worry,”

Sunghoon cleared his throat, coughing a little to bring himself back to reality. “I can’t wait,” he was casual when saying that, but to you, it only made you wonder what exactly he meant by that.

You bounced on the balls of your foot, hands crossed, waiting for the right time to speak your mind. It seemed the opening to that conversation was there for you. “So … that was a nice opening speech,”

Sunghoon’s eyes slowly turned wider at the realisation, recalling all the things he had said in his speech, wincing—more so cringing—that he had to be reminded of it. He was stalling, holding back and contemplating his next response. “I meant everything I said,” he inhaled sharply, searching your face for any message to decode. “This book … it’s more of a letter to you. The things I wished I said, they’re all in there,”

“I know,” you set the coffee down, your fingers lingering on the warmth of the cup, trying to steady yourself. “Of course I know, I read it all,” you heaved a breath, unable to tell if you were picking your words correctly. “You’ve got a funny way of asking for forgiveness,” you tried to smile, making an effort to lighten the tension.

Sunghoon’s gaze softened, responding with a weak smile, but the attempt was futile once you saw him looking away, suddenly avoiding your gaze. For a moment, you could see the vulnerability and hurt in his eyes. He was no longer the confident, composed man he tried to project during his speech. Instead, he was just… Sunghoon, your Sunghoon. The man who had once meant everything to you, now standing before you, laid bare in a way that you weren’t sure how to respond to.

“It was probably a shit attempt at it, wasn’t it? I couldn’t even face you properly until this book,”

“I mean, it did somehow work, didn’t it?”

Sunghoon’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, finding your response a complete 180 to what he had in mind, a flash of surprise crossing his features before he let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. His shoulders seemed to relax.

“You think so?” he asked, his voice laced with both uncertainty and a hint of hope.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Yeah, I do. To be honest, I was surprised that you wrote about us in the beginning—actually, I was pissed, to be precise—but the more I read, I could tell you were trying to find a way to fix us through the characters. I’m glad you actually did try, and it wasn’t just in writing. That means something to me,”

Sunghoon stared at you for a moment, as if processing your words. He seemed to be searching for something more—more validation, more understanding—but when his gaze softened, he looked away again, as though the vulnerability was too much for him to bear at the moment. There was an unspoken desire for something that you and him shared in that second, a mutual comprehension passed through the air, which was going back to the way it always has been, to stop the awkward, uncomfortable silence and return to the times you were carefree with one another.

“I never wanted to be the guy who hurt you,” he said, his voice low, close to whisper, more so a silent confession in disguise. “I never wanted to be the one to screw things up so badly that I’d lose you. But I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” your answer was blunt, piercing through the stillness. Sunghoon’s gaze snapped back to you, his expression unreadable for a beat before his lips parted, as if to say something in response. But he paused, swallowing the words. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. You studied him for a split second, carefully reaching out and placing a hand lightly on his arm, a small gesture of reassurance. “But I thought we’d agree on putting it in the past, to start afresh,”

Sunghoon’s eyes softened as your hand touched his arm, the familiarity of your touch brought a sense of assurance to him, easing the tension that had built between the two of you. “You’re right. What matters most is right now, and the future,” he placed his hand on yours, a gentle smile gracing his features. “I’m just happy,”

You raised your eyebrows in question, head tilted slightly at his random outburst. “About what?”

“That we’re … us again, even if it’s not fully,”

A breath of sigh escaped your lips, a faint smile rested on your face, eyes sparkling just the slightest under the bright lights. “Took us a while, but at least we're here,”

Sunghoon nodded, his fingers brushing against yours, the intensity of his gaze was unwavering. There was a lingering spark straying in the air between you and him, the entirety of this—him being so close to you, basically holding your hand—was far from casual. If anything, it was hard to ignore the sound of your heart beating hard in your chest, or that tingling sensation up your spine.

“H–hey, this coffee’s pretty good,” you slipped your hand away from his touch, turning your head to the other side so that he wouldn’t see you panicking. Heat crept up on the back of your neck, spreading to your cheeks, painting you a blushing mess. It was a curse to be too aware of what’s happening to you. “So, tomorrow’s party. What time does it start?”

“Seven,” Sunghoon replied simply, squinting his eyes at you, noticing your change in behaviour. He got closer to you, leaning in to scrutinise your face, unaware of the gap barely existing between you and him. “Are you okay—”

“Great! Fantastic, actually,” you breathed out, forcing out a laugh to cover the fact that you were far from just ‘okay’. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? I need to finish some stuff and head home. Great job today,”

“You don’t seem that great—” Sunghoon stood firmly with his deduction, only to be met with your dismissiveness. Unlike you, he was blissfully oblivious to the effect his insignificant actions had on you, and that it wasn’t just a friendly interaction between two ‘friends’.

“I’ll get going now, bye!” you held tightly onto your coffee, waving at him with a tight lipped smile.

“Bye?” That was the last thing you heard before slipping into a storage room, the confusion in his voice still ringing in your ears. You left a very dumbfounded Sunghoon stranded, all to find yourself breathless after the whole conversation that seemed to have sucked out every bit of your social energy.

The realisation has finally hit you and was slowly sinking in. This was the first time you felt your heart racing again after years, the type where you get giddy and nervous over a small interaction till the point it becomes hard to breathe. That was what Sunghoon did to you, your first love, your first heartbreak, and the first to mend your broken heart once more.

Just as quick as your hatred grew over the years, the feelings you had for him were equally fast in returning back, the same feeling that never once left, staying stubbornly rooted, waiting for you to discover it again.

You would admit, Sunghoon did pick a perfect place to have his private party. That wasn’t the point though. The focus was mainly on the restaurant being the favourite restaurant that you and Sunghoon would go to in your high school years. This time around, you had access to the bar unlike before, which seemed to be forever ago. That showed how long you’ve been avoiding places which reminded you of him, something you wouldn’t admit to.

The place was the same as you remembered, the dim lighting accompanied by jazz music playing in the background, the entire venue provided an ambiance that proved to be the reason why you loved it there in the first place. It was hard to deny that you were feeling nostalgic the moment you stepped in, bringing back many memories whether you liked it or not.

On the way to the private room, you walked past the spot that you and him claimed, a table by a large window. The memory of you dragging Sunghoon here every weekend, hogging the spot by the window, ordering a set meal to share came rushing into your mind. Mixed emotions bubbled in the depths of your heart, secretly longing for those great old days to return even if you knew it was impossible. However, it was possible to start something new now that you weren’t on bad terms with him, and that was how you remained hopeful.

You were brought back to reality once you realised you had stopped in your tracks, staring blankly at the empty table, reminiscing about your past like an idiot. Embarrassed, you rushed away and found the private room while cringing without a pause, finally feeling more relieved when you saw your friends and colleagues.

“Hey!” Yunjin wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a low effort side hug to which you reciprocated. The mood in this room was similar to the outside. The same dim lighting complimented by a soft background music, trays of food already prepared, catered by the restaurant itself. There was a banner hung

“Look who’s here, our dear editor,” her attempt to hype you up was responded with cheers from the group, earning an exasperated eye roll from you. “Enjoy this party, okay? You’ve worked hard,”

You had indeed worked hard for this book. Having to put up with the realisation that it was written about you, then needing to deal with your ex in the whole process of it, you surely deserved a Pulitzer prize just for your efforts. You simply nodded at her words, knowing that nobody here would ever find out about the truth behind the story in Sunghoon’s book and the experience you went through because of it.

“I’m going to go grab a drink, excuse me,” you smiled politely at the rest of them, then carefully escaped from the circle of your colleagues and out of the door, releasing a breath of relief that you didn’t know you were holding in. Walking out into the open space of the restaurant, it was much busier and larger than you recalled it to be.

You settled yourself into a stool, glancing around and seeing most of the seats were occupied mainly in pairs. Were you the only one alone here? More reasons to be drinking. Being completely lost in thought and spacing out at the bartender making drinks for the customers prior to you, you didn’t notice a figure slipping into the seat next to you, sneaking a glance at you and proceeding to follow your line of sight.

“They’re a bit busy, aren’t they?”

You didn’t even flinch at the sudden intrusion, already knowing who it was without needing a second guess. Turning your body to face the person next to you, you stared at him with a deadpan expression, completely unfazed. “Hey,” Sunghoon greeted you softly, smiling sweetly at you, as if your presence had graced him, disregarding the pointed look you shot at him.

“I didn’t see you just now,”

Sunghoon pursed his lips, resting both his arms on the counter, leaning into it, shying away from your gaze for unknown reasons. “I was walking around here,”

“Leaving your own party?”

A snort came from him in response, the corners of his lips were pulled higher than a second ago. He was amused, shaking his head at you. “I came here to relive the same feeling I had years ago,” a second of silence passed, as if he was letting his words sink further into the open wound. “The same feeling I have whenever I’m with you,”

You couldn’t tell if your heart skipping a beat was a normal reaction or whether it should be one. However, one thing’s for sure, it wasn’t something that occurred to you on a daily basis. There was a hint of unspoken yearning buried deep in those pupils of his, the additional mention of the past only brought a shift in atmosphere around the two of you. “I walked past our table,”

You were unconsciously holding your breath in, waiting for his reaction, unknowingly looking forward to what he has to say. He didn’t respond immediately, seemingly deep in thought at that fleeting moment, an unreadable smile on his face. “So did I,” he shifted in his seat, adjusting to his comfort, his body was now facing towards you more. “It’s still the same as before,”

“I remember those times we were here,” you said slowly, tip-toeing on the edge, testing the waters to make sure it was safe enough for you to dive into the topic. “I would drag you here so many times till the point where it became our go-to dating spot. You didn’t even try to fight me about it and accepted it,” you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at the mention of those fond moments, letting a genuine, wide smile naturally creep itself onto your lips.

Sunghoon never once took his eyes off of you, scared that even if he blinked for just a second, he would miss the look of your smile, the carefree smile that you allowed yourself to express around him unlike before. His attention squared in on you, memorising every part of you like life depended on him to do so. “I remember,” he nodded mostly to himself, pressing his lips in a flat line. “I knew I stood no chance anyway,” he laughed, resisting the urge to fully burst out laughing at the change in your reaction.

You crossed your arms, scoffing, but still remained a lighthearted smile. “Hey! You’re saying it like I forced you,”

Sunghoon shrugged, choosing to rest his head on his hand, the look in his eyes were unwavering, making you gradually turn smaller under his gaze. You couldn’t describe it, yet you knew it was there, existing in the air. There was something between you and him in that second, in that conversation, and it was far from being just a casual talk. “I just wanted to be wherever you were,”

His words hung heavily in the space between the two of you, almost uncomfortably so, adding another layer to the thick tension that seemed impossible to get rid of. It shouldn’t hit you hard, the simplicity of his words shouldn’t be something you interpreted differently, but the only thing it did was sink deeply into your skin, prickling you just the same as needles did.

He searched your face for any sign of a response, whatever it could be, but you failed to react, both physically and verbally. Your mind betrayed your senses, rendering you helpless against Sunghoon, against your fragile heart. There was desperation painted in the edges of every feature, calling out for you to give him a sign, any sign, to assure him that he hadn’t crossed any invisible line.

You opened your mouth, wishing you had a proper response ready, but in reality, you had no idea what you could say to him. He was the same person you were with in this restaurant many years ago, yet it only seemed you were sitting with someone you could barely breathe around. You realised it then, a picture clear as light, that no matter how you tried to start afresh with him, you couldn't brush off your past together, not when deep connections and feelings were still present.

“Excuse me, what would you two like to order?”

Your attempt at trying to say something was futile. A part of you was glad that you were interrupted by the bartender, the other part just wished you had the courage to reply to him instead of freezing and cowering whenever he makes your heart jump. The bartender’s appearance was the only chance you had in breaking eye contact with Sunghoon, diffusing the heavy load pressing in on you, releasing a shaky breath.

“One cosmopolitan and one scotch on the rocks,” Sunghoon stole a glance at you, noticing your expressions falling, deciding to take the initiative to order on your behalf. He casted another look at you, seeking approval to which you nodded in validation, mind already wandered off to someplace else. That wasn’t what surprised you, in fact, it was him knowing your usual drink order despite barely drinking together.

The bartender wasted no seconds in getting to work, leaving you and him alone once again to bask in the aftermath of the conversation. There was a moment of silence weighing on the both of you, waiting for either one to break it. You chose to be that person, wanting to fix the cracks you caused for turning everything into an uncomfortable mess.

“How … How did you know? My order, I mean,”

Sunghoon shrugged, leaning his weight onto the counter, keeping both his arms resting on the surface of it. He remained facing forward, not immediate in turning back to look at you. “The team dinner. You ordered a cocktail, and Yunjin said ‘again?’, then I heard you saying it’s your usual order,” he stated plainly, as if it was common information that everyone should know. “You’ve always drunk the mocktail version of it when we were together too. How could I forget …” his voice faltered, fading into the faint chatters around you.

“Right,” you breathed out, fiddling with your fingers, keeping your gaze on him, even if he wasn’t ready to meet yours. “You …” you stopped, the words were suddenly stuck in the back of your throat, hesitating to come out. “You still remember everything about me, even after all these years apart,”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first, waiting for a few seconds to pass slowly, agonisingly, silently suffering in his head while you couldn’t find a way into it. He dropped his head, breathing in deeply to fill his lungs with air, ignoring the way his heart clenched. He finally turned his head, meeting your eyes that were begging for a reply. A weak, half smile was all he could muster. “Of course I do,”

I still love you.

Those words automatically translated themselves into your head. The same sorrow, grief, and even longing hung in his voice, cutting deep into your heart. You stared at him, recalling the last time you were here with him, innocently thinking that everything would last in the future. If only you could turn back in time to tell yourself that you would be sitting with him in uncomfortable silence instead, looking at each other for some sort of a sign that never worked.

“Here are your drinks,” the bartender cut in, placing your drinks down in front of you, the pink of your cocktail shined under the lights hanging over your head. You and Sunghoon both expressed your thanks in return, hands reaching out for your drinks and wasting no time to take a big gulp of them.

Setting your glass down, you stole another glance at Sunghoon, watching his face scrunching up at the strong taste of his whiskey, a quiet hiss followed after. You never knew Sunghoon would be a guy who likes whiskey, it was something you couldn’t picture. It only made you wonder what else you did not know about him, what he grew to like or hate over the years, or if he was still fully the Sunghoon that you personally knew.

“So, how were your years in America?”

Sunghoon pulled a face, both a reaction to your random question and also a response signalling that it wasn’t a positive experience. He sighed, using one finger to trace the mouth of his glass. “Lonely, I guess?” He wore a smile that was enough to tell that there weren’t many happy memories regarding his years abroad. “Truthfully, I never really connected to the people, the culture and the country. I figured my heart was still stuck here,”

You nodded, absorbing his emotions like a sponge, feeling a tinge of sympathy for him. Those years of cursing him and holding a severe grudge against him, you’d never once thought that he was hurting too, that he had to go through something he didn’t want in the first place. The resentment was built up from the lack of knowing and misunderstanding. Years, valuable years were wasted over being kept in the dark. “I wonder how things would’ve turned out if you never left,”

Sunghoon partially stiffened, not expecting the topic of possibilities to be thrown into his face, a sensitive subject that he often mulled over about. “It would’ve been different. For starters, we wouldn’t be here talking about what-ifs,” he laughed, though it was weak. “I couldn’t settle down. It was hard, knowing that I left many people I care about here,” there it was again, a pause that made you hold your breath, counting down seconds till his next word. “And that I left you too,”

You offered a brief smile, one that fell just as quick as it appeared, finding yourself having no energy to try and fake one. The hurt in your eyes mirrored his, the difference lied with the reason behind it. “What matters most is that we’re both here now, right?” your hand unintentionally crept closer to his, twitching in wishful thinking that you could just hold him, even for a second.

“You’re right,” he hummed in agreement, the look of affection flashed across his expression for a quick second, just in time for you to be totally oblivious to it. “At our favourite spot too,”

“Well, cheers to that.” you held up your drink, staring expectantly at him. He chuckled at your actions, finding it rather amusing. A genuine smile pulled at his lips, he held his glass up, clinking it with yours to produce a short-lived sound. Shared laughter poured from the two of you, mixing into the taste of your drinks, the unbearable atmosphere from earlier on was long forgotten.

The night was young as everyone would say, just like your coworkers who yelled for more drinks once you and Sunghoon returned. Nobody questioned it, neither did they notice you and him disappearing for a strangely long time. You were certain, no one else could sense the lingering yearning you grew to have after your drinking session with him, or the way you stared at him from across the room for longer than a second, minutes even.

Everyone was oblivious, too engrossed in the luxury of partying to take a hint, while you and Sunghoon were overly aware of each other and the burning ache you had for one another.

Sunghoon has been officially reintroduced back into your life as days go by. Before you knew it, he had imprinted himself onto your day-to-day life, returning to the times where his presence alone was a norm to you. You didn’t question it when he picked you up from work, called you out for lunch or even dropped by your house for a casual dinner. None of those seemed out of the ordinary to you anymore, though it did take months for you to get used to the dynamic.

“So, what are you writing nowadays?” It was another Friday evening in Sunghoon’s car, sitting in the passenger seat after work, contemplating your choices for dinner. You looked over at him, watching him maintaining his concentration on the road ahead, taking more than a minute to process your question.

He raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips, thinking of his response. “I haven’t been writing. Well, not yet,”

“No wonder you have so much time to pick me up for dinner,” you snarkily muttered, feeling his eyes roll without having to confirm it personally.

“Is this your way of thanking me?”

“I’m very grateful for my personal driver, Park Sunghoon,” you said dryly, poking his shoulder teasingly, stifling your giggles. Sunghoon took a brief glance at you, but he said nothing in return, shaking his head and smiling to himself. “Where are we going now? It’s a bit too early for dinner,”

“It’s a place I’ve been wanting to go for a long time,”

You frowned, confused at the lack of information and vagueness behind his reply. “What?”

“It’s a botanical garden. I heard the flowers are blooming,”

The confusion in your face didn’t entirely dissipate, only increasing at the fact that he had a whole plan to bring you to a garden in the first place. This was completely out of character for him, you didn’t recall him being someone who liked gardens or nature. “Are you … stressed?”

“Why’s that your first assumption? I’ve just been doing some thinking, that’s all,” his fingers drummed slowly on the steering wheel, the music in the background seemed to be drowned out the longer your conversation went on. “I’m fine,” he turned to cast a reassuring smile, a sign asking for you to trust him and move on from the topic. “I was thinking we could get some fresh air and a nice scenery,”

“You sure do have many things up your sleeve.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything in response, merely shrugging with a silent smile on his face. You glanced out of the window, letting the music overtake the space between you and him, watching the evening sun slowly set now that it was spring. Thinking back to last spring, everything you were experiencing currently was a complete one-eighty to then, you wouldn’t even be sitting with Sunghoon in his car at that time.

The chilly air bit at your skin, the only warmth provided was from Sunghoon as he walked closely next to you, shoulders occasionally bumping each other, but neither of you dared to acknowledge it. Even with the sun hiding behind the horizon and sunlight was scarce, the flowers in bloom were as beautiful as you had in mind.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” you kept your eyes trained on the flowers and plants you walked past, not sparing a glance at him. You were afraid that if you did, that if you met his gaze for just a second, you might not be able to contain some hidden emotions that you’ve been trying so hard to hold back.

“What’s with the sudden gratitude?”

“No idea, I’m just grateful that you bring me to places that I thought I’ll never go to,” you stopped in your tracks, right by a small land planted with tulips of different colours. “I get to experience new things with you all the time,” you turned to face him, a genuine smile accompanied by your sparkling eyes was enough for his heart to swell in satisfaction, though he did not let it show on his expressions.

“I’m glad then,” he hummed, staring at the tulips with newfound interest, unfazed by your lingering eyes at him. “They’re really pretty,” he nodded at the flowers, the variation of colours were dimmed down by the dark, but it happened to be oddly more fascinating under the street light.

“Yeah, they are,” You wished, at that moment, in that split second, that you could tear your eyes off of him. He was just as delicate as those tulips, the prettiest you’ve ever seen. Spellbound, that was what you were. Your heart was only increasing in speed, inconsistently skipping a beat at the thought of him. How long were you and him going to stay in this state where the lines between being friends and lovers were blurred?

He seemed to sense the energy coming off of you, or maybe it was your unwavering gaze that pierced into his soul. Turning his face, he met your eyes at the right moment, an electric wave passing through the air around you. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Freezing like a deer in headlights, you realised he had caught you in the middle of the act. You were shameless, but thoroughly embarrassed, feigning ignorance that he could possibly see through. “Huh? Like w–what?”

“I don’t know,” he was relentless, even if he didn’t say it, you could feel his stare on you, pressing you to fess up. Classic Sunghoon, he knew what he was doing and he enjoyed teasing you, the grin on his face was clear evidence.

“It’s just because—” you paused, fighting inner thoughts to come up with an excuse. Seeing the smug look on his face while he stared expectantly at you for your answer was close enough to induce an annoyed eye roll in you that you managed to hold back. “I’m cold,”

Sunghoon tilted his head to one side, making a face that sent a clear message: he wasn’t fully convinced. Nevertheless, he didn’t sound it out, wordlessly peeling the scarf off his neck, then proceeded to wrap it around yours. An action as simple as this shouldn’t have caused you to freeze, automatically holding your breath until it ended, but it did.

“Why didn’t you bring an extra layer? You don’t do well with the cold anyway,” he focused on fixing the scarf properly before averting his eyes back to you, to meet yours, a hint of sincere worry along with disapproval in them. A gust of wind that came after brushing against the strands of his hair softly, the mole on his nose resembled a lone star in the sky.

“You’d be cold too,” your hand flew to the scarf, mindlessly touching it, as if you were still in disbelief that he had personally put it on you.

“I’ll be fine,” he waved your concerns away, shifting on his feet. “How about we get out of here and have dinner?” he threw an arm around your shoulder, an action so natural as if it was a muscle memory, slowly moving you away from the flowers and back onto the walking path.

“Sounds good.” All you remembered from that moment on was an awakened feeling which made its presence loud and known, staying with you for longer than you thought: love. It was quietly creeping up on you and waiting for its turn to get into action. The urge was becoming stronger as time passed. With Sunghoon’s being there in your daily life, you could barely avoid him, holding back was just a torture.

The torment was becoming worse when he sent you home that night, relentlessly denying your rejection in walking you to your door till the point where you had to give up for the sake of avoiding an argument. He was stubborn, adamant that he was going to see you safely go. Sunghoon was making it harder for you to escape his grasp, even though he was completely unaware of your internal turmoil that struggled to come to terms with your actual feelings.

“Thanks for walking me back. You didn’t have to, genuinely,” you were at your doorstep. It was already late, the corridor was empty, leaving you and Sunghoon to some privacy. He shrugged, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.

“I want to, Y/N,” he said earnestly, shaking his head at you, occasionally averting his gaze away. “Let me do this for you, okay?”

“I don’t want to trouble you,”

“How is it troubling to me when I never once complained,” he raised an eyebrow at you, trying his best to get his point across. You knew he was right, there was no chance for you to fight that. After all, he was the one insisting. It was you that wasn’t used to his act of service, though it’s been the same since you first knew him.

“Fine. You win,” you scoffed, yet your smile betrayed the annoyance in your voice. The staring game you had with him lasted longer than it should have. You could point out every delicate feature of his that you liked from the top of your head with the way his face was basically imprinted on your mind. That was when you realised his scarf was still wrapped around your neck, giving you an excuse to look away from him. “Oh, I just remembered,”

You grabbed onto the scarf, pulling it off of you in a swift motion, but instead of giving it back to him immediately, you took a step forward, closing the distance between you and him. Sunghoon didn’t move, barely budging one bit, his eyes following your every move like a hawk, breathing turning more shallow as seconds passed, anticipating your next move.

You ignored the sound of your heart pumping noisily in your ears, trying your hardest to avoid his gaze, focusing on the scarf alone, moving your hands quickly to wrap his scarf around his neck, making a loop to secure it tightly on him. Even then, you didn’t dare to look at him, choosing to turn your head towards the empty corridor. “Your … scarf,” you didn't remove your hand from the cloth that was properly placed around his neck right away, another additional layer creating a barrier to his heart.

“Thanks,” Sunghoon said slowly, his eyes searching fervently for yours, only to be avoided at every given chance. He could feel the heaviness weighing in the air, an invisible string tied around the two of you was getting tighter, pulling you closer to him. A chill ran up your spine when you felt his stare intensifying, as if he was desperately calling for you to stop avoiding his eyes. “Hey,” he whispered, drawing your attention back to him. “Look at me,”

His words were a powerful command despite his gentle tone, convincing you to follow without a second thought. You met his eyes, blinking faster as if it could magically make him disappear. Those brown irises stared back at you with furrowed eyebrows, wandering every crevice of your face until he could find the reason behind your avoidance. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I really am,” you assured him, attempting to sound as believable as you could, adding a smile to the equation so that he wouldn’t question you further. It was true, you were flustered simply because of him, and no, you didn’t want him to know, but it was hard for you to hide. “I should go, shouldn’t I?” you were about to drop your hand from his scarf, but his hand appeared, grabbing onto yours, holding it close to his heart.

“Stay. Just a little longer,” his voice was low, a quiet confession escaping his lips no matter how he tried to hold it in.

A genuine smile replaced the one you forced earlier, pulling the slightest chuckle out of you. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow anyway,”

“But it’s different tonight,”

So, you weren’t overthinking all along. There was truly something in the air at that moment, undeniable and alive, forcing you and him to acknowledge it even if you didn’t want to. From the second you stepped onto that garden with him, you knew you were in deep trouble. Those feelings you suppressed for months, denying their truth, had only returned to bite back at you. It was then you rightfully realised it: you still had feelings for Sunghoon. You still loved him, but you were scared, terrified that you had missed your chance considering months had passed.

You decided to do something that you could never imagine yourself doing in a million years. Taking advantage of the situation along with the momentary silence, you leaned in, inching your face closer to his, letting everything occur naturally. Sunghoon has always been sharp, quick to get the memo, this was another testament to that fact. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head, bending his body just enough for you to reach him without any challenge.

This was it. You were about to kiss Park Sunghoon. The months worth of built up tension, silent cries of desperation, a hidden confession you couldn’t bring yourself to say, all of those were going to be melted into this kiss. A kiss that wasn’t as simple as it seemed to be. Instead, it was a promise, a seal to an end to the push and pull that the two of you were stuck in. Just a little bit more, you could practically feel his lips—

“Y/N! What are you doing out there?” the voice of your roommate, Minjeong came from behind the door. Unexpectedly so, the door was ripped open after, your soon-to-be-evicted roommate was standing there, hand on one side of her hip, staring accusingly at you and Sunghoon as though you were guilty of a crime.

You pushed yourself from Sunghoon, slipping your hand from his, almost choking on your spit from how fast you tried to remove any remnants of the ‘almost kiss’. The suspicions were only more obvious, but you couldn’t be bothered to care about that, thoroughly embarrassed and cringing on Sunghoon’s behalf. Being caught by a roommate wasn’t a bad thing, unless that roommate happened to be Minjeong, your best friend that cussed your ex out, and also listened to your endless rants about him. Now, that was the problem.

“Minjeong, hey,” your tone was the complete opposite to your eyes that were furiously shooting daggers at her. “This isn’t the right time to appear,” you mumbled quietly to her, nodding over at Sunghoon without being too obvious. Disappointment with a pinch of confusion was what you could describe her expression at that precise moment, withholding any judgements that were saved for later. “I’ll come in after I say my goodbyes, okay?”

Minjeong had no other choice but to close the door even though it was written all over her face that she was against the idea of leaving you alone with Sunghoon. Once you heard the door closing behind you, that was only when you let out a sigh of relief. Facing Sunghoon again made you wish a massive black hole would appear to swallow you up. He, on the other hand, was smiling at you. Whether it was out of awkwardness or he was just secretly laughing at you, there was no telling which one it was.

“Sorry about that. She has really … bad timings,” you bit the insides of your cheek, fiddling with your fingers anxiously. Kissing him meant no return, but a close call of a kiss was far worse when you could barely explain yourself.

“It’s nothing. She’s probably worried about you,” Sunghoon shook his head, offering an assuring smile that did nothing to soothe your anxiousness. Well, there was your attempt at going for a kiss that ended up in a ditch. “Don’t worry about it,” his eyes flickered between your fidgeting hands and your face, noticing the change in your expressions. He reached for your hands, holding them tightly in his. It was sudden, but not too surprising. “I know,”

You looked up at him, a glint of hope sparked in your eyes, your heart picking up speed, threatening to escape your chest. He … knew? Sunghoon was unwavering, a look of determination flashing across his features. “I know,” he repeated, doing everything he could to ease your worries. Even with the lack of explanations, you understood him, needing no more than that to know he has been aware of you and your heart all along. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

“Alright,” you squeezed his hands, a way of thanking him and also for a seek of reassurance. “Let’s leave this for a proper time,”

Sunghoon nodded, rubbing his thumb softly against your skin. “It’s getting late. You should get going. I think Minjeong is too protective over you,”

You scoffed, the thought of your roommate only haunted you with those new memories. “She just needs some time,” you were referring to the time at the bar where she nearly skinned Sunghoon alive if you hadn’t interfered at the right moment. Who knew what she would’ve done with her out of her mind? “Anyway, goodnight. Text me when you’re home.”

“I will. Goodnight, Y/N.”

Minjeong was relentless, practically hunting you down for every single information possible once you entered your supposedly safe home. She was still mildly unconvinced about Sunghoon even though she was willing to hear you out, worried he might break your heart once more. Instead, you were convinced you were the one breaking your own heart from holding back longer.

There were many things you were scared about when it came to starting a relationship once more, fearing the existing uncertainties and doubts hidden behind the curtains to stand in the way of you and Sunghoon. However, there was one thing you were wholeheartedly certain about, and that was you loving Sunghoon in every stage of life.

You were a mess.

Ever since that night, you were sure you had left many things hanging and unsaid. The kiss that was meant to happen turned into dust right before you, making the complications between you and Sunghoon worse than it originally was. Not to mention, you haven't seen Sunghoon since then either. The promise of seeing each other the next day went into the gutters when the two of you were coincidentally roped into matters from your jobs. It didn’t stop there. Your busy lives resulted in days of not seeing each other, taking a turn from your usual routine.

Truthfully, there were times where you wanted to pour your heart out over a text message. The overwhelming thoughts you had accumulated in the days you and him were apart was eating you alive. ‘Hey … I think I like you’ surely, a message such as that wasn’t going to suffice. You were stuck in a limbo, going back and forth between having the confidence of confessing to none. In a nutshell, you were petrified out of your mind to face your fear: coming to terms with your feelings.

Tossing and turning in bed has become a habit when the worries seem to pile up with time. You still had the last message of Sunghoon stuck in your mind as you lay awake, considering the meanings behind it that you were convinced you were overthinking about. ‘Let’s meet tomorrow, no more excuses this time, it’s a must’ since when did he turn into such a clingy person? Or was there some ulterior motives hiding up his sleeves this time around?

You slipped out of bed, pulled a hoodie over your head and headed straight for the front door. It was an impulsive decision to be leaving the comforts of your home in the middle of the night, you knew that, but you also needed some fresh air to think. Your feet brought you to a spot you’ve neglected for a long time, the overhead bridge close to your home. It has been years since you last crossed it, either choosing the long way to walk or drive just so you could avoid the memories resurfacing.

The overhead bridge was the place you would often cross to head home when you were in highschool. Coincidentally, you and Sunghoon were connected by that bridge. He lived on the other side of it, creating many excuses that walking home with you was on his way home as well, knowing it was the complete opposite, but eventually you gave in, which ended in you and him going on many adventures after school. At the end of every day, your time with him ended on that overhead bridge, though you spent at least half an hour purely talking before going your separate ways.

Now that you were there again, you found it much surreal that years have passed and nothing has changed. It was as if the memories you made there with Sunghoon were frozen in time, that this place has become an artifact which proves the existence of you and Sunghoon’s relationship. Just by standing there, you could see every scenario you experienced playing out right in front you. There was once where you and Sunghoon did nothing but just share your secrets until the time of your curfew arrived.

“You’re here?”

You wondered if you had accidentally thought about Sunghoon too hard to the extent of you vividly hearing his voice in your head. Overlooking the quiet cars passing by on the road under the bridge, you didn’t turn your head immediately, listening carefully to the sounds of footsteps approaching first, only then you dared to look over to the direction of the source.

“You’re here too,” your eyes weren’t tricking you, even though you doubted yourself for a second. His figure in the dark was dimly illuminated by the street lights, the familiar rhythm in his steps exposed himself to you. He stood beside you, resting his arms on the railings, staring up at the night sky.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replied, shoulder brushing gently against yours, mindlessly leaning closer to you. “I thought of coming here. I live near my old home anyway,” he shrugged, averting his attention back to you, an intensely inquisitive look flashing across his face. “What’s your reason?”

“I needed to think,” about you, about us, specifically.

“Something’s keeping you up?”

“Well …”

“Or is it someone?”

He surely knew how to read minds, didn’t he?

You masked the initial shock from showing, covering the guilt of hiding the truth and turning it into impassiveness. However, your silence with the addition of avoiding his gaze gave away the impression that you were, in fact, hiding something from him. He could read you like a book, painfully so.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Sunghoon continued to egg you on, crossing his arms, moving his face closer to fix his eyes on you, scanning your expressions to determine an answer. “Is it someone at work causing trouble?”

“Not exactly. There’s no one, Sunghoon. I’m just worried about work,” you waved him off dismissively, hating that the person you had in mind happened to be the same person questioning you as well. Sunghoon leaned back a little more, creating a small space between you and him compared to earlier.

“You’re not seeing anyone?”

You raised an eyebrow at that, frowning just the slightest. “No. Are you?”

He shook his head, exhaling quietly. “I don’t think I’m interested,”

“What does that mean? You’re going to stay single forever?” you teased him, nudging him a little, yet internally, you contemplated the meaning behind his words. Did you truly lose your chance?

“It means, I’m not looking for anything now. Well, at least I haven’t found the right person anyway,” he shook his head, sounding equally dismissive as you did. “How … Why did you think of coming here out of all places? I thought there’s a nice park below your apartment complex,” he was quick to change the topic at hand, although you found it odd, you didn’t complain. You didn’t want to know more when your heart was already fragile because of your worries over him.

“I thought it’d be nice to revisit an old place,” you breathed in deeply, appreciating the quietness of the night, leaving you and Sunghoon in your own bubble, the world seemingly revolving around only the both of you. “I haven’t been here in many years,”

“So, did coming here after all these years somehow cleared your mind?”

“Not exactly,” you were being completely truthful this time. With Sunghoon’s sudden appearance and the resurgence of old memories, you were far from sane and having your mind straight. However, him showing up right at the moment of you thinking about him was a sign and also a confirmation to your everlasting questions. “But I did find an answer,”

“Oh, really? That’s good then,” Sunghoon glanced away, unaware of your eyes lingering on him, focusing on the way his chest moved up then down, letting the comfortable silence engulf you and him. You didn’t mind the fact that his side was basically pressing into yours, the warmth from his body provided an invisible blanket wrapped around you. The sudden sound of a yawn coming from him disrupted the ambiance, his sheepish grin met your amused chuckle.

“Ready to sleep?”

“Seems like it,” he let out a genuine laugh, looking a little apologetic. Sunghoon rested his head on his arms, glancing up at you, a soft twinkle in those eyes as if you were his world, cradling you in the reflection of his pupils so that you wouldn’t leave his sight for even just a second. “I’m not ready to leave yet,”

“We’ll see each other tomorrow anyway, you demanded it,” you pointed a finger at him, watching his smile turn wider at your direct call out. “Do you have something planned?”

“Of course, I do. Who do you think I am?” he was confident in whatever he had in mind, the smugness in his face said it all. You could see it wearing off in just a split second, letting a slip of his actual emotions. “I thought it could make up for the days we didn’t see each other,”

You blinked mindlessly, allowing the meaning of his words to marinate in your mind, processing the weight of it all. Flickering eyes stared back at him, you put on a nervous smile that was trying its best to hide the fact that you were panicking about the urge to say something you wouldn’t. “You’re acting like we’re something,”

Sunghoon shrugged, raising his eyebrows at you, not showing much of a change in his expressions. “But we’re not exactly nothing, aren’t we?”

“Touche,” you nodded, suddenly grateful that it was mostly dark enough to hide the flush in your face. “Get your beauty sleep tonight, I’ll see you in the morning. It’s the weekend, you should be sleeping in,”

Sunghoon straightened his spine, holding onto the railings, shifting on his feet. “Fine, fine,” he was rather reluctant, doing double takes between the night scenery before him and you, his eternal sunshine. “So, I guess this is a goodbye for the night,” he tilted his head slightly, staring at you with a sense of hesitation, as though he wasn’t ready to part.

“It’s a temporary goodbye, don’t be dramatic,” you clicked your tongue, narrowing your eyes at him.

Sunghoon laughed softly, mostly humoured by your reaction. He lowered his gaze onto the floor for a few seconds, hiding the affection that filled his irises, before he met your eyes once more, an unreadable look took over instead. “Goodnight, Y/N,”

You smiled, a sudden wave of deja vu hit you, the memory of your past coming back to you in a rush. There you were, at the same place, together with the person that was there by your side years ago, an identical replay of your nightly routine where you bid each other goodbye before parting ways.

“Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon slowly nodded, taking a few steps back, his eyes never leaving you once. He raised his hand, waving goodbye, to which you reciprocated, an uneasy feeling creeping up on you knowing you had yet left things incomplete, the things you wished you said were buried in your heart again. The moment he turned his back on you, you wondered if you had missed your chance of saying what’s on your mind.

From wanting to settle your emotions quietly, and very much alone somehow turned into an answer that was always there for you to discover and realise: you were not going to let Sunghoon slip away again. You opened your mouth, hoping something, anything would just come out and pull him back, but there was nothing. He was getting farther, with every step he took, you followed, your feet instinctively bringing you closer to him, your heart naturally seeking for him.

“I love you,”

The eight letter word poured out from the deepest parts of your soul, reaching his heart through a single thread connecting you and him together. It wasn’t the first thing you had in mind, and yet, your heart confessed the secret it's been holding onto for far too long. You stopped in your tracks just as Sunghoon did, the silence becoming deafening when neither of you said anything in response. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, hell, his face wasn’t even facing you. There was only room for you to imagine his reaction in that fleeting moment.

“I love you,” you repeated, a little more louder this time, as if saying it once wasn’t convincing enough. In your case, you were still in denial that it ever left your lips. Lowering your head, you could only place your attention on the ground, not having enough courage to face him. “I thought that if I don’t say it now, I’ll never get to say it again. I’ve been thinking about us, and I didn’t want to lose another chance, another year without you. I was scared I’ll lose you completely, that your heart would be someone else’s—”

Heavy footsteps cut through your voice, a sense of urgency followed with every step taken to get to you. You couldn’t finish your sentence, mind instantly turning blank when you saw his shoes directly in front of you. Still, you didn’t look up, you couldn’t bring yourself to, not until Sunghoon’s hands met the side of your face, palms resting gently on your cheeks, tilting your head upward, lips crashing into yours without any prior warning.

The initial shock gradually withered away, you closed your eyes, letting yourself melt into him. The walls were no longer there, you had fully, wholly given your heart to him, no longer afraid of him breaking it again. The feeling of his lips wasn’t something you’d forget easily. An overwhelming amount of desperation, longing, and love that the both of you had were silently exchanged, the vulnerability was raw, finally understanding that you could fully love one another without anything standing in between, not even the past and the grudges it held.

A choked sob left your lips, the tears were flowing before you could find the strength to hold it in. Sunghoon only deepened the kiss, pulling your trembling body closer to him. There was a weight of his emotions as his lips moved against yours, you could feel it, the desperation of his own to heal whatever pain that was inside of you.

You pulled away for a moment, gasping for air, the heaviness in your heart becoming more apparent, the tears flowing down your cheeks were met with Sunghoon’s thumb, softly caressing the expanse of your face, wiping away the tears that brought pain to his heart. “I thought I was okay, but I’m not. I’m still in love with you, Sunghoon. I’ve always wanted to tell you this, but I couldn’t find the right time, and I was scared I’d lose you … again,”

Sunghoon stared at you with an infinite amount of admiration, as if you were the sun in his darkest days or the prettiest painting in an art museum, the only person that was made for him, an undoubtable fact that he was wholeheartedly certain about. You were his past, his present, and his future, a mark in every timeline there is in his lifetime. “I love you too. I haven’t stopped loving you, and I don’t think I ever will. You’re my person, you’ll never lose me,”

His eyes were red, brimming with tears, but he didn’t allow a tear to fall, maintaining a smile, though it was weak. You held onto his hand, feeling it shake under your touch. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re my person too,”

“I wish … I wish I could give you back the years you’ve spent resenting me,” his voice was weak, defenceless against the emotions that overwhelmed him. “I wish I could’ve been there, so that you didn’t have to be in pain because of me,”

“It’s okay, Sunghoon, really. The past can’t hurt us anymore, and it doesn’t define us either,” your hand travelled to his face, cupping his cheek. “What matters most is we’re us again,”

Sunghoon breathed deeply, letting out a shaky breath. His eyes flickered, a faint smile appearing in the midst of his tired face. “So, does that mean we’re officially back together?”

“Yes, we are. Back to how it always was,”

He slipped his hand away from yours, instead, he threw his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace, holding onto you tightly. A part of him was scared that everything was just a dream, that you would disappear in any moment. “You’ll always be a part of me, a part that cannot ever be erased,”

“That’s good, because you also make up a big part of my heart.”

His laugh was enough to erase the bittersweet pain that you felt from erasing the past and starting a new path with the person that took up most parts of your life. He was always there in your life even when he became a memory, there was no way in hell you could ever replace him, not in a million years, not in this lifetime of yours.

From the day you saw him again, you had a feeling he was never leaving, not anymore. After all, the ones that were meant to be a part of your life would come back to you, while those that don’t would never cross paths with you ever again. In Sunghoon’s case, he was the one that was meant to be in every stage of your life, whether it was physically or just mentally.

You and Sunghoon could never be just friends, because the two of you were already predestined to be lovers.

“You’re going to let that go, right?”

Just because you and Sunghoon were officially back together didn’t mean that there was a change in your dynamic. You were still continuing on with your life as usual, Sunghoon had started writing his new book, and once it’s time for you to get off work, his car would already be there to pick you up. Nothing has changed except for the title of your relationship with him.

Telling Minjeong about it should’ve required a mental preparation beforehand. There you were, in your apartment, eating take out with an addition to the duo, Park Sunghoon, who was being interrogated by an old friend. You were the bystander having to witness everything unfold, occasionally getting embarrassed by Minjeong’s antics that Sunghoon found amusing in the contrary.

“Right, that time in the bar where you came up to me and cussed me out,” Sunghoon laughed, clapping his hands at the memory. It was hard not to let out at least a giggle at that. Somehow, the most complicated times of your life were far, far away from you, becoming a laughable memory for you and your friends to reminisce about.

“I was drunk!” Minjeong tried to fight back, knowing it was a losing battle against her.

“It was funny, I’ll give you that,” Sunghoon pointed his chopsticks at her, shaking his head when Minjeong started to mumble incoherent things under her breath. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hold it against you. You’re an old friend anyway, and I get where you were coming from,”

“I never got to formally apologise to you though, I swear it was eating me up. How about I pay for our drinks the next time we go out?”

“Sounds like a deal.” Sunghoon nodded in satisfaction, glancing at you to catch your reaction, eyeing you stifling a laugh. He raised an eyebrow at you, to which you shook your head in response to his unspoken question that you understood without a doubt. His eyes lingered on you for another beat before looking away, a faint smile resting on his lips.

Dinner ended with a new promise to meet up for drinks that was enthusiastically met with collective agreements. Instead of the usual routine where Sunghoon walked you home, you decided to follow him till a certain distance from your apartment complex. Despite his rejection, you still clung onto him, leaving him no choice but to let you walk him home, even if it was midway.

“Thanks for joining us for dinner,” you had your arm looped around his, sticking your side to his, close enough to be compared to a koala clinging onto a tree branch.

“I was scared she’d come for my head,” Sunghoon jokes, but realistically speaking, you shared the same worry as he did, knowing how Minjeong disapproved of him after your breakup up till the time he returned, the memory of her confronting him at the club was concrete evidence to back up your worries.

“I was scared for you too,” you laughed even though you promised yourself you wouldn’t slip, unaware of the look he had in his eyes. Sunghoon smiled at you, not because he found your response funny, but seeing you laugh was all he needed for his heart to feel full from contentment.

“I made a dinner reservation at our usual spot for tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up after work,” Sunghoon was always pulling the most spontaneous plans when you least expected it, this time wasn’t an exception either.

“It’s specifically our table, right?” you remembered that night at the restaurant where you and Sunghoon escaped the entire party just to be with each other, ignorant to the fact that you and him were building something stronger than the whiskey he had.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Right, the one with many tricks hidden up his sleeves,” you heard him chuckling under his breath, not before long realising that you were already at the foot of the overhead bridge. The both of you slowed down your steps, eventually stopping, standing before each other, hands still tightly holding onto one another.

“I guess it’s time to end the night,” Sunghoon squeezed your hand, not missing the frown slowly forming on your lips.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“If I do, I don’t think I would even make it home. Is that your master plan?” he pulled your hand, closing the distance, letting you fall into his embrace without a pinch of shame. You, on the other hand, weren’t expecting his bold action, landing with your hand planted on his chest, heat crawling up the back of your neck till your face. “I’ll make sure tomorrow’s better than tonight,”

Steadying yourself on your feet, you made sure to land a slap on his shoulder first before thinking of a response. Sunghoon simply smiled, seemingly proud of his own impulsive act. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he pinched your cheek, eliciting a genuine laugh from you, a smile appearing on his face right after as if it had turned into a natural response. For a moment, the two of you stood there with barely an inch in between, thankful that there wasn’t anybody around to intrude, basking in each other’s warmth. Neither of you were ready to say goodbye, though knowing it was inevitable.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” you whispered, as if seeking a kind of reassurance that only Sunghoon’s confirmation could provide.

“Of course,” Sunghoon squeezed your hand one more time, assuring you once again. His touch was gentle, the gaze he had on you was something irreplicable, just as his feelings were for you. “Goodnight, Y/N,”

“Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

He kept his eyes on you for another moment before he slowly let go of his hand, leaning in to press a kiss on the top of your head. As he backed away, waving, you watched him with his promise swelling in your heart, some sort of anticipation building on its own, already looking forward to the plan he had in store.

You knew that as long as you had him by your side, spending the rest of your days with him in your life, your world was going to be much brighter than it had been with him in it.

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