#wow my handwriting is shit

[yingxtkm]

Super rough scribble I did at 3am yesterday, not sure if I’ll clean it but I liked the concept (inspired by the OC before and after trauma art bandwagon. But let’s be real, the trauma never ends for Sephiroth)

[breezemoonriver]

This post is so nuzi to me <333

[cavernfullofexistentialdread]

The fucking TREE that sprouts from Grace Chasity character wise in all my favorite musicals is INSANE.

Of course there’s the “NO SEX!!” trinity (Grace, Ocean, Girl Jerry)

Catalina, Ocean, and Grace are all in some way religious to some extent (although it may vary)

Chandler and Regina are queen bees, and Cata is literally Queen B that woman is BEYONCÉ

Grace and Ocean are CERTIFIED annoying as fuck while Regina and Girl Jerry are perceived as annoying by other character

Grace, Cata, Chandler, and Regina are all iconic/famous (or infamous) both irl and in universe in different way

Ocean, Girl Jerry, Chandler, and Cata are dead

-(side note, Chandler and Regina are connected back to Ocean as prominent in school. Ocean doesn’t get popular privileges but she is definitely well known by her classmates)

[abigail]

btw besties !!! i did meet my favourite musician and he did write the thing for me that i wanna get as a tattoo :-) yippie !!! ♡ ♡ ♡

[seumyo]

thinking about the aftermath of the final war with bakugou.

It’s more often that you and Bakugou are the only ones left in the dorms after the war. The others chose to go back to their homes when the school’s implementation of mandatory dorm living lifted, and some decided to stay a little longer.

“Taste this.”

Bakugou raised a brow but didn’t protest as you walked over, spooning some curry towards his mouth. With a slight huff, he leaned forward, lips parting just enough to take the spoon. The moment it hit his tongue, his nose scrunched slightly.

“Careful, it’s still a bit hot.”

“Mild,” he muttered after swallowing. “You could barely even taste the richness of the sauce, too.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, frowning. “Are you serious? I followed your recipe.”

“Still mild; you brought shame to my recipe.”

You gave him an unimpressed look before turning back on the pot. “Wow, then maybe you should’ve been the one cooking here. I’m gonna check what went wrong.”

“I would if I could, dipshit.”

“Just get over here and check, too.”

“Nuh-uh. You said you’d cook tonight.”

“And you’re the one who keeps on complaining that I didn’t do your recipe justice!”

“That’s a fact.”

“Starve.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he went back to his writing practice, but there was something in his expression—something almost amused.

-

Bakugou sat by his study desk, his left hand gripping a pen tightly as he tried to force his stubborn fingers into writing something readable. His handwriting had always been sharp and textbook-pristine penmanship that you could mistake it for being printed, but now, with his right hand still recovering, it looked… awful.

You sat a good distance next to him, watching with an unreadable expression.

“Oi,” Bakugou grunted, not looking up. “The hell are you staring at?”

“Your letters look like a baby bird scratched them out,” you said bluntly, not even bothering to hold back on your words.

He clicked his tongue. “Like I don’t already know that.”

You reached over, grabbing his notebook before he could protest, flipping back to his first attempts from a few weeks ago. The letters were uneven, practically illegible. Then you held it up next to his latest attempt.

“See? You’re getting better.” You turned the notebook toward him. “You can actually read this one.”

He scoffed but didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached for the notebook, but you yanked it away at the last second, grinning.

“You don’t get this back until you admit I’m a good teacher.”

Bakugou glared at you, debating whether this was worth a fight. Finally, he sighed, leaning back against the chair.

“Fine. You’re not the worst teacher.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Don’t get too cocky.”

“Me? Never. That’s more of a you thing and not a me thing.”

“Like hell it’s only me.”

You laughed. “Let’s try numbers this time; I even bought a tracing book.”

“That shit’s for kids,” he scoffed.

“It says three and up,” you argued. “You’re three and up, are you not? And—who knows? Maybe after this you’ll be ambidextrous.”

“Shut up.”

-

“Run.”

That was the only warning before Bakugou grabbed your wrist and bolted.

The sound of rapid footsteps and excited squeals filled the hall behind you. A group of first-year girls was hot on your trail, giddy with the thrill of chasing UA’s most popular second-year student.

“Why the hell do they keep following me?!” Bakugou barked as you rounded a corner, his grip still firm on your wrist.

“Because you’re literally their idol,” you said between breaths, peeking to see as the girls went the opposite direction. “They see you as some kind of bad boy heartthrob ever since the Sports Festival. It’s kinda cute.”

“It’s not cute—it’s annoying!”

You found an empty classroom and slammed the door shut. Both of you stood there, panting. Outside, the sounds of giggling and footsteps faded down the hall, the first-years continuing their search elsewhere.

You let out a breath and leaned against a desk. “Could be worse. They could be chasing you with cameras like the paparazzi did.”

Bakugou groaned, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Don’t even joke about that.”

You nudged his shoulder, smiling. “You didn’t have to drag me with you, y’know? Or is this an excuse to be alone in a room with me?”

He glared at you, opening his mouth to argue—but then he caught the teasing glint in your eyes and scoffed, shaking his head.

“Fucking idiot. You’d get trampled over by that mob.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll tell Iida to see if he can scout the area to make sure no one’s going to jump at us when we leave.”

You laughed, and despite himself, Bakugou didn’t find it all that annoying. He actually found it... familiar and worth something he can’t put into words.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[helioooss]

ii. true love waits

synopsis: after a car crash leaves sophia with no memory of the past three years, y/n wakes to a wife who no longer remembers their life together. now, y/n must decide if she can live through falling in love with sophia again — this time, without knowing if she ever will.

warnings: major car accident scene, helios angst, swearing, violent scenes, read at your own risk ⚠️

wc: 30k+

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

how long could you really go out of your way for love?

this was what you asked yourself the moment the bus doors hissed shut behind you, fingers stiff from the cold as they tightened around your coat.

the cane tapped dully against the curb as you crossed the quiet street. the recording studio’s signage had faded a little since the accident, its glass door streaked from yesterday’s rain. you fished out your key, let yourself in, and were immediately met with the faint scent of stale coffee and vanilla diffusers: yunjin’s doing.

the place looked tired.

giselle was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a laptop on one knee and a tablet balanced in her other hand, she didn’t look up.

yunjin was passed out on the couch with a foam sound panel shoved under her head like a pillow, her mouth slightly open. her hoodie was inside out.

“hey,” you mumbled softly, trying not to scare either of them.

the japanese girl finally turned her head, hair pinned up messily with a pencil and her under-eyes looked bruised from lack of sleep. “y/n, don’t take this the wrong way, but wow, you look like shit.”

you offered a small wave, half-smile. “thanks, so do you…and sorry, i came as soon as i could. with expensive coffee.”

“bless you,” she muttered, giving your cheek a kiss before taking the cup off your hand. “missed you, new boss.”

“you’re forgiven,” yunjin called from her spot on the couch, that was when you noticed the three mugs of tea abandoned nearby.

you exhaled a small laugh. “as if you could stand being angry with me for too long.”

“how’s the leg?”

“hurts.”

“and how’s sophia?”

you paused. “i don’t know…still…stranger sophia.”

they didn’t press. you studied the place — the scuffed walls, the cords tangled in the corners and the half-filled whiteboard with dates already overdue. it was weird how sophia’s handwriting was still there: looping and half-cursive, written in pink marker. you used to tease her for colour-coding everything like a manic uni student.

she used to hit you and laugh - everything felt and looked like before. but nothing was.

when you met her, giselle and yunjin were already part of the picture like well-worn chords in a song she had been playing long before you ever heard it. they loved music without thinking. it was in the way yunjin tapped her nails against tabletops like she was testing drum beats and how giselle could hear a harmony before anyone else realised there was a song. it was messy and raw and beautiful.

you sat down slowly at the edge of a swivelling chair, your leg already aching from the trip. “how long have you two been here?”

giselle snorted. “define been here. because spiritually, i left around monday.”

yunjin groaned, dragging an arm over her eyes. “what year is it?”

you smiled faintly. “still the same one you launched this place into oblivion.”

giselle didn’t laugh. “this isn’t sustainable, y/n. i know you’re trying and it’s fucking hard…but we’re also drowning.”

your smile dropped. “i know, i’m so sorry —“

“we can’t keep doing everything,” she continued, dropping the tablet onto the rug with a thud. “i’m handling the mixing schedule, the licensing and all sorts of admin. yunjin’s editing vocals at 2am and sorting out invoices — we haven’t even properly sorted the last release.”

yunjin chimed in. “and that’s with us pulling twelve-hour days. i haven’t opened my fridge in a week, i don’t even remember what my room looks like.”

she plopped onto the floor with her legs crossed, shoulders slumped. she looked dead tired; dark circles bruised under her eyes. giselle grabbed a whiteboard and wiped it half-heartedly, revealing a mess of crossed-out deadlines and incomprehensible scribbles underneath.

“without sophia,” yunjin continued. “we’re flying blind. she used to tweak everything, guide the sound, rein us in. and trigger warning: it’s like trying to drive a car without a steering wheel.”

you sat quietly, taking it all in. they weren’t angry, you understood they were simply exhausted and noticeably thin from overworking and missing someone who used to bring this place to life.

“we love her,” giselle added, softer now. “but i don’t think she’s coming back anytime soon…not to this version of her life.”

the warmth of old ambition still lingered in the scratched floorboards and the framed photos on the wall. you spotted one of you and sophia near the back corner: she was sitting on the mixing desk, you between her legs, both laughing at something you couldn’t remember now and someone had drawn devil horns on her with a red marker.

you cleared your throat. “what can i do?”

they both blinked, not really knowing where to begin.

“i mean it,” you continued. “i know i’m not her. i know nothing about…music, or sound engineering, or anything technical. but i can help with the admin; logistics, accounting — whatever you two need.”

they both looked at each other like they were having a secret conversation in their heads. it didn’t take long because they desperately needed your help.

“you sure?” yunjin asked hesitantly. “we would hate to take you from sophia during all of this but we also can’t afford another hire —“

“i don’t want the studio to fall apart,” you cut her off firmly. “i know how much it meant to her.”

there was a long pause before giselle exhaled in relief. “you’re a fucking legend.”

“even if you can’t hold a tune,” yunjin joked, eyes crinkling.

you smiled, weakly. “i won’t even try.”

the day passed slowly and you spent most of it combing through invoices, emailing collaborators who hadn’t been paid, creating a new system for file organisation and trying to make sense of project timelines (you still couldn’t). giselle and yunjin moved in and out of meetings, occasionally calling out for help or giving you passwords with long-winded backstories.

by the end of the day, the sky had dimmed to a navy blue outside the studio windows. you had only just caught up with the basics; there was still more work to do tomorrow.

when they were both winding down, giselle half-asleep on her laptop and yunjin curled up in the corner with noise-cancelling headphones, you sat at the reception desk in silence.

your body ached, but mostly, it was your heart that hurt because you never wanted to run this studio.

it was sophia’s dream; this thing she built with her own hands, with vision and full commitment. it had been hers long before it ever became a shared future.

you could already feel it — the time it would steal from your own work; the pieces you wouldn’t finish: the commissions you’d have to turn down.

it scared you; not just because art had been the one thing keeping you steady, but because giving it up meant giving up the last piece of yourself.

but now here you were, tending to the remnants of a dream that didn’t belong to you because it was the last thing left of the life you built together.

and you’d do anything for her.

love, you learned, wasn’t always gentle. it wasn’t always patient, either. sometimes it was unspectacular in its sacrifice and right now, it looked like picking up the pieces of someone’s dream because they couldn’t hold it themselves yet.

perhaps, the answer to your question was this: you were willing to give up a piece of yourself for sophia — that was how long you’d go out of your way for love.

“hey,” giselle pulled you out of your thoughts, breaking the quiet as she came over, eyes glassy with fatigue. “thanks for today, i really mean it.”

yunjin joined her, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “and sorry for being dicks. we’re just…really swagged out of our swag points right now.”

“you weren’t,” you chuckled. “you’re just tired, i think we all are.”

they both hugged you properly then, tight and sincere and lingered for a second too long because everyone was carrying more than they’d like to admit.

“i never wanted to run this place,” you said aloud, when they let go. “this was her dream. not mine.”

they both paused, waiting for you to say more.

“but it’s what’s left of the life we built. and if i have to choose between losing myself or losing what little of sophia i have left…then i’d rather do this. even if it means letting go of everything else.”

silence followed. this place had held her voice in its walls. it still did, you were certain of it.

being an artist, you knew what it meant to preserve something; to hold form where time wanted to decay. but clay cracked and glazes chipped - even your best pieces eventually faded in colour.

this space, her studio, it was a different story.

it was the only thing she left behind intact, untouched by the forgetting. it held versions of her that no longer existed: late nights, unfinished demos, laughter caught between takes, the pink guitar pick she lost down the back of the sofa and never found.

what if, god, what if her memories did come back one day? what if, by some miracle, she blinked and it all returned and the first thing she asked for was here?

you couldn’t stomach the thought of telling her it was gone. that you had let it go because it hurt too much to keep waiting; folded up her legacy and shelved it in favour of your own. it was proof that she had been — no, had loved, created something worth remembering.

“you’re a better wife than i’d be,” yunjin scoffed, rubbing her temple. “i’d burn it down out of spite.”

you managed a smile. “give me a week…i might get there.”

“come on,” giselle tapped your shoulder. “i’ll drive you home because i need to get out of this building before i merge into the drywall.”

yunjin gave your hand a squeeze as you sent her a smile, gathering your bag and notebook. you paused once, at the door, looking back at the studio…at the light filtering through the cracked blinds and the photo of you and sophia still pinned to the wall.

you turned away before it could do more damage. you had work to do tomorrow.

the japanese girl’s car was a mess in the form of a suzuki swift: half-empty energy drinks rolled in the back seat, a hoodie crumpled beneath your feet and the air freshener hanging from the mirror was definitely expired.

“i’m a tortured artist, y/n, you’re not allowed to judge me.”

all you could do was shrug; you had seen worse states.

she had the windows cracked open slightly, letting the breeze in as the hum of the radio filled the silence between you both. neither of you talked much at first — too tired and emotionally wrung out from the day.

but halfway through the drive, she glanced at you, one hand loose on the wheel. “so…” she began casually. “what’s it like being with nepo baby sophia?”

the streetlights blurred against the glass as you kept your eyes steady.

“it’s like living with a stranger; a really polite stranger who makes breakfast and folds the laundry but doesn’t…know me. or love me. or feel comfortable around me.”

giselle’s mouth twitched, sympathetic.

“we eat meals together,” you continued, voice quiet. “we talk, but i don’t think i’ve made real progress breaking through. most nights i sleep on the couch and i don’t think she even notices anymore.”

she made a noise under her breath. “shit.”

you gave a tired smile. “it’s not her fault.”

“maybe not, but it’s still pretty fucking brutal for the person left to remember it all.”

you didn’t respond — the ache in your chest was enough of an answer.

she turned onto your street. “you should ask her out.”

you looked at her this time. “what?”

“like, properly. a date. maybe remind her what it felt like — have you not done that?”

you laughed, short and dry. “yeah, and where would i take her? down memory lane?”

“you’re such a dick,” she laughed at that, shaking her head at you. “actually, yeah. remember that thai place? the one down the road from the studio? the one she dragged us all to for a whole month straight?”

you did remember - they knew her name there. always gave her extra tamarind sauce. sophia once cried (on her period) over a spicy papaya salad and called it a religious experience.

you stared at giselle, eyes narrowing.

“look,” she kept going, driving slower. “i’m not saying it’ll magically fix everything, but maybe it’s not about making her remember. maybe it’s all about helping her feel something new with you now - familiar to you, but new to her.”

the idea stuck to your ribs like something warm. it hurt, a little, but it also lit something.

she pulled up to your house and parked. “text me when you’re inside safe. or like, limp your cane against the door so i know you didn’t collapse.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled. “thanks for the lift.”

“we’re a team now,” she shrugged. “god help us all.”

cane first, you climbed out carefully, the cold hitting your face immediately. by the time you reached the door, your whole body felt like it had been stitched together with string. you were ready to collapse, turning around to wave at giselle - she nodded before driving off.

the second you stepped inside, you stopped in your tracks.

the lights were warm and the table was set. two bowls of steaming sinigang sat waiting, the scent of tamarind and garlic thick in the air — moon river was playing in the background. your stomach flipped, not just from hunger.

“hi,” sophia looked up from the stove. “you’re finally home.”

you nodded, shrugging off your jacket. “you made dinner?”

“of course,” she grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “you said your joints hurt, right? it’s good for that. it’s got ginger and bok choy and — well, everything comforting.”

you stared at her for a second too long, swallowing around something that didn’t have a name. “it smells incredible.”

“you want rice with it?”

“always.”

she smiled and plated it for you both. you sat down at the table, watching her for a beat too long. her hair was loose and there was a small smudge of broth on her cheek.

she looked like home — but she wasn’t yours…not right now.

“how was the studio?” she asked gently, setting your spoon beside the bowl.

you sighed, dragging yourself onto the stool at the counter. “full on. giselle and yunjin are drowning. they’ve been sleeping there half the week, so i stepped in to help with admin — it’s a lot.”

sophia’s hands paused on the ladle. “i’m sorry.”

you shook your head reassuringly. “it’s okay! they needed someone. and i —” you hesitated for a moment. “i didn’t want to see it fall apart, not after everything you built.”

her eyes softened, a guilt you knew well behind them. “i never meant to just drop it.”

“it’s honestly okay,” you smiled. and you meant it, even though it wasn’t. “how was your day?”

her expression brightened. “megan took me out for lunch. said she owed me one since she missed the last hangout.”

“yeah?”

“we had vietnamese, then walked around the markets near her apartment. it was really nice.”

you nodded, chewing slowly. it was delicious, but the thought of asking her out hit you. then, heart pounding louder than it had any right to, you stopped.

she looked up. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you said quickly. “yeah, of course. i love it. the sinigang. it’s — perfect.”

her brow furrowed. “i meant — are you okay?”

you set the spoon down, ears hot and all. it was stupid and you knew it was going to come out all wrong, but it was the only thing you could think about.

“speaking of…dates,” you began, voice cracking a little. “i was talking to — no, i was wondering if… maybe this weekend…you’d want to go on one.”

sophia tilted her head. “a date?”

“with me,” you clarified quickly. “like a…proper one. not just a supermarket one. i mean — like we used to. when you wanted to impress me - which you did, umm, impress me. you still do.”

she laughed then; that same warm laugh that used to make your entire day. “are you asking me out?”

you looked down, cheeks warm. “yes.”

she didn’t answer right away. you looked up, terrified of the silence. but she was smiling, soft around the eyes. “okay.”

“okay?”

“yeah,” she confirmed, nodding. “i’d love that.”

you didn’t realise you had been holding your breath until it came out in one long, trembling sigh. and sophia laughed again, you were so sure the sound made the entire house feel warmer.

“cool,” you nodded, trying to sound nonchalant. “cool. cool. cool.”

“you’re so weird,” she said fondly.

“you married me.”

“i don’t remember that,” she teased.

the night was only beginning to settle in outside. you sat there, beside her, your knees almost touching under the counter. and for the first time in weeks, the space between you felt like something was alive again. just a maybe.

still a beginning.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the bell chimed as you pushed open the door to king & i, that familiar waft of lemongrass and roasted peanuts curling warmly around your face. your hand hovered just above sophia’s lower back as she walked in first, hesitant but curious. you weren’t touching her, you didn’t dare, but the instinct was still there.

she was taking the space in, head tilted slightly like she was trying to place the memory in her head, but of course she couldn’t.

everything was the same inside; a little too cramped in the corners, tables pressed close together like secrets. the same faded red cushions, golden framed portraits of bangkok temples and the photo of the king of thailand hung crooked above the counter.

the woman at the counter looked up, recognition blooming immediately. “ay,” she gasped, grinning wide. “the beautiful couple returns.”

sophia looked surprised too, but the older woman behind the counter — nan, you remembered her name, was already bustling out to greet you both. she held her arms wide, grinning. “long time! i always say, where is my favourite lovebirds? did they break up? oh no!”

her face turned a shade of red, clearly unsure how to respond.

you smiled, heart aching and full all at once. “hi nam, we’ve been…away. on holidays.”

“well,” nan grinned, patting sophia’s arm. “you come back just in time. good table is free, window is open on the same spot. papaya salad on the house today.”

you chuckled. “thanks nan, you’re the best.”

“they remember us?” she said softly once the older lady walked off. “and we have a favourite spot?”

“you used to tip them way too much,” you murmured. “and we always over-ordered.”

sophia laughed. “sounds like me.”

pulling your chair, you sat across from her. the table was small; your knees almost touching. she leaned forward, elbows on the edge.

“we used to come here every sunday,” you began. “when you found the place for the first time, i was so worried; you said you were only grabbing us lunch but it took you so long to come back, hours maybe, turned out the food was so good you ended up forgetting about us.”

“sounds like me again!”

everything was soft and warm and familiar - you almost couldn’t believe you were here with her again.

when the waitress came, sophia handed her the menu without even opening it. “surprise me,” she told you. “you order.”

you raised a brow. “dangerous choice.”

“i like danger.”

you ordered everything she loved: panang curry, tom yum soup, the khao soi she always called her ‘death row meal’, and of course, mango sticky rice for dessert. the waitress smiled knowingly as she scribbled it down, as though she has taken this same order from you a hundred times before.

sophia raised an eyebrow. “you remember all that?”

“you made it hard to forget. you were very, very extremely passionate about your food orders.”

“was i?”

you nodded. “specially when i got something wrong.”

she laughed, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. “well, that tracks,” her cheeks coloured slightly and she busied herself adjusting her cutlery. as you waited for the food, she propped her elbow on the table and asked, “so…how did we meet?”

in your head, the story was unfolding on a projector. and you found yourself smiling at the memory.

“don’t make something up,” she warned, like she knew you’d try and make it nicer. “i want the truth.”

“you sure?”

“yes.”

you ran a hand down your thigh, grounding yourself. “you signed up for my first ever pottery class.”

her eyes widened. “i took a pottery class? me?”

“no,” you shook your head, running your fingers through your hair. “you, megan and lara gatecrashed my pottery class.”

she threw her head back, laughing. god, it was the most beautiful sight ever. “now we’re talking.”

“it was my first time running one solo. and you three were so fucking loud that this old lady started getting pissy with me. like she directed her anger towards me, the teacher, instead of you!”

she giggled, full and unfiltered. “what did i do?”

“you kept laughing. at everything: the clay, at lara. you knocked over your water cup. and your laugh, don’t get me started,” you stopped, eyeing her. “was so obnoxious and scary.”

she gasped, offended. “it was not!”

you grinned. “well, it was that day - take it from someone hearing it for the first time ever.”

“rude!” she reached over and slapped your arm lightly.

“but,” you added, heart skipping a beat. “i also thought you were…beautiful. really beautiful.”

you looked away, cheeks burning. “i remember thinking, ‘fuck, this girl with the bangs is gonna ruin me.’”

she went quiet for a second. then, softly: “did i?”

you nodded, trying not to let your voice crack. “yeah, i wouldn’t lie about that.”

she smiled, light and open. “why didn’t you tell me that part first?”

“needed to humble you.”

“well, too late,” she said, brushing her hair back. “now i know i was a pottery class menace and the hot one.”

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was hard to ignore.

when the food came, you watched her closely. she leaned over her bowl of khao soi the exact same way she always did, chopsticks in one hand, spoon in the other. the first bite was immediate.

“holy shit,” she muttered, eyes wide. “this is so good.”

you smiled to yourself. “you used to say it was better than sex.”

she looked up, startled. “you’re lying.”

“you said it every time we came here.”

“that’s so fucking embarrassing.”

“you also called the mango sticky rice your ‘true soulmate.’”

she took a dramatic bite of it anyway, completely unfazed. “well, i wasn’t wrong.”

she devoured everything, scraping the plate clean. you hadn’t realised how badly you missed just watching her eat with joy and no hesitation…like she was allowed to be happy again.

the night flowed into something easy after that. you talked about little things: yunjin and giselle, her last pilates class with daniela, how she still hated coriander. sophia leaned into the conversation without hesitation and for a moment, you could almost believe you were just two people who had just met and were falling in love again from scratch.

but under it all, there was also something trembling…something fragile. it was like walking on ice, knowing one wrong move could send it all crashing.

then, just as the bill was placed on the table (she beat you to paying it using her dad’s card), she looked at you with something quieter in her eyes.

“thank you,” she said softly.

you tilted your head. “for what?”

“for being patient with me.”

your throat went tight; she had more to say.

“for giving me space. for not…trying to shove memories down my throat and letting me figure things out at my own pace, for not punishing me for forgetting. i know i can be difficult to deal with right now, but you’ve got the patience of a saint, so thank you.”

you swallowed hard, the lights feeling too bright all of a sudden. “you know, you’re still you.”

“am i?”

“yeah,” you nodded. “just…a version of you i’m still learning to love.”

she stared at you for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to do with that. “thank you for making space for her.”

you blinked fast, couldn’t help it. your hand came up to your mouth, covering the ache in your chest as you fought down the sting in your eyes.

“i’d follow you anywhere,” you whispered.

she didn’t say anything…but she didn’t let go of your gaze; placing her hand on top of yours, rubbing her thumbs gently on your knuckles.

the walk home was quiet. it was dark out, stars bleeding out through the gaps in the clouds. sophia’s hand found yours halfway down the block; no words, just warm fingers lacing through yours like they always had.

you didn’t ask what it meant, just held her hand tighter.

when you stepped inside the apartment after embarrassingly struggling with the keys in front of your wife, a slow kind of warmth wrapped you both in an embrace; settling in your chest and wrapped around your bones. you reached for her coat first, gently brushing her arm as you took it off her shoulders, then yours, hanging them side by side like always.

the silence that followed had its own language by now. you dropped onto the couch with a long exhale, finally off your feet. your leg throbbed dully, that familiar ache crawling up from the knee to your hip, but at least you could breathe.

the restaurant had been lovely, the walk manageable, the night nearly perfect — but your body was reminding you of its limits now.

sophia sat beside you, a little closer than usual. “is it still hurting?”

you nodded, eyes closed. “just sore…nothing new.”

she patted her lap casually. “put it up here, i’ll rub it.”

your eyes fluttered open so fast. “no, don’t —”

but she was already reaching, gently tugging your leg across her thighs. her touch was instinctive, memory outpacing thought as her thumbs began drawing slow, deliberate circles over your calf and thigh, pressing in just right.

she raised an eyebrow at you, fringe a bit out of place and all. “you washed my feet nearly every day at the hospital, but you can’t bare the thought of me rubbing a sore leg?”

“yeah, well,” you bit down on your bottom lip. “i actually have no answer to that.”

she chuckled at that, you stared at her hands, long and elegant, moving over your skin with practiced care. it felt too familiar; dangerous. every stroke tightened your chest, made something small and stupid flutter deep in your belly.

you didn’t say anything, neither did she. the tv was off, the room was quiet and all you could focus on was the heat of her palms and the echo of ‘i’d follow you anywhere’ still ringing in your own ears.

you were scared. god, you were so scared.

because this was the kind of softness you had been aching for — but it had come so suddenly. and if you reached too far for it, if you wanted it too much, it might disappear again.

sophia might vanish into her distance; that unreachable place you had been watching her live in.

“you should stop sleeping on the couch,” she mumbled quietly, voice breaking through your spiral. her tone was light, but there was something else under it - testing.

you turned your head. “where would i go?”

she smiled faintly. “on the bed…next to me.”

your breath hitched, nodding before you could stop yourself. “oh, right…okay.”

she didn’t say anything else, just kept rubbing your leg, gently. her fingers slowed, drifting to a stop as your muscles sighed under her hands. your heart did not.

you couldn’t look at her, so you stared at the black television screen instead, where your reflections sat faintly, side by side — two shadows in an empty room. your mouth was dry and your hands felt so fucking useless in your lap.

there was a sudden shift on the couch; you watched her move carefully, placing one hand on the cushion near your hip for balance, her other hand reached up, brushing lightly beneath your chin, tilting your face toward hers.

your chest clenched; she was close enough to count the freckles beneath her eyes and feel the warmth of her breath against your mouth.

“hi,” she whispered as if it was the first word in a sentence she hadn’t figured out yet.

and before you could respond, before you could even swallow the panic rising up your throat — she leaned in and pressed her lips against yours.

her lips were warm and impossibly soft; memory and longing and the first time you ever kissed her plastered all over it.

just like that.

her lips found yours, slow and warm and unhurried. it was a short kiss, a question more than anything, but your lips rendered unmoving, not ready, too caught in the shock of it.

she pulled back slightly, eyes flicking between yours, but there was no hurt in her expression; just fingers hovering at your jaw, afraid to break the spell completely.

“is this okay?” she asked quietly.

you stared at her, breath caught in your throat.

and then you were somewhere else — two years ago, a quiet night on the balcony of your old apartment, the smell of summer and old records in the air. she kissed you then, too, exactly like this — falling into something she knew she would never crawl out of.

you could barely breathe as you let out a nervous laugh that cracked around the edges. your voice came out softer than you intended. “it’s…more than okay.”

she smiled, something trembling in her lips and kissed you again. this time, you kissed her back.

your hand found the back of her neck, drawing her in deeper, breaths shared and uneven. your fingers gripped her thigh as her weight settled onto you slowly, easing into the space above you without pressing too hard, without making the ache in your leg flare.

then, it slid beneath the hem of her shirt, only just resting against her back and she sighed into your mouth. her hips shifted to align with yours, her hands threading into your hair as she pulled you closer.

everything slowed down. the world narrowed to her breath, her lips, the quiet gasp she gave when you bit her bottom lip gently. it felt like touching something holy. it was just her and you — just the warmth of her mouth against yours, and the quiet sound of something being given back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the pillow smelled like her.

you woke slowly and you weren’t sure if you actually slept at all. for a while, you just lay there, disoriented in that half-state between dream and memory. the sheets were warm around you and your leg didn’t ache the way it usually did.

that same passionfruit scent lingered in the sheets, subtle but unmistakably hers. turning your face into it, you kept your eyes closed as you took a breath in — you didn’t want to ruin it.

then came the shifting of weight beside you, warmth pulling away just slightly; the rustle of someone sitting up. adjusting to the light, you opened your eyes gently and there she was.

sophia was already awake, knees drawn to her chest and phone in hand. her hair fell around her face in a messy halo. she looked down at something on the screen, thumb scrolling absently, sunlight filtering through the curtains and cutting lines across her collarbone.

she didn’t notice you at first. or maybe she did, but didn’t say anything. you watched her for a few seconds longer, trying to read her body language.

was she…okay?

your heart beat faster in your chest, already spiralling — had you crossed a line last night? did she kiss you because it was convenient, because she was cold or because it was easy?

you stayed quiet, unsure if you were meant to roll over and pretend you hadn’t woken up, but then she set her phone down, shifting slightly to face you.

“good morning,” she muttered, quiet but sure.

you swallowed. “morning.”

for a split second, you had been bracing yourself; waiting for her to pull away, act like last night hadn’t happened. maybe you hadn’t stayed beside her, tucked under the covers, your body warm with something dangerously close to relief — that this was all just a fever dream.

but instead, she smiled. “i think that was the best sleep i’ve had in weeks.”

the corners of your mouth began to form a small smile, slowly pushing yourself upright. “yeah?”

“yeah,” she stretched her arms out with a groan. “i forgot what it felt like to actually rest.”

“bed’s definitely better than the couch, for me,” you mumbled, eyes still on her. “but i’m not dissing the couch in any form —“

she turned her head back to you, grinning. “i told you so.”

you laughed a little. “yeah, yeah, i know.”

there was a pause as you watched the sun hit her face and tried not to memorise it all over again.

“how’s your leg?” she asked, glancing down as if she could see through the blanket.

“no complaints,” you answered quickly. “might be a bit stiff when i stand up, but better than usual.”

it was silent for awhile again, your eyes tracing slowly over her face; the way her fringe fell slightly uneven, the tired but genuine expression on her face. and god — there were so many things to love.

you loved the little scar near her temple, just beneath her hairline: a childhood fall from a mango tree - she told you about it once while brushing her teeth, laughing like it was nothing; you kissed it the first time she let you.

you loved how she looked at you, even now, even after everything. how even in moments when she didn’t remember all of you, something in her gaze still felt familiar as though recognition was there, just buried under all that fog.

you loved her voice; her snoring, which she refused to admit she did. as well as her muttering in her sleep, which always came with a frown.

you loved her — in all the ways she had been and in all the versions of her that were waking up beside you now.

“what?” she whispered eventually, still watching you. her voice was scratchy with sleep…there was no self-consciousness in it, just curiosity.

“nothing,” you shook your head slightly, warmth rushing to your cheeks. “just…you.”

her brow furrowed, but her hand slipped across the sheets and found yours, fingers weaving like it was instinct.

“i wanna make breakfast,” she opened. “for you.”

you couldn’t help but grin. “really?”

“what would you like?”

you leaned back against the headboard, heart aching in a stupid, quiet way. “surprise me.”

“oh, so that’s how it is,” she mumbled, smiling as she threw the blanket off and stood, shirt slipping down one shoulder slightly as she stretched. “i’ll surprise you, alright.”

you watched her leave the room, the sound of cupboards opening already beginning in the kitchen. you forced yourself to exhale slowly, then swung your legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the dull pull in your calf.

your body was still healing. your heart — well, that was another story.

the kettle was hissing faintly by the time you joined her. you moved with familiarity to the pantry, pulling out the coffee beans you knew she liked best; the ones with chocolate and citrus notes. you didn’t even need to ask how she wanted it. oat milk, two sugars and no froth. you always thought that was the most un-sophia preference in the world, but you had made it for her so many times it felt like muscle memory now.

“feel like coffee instead of matcha today?” you called, over the sound of grinding.

“yeah,” she mumbled, head ducked into the fridge. “felt like switching it up.”

then, you strode across the room towards the record shelf, eyes tracing the spines until your fingers hovered over the familiar cover. “what do you feel like listening to?”

“surprise me,” she called out, mimicking your tone from earlier.

your lips twitched. “copycat.”

you placed the needle on cleo sol: soft and golden and slow — and opened the blinds, letting the light spill across the floor. routine settled into the room like it belonged there, and for a second, it almost felt like the life you used to share hadn’t cracked apart.

“i forgot how good this album is,” she yelled, moving about the kitchen. “i used to play this while making sinigang, did i do that when —“

“you did,” you answered before she could finish. “used to dance while stirring the pot.”

“embarrassing.”

“adorable.”

you leaned on the kitchen doorway, mushroom mug in hand, observing her move through a space that once belonged to both of you, as though she never left.

she looked different under the morning sun — more real and less like a dream you were chasing.

“what’re you staring at?” she asked, glancing back. “again, mind you.”

“same answer,” you shrugged plainly. “you.”

sophia turned back to the stove, but you caught the little curve of her smile. she moved slower these days, still in recovery like you, but there was ease to her this morning like she didn’t have to think so hard around you.

it made your chest ache a little.

you wandered to your small studio table in the corner, fingers absently nudging a few scattered sculpting tools into place — hadn’t touched them in days.

across the room, the two of you kept talking about what she was making (garlic rice, ricotta eggs and seasoned tomatoes; ‘my body tells me it’s your favourite combo,’ she said), about how you weren’t allowed to do the dishes today.

your heart twisted at how normal it felt.

and then — a knock at the door.

“babe,” you called out instinctively, already halfway to the door. “are you expecting anyone?”

the word slipped out of habit; your eyes going wide. babe. you hadn’t called her that in weeks.

sophia looked up, completely unfazed but confused for a second. “no,” she replied easily. “but it’s probably the girls. lara said they were gonna drop coffee off.”

you grimaced, too late now.

the knock came again, this time accompanied by muffled voices; bickering.

“on god if you touched my croissant again —“

“lara, you literally brought the croissants—”

“exactly! they’re mine —”

you opened the door and didn’t even get a word in. daniela, lara and manon pushed inside like it was a weekly ritual.

“uhh, okay, good morning,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“define good,” daniela muttered, brushing past you. “define good when you don’t get to eat the croissants you were promised.”

lara scoffed, turning to her. “i literally said you can have it when sophia gets one.”

“just kill me, why don’t you?”

oh, so it was this kind of morning, you thought. they all fought each other like sisters, no matter the time of day. and sophia always used to be the one who could put them in place.

manon immediately sniffed the air, ignoring the fight happening in front of her. “are you cooking?” she paused, making a face. “you’re actually cooking? for y/n?”

the filipina wiped her hands on a tea towel. “uhh, yeah?”

“she’s cooking!” she announced dramatically. “alert the media.”

lara shoved her way to the kitchen with a paper bag in hand. “i brought pastries and coffee. also, i’m stealing those eggs, y/n, that’s a threat and not a question.”

you put your hand up in defeat. “if she’s okay with that.”

“what’s the point of bringing breakfast,” daniela muttered, “if you’re just going to eat hers? you wouldn’t even —“

“mine was for after,” lara made a face at her.

sophia gave them a warning look but didn’t protest. she even nudged lara aside to make more room on the bench, handing her a spatula wordlessly.

“so, she’s different today,” daniela mumbled under her breath to manon, both of them drifting into your studio.

“in a good way,” manon replied, nudging a ceramic bowl with her finger. “she seems softer around you.”

you didn’t know what to say. your hands fidgeted with a nearby towel. this whole shift in sophia — it wasn’t planned. it felt like something delicate you weren’t supposed to acknowledge too loudly in case it broke.

your chest was still tight with confusion, reeling how you woke up this morning unsure what to expect: if she would be warm or distant or something in between.

they didn’t know about last night; the way she crawled into your lap and kissed you like she had never forgotten how. and you thought maybe you finally turned a corner as if you didn’t spend the last month living a room away from her like you were a stranger.

“i don’t mind,” you finally said. “whatever this is. i’ll keep loving her. make her happy until…she doesn’t want it anymore.”

“what wouldn’t i want anymore?”

you turned, startled at the sight of sophia standing in the doorway, hair tucked behind her ears, an eyebrow lifted.

daniela jumped in before you could stammer through it. “the vinyls, she thought you’d want to chuck them out.”

sophia scoffed. “of course i’m keeping them,” she pointed at all of you. “now stop whispering about a hungry lara; breakfast is ready.”

they all migrated to the kitchen like magnets and you were left closing the door behind them with a satisfied sigh and a smile tugging at your lips.

the empty seat next to lara what was you chose, tucking your knee to your chest to ease the stiffness in your leg, but then sophia suddenly appeared behind you.

“lars, move over,” she demanded, nudging the younger girl with her hip. “i wanna sit next to y/n.”

lara smirked. “oh?”

you didn’t say anything, just shifted closer, heart pounding as sophia slid in beside you. before you could all settle in, another knock came, more aggressive this time.

“that’ll be yoonchae and megan, come in!” manon grumbled, shouting toward the door. “they’re gonna be pissed we started without them.”

you winced. “we didn’t start, we just —”

the door flew open, revealing a disheveled megan and a very composed yoonchae. god, it was really that type of morning.

“you couldn’t wait five more minutes?” megan yelled.

“you always eat without us,” yoonchae added indignantly, holding a bottle of orange juice. “maybe if megan didn’t take —“

“babies, shut up,” sophia put her hand up, smiling despite herself. “there’s enough food for all of you and nobody has started.”

the table was crowded: mugs too close together, plates already smeared with jam and crumbs, someone’s fork on the edge of tipping off. conversation rolled over itself like a tide: daniela and manon on an ongoing debate about whether the latter’s obsession with truffle oil was a red flag or just culinary snobbery, yoonchae trying to split a croissant cleanly with her bare hands, lara asking for salt and being ignored. megan, somehow, was still buttering toast like it was a sacred ritual just as she made a snarky comment about your mushroom mug.

“bitch,” you mouthed at her.

sophia sat on your left, knee lightly brushing yours and you could feel the warmth of her arm. she was talking to yoonchae about some old inside joke when she reached for the serving plate and slid another folded egg onto your plate without comment. she adjusted the portion, nudged your fork toward you, then casually returned to the conversation like she hadn’t just sent your heart ricocheting into your stomach.

you were used to hiding your reactions by now.

megan, apparently, wasn’t. she blinked hard once, her mouth slightly open and fork hovering. she looked around. once.

then again, more pointedly. her face read like a full sentence: is anyone else seeing this shit?

no one was. she stared harder, raised both eyebrows, then made deliberate eye contact with lara across the table, silently mouthing: “what is happening.”

she didn’t even look up. “eat your eggs, meiyok.”

megan’s mouth dropped open. she looked around again like surely someone was going to acknowledge this.

you were mid-sentence, chewing, when you caught her expression. “what?”

she blinked, leaned across the table and stage-whispered: “is this new? did i fall into a time skip? did no one think to inform me, their child?”

manon picked a piece of croissant from her plate. “its been like this all morning.”

her jaw dropped, turning to yoonchae across the table. “have you seen this?”

“oh, so now we’re speaking? you told me to shut up in the car,” yoonchae took a long sip of her coffee. “you’re literally the last one to notice.”

“she’s feeding her,” megan hissed.

“not literally,” sophia said calmly from beside you, barely glancing up. “just serving the food i made for her.”

she threw her hands in the air, a piece of toast flipping off her plate in protest. “oh, that’s healthy. that’s normal.”

daniela leaned across the table toward megan, amused. “mei, you’re being dramatic.”

“oh, forgive me,” megan snapped. “i didn’t realise we were just casually doing this again!”

sophia let out a quiet snort, feeling her nudge your knee again under the table. she caught your eye in the chaos and for a split second, she looked like she wanted to say something.

but then she just smiled, soft and secretive and all that before turning back to her plate.

and for the first time since the accident, you let yourself believe she might be choosing you again — even in the smallest, quietest ways. even if she didn’t know it yet.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

for a while, it was good again.

intimacy came quietly between you in the quiet and ordinary; the way sophia started reaching for your hand without thinking, how her kisses in the kitchen didn’t need permission anymore and how she would lean against you at night like you were something solid she could rest on.

she began asking questions, as though she wanted to learn you again — this version of you, scarred and soft-spoken, who still made two cups of coffee every morning even if hers often went cold.

one saturday morning, she wandered into your studio barefoot, a blanket draped over her shoulder and yawning like she hadn’t quite adjusted to the hours you kept now. she leaned against the doorframe and watched you work, arms dusted with clay.

“will you teach me?” she asked, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand. “i wanna try.”

you paused, a playful smile etching on your mouth. “you?”

“me,” she confirmed, stepping forward and kissing your cheek like it was the most natural thing. “i’m not good at sitting still, though.”

you wanted to say you never were, but instead you just nodded and made space at the wheel.

weekends began to revolve around it: the mess, the laughter, sophia’s dramatic sighs every time her bowl collapsed in on itself. she was awful at it but she looked beautiful covered in dirt, her hair tied up in that half-careless way that left strands falling into her eyes and mouth stained with strawberries from the cut slices you kept in the fridge.

and sometimes, when she thought you weren’t looking, she would steal a kiss from you. just a quick one - enough to make your hands stop moving for several long seconds but you would get back onto it, the clay spinning slow beneath your fingers and pulling under your touch like it had a mind of its own.

this time, she sat back down opposite you on her own stool, apron crooked with her knees tucked close to the wheel.

you were shaping a vase, or trying to…but your hands weren’t steady; your mind wasn’t here.

“you okay?” she asked, tilting her head. there was dried clay on her cheekbone and a streak of it in her hair and she looked unfairly beautiful like that; undone.

“yeah,” you mumbled, thumb pressing too hard into the spinning shape. it buckled slightly and wobbled.

the space was quiet otherwise, the low hum of the wheel and the occasional shuffle of movement — your foot on the pedal, the stool creaking slightly as you shifted your weight.

sophia leaned forward, elbows resting on her thighs, watching the clay rise and fall. “you’re lying.”

your eyes stayed on your hands as they worked, trying not to think of what you were about to say.

“i talked to doctor kim again,” you began quietly.

that made her look up. “the neuro?”

you nodded, focusing on the slip of clay curving beneath your palms. “she said…sometimes memory loss like yours, it doesn’t just come back with time. sometimes it takes a second trauma; another shock; something emotional.”

she frowned.

your hands slowed. “she said, perhaps, and full disclosure; this was a friendly conversation outside of the hospital zone just in cause you sue her - but if something really drastic happened…it might trigger something and force your brain to reach for what’s missing.”

there was a pause.

then her voice, careful because she didn’t know where you were going with this. “okay…?”

you looked up for a second, then back at the wheel. “maybe i should disappear for a bit, that would be enough…if i left with no warning.”

she blinked, her expression folding in real time. and then, without warning, she slapped your arm — gentle, but firm enough that your hands flew up in surprise and the clay on the wheel collapsed into a sad, wet mess.

“hey!” you complained, startled.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” she muttered, rolling her eyes in disbelief. “you’re gonna disappear? are you serious?”

“it was a thought!” you defended yourself, laughing now because she looked so genuinely offended.

then she leaned forward and without hesitation, pressed her finger into the clay, brought it up and smeared it across your cheek, smudging it right below your eye.

“sophia —“

“if you vanish, i’m keeping the apartment,” she objected flatly, smearing another streak down your neck.

you scoffed at her and she grinned.

her teeth flashed, proud of herself and her eyes sparkled in that way they always used to — full of mischief and something else you still couldn’t name.

you wiped your face with the back of your arm, leaving a bigger smear. “that was rude.”

“so is abandoning me.”

“i wasn’t —”

“you were,” she said and her voice softened. “don’t.”

you swallowed, shoulders relaxing, the clay between your fingers forgotten. and she reached out, not with clay this time, but to gently brush your jaw with the edge of her knuckle.

“i may not remember everything,” she continued. “but every time i’m here with you, it feels like i should.”

you couldn’t say anything. so instead, you picked up a handful of wet clay and reached toward her with slow menace.

her eyes widened. “don’t you dare.”

you grinned and smeared it across her nose as she shrieked, trying to push you off.

the wheel spun on beside you, forgotten. but in that moment, all you could feel was her. alive and close and real. and yours…whether she remembered or not.

on the day sophia came to the studio for the first time two weeks later, it had been quiet all morning — no scheduled sessions and no background chatter of yunjin cursing at static feedback.

you were helping giselle set up the monitors, when the door opened with its usual squeak. you didn’t look up at first because it probably lara, forgetting her charger after yesterday’s session, again.

“no fucking way,” yunjin dropped her pen.

that was when you looked up, dumbfounded when your eyes met sophia’s — standing in the threshold like it was the first time, blinking at the soundproofing foam and scattered cables.

giselle looked up just in time to watch yunjin bolt across the room. “wait, wait, let her breathe —”

but sophia was already laughing, holding her arms out awkwardly, barely getting the chance to set her bag down before yunjin crashed into her. arms around her neck, head buried into her shoulder, body shaking just slightly like she couldn’t believe what she was touching.

“you’re here,” yunjin whispered.

she nodded fondly. “i am.”

then giselle joined them. not as loud, but no less emotional; her hands cupping sophia’s shoulders first, then tugging her in like she belonged there.

you held your breath.

and sophia — caught between them, still smiling in that unsure, breathless way, let herself get engulfed, arms tightening around both their backs with her face pressed between shoulders.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes closing like her body remembered this warmth before her mind had caught up. “i’d like to learn this again, if you guys are free.”

giselle’s smile was immediate. “of course, welcome home.”

for the next hour, you barely did anything except watch her: the way she followed instructions. the way her brow furrowed when yunjin explained reverb, the way she nodded slowly like she was soaking it all in.

and then, after hours — you cracked open a can of red horse each. sat on the curb like old times, streetlights buzzing above you.

“you know,” yunjin started, raising her can. “the only reason we ever drank this was ‘cause piya showed up one day with a box of it, saying it was the only beer that tasted good around these parts.”

sophia laughed quietly, holding her can with both hands. “i did?”

“you did,” giselle repeated, bumping her knee against hers. “and then it became our ritual…the post-production red horse.”

“that’s sweet,” she said, glancing at you.

you didn’t say anything, just smiled, feeling something warm creep under your skin.

“glad to have you back, soph,” yunjin patted her back. “y/n’s been really helpful, you’re lucky to have someone love you the way she does.”

neither of you said anything, but the smiles on your faces was enough of an answer.

sometime later, you excused yourself inside to pack the gear away, bending down to unplug the monitor speakers when you heard the door creak open behind you.

“you always pack like you’re the intern who accidentally recorded over the master tape,” giselle joked, her voice teasing.

you looked up and gave her a tired smile. “it’s habit; you know tidying gives me the illusion i’ve got everything under control.”

she stepped inside, eyes trailing across the space as she crossed her arms.

this room had seen all of you: sleepless nights, ugly fights, album launches and heartbreaks. it had held so much of sophia, before everything fell apart.

she walked over slowly, watching you pack up the last set of headphones. “she’s starting to sound like herself again.”

your fingers lingered on the zipper of your bag, pausing.

“is she?” you asked, not sure if you were brave enough to hope.

giselle nodded. “a little slower, softer. but yeah…the way she asked about gain staging earlier? how she tapped the tempo into the desk while yunjin was talking? that’s her — it’s all still there. just…taking its time.”

you didn’t say anything. you just stood there, eyes on the floor. there was that constant, unbearable mix of love and longing and fear starting in your chest again.

giselle stepped closer. “don’t give up on her.”

you looked up. her voice was quieter now, way more honest.

“i know it’s been slow. painful, even.”

you nodded, throat tightening. “sometimes it feels like i’m the only one waiting.”

“you’re not,” she reassured gently. “you’re just the one who has loved and known her the longest.”

you heaved out a sigh, the bag zipped shut beneath your hand. you didn’t want to hope, not until she asked you to come along again — not because she needed you, but because she remembered how it felt to want you by her side.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the invite came in passing.

sophia was brushing her teeth in the mirror when she asked, her voice muffled around the toothbrush: “do you want to come with me to this thing?”

you glanced up from the book in your lap, brows furrowed from the bedroom. “what thing?”

she spat into the sink, rinsed, then clarified. “an art gallery opening, very casual. one of my old uni friends invited me — i can cancel if you’re tired, though.”

you watched her eyes in the mirror, how she didn’t meet yours as she said it. her hands were already reaching for the towel, already moving to dry her face like she hadn’t just cracked open a piece of her past and held it between you.

“i’d love to, soph,” you smiled gently.

she smiled back, like she hadn’t expected you to say yes. “i just don’t want to go alone.”

but that wasn’t how it felt later, when you were in the hallway mirror, both of you getting ready to leave. she was adjusting her earrings when she turned toward you, smoothing down the collar of your coat with gentle fingers.

“there,” she murmured softly. “better.”

her hand lingered longer than it needed to and you caught her looking at you like she was seeing something new. or something old - you couldn’t quite tell the difference anymore.

the gallery was located inside a red-brick building downtown, all exposed beams and soft lighting, every corner filled with laughter and polished shoes echoing on concrete.

the moment you stepped in, you immediately felt underdressed, though sophia didn’t seem fazed at all.

people knew her; you hadn’t expected just how much.

they stopped her midstep, mid-sentence, mid-sip: old classmates, past professors, the people whose names she didn’t even need to say.

they remembered her with the kind of fondness that made you realise: she had been someone here. adored — the heart of every room.

and you couldn’t help but think how lovely it was, in a painful sort of way, to see a version of her you never got to meet.

“heard you’re coming back into the law scene?” hanni, some girl from her old lectures, asked.

“yeah, long story,” she answered easily, tucking hair behind her ear. “but yeah…i’m starting again soon.”

you stood beside her, nodding through introductions. each time, she said your name — just your name; a soft, forgettable introduction and then she would turn back to whoever was talking.

it stung; a hollowness behind your ribs that stayed.

then, after a few more greetings, she would reach for your hand again, slipping her fingers into yours when no one was looking, as though that made up for it.

“pinot grigio,” she whispered near your ear as you examined a wall of abstract canvases.

“again?” you muttered, putting hand to your chest in offense. “these fancy openings always serve this, don’t they?”

“i’m so sick of it!”

“oh, how atrocious,” you replied in a terrible british accent, making her laugh. “what would you serve then, wine snob?”

“a dry red. something with —”

“is that the sophia laforteza or just someone impossibly more stunning than i remember?” the voice, sharp and cheerful came from behind her, it irked you in all ways possible.

you turned at the same time she did: vincent.

he was tall and well-dressed in a subtle but expensive way. of course he had to be handsome; the kind of man people expected sophia to end up with.

the one she almost did.

she laughed, eyes wide. “vincent?”

he leaned in, polite but warm, pulling her into a short hug. “it’s been forever.”

they hugged — brief, half-clumsy. you stood still, your hands folded behind your back.

“and you are?” he asked, turning toward you with a polite smile.

“i’m y/n,” you answered, voice calm but deliberate. “sophia’s wife.”

he raised his eyebrows slightly, turning to her. “oh, i didn’t realise you two were married.”

you gave a small smile. “we’ve been married a while.”

he nodded, polite again, but his attention was already shifting back to sophia. the way they spoke: effortless, their sentences tumbling over one another — made your stomach twist.

their conversation brought up many things from his past and sophia’s current: shared references, jokes you didn’t understand, laughter that made your skin prickle.

you stood beside them but felt like you were on the other side of the room, your fingers awkwardly tracing the rim of your glass as you watched them…the way they leaned in slightly, the way she touched his arm when she laughed.

she used to look at you like that.

and somewhere between a joke about their old ethics professor and something about law school applications, you drifted. your eyes found the exit - the exit found you back.

when she excused herself to grab another drink, you stepped in, maybe too quickly.

“i’ll get it for you,” you sighed, already turning toward the bar. “catch up.”

she hesitated, but let you…her eyes following you carefully until you disappeared from her sight.

the bar was tucked at the edge of the gallery, low-lit and half-empty. you stood waiting for the bartender, fingers tapping the rim of your glass, trying not to think about how far you had drifted from her tonight.

“must be hard,” a voice began beside you, you immediately turned. “being married to someone who doesn’t remember you.”

she was equal parts striking and intimidating; you recognised her from law school photos. the words stung, not because they were cruel — but because they were somewhat true.

you pursed your lips, then said quietly: “we’re figuring it out.”

her gaze softened slightly. “i’m sorry, that came out really wrong. i didn’t mean for it to —“

you nodded, cutting her off. “really, it’s okay.”

she extended a hand, this time more formally. “danielle marsh.”

you shook it. “i’m y/n.”

her eyes lit up, surprised. “right, i remember hearing about your work a while ago.”

you nodded, unsure what to say. she looked genuinely interested now, shifting her wine to her other hand. “i’d love to see your pieces sometime,” she added eagerly. then, after a pause: “if you ever need free legal advice, i owe your wifee too many favours. this is all i can offer at the moment,” she handed you a small black card.

you smiled, softer this time. “thank you.”

“my office will be in touch for those pieces.”

raising your glass, you nodded. “i’ll be waiting.”

when you made your way back, wine glasses in hand, you found them still deep in conversation. vincent leaned closer, something soft in his eyes.

and sophia — god…she looked calm and lit up from within. you wanted to hate him, but you really didn’t. you just hated that you weren’t that light in her life anymore.

and when she finally noticed you again, she looked up with a smile like nothing had shifted, you realised she hadn’t even noticed how long you were gone.

“thank you,” she mumbled, taking the glass from you.

vincent was saying something about her applications, how he could easily connect her with someone who was in her units.

then he pulled her in for a hug — awkward, too-long and right in front of you.

you stood still.

“i’ll see you around,” he said, nodding politely at you. “pleasure to meet you, y/n.”

“you too.”

you didn’t mean it.

the rest of the night blurred. you walked through the gallery hand in hand again, but it didn’t feel the same. her fingers were warm but her gaze was elsewhere.

she tried to talk to you, pointing out a piece she liked, asking what you thought of a sculpture.

but your answers were short and clipped.

retreating into that small, quiet box in your chest where you went when things hurt too much to acknowledge.

she was looking at him in the same way she used to look at you.

and the ride home wasn’t any better.

you sat with your hands in your lap, fingers curled into the hem of your coat, watching the streetlights drag shadows across sophia’s face from the other side of the seat.

she looked calm, humming faintly to herself. occasionally glancing at you like she could sense something simmering but didn’t quite know where the heat was coming from.

you didn’t speak. there was too much to say, actually, too many versions of tonight that had scraped against old wounds. many memories that didn’t belong to her anymore, but still belonged to you.

in your head, she was still your wife. still yours.

but tonight, watching her smile at vincent, seeing the way she leaned into his familiarity, how she looked at him like he was part of something soft and unfinished —

you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

in her head, she was still dating her ex. and that fucking hurt.

by the time you got home, the ache in your chest was sharper than the one in your leg.

you moved on autopilot; keys in the bowl, jacket on the hook, shoes lined up by the door. sophia wandered into the kitchen like she always did, turned the overhead light on low, casting the whole room in this warm amber.

it made everything feel gentler than it actually was. you stood there, unsure whether to follow her or disappear into the room.

“tea or wine?” she asked.

your mouth parted, about to answer, but she was already pulling down the bottle - already setting out two glasses.

“wine, then,” she smiled to herself, uncorking it like it was the obvious choice.

you nodded, though your stomach twisted. this version of her…the one who didn’t wait, who just assumed she still knew you, hurt in ways you couldn’t name.

she joined you on the couch a few seconds later, handing you your glass. her thigh was pressed against yours and the heat made you even more aware of your silence.

the clink of the wine glass touching the table; the hush of the city outside. you were all the way in your head now, somewhere ugly and aching.

vincent’s voice still lingered. and that look sophia had given him — it played over and over behind your eyes. you hated how well they fit and how easy the conversation was.

and how forgotten you felt.

she’s still in love with someone she remembers. and it’s not me, you thought.

then, without a word, sophia stood up and walked to the record shelf.

she crouched in front of the record player, flipping through vinyls. her fingers stopped and she pulled out one like it had called to her.

the soft scratch of the needle settled into the room, followed by the slow, smoky start of ‘buddy’s rendezvous’.

you closed your eyes briefly. of all the songs.

she turned back around, glass still in hand and sat again — this time facing you, tucking one leg under the other. she was staring at you with something close to a frown, though her tone was gentle. “tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

there was so much to say. your throat tightened. “nothing…my leg hurts, that’s all.”

a beat of silence passed.

“c’mon,” she finally whispered. “up here.”

sophia set her wine down without comment, leaned forward and reached for your leg. you stayed still, her hands were warm as she pulled your leg up into her lap and started massaging it gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you didn’t stop her.

instead, you leaned back against the couch, tilted your head until it rested against the cushion. with your eyes closed, the tension in your throat began to loosen a little - the wine still balanced loosely in your fingers.

“i hate this leg,” you murmured. “i fucking hate everything.”

the words left your mouth before you could catch them. it was soft, but sharp around the edges…not a joke.

her thumbs paused for a second, then kept going as if she understood — rubbing your calf, up to your knee, gentle and steady, perhaps trying to knead the bitterness out of you.

the music crackled softly in the background.

everything you want, what’s the fun in getting everything you want?

your head was spinning; wine, confusion, the unbearable sweetness of her hands still choosing you in this moment.

her hands paused, resting against your knee for a moment. “better?”

“sure,” you nodded quietly. “thanks.”

she looked at you like she wanted to say more, biting the bottom of her lip. then she began to lean forward, crawling up without a word and hands pressing either side of your hips, weight settling onto your thighs.

she was on top of you now, soft and sure, breathing your name under her breath like it was permission.

you didn’t dare move, her mouth found yours first. she was gentle, pressing up against as your hands moved into her hair, pulling her closer.

she kissed you like she had something to prove — like maybe tonight had reminded her of what she stood to lose. perhaps she saw it, too: the distance between then and now.

but for now, there was no distance.

only this…her weight on your lap, lips on yours and the soft moan she didn’t mean to let out when your hands slid under her shirt.

you could feel your heart trying to speak, pounding against your ribs like it wanted to be let out. but you didn’t say anything.

you just kissed her because the distance hadn’t begun yet.

for now, she was still yours. and god — didn’t that count for something?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the silence of the flat had started to feel like a third person in the house…well, it was subtle at first.

small absences stitched into the seams of routine: missed meals, late replies, mornings without the smell of coffee. sophia had started seeing her parents more often; something about more paperwork for her return to law school.

her texts to you were growing shorter, then less frequent and some went unanswered.

you tried not to take it personally. she was busy figuring things out, reminded yourself that healing wasn’t linear…that intimacy could exist even in silence.

but some nights, it was hard to believe that.

this was one of those nights.

you left the studio early, the first time in a few weeks. giselle had offered to close up so you could head home and you had taken it as a sign. you didn’t have much left in your account, rent had just gone through — but you still stopped by king & i and ordered the usual: chicken pad thai, khao soi and mango sticky rice.

your hands trembled slightly on the train ride home from fatigue and hunger. the studio had been accidentally overbooked this month and all of a sudden, you were swarmed with endless tasks.

you kept checking your phone like it might buzz — ‘a where are you?’ or even a ‘running late’.

nothing.

as soon as you reached home, you kicked off your shoes and moved quietly through the space. the apartment smelled like vanilla and cloves from the candle you lit that morning. you unpacked the food, laid the table gently; ceramic bowls and real cutlery, not the wooden ones from the takeaway bag.

you even put on a record: orion sun, spinning soft in the background.

when sophia walked in fifteen minutes later, the first thing she said was: “babe, you didn’t have to do all this.”

but she was smiling when she said it, leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek, her fingers still cold from being outside.

you tried not to melt at the contact.

“i wanted to,” you sighed. “we’ve both been so busy.”

she slipped out of her coat, draped it over the back of the couch. her hair was tied up, a few loose strands framing her face. she looked tired. but lighter, somehow.

��how was the studio?” she asked, sitting across from you.

you shrugged, scooping pad thai onto her plate. “same stuff. yunjin’s still fussy about the bass mix and giselle has a hangover from last night after drinking all the beer in the fridge.”

she laughed. “what, the red horse?”

“yup,” you chuckled. “the very one, bloody thing has eight percent of alcohol in a can.”

“she’s ridiculous,” she shook her head fondly, then brightened. “i had my interview this morning for the official start date. it went really well; i think they’re gonna give me my old spot.”

you smiled, even though it hurt in a way — a gentle the reminder that this version of sophia, the one in front of you, belonged to a world you weren’t really part of.

not anymore.

“that’s amazing!” you exclaimed and meant it. you reached under the table, pulling out the small box you had hidden earlier. “i made you a little something…i kind of knew you were going to get your spot, so.”

she gasped in surprise and tore the wrapper slowly, expression softening as she lifted the ceramic mug you had painted — cobalt swirls on cream, uneven in places, but full of you.

“this is gorgeous,” she breathed in awe. “you made this?”

you nodded, suddenly shy. “glazed it last week. figured you would need something to stress-sip liquid from — law school’s going to be hectic.”

she leaned over and kissed your cheek again, warmer this time. “thank you, really.”

for a moment, things felt easy again. the silence demanded nothing from you two as you sat together on the couch, empty bowls on the table behind you, orion sun still faint on the vinyl.

sophia told you about the upcoming brunch with her mother, how danielle had offered to help her prep for a mock trial if she needed it and vincent’s been helping her study, actually — “he’s really good at simplifying things.”

you forced a smile, trying to act normal.

but the tone of her voice changed when she said his name. it wasn’t romantic, no, just…warm in a way you hadn’t heard in weeks.

she didn’t notice the shift in your posture, but you felt it - the subtle flicker of something that tasted like grief.

you wondered what it would be like to forget someone. not just the bad, but the good too; to erase the weight of shared history and start fresh, without any of the debt.

how lucky.

sophia stood up then, stretching.

“i’ve got brunch with mum tomorrow,” she mumbled sleepily, running her fingers through her hair. “i’m heading to bed soon. are you coming?”

you nodded quickly. “yeah. i’ll just…clean up first.”

she leaned in, kissed you on the mouth this time — gentle, but brief.

you sat still for a moment, alone on the couch, hands curled around the ceramic mug she just unwrapped. pressing your thumb to the rim, you noticed there was a slight chip on the handle.

a part of you wanted to shatter it and make something new.

but instead, you picked up the empty bowls, turned the record over and cleaned the kitchen like nothing was cracking under your skin.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a few days later, the distance had grown long enough to notice. what began subtly was now pretty obvious: she was avoiding you.

an unanswered message here, a missed dinner there. and then one morning, you woke up and the bed was cold, her side untouched. your hand instinctively reached across the sheets, but all it met was the quiet.

there was no note, just a text an hour later: staying at mum and dad’s for the day, law prep stuff. hope your leg’s better today x

and that became the rhythm. you would wake up alone, sometimes go to bed that way too. she started sleeping over at her parents’ house more often.

she gave you a heads up, always polite: don’t wait up; mum’s early breakfast plans; dad’s pulling out old case files.

you told yourself not to panic — she was reconnecting with her family. that was important, you wanted that for her, but it still hurt.

you didn’t know what you did, or if you did anything at all. you tried replaying the last few conversations; the last time she reached for your hand without thinking. it all seemed fine — better than fine, you were getting somewhere.

had you only imagined it?

and then one thursday afternoon, the answer to your confusion arrived in the shape of a silver car pulling into the driveway - you knew who it was immediately by the silence of the engine.

you were sitting outside, sketchbook balanced on your good knee, the other leg throbbing in the cold. you were drawing to distract yourself: sloppy lines and unfinished thoughts in charcoal.

anything to quiet the ache.

vincent stepped out of the driver’s side and jogged around to open sophia’s door like it was instinct. she climbed out slowly, laughing at something he said, brushing her hair out of her face as he shut the door behind her.

she looked happy.

and when she noticed you sitting there on the porch, her laughter stopped.

her smile faded, replaced with something cautious. “hey, didn’t know you were out here.”

you looked at her for a moment as the wind tugged her shirt sleeve.

vincent, to his credit, handled it with grace.

“hi y/n,” he said, offering a nod, his voice gentle. “i just dropped her home…we were going over some prep for the semester. i’ll get out of your way in a minute.”

you closed your sketchbook, swallowing the taste of bitterness on your tongue. “thanks, hope it went well.”

“it did,” sophia cut in, stepping past him. “thanks again, vince.”

he gave a soft smile and left without dragging it out. the car reversed, tires crunching softly over gravel — you watched until the taillights disappeared, fighting the urge follow her inside right away.

your hands shook too much to carry your sketchbook and you didn’t know if it was anger or jealousy.

whatever it was, it felt ugly. you felt ugly.

but eventually, you stood. the limp was worse than usual, each step a reminder that your body hadn’t healed where it needed to. and perhaps, neither had your heart.

when you walked inside, she was in the kitchen, pouring water into a glass like nothing was wrong.

you stood in the doorway, voice calm. “have you been spending time with him?”

she turned to you. “i told you, he’s been helping with my law school stuff. i’ve mentioned it before.”

“you did,” you nodded. “but he’s your ex.”

she sighed, setting the glass down harder than necessary. “and? what does that have to do with anything?”

you kept your voice even. “i’m not upset you’re getting help. i’m just…confused. that’s all — it’s been happening more lately. and he’s not just anyone, he’s someone you used to love.”

sophia’s arms crossed over her chest. “y/n, you don’t have the right to be jealous.”

you flinched, barely. “i do, legally, you’re still my wife.”

“no,” she insisted, pushing up from the counter. “you don’t, you keep throwing that word around like it still means something.”

“it does mean something,” you said quietly, looking down. “it means something to me.”

that made her pause as you took a small breath, trying to steady yourself.

“i thought we were making progress,” you continued, eyes softer. “after everything…the dinners, the pottery and the kisses — i thought maybe we were finding something real again.”

“you thought,” she snapped. “you decided that and gave yourself the idea that this was some grand love story where i was going to magically remember you.”

she kept going. “you think just because we kissed or because i was kind to you, that it meant something? maybe it was just something familiar.”

your heart dropped, shattering. still, your voice stayed calm. “was it all just…an experiment, then? a situationship to kill time while you walked back to the life you left behind?”

“you’re twisting this,” she groaned, tone sharp. “he dropped me off, so what?”

“i’m not twisting anything, sophia, i’m just trying to understand how we went from kissing on the couch to you sleeping at your parents’ house every other night.”

she looked furious now, but it wasn’t rage - it was something messier. hurt, maybe, grief that hadn’t found its shape.

“you can’t put this all on me,” she defended herself, voice cracking. “i’m trying to figure out who i am and you’re sitting here claiming ownership over something i don’t even remember choosing.”

your mouth parted, composure slipping. “are you fucking hearing yourself right now?”

and for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

back then, you had never yelled at her…not until now — choosing to stay patient through every cruel word whenever she became frustrated.

but this…this pushed past your limits.

“do you know how hard it’s been to wake up next to someone who looks like my wife but doesn’t know how to look at me anymore? and i’ve done every fucking thing, everything, to not make you feel guilty and give you space and to let you rediscover what you need to….but this?” your voice cracked, taking a deep breath in frustration. “this is fucking cruel.”

her face had hardened into something unfamiliar; defensive and too proud to back down.

and so you stood there, feeling smaller than you had in months as you waited for something soft to return — but nothing did.

now, everything between you was suddenly fragile, as if one wrong move would shatter it completely.

the room felt colder than usual.

sophia’s glass was still half full, her fingers still curled loosely around the rim. neither of you had moved in minutes, the last few words just hanging there between you like wires stretched too tight.

“do you really think this is easy for me?” she finally looked up, her voice sharp enough to draw blood.

you didn’t answer, barely leaning against the door frame, arms limp by your sides as you stared at the wood grain under your feet; listening.

“do you know how it feels to wake up every day next to someone who knows you better than you know yourself? to feel like you’re constantly auditioning for a role you never asked to play?”

“i’m not asking you to be anyone else!”

“yes, you fucking are,” she spat. “every time you look at me like that. with those eyes —like you’re waiting; hoping today might be the day i finally come back to you.”

“i’m just trying to understand how we got here. how you went from —” you explained gently but stopped yourself, clenching your jaw. “never mind.”

“no,” she raised her voice. “say it again, go on. say how i kissed you, how we slept in the same bed, how i held your hand — i know what i did.”

you stared at her, ears ringing. her chest was rising and falling again now like saying it had winded her.

“okay,” you whispered, making sense of what she was trying to do.

“you were kind to me,” she added, slamming her hand on the table. “and you’re probably right, maybe i led you on, maybe i wanted to feel something and you were the closest thing i had to comfort.”

you nodded slowly, lips pressing into a thin line. “that’s okay, i’m not mad at you.”

that somehow made her angrier.

“why aren’t you mad?” she asked. “why don’t you yell? why don’t you tell me i’m cruel and selfish and confused?”

you looked at her then — and you saw the version of her that didn’t know what to do with your patience: the version that wanted to be hated because at least then she could walk away without guilt.

“i’m tired,” sophia admitted, louder this time. “tired of the pressure and feeling like whatever this is…isn’t enough. because it’s not enough, is it? not for you.”

you breathed in through your nose, steady and quiet. “sophia, i’ve never asked for more than you could give.”

“no,” she laughed bitterly. “but you feel like more; you carry this history between us like a ghost and i’m the one fucking haunted by it.”

you looked at her flushed cheeks, her narrowed eyes and trembling fingers. she looked so alive in her anger, so real. and yet…so far away from you.

“how do you look at someone you love,” you asked, pausing to look her in the eye. “and decide it’s time to stop?”

sophia’s shoulders sagged all at once. her mouth parted, but no sound came. then she turned away, pressed her knuckles to her lips like she had calmed down.

“don’t,” she whispered. “don’t say things like that.”

“why not?” you waited; watched her tuck her arms around herself like she was holding something in.

“i don’t want to disappoint you anymore,” she breathed out, lips trembling. “i see it in your eyes every time i forget something…or when i can’t react the way you expect me to — i see the hope, and it kills me.”

“you never disappoint me,” you murmured, but your voice was paper thin.

“i do,” she cut in, her eyes were glassy now. “i know you say it’s okay, you try to be patient. but it’s there. it’s always there. and the worst part is knowing…knowing this might be it. that these memories might never come back. and you’ll keep waiting for a version of me that’ll never come.”

your own hands felt so heavy as you looked at them again, throat aching with sobs you couldn’t let out just yet.

so you asked, barely above a whisper. “if i disappeared tomorrow…if you didn’t have to carry the weight of our marriage on your shoulders anymore…would that make you happy?”

a silence so loud it rang through your ears.

sophia blinked rapidly, a tear slipping out of her eye as you watched it slide down the curve of her cheek. and finally, she whispered: “yes.”

the admission didn’t feel like a stab, it felt like relief for all the sleepless nights and careful silences that had led you here — to this one truth neither of you could outrun.

something inside you had already broken long before tonight, you couldn’t cry even though it hurt.

so all you could do was nod.

“you know i love you, sophia. i promised i’d love all versions of you, attend a thousand funerals for the person you used to be. and i do love whoever you are right now even if she doesn’t remember me.”

you looked at her eyes, down to the way she fidgeted with her sleeves like she didn’t want to be seen crying. and you softened, not because she deserved your kindness, but because you still believed in the love that made you offer it.

“but if me being gone would genuinely bring you peace,” you said gently. “then i’ll let you go.”

she covered her face with her hands, breathing hard like it hurt to hear. and maybe it did, but you didn’t move to comfort her. instead, you stood there and held space for the pain so it could settle.

of all the things you thought love would be, you never imagined it would end like this — not in the way her eyes dropped to the floor like they couldn’t bear to meet yours. you loved her enough to wait.

it didn’t take long. she wiped her face with the back of her wrist and silently turned towards the bedroom.

you moved towards the sink, eyes following the fading echo of her footsteps and the way the floor creaked under her weight. then, the zipper of a bag and the sound of drawers opening and the faint hum of her breath catching in her chest.

she came out with a small overnight bag slung over her shoulder, hair tucked behind her ears like she couldn’t bear to have it in her face.

“i’ll stay with my parents,” she mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “just for a few days. until…things calm down.”

you nodded again. “okay.”

there was no hope left in you, not anymore.

she lingered by the door, clutching the strap of her bag. you caught her glance around the flat one last time: the plants, your shared bookshelf, the clay bowl you left on the dining table two nights ago.

then she left.

gripping the edge of the sink, you held your breath as if it could help you slow your thoughts. deep down, you already knew this wasn’t temporary…this wasn’t until things calm down.

this was the end.

the glass sophia drank from earlier still sat on the counter and you stared at it for a long time.

perhaps it was the last thing tethering you to her.

and in that emptiness, one thought echoed over and over again — what a strange thing it was, to lose someone twice. and still love both versions.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a few days passed and the silence that followed felt heavier than the argument itself. you tried not to think about it, but it seeped into everything: your morning tea, walks to the studio, into the quiet way the sheets felt colder without her in them.

you hadn’t heard anything from her since.

and of course, it made you wonder — if you had just held your tongue; didn’t ask that question; if you just swallowed it all down like you always did, would she still be here? would she still be waking up beside you, brushing her teeth beside you, grumbling about burnt toast and leaving her socks in weird places?

you blamed yourself for the fallout.

you kept replaying it in your head like a broken record, telling yourself you were the one who shattered whatever quiet peace you built. perhaps if you hadn’t said ‘i’ll let you go’.

maybe if you had just — you didn’t know.

when the knock came, you startled upright, heart leaping so fast it made your stomach hurt.

you limped to the door, brushing your palms against your shirt and tried to smoothen yourself out. and despite every rational part of you whispering don’t hope, your lips tugged into a smile before you even turned the knob.

but it wasn’t sophia.

it was godfrey laforteza: cold, composed and unreadable as ever. his eyes swept over your expression as though taking measure.

the smile dropped from your face instantly. still, you stepped aside, murmured: “come in.”

he entered slowly, gaze flicking across the apartment like he was inspecting it; checking the space and the remnants of your life with her.

he just hummed in satisfaction.

you cleared your throat, standing awkwardly. “would you like something to drink? coffee or tea maybe?”

“i won’t be staying long,” he replied simply, settling himself down onto the couch, legs crossed and briefcase set neatly by his feet.

you sat across from him, hands folded tightly in your lap.

“i’ll get straight to the point,” he said, folding his fingers. “i think it’s time sophia moved back in with us.”

your stomach twisted. “…she decided that?”

“she agrees it might be for the best. law school begins soon and she needs to focus. she needs structure and stability; you know how it is in our world, don’t you?”

you swallowed hard. “sophia needs a support system. someone who was in her life before the accident. someone who —”

“she has that,” he cut in. “vincent, her old university friends. people who know her as she is now…not as who she was.”

you flinched when you didn’t mean to, but it was physical - the words actually landed on you.

his face didn’t shift, simply reaching for the briefcase, popped it open and pulled out a folder. he placed it carefully on the coffee table and nudged it towards you.

“what’s this?” you asked, though you already knew.

“divorce papers,” he answered so casually. “i’d like you to take your time with them, but sophia’s already signed.”

your breath caught in your chest.

he said it like it was business and not your whole world being ripped out from under you. this was sophia you were talking about — your wife, your best friend and the person you built your life around.

your throat burned. “you’re lying.”

he didn’t react, just pushed the folder closer.

“she wants to start over. she can’t do that if she’s anchored to a version of herself she doesn’t recognise. this marriage —” his gaze sharpened, scoffing. “wasn’t her choice. it was memory’s, specifically yours. then old habits, legal obligations.”

you gripped the edge of the couch cushion so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“i understand the bills are stacking up,” he added like salt to the wound. “you’ve taken time off sculpting. you’re barely operating the studio with how much your leg is aching — this can all go away. we’ll provide support. financial, if necessary.”

your fingers didn’t move as you stared at the page like it might suddenly vanish, maybe if you blinked hard enough, it would all blur.

it was really her name, sophia elizabeth laforteza, scrawled in the same handwriting you watched on grocery lists, birthday cards, notes she used to stick on the fridge that said don’t forget to kiss me before work.

then you looked up at him; at the man who had never once looked at you like you were enough.

“i don’t want your money,” you replied bitterly.

he frowned, unimpressed.

“i love her, i genuinely love her.”

“then you’ll understand,” he replied. “that she signed willingly. this is her choice.”

you shook your head, not in disbelief, no. it had sunk in by now. you were just trying to find oxygen in the room again.

“she wants to part with the life she can’t remember,” he continued. “and begin again, she deserves that.”

his words were sharp, but what made them unbearable wasn’t the cruelty - it was that they were probably true.

you leaned back, folding your arms across your stomach like you were holding yourself together.

he opened the checkbook.

you stood up, too fast, the motion clumsy and shaking. “get out.”

he raised an eyebrow.

“now.”

he didn’t argue, but stood calmly as ever and gathered his things. at the door, he paused. “you love her, i believe that. but loving someone who doesn’t love you back —”

“i said get out.”

he looked at you for a beat too long. maybe to find weakness, look for something resembling gratitude, but there was none left. not for him.

you slammed the door closed and locked it, the quiet was louder now.

walking into your workspace, you turned towards the wheel; the drying shelves; the half-finished pieces. bowls, vases, little things waiting to be held.

you grabbed one, didn’t even look at what it was, then you smashed it against the wall. the crash was satisfying despite the lingering ache in your chest.

you picked up another, this one still soft and threw it next. it didn’t shatter the same way but it made a mark. you kept going, just one after the fucking other.

the ache needed somewhere to go.

your hands were covered in dust and glaze, breathing uneven. and you stared at the mess with hollow eyes.

on the coffee table, the folder just sat there like it wasn’t the final nail in the coffin. but you knew it in your bones…that nothing would ever feel the same again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sound broke through the stillness that had settled in the apartment as you sat on the floor, legs pulled up to your chest beside the half-wrecked bookshelf. one of your mugs, the one she used all the time, lay broken beneath the dining table.

the cushions were out of place, clay-stained towels draped over the edge. everything felt like a strange mix of ache and apathy.

you didn’t answer the door, but it creaked open anyway.

manon’s voice was the first to fill the space. “hey babe, it’s just dani and i. the younger ones didn’t want to crowd you.”

you looked up slowly; her hair was damp, as if she left in a rush. daniela trailed behind her, carrying a box of takeout and a bottle of something; not alcoholic for once, maybe juice. you couldn’t remember the last time you’ve had anything besides wine.

both of them paused when they took in the room, daniela’s mouth opened like she was about to say something, then closed again.

they didn’t ask questions. manon crouched near you on the floor, careful not to touch anything just yet. “giselle said you haven’t been at the studio and that you weren’t answering calls.”

you nodded; that was true.

daniela set the box down on the coffee table. she didn’t sit yet, hovering and looking at you, her brows drawn together with real concern.

you swallowed down the dryness in your mouth, voice coming out smaller than you meant it to. “she’s gone.”

neither of them said anything as you looked down at your hands, picking at the edge of a dried clay smear on your knee. the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable, it felt more like permission for you to pour your heart out.

you inhaled, then spoke again, slower this time. “she just…switched. i don’t know when. one day we were okay, then vincent showed up again. then she was packing. and then her dad came over with…with fucking divorce papers.”

you nodded towards the folder still sitting on table in front of you. manon followed your gaze, she didn’t touch it.

“she already signed them,” you chuckled bitterly, trying not to choke on it. “i don’t even get to talk to her, i didn’t even know she fucking wanted one, you know?”

daniela sat beside you now, crossing her legs and exhaled slowly - she was letting the weight of it settle around her too.

“did you sign?” she asked.

you shook your head.

“good,” she said, but there was no certainty behind it; it was a quiet understanding that maybe there wasn’t a good or bad way to survive something like this.

“and he…he offered me money to go through with it.”

manon’s jaw tensed, reaching for her phone when it buzzed then put it back down without turning it over.

“i said no,” you whispered. “i told him i love her. and he said…she wants to start over. that she’s done trying to remember.”

the words hung there like smoke.

you stared at the floor again. “and i get it, you know? i get it, must be exhausting — waking up next to someone who remembers every version of you when you don’t even recognise your own handwriting.”

“i thought we were doing better. i really thought we were getting through it. she was…warm again,” you rubbed your face with both hands, suddenly ashamed of how easily the words spilled out of you. “and all of a sudden she was gone.”

manon leaned her head back against the couch behind you, staring up at the ceiling. “do you want her back?”

the question caught you off guard, eyes flicking toward her.

she added, quieter: “or do you just want the version of her that remembered you?”

the question echoed around your ribs, unkind in its accuracy; you didn’t know how to answer that because part of you wanted to scream: yes, of course. yes, you wanted sophia back.

but which one?

you thought about all of it: the pottery classes, her messy apron covered in clay, how she cried the first time yunjin and giselle hugged her at the studio, how she laughed at your terrible playlist while spinning the wheel.

and then you thought about the quiet: the unanswered texts, the look she gave vincent, the mug by the sink she hadn’t touched in weeks, the way her eyes softened when she said she was tired.

“i don’t know.”you looked down at your hands again, the wedding ring still on your finger glinted under the yellow light.

the truth was heavier than anything else; not knowing or having an answer — loving someone who couldn’t remember the life you built together and maybe didn’t want to.

manon didn’t press. “that’s alright.”

only that it didn’t feel alright, but somehow, having someone else say it grounded you for a second.

the three of you sat in the living room as the sun sank lower. it stayed warm with the scent of the takeout box and the presence of people who had chosen to stay.

the apartment grew quieter the longer they stayed. manon eventually unfolded a blanket from the armrest and placed it over your shoulders, wordlessly. you didn’t resist, tucking your hands beneath the soft fabric and leaned back against the couch again, heart heavy in your chest.

daniela opened the box and placed it on the coffee table, peeling off the lid like she was trying not to startle you. “you’ve gotta eat,” she muttered, not looking at you. “even if it’s just a few bites.”

you stared at the rice for a moment before nodding, unsure if you were doing it for yourself or for her. the food was warm and slightly sweet. you didn’t have much of an appetite, but you chewed slowly, the motion keeping your mind from spiralling too far down.

no one had said anything about the broken pieces by the wall; it was written in the stillness of the apartment, the way the curtains hadn’t been drawn back in days and the vinyl player silent beneath a thin coat of dust.

“she really just left?” daniela asked eventually, her voice low.

you nodded, letting your head rest against the back of the couch. “she said she needed space.”

she pursed her lips, manon didn’t look away. “and you? what do you need?”

it was the first time anyone had asked.

the answer didn’t come right away. you wanted to say something, anything, that didn’t make you feel like a shell. but all you could manage was, again: “i don’t know.”

your hands were calloused and scarred from the kiln, from the sharp edges of things you never threw away.

“maybe just…” you swallowed, throat catching. “to not feel like i’m waiting anymore.”

they didn’t say anything, but you felt them shift closer, as if something unspoken had started to bridge the gap between where you were and what they wanted to give you.

manon set her legs up and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “you’re not a burden, you know.”

your laugh was dry. “i’m not sure i’m anything at all right now.”

“you’re someone,” daniela reassured firmly. “you’re someone to us.”

you looked at her, and for a moment, you saw what she meant. it was in the way she looked at you, still worth something, even if sophia didn’t see it anymore. maybe you would eventually believe them.

daniela got up, pouring a glass of water before handing it to you. “so what happens now?”

the answer clanged through your chest like an empty can: what now?

“i don’t think she’s coming back; she’s tired.”

you didn’t mean to sound so final, but there it was. you could feel the truth of it under your tongue; how light the apartment felt now, stripped of her presence. her laughter hadn’t filled the corners of this place in days.

daniela tilted her head. “tired of what?”

“of me,” the weight of your own voice made your stomach twist. “she tried, she really did…but maybe some stories aren’t meant to be restarted.”

hours passed slowly, but neither of them made a move to leave. daniela curled into the couch above you while manon disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a teapot full of chamomile tea. the sound of rain began to replace the silence, inconsistent drips banging against the windowpane. you watched it for a while, the way the water blurred the lights; all you could think about was how often sophia used to trace those lights on the glass with her finger, humming quietly, saying the city looked better when it was out of focus.

maybe that’s what she had done with you —blurred you out until you were someone easier to let go of.

manon leaned over and pressed her head against your shoulder, careful not to shift the blanket. it startled you for a second, but you didn’t pull away.

here, in this quiet room filled with two people who hadn’t kept you out, who were holding on even when you had nothing left to offer, you realised maybe you didn���t have to keep dying over the same person.

maybe you could start again: with letting people love you even when you didn’t know what to do with it.

you closed your eyes and let yourself rest against the couch. it wasn’t peace yet, but it was something close.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

there were two soft taps against the door you hadn’t opened in days. for a while, you didn’t move. you were still in the clothes you slept in from two nights ago, one sock missing and a smear of clay across your forearm.

the apartment smelled like bergamot and burnt rice; she was always the better cook than you, wasn’t she?

there was a breeze threading through the cracked window and you wanted to believe maybe it had just been a bird. or a neighbour. or nothing. but then again, only one person knocked like she didn’t know if she belonged anymore.

it was only a matter of time; everything always made its way back to the door. you didn’t move to open it right away, letting the silence hang there between the wood and your chest, you thought that maybe if you waited long enough, she would turn around and leave, spare you the final step.

but she didn’t.

you stood slowly, your leg stiff from sitting too long in the same spot. there was a damp towel on the floor, half a piece of toast on the counter and you didn’t bother fixing any of it.

when you opened the door, sophia stood there in a navy coat, damp from the drizzle outside. her fringe clung to her forehead, your eyes travelling down to the ends of her soaked sleeves.

she looked the same, seemingly, everything that had changed between you had never touched her skin.

she stepped in without waiting for an invite. her eyes landed on the folder on the coffee table; the one you hadn’t put away because you couldn’t��because looking at it was easier than pretending it didn’t exist.

she exhaled through her nose. “you saw it.”

you nodded. then, coldly: “you sent your father to do it for you?”

her head snapped up in surprise. “what?”

you didn’t say anything as you watched the weight of it slowly process in her thoughts. her expression cracked; the crease between her brows, the way her eyes darted to the folder again like it might explain itself.

“i didn’t ask him to do that,” she said quickly, breath catching. “i swear, i…he told me he had spoken to you, but i didn’t know he was bringing all of —“

“you could’ve spoken to me yourself,” your voice was level. “but instead, i opened the door and it was him. not you.”

sophia looked like she was about to say something, but the words didn’t come. her lips pressed together, trembling at the corners.

you turned away first, walking slowly back toward the dining table. “he looked at me like i was something you’d finally outgrown.”

“y/n…” you didn’t look at her, standing with one hand on the table’s edge, grounding yourself.

“what did he say?” she asked in a clearer voice, it sounded like her thoughts were catching up. “what did you two talk about?”

you looked at her then and something in your chest pinched. she looked genuinely afraid — of what had been said without her there.

you softened like you always did. “i’m not gonna stand here and bag your dad out in front of you, soph.”

she blinked at the nickname, thinking that you would stop using it. “please?”

“like i said, he brought the divorce papers. told me it’d be better for you to move home. to start fresh without…distractions.”

she looked taken aback, you didn’t let her speak.

“he offered me money, too,” you added, quieter now. “said it was just to help me get back on my feet…but we both know what it meant.”

her hands curled into fists at her sides, jaw clenching. you reached into the drawer beside you and pulled out a pen.

“i didn’t take the money,” you looked at her. “but i’ll sign it.”

her breath caught audibly.

“i’ll sign it now,” you repeated. “i want you to know that you can walk away clean, that you can stop feeling like you owed me something.”

“i never —” her voice broke. “i didn’t think it would come to this.”

“me neither.”

you hadn’t even thought of divorce when you married her. not once and not even as a faraway what-if. because when you looked at sophia — veil slightly crooked and lipstick smudged from a kiss she stole too early — there wasn’t a single part of you that doubted forever.

you thought you would be the one tying her shoelaces when she couldn’t bend down anymore, fight about what colour to repaint the kitchen when you were sixty, be there when her hair turned grey and her hands started to shake. to put it simply, you thought you were going to grow old with her.

she moved closer, slow and unsure, until you could smell the remnants of her perfume, something woody and almost gone.

you forced a small smile. “your family never thought i was good enough. and i guess…they were right. you know that now too, don’t you?”

she didn’t answer. and the silence that followed wasn’t cruel. it was worse than that - it was true.

“but god, i loved you. i loved you so much i would’ve buried every version of myself to match the life they wanted for you,” you sighed and placed the folder back down, gently smoothing the cover. the pen clicked softly in your hand. “all you have to do now is ask me.”

she stepped back like the words physically pushed her. the room grew very still until all you could hear was the tick of the wall clock and your own breath. “i thought i was doing you a favour.”

you let out a bitter laugh under your breath, it was the only thing you had left in you. “what part of this was easy for me?”

she didn’t answer, moving to sit down across from you. her hands trembled a little, fingers pressed to her brow like she was trying to stop her thoughts from unravelling.

you stayed standing, needing the distance. “you don’t have to carry this guilt.”

she looked up, but allowed you to keep going.

“i promised to love every version of you, remember? and i still do. even later, when i’m no longer part of the picture.”

it was like something inside you needed to be said out loud, maybe for the last time. “but if me being gone will stop that ache in your chest that keeps you from sleeping at night — then the least i can offer you is peace.”

she leaned back, lips parted like she was trying to breathe through it; she shook her head once. “you make it sound so final.”

“isn’t it?” you placed the pen on top of the folder and walked past her toward the hallway. your bad leg ached with every step, but you didn’t stop until you reached what you needed to get.

a box. there was something poetic about it; how it could take on the shape of grief without breaking down.

the first frame you pulled down was one from the living room wall: the photo booth strip of the two of you in sydney, half blurry, faces squished together, her lips pressed to your cheek and the last frame just her hand over the lens, laughing too hard. you held it a beat too long before slipping it gently into the box beside your feet, next to the stack of travel postcards, pressed flowers and a sun-faded drawing she once doodled on a napkin and claimed was modern art.

one by one, not even sure what counted anymore — if they were yours, if they were hers, if they belonged to both of you or no one at all. on the table where she sat quietly, your fingers lingered on a strip of film tucked behind a dusty photo frame. the one from siargao; shadows long across the sand, your smile crooked as she clung to your back. you wrapped it in a tea towel and put it at the bottom of the box.

it was quiet again, taut with the weight of things unsaid. from behind, you could hear the hum of the fridge and the uneven drip of the tap you were meant to fix months ago. every sound felt louder in the stillness, as if the world had shrunk to the size of your heartbreak.

“the lease ends in three months,” you began, more to the floor than to her. “i’ll stay until then, pay the complete amount and then i’ll go.”

sophia didn’t answer, hands clasped in front of her like she was trying to stop them from shaking.

“and the studio’s under my name anyway,” you continued, voice dull. “you don’t have to worry about that…it’s sorted.”

you crouched beside the bookshelf next, sifting through more frames, some of her old textbooks and a couple of shared records you hadn’t played in months. there wasn’t much to fight over - she didn’t remember what half of it meant anyway.

“you should keep this one,” you murmured, holding up a small vampire sculpture she had once admired. “you liked it.”

you took a thorough look around the space: ceramic planters you made together, mugs with imperfect handles, old art prints you collected from markets. “we don’t really have much in terms of assets, so you can take whatever you’d like.“

you didn’t hear her approach until she was just behind you. her voice was smaller again, quiet in a way that unsettled you.

“i went through my dad’s safe,” she started. “i don’t know why. i wasn’t even looking for anything, it was open and…i saw your name on a folder and opened it.”

you paused mid-movement, a thin layer of dust on your fingers. she stood beside you.

“there were emails,” she continued, heaving out a sigh. “a lot of them; from him to galleries — fake references, letters, bad things about you.”

the air between you shifted.

“and he had people follow you. like, private investigators. photos of us grocery shopping and eating. it was all documented, he only stopped the year before the accident.”

you swallowed slowly, eyes still fixed on the mess in front of you because you didn’t want to see the look on her face, not when it was laced with guilt you knew would never go away.

“and the worst part,” her voice broke now. “he had you beaten up by some boys. on one of our dates. and you never — never said anything to me — why?”

you nodded once because it had happened. a long time ago. you had always known, it was just strange hearing her confirm it now, after it had already carved itself into you.

your fingers brushed the edge of another photo: wedding day, laughing as someone threw rice, sophia’s arm wrapped around your waist like she would never let go.

she blinked and the tears immediately spilled down. she didn’t bother wiping them. “he ruined your name, your career. and when i chose you, he shut the door on me. they all did.”

“i know,” you mumbled, still. your voice didn’t shake. “i picked up the pieces back then, but you were happy.”

she looked up at you, her eyes were swollen and you felt something ache deeply at the sight. “why didn’t you tell me after i lost my memories?”

you walked to the lounge room and opened another box. “because they’re your family; all you had left to remember. and back then, i thought…i thought if i could just keep loving you quietly enough, maybe i wouldn’t have to make you choose again.”

you smiled sadly, but it didn’t reach anywhere near your eyes. “you chose me once, i wasn’t going to ask you to do it twice.”

she stepped closer. “but i would have.”

“i know — that’s why i didn’t ask.”

the silence between you sat warm and aching. she covered her mouth with her hand as her shoulders shook.

“love’s built out of small sacrifices,” you murmured, kneeling beside the record shelf. “not the sort you throw around to prove something. it’s in the choosing; every single day, even when it’s hard.”

you stood up slowly, wiping at your face, your breathing uneven. your body was aching in places you didn’t know could hold grief.

as you reached up to the top shelf, you grabbed the box of vinyls to pack away. the mushroom mug was sitting just beside it; her first anniversary gift, the one with the chipped rim and the painted red toadstools that had faded just slightly after too many runs through the dishwasher.

you tried to move gently, but your hand slipped.

the mug hit the floor and shattered instantly. sharp ceramic splinters spun out across the tiles. you stared at it for a long time, your chest rising and falling too quickly.

sophia gasped behind you, but didn’t move.

“get out,” you said hoarsely, not turning around. “just — get out, sophia.”

her breath got caught in her throat as she tried to figure out what was going through your head.

you didn’t raise your voice. “please, just get out, i need a minute.”

she hesitated, blinking. “y/n —”

“i’ll have the papers in tomorrow.” your voice was a lot quier now. “just go.”

then you heard the quiet rustle of her jacket, the soft scuff of her shoes as she moved toward the door. she paused, maybe expecting you to say something, but you didn’t. you couldn’t. you stayed where you were, kneeling on the floor beside the broken mug, your hands in your lap like they didn’t know what to hold anymore.

not everything that shatters makes a sound. but this did. this one really fucking did.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end — eutychia’s version

the end — melpomene’s version

[oh-phoenixx]

"Boost" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 1074 words

-

James had never struggled much with his self-worth, his view of himself. But he had not realised until recently how dependent his pride was on other people’s opinions. So, when James was studying alone with Regulus, and the younger boy did nothing but insult him, he needed a little boost to his confidence.

With a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, James was going to ask someone to be his date, and who—besides Regulus—could say no to a face like his? Now, James hadn’t intended to do this in front of Regulus, it just worked out that way. He spotted Tracy in the library, and realised that she was a girl, at the very least.

“Hey, Tracy,” James called. “Wanna come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Tracy smiled at him and nodded. “Sure.”

James Potter was back in the game, ladies and gentlemen. When he looked back to Regulus, James saw that he was fuming, clutching his quill with a grip hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“What? Did you want to ask her?” James scoffed.

“No,” Regulus muttered. “Shut up.”

“Wow, great comeback. I’m wounded, Reggie,” James mocked.

Regulus did not say another word for the majority of the study session, simply glaring at James occasionally. James didn’t know what his problem was. The only reason James was studying with Regulus was as a favour to Sirius. Regulus had asked for Sirius’s fifth-year notes, but Sirius had thrown all of his away and knew that James still had some. Out of the kindness of his heart, and his love for Sirius, James had offered to go over them with Regulus, as his handwriting was somewhat…illegible. Despite his generosity, Regulus did not seem at all grateful that James was giving up his time to be here.

“What the fuck does this even say?” Regulus muttered. “How can you possibly have handwriting this awful?”

“Sorry, Mr. I-Write-In-Cursive-Because-I’m-A-Pretentious-Git,” James grumbled. He took the page. “That clearly says unicorn blood!”

“How was I supposed to read that?” Regulus whisper-shouted. “The ink is smeared across the page!”

James frowned at the parchment. “Yeah, I reckon I wrote this one with my left hand.”

“Why would you do that?” Regulus questioned, eyes narrowed as if James was losing his mind.

“I’m ambidextrous,” James said with a grin, though he knew realistically it wasn’t a brag. He was ambidextrous in the sense that both hands were equally as shit. 

Regulus just groaned and took back the parchment, continuing to try to decipher James’s handwriting, as he refused to just have it read to him, because ‘I’m not a toddler, Potter. I don’t need a bedtime story’.

On Monday evening, when the two next studied together, James felt somewhat uncomfortable. Strangely, it had nothing to do with Regulus, but with Tracy constantly looking over and smiling at him. James did not like to be this person, he hated being in this position, he hated when people liked him and he didn’t like them back. He felt guilty about leading them on and guilty about breaking it off or rejecting them. There was nothing wrong with Tracy; she was nice, funny, and smart. James wanted to like her back. But his mind seemed occupied, and he didn’t know why.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Regulus sighed. “You could just go if you’re so occupied.”

“Huh?”

“That girl is eye-fucking you,” Regulus mumbled, face hidden by his hand rubbing his forehead as he wrote.

“No, she’s not,” James muttered. “And I’m not interested, anyway.”

Regulus, for some reason, seemed to relax a little at this. They got back to work and James tried his best to ignore Tracy. But, on the way out of the library, Tracy stopped him to talk about the next time they could see each other. 

James had a small, minor, tiny problem with wanting everyone to like him all the time. Sure, they were exceptions, like most of the Slytherins. He was a Gryffindor, of course they weren’t going to like him, it wasn’t anything personal. But he had a genuine and all-consuming fear of disappointing people. So, he did the most logical thing. He said: “Uh, sorry, I realised I’m, uh, gay.”

“Oh.” Tracy’s face fell, but she quickly put on a smile. “Good for you, James. Sorry for bothering you.”

As she walked away, Regulus raised his eyebrows. James winced. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings!”

“You know if you ever date another girl she’ll realise you were lying,” Regulus pointed out.

“I wasn’t lying, per se, I was…obscuring half the truth,” James defended. “I’ll just have to find a good guy, then.”

“Too bad Lupin’s taken, I think he’s the only datable person in your entire friend group,” Regulus scoffed.

“Hey, I have very fuckable friends,” James protested, then grimaced. He had a strange instinct to protect all of his friends, though he wasn’t sure any would be happy to hear that he thought this, except maybe Sirius. “Ooo! You could pretend to-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“I could pretend to be your boyfriend?” Regulus asked, eyebrows raised. When James nodded, Regulus shook his head. “First of all, that’s an awful cliché. Second of all, fuck off.”

James groaned and followed after Regulus as he started to walk away. “Come on, you owe me one.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Regulus said.

Now, James didn’t want to get too arrogant or anything, but he was a very persuasive person. He was confident that he could get even Regulus Black, certified-grumpy-piece-of-shit, to listen to him. And, sure enough, after delivering a long and charming monologue about all of his good qualities (Regulus had called it pestering, but potato whatever), Regulus gave in.

So, that evening, Regulus and James walked into the Great Hall together. Regulus turned and left a chaste kiss on his cheek, and oh. Oh, this would be a problem. James stuttered out a goodbye, his face almost seeming to burn where Regulus’s lips had been.

“Bye, Jamie,” Regulus bid. Of course, James knew the nickname was just for show. But, fuck, that didn’t change the way his stomach flipped. He suddenly understood why they called them butterflies.

James sat down at his usual spot, right next to Sirius, face red and realising a lot of things at once.

“What the fuck was that?” Sirius hissed.

“I think I’m in love with your brother,” James answered dumbly.

[inspectori]

PLEWSE OIKAWA ONESJOT I BEG OF YOU. Like he tries to impress you but in reality it comes off more as desperate and pathetic. (Pushing the loser oikawa agenda). LIKE HE TRIPS AND FALLS IN FRONT OF YOU WHEN HES TRYING TO BE SMOOTH AND RAGHHHHSISHFIWHWFFE

And you think he's some kind of playboy so you don't fall for it at first then warm up to him hehe...

(YESSS I LOVE THIS BRO 😈)

- LOSER AT HEART -

You’re halfway through taping Hanamaki’s fingers when you hear it—

“Y/N-chan~ You look absolutely radiant today.”

“Kill me now,” you mutter under your breath.

Without looking up, you deadpan, “I hope you realize I’m currently holding a roll of athletic tape and a grown man’s sweaty-ass fingers.”

“But you do it so gracefully,” Oikawa coos, leaning against the table like he thinks he’s on the cover of Vogue. He throws in a wink for good measure.

Matsukawa sighs loudly. Hanamaki grins, already bracing for impact.

“Three… two… one—”

THUD.

Oikawa’s body hits the floor.

And all you hear is Maki’s and Matsu’s loud ass cackles.

You finally glance up. “I’m sorry, what the hell was that? Did you seriously just eat shit?”

“No!” Oikawa groans, face still mashed into the floor. “I meant to sit. Gracefully. With style.”

Hanamaki chokes on air. “BYE. BITCH. YOU WERE STANDING.”

Tooru scrambles upright, trying to play it cool like he didn’t just get humbled by gravity. “It was a tactical flirtation maneuver.”

You narrow your eyes. “Get the hell out of my personal space, Tooru. Before I ‘tactically’ throw this tape at your damn head.”

And that’s the thing about Oikawa Tooru.

You know exactly who he is—Mr. Perfect Hair, Mr. ‘I flirt with anything that breathes.’ And as the team’s manager, you are not here for it. You’re already babysitting a whole squad of volleyball crashouts; the last thing you need is their dumbass captain trying to flirt like he’s in a shoujo anime.

But he doesn’t stop.

He brings you drinks from the vending machine—always with an exaggerated “For you, my love.”

He tries to offer you his jacket when it’s literally 75°F.

He once looked you dead in the eye and said, “Your handwriting could rival ancient scrolls of beauty.”

(You were writing stats. On a clipboard. With a chewed pen.)

Every time he tries to be cool, he fails spectacularly.

He once flipped his hair too hard and smacked himself in the face.

Another time, he tossed you a towel with a “Here, love”—only for it to flop into a puddle with a sad, wet slap.

You stared him down and said, “Wow. Great job Tooru.”

And yet… he keeps going.

At first, you’re convinced it’s just a game to him. A way to pass time. A new victim.

But then—one day—you forget your umbrella.

Everyone’s gone. The gym’s dark. Rain’s falling in sheets, drenching the pavement like some moody romance movie backdrop.

You’re two seconds from saying “screw it” and walking home soaked when you hear frantic footsteps.

Oikawa.

Soaked. Out of breath. Holding an umbrella.

You blink. “You’re already drenched, dumbass.”

He grins—tired, hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to him. “Doesn’t matter. You weren’t gonna walk alone.”

You just… stare. “You ran back in that? For me?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “Might be an idiot, but I’m… serious, y’know?”

For once, he’s not smirking. Not winking. No theatrics. Just a soggy boy with the dumbest heart you’ve ever seen.

You sigh, grabbing the umbrella. “Fine. But if you get sick, I’m not making you tea.”

His grin is immediate. Genuine. Kinda dazzling, in a “wow I hate that you’re actually cute” way.

And you think—ugh. Maybe the loser act isn’t an act after all.

Maybe you do kinda like him.

Just a little.

Maybe.

(perchance gave the reader iwaizumi’s attitude 😭😭)

[pricesgirl]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

3

Y/N

She’s not here. Again...Focus.

I lower my pen. Back to my notes. Bullet points, crisp, structured. The teacher drones on, voice blending with the rustle of paper, the relentless click of pens. And yet, my eyes dart to the back of the room. To her seat.

Empty.

Of course, it’s empty. She’s never here. Too busy skipping, loitering, doing whatever people like her do when they’re not busy wasting potential. A quiet huff escapes my lips, and I straighten in my chair, brushing away the invisible speck of dust from my cuff.

Why does it bother me? Why does she bother me?

The door bursts open with all the subtlety of a cannon, and in she struts—Jinx, the resident chaos embodied. She stands there for a beat, letting all eyes soak her in like she’s the main act at some twisted circus.

Her braids are messy, straggling at the ends like she’s forgotten what a comb is. Her uniform? A farce. The shirt’s untucked, the skirt’s too short, and those torn tights have definitely seen better days. But it’s the chunky platform boots that make the most noise, clomping against the floor like she’s got something to prove.

“Oops, did I interrupt something?” she grins, completely unfazed.

“Miss Jinx,” Mrs Harrison says through gritted teeth, “you’re late. Again.”

“Fashionably,” Jinx chirps back, plopping into a seat with enough force to make it screech. Clearly used to Jinx's absolute shenanigans Mrs Harrison just sighs and goes back to explaining todays assignment.

It's a collaborative assignment on Romeo and Juliet .

Collaborative?

I feel my stomach churn. I’m used to being left alone in class, my quiet demeanor and diligent note-taking keeping me safe from group assignments. But today, I’m stuck with someone. My eyes flick nervously around the room, and then—inevitably—her name is called.

What a cliche.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

Oh fucking shit.

Her? I have to work with her?

That's got to be some sick mental torture.

This is some advanced-level psychological warfare. Torture by forced proximity—congrats, humanity, you’ve peaked.

I look over at her, and she’s already shooting daggers at me with that icy stare of hers.

I can’t help it—I waggle my fingers at her, just to fuck with her. She doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like it at all. But I can’t stop, it’s too damn fun.

She glares harder, and I can see her teeth clenching behind that fake calm. Classic.

“Really? We’re doing the silent treatment thing already?” I say, grinning.

“Shut up for gods sake.” she mutters, shoving her disgustingly perfect notebook my way like I’ll taint it by breathing too close.

She pulls out her notes on ye olde Romeo and Juliet, like she’s about to make a damn presentation or something, all pristine and in order.

“Wow.” I glance at the pristine handwriting. “Do you alphabetize your brain too, or is this just for me?”

Her jaw tightens. She’s two seconds from snapping. "Focus. For five seconds. I’m begging you."

"Aw, begging already?" I smirk, leaning forward. "This partnership’s off to a great start."

Y/N's cheeks flame.

What the fuck?

She liked that?

I liked that.... shut the fuck up, i did not.

Shit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Just read them, please…” Her voice is softer now.

I stare at her for a second. That wasn’t what I was expecting. Is she trying to pull some kind of mind game on me?

Please.

That doesn’t fly with me.

“C’mon, Powder! Please, please, please!" Best two outta three!” Y/N bounces on her toes, her hair sticking out everywhere, catching the sun like some star.

Her cheeks are all red ‘cause she’s been laughing too hard, and her eyes are huge and serious like marbles are the most important thing ever.

I giggle, covering my mouth. “You’re so silly.”

She puffs out her chest. “Silly and ready to win!”

"But please-"

"Fine," I snap, snatching the stupid notes off the desk.

The edges crumple under my grip—oh no, how tragic. I toss her a glare for good measure.

Y/N just blinks, all wide eyes and calm. Ugh, hate that.

I start flipping through the notes, the edges rough against my fingers.

Her handwriting is infuriatingly neat—perfect loops, evenly spaced lines, no smudges.

It screams, I’ve got my shit together, which just makes me want to set it on fire.

I glance up. She’s watching me.

Of course she’s watching me.

Always with the staring.

“What?” I snap, holding the notes up like a shield. “See something fascinating?”

Her pen clicks. And clicks. And clicks. My eye twitches.

“I wasn’t staring,” she mutters. Her face? Red. Like I caught her.

“Sure. Right. Definitely just, what? Admiring the air?” I wave the notes in her direction. “Big fan of oxygen, huh?”

She exhales hard. Through her nose. Like I’m the annoying one. “Can we just focus?”

“Focus?” I bark out a laugh. “On this? Your little masterpiece? I’m riveted. Truly.” I flip a page, not even looking.

Her jaw tightens.

Oh, she’s pissed. “Yes. Focus. Maybe try it for once in your life.”

Ouch. That stings. A little. Barely. Not that I’d ever admit it. “Whatever,” I grumble, tossing the notes back onto the table like they’re cursed.

She grabs them. Doesn't even flinch. Slides a pen my way. Doesn’t say a word.

I glare at the pen.

It’s just... too perfect.

Too clean.

I hate how it sits there all polished, ready to be put to use. It’s like it’s begging to be ruined. What’s it even supposed to represent?

Control? Order?

Fuck.

But I reach for it anyway. “Fine,” I mutter, voice low. “Don’t expect a damn miracle.”

Her lips twitch. Is that a smile? No, it can’t be. Whatever.

The bell rings.

Noise explodes, everyone scrambling to grab their things, chattering, the rush of papers and bags flooding the room.

But I stay. For a moment, at least.

I can feel her eyes on me, even if I don’t look.

I’m still gripping that stupid pen like it’s something important.

Her words from earlier, they sit in my head, too quiet, too sharp. “Don’t expect miracles,” I had said, but it feels like she’s still waiting for something.

I glance at her once—just once. She’s putting her things away.

I stand up, slow, shoving my things into my bag.

Class around me seems to blur, like I’m moving through thick fog.

The air outside is different, cleaner. I need a break. I need space.

I slip through the crowded hallways, barely registering the sounds of people.

No one notices me.

Or maybe they do, but I don’t care. I make my way up to the roof, breathing a little easier the higher I go.

It’s quiet up here.

I pull out the joint I’ve been holding onto, light it, and take a drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs.

Everything feels better up here.

Like I can breathe again.

The weight of everything—class, Y/N, that fucking pen, all of it—starts to drift away, and I can finally relax.

Just for a minute.

I lean against the roof’s edge, watching the world below. The streets are a blur, just like everything else. Just like her.

I flick the ashes off the side and take another drag.

I sit on the edge, legs dangling off the side, watching everything from a distance.

The school below me is just a blur of colors, all of them blending together like they don’t matter.

It’s funny, how tiny the world looks from here. Even if my world is limited, it feels like I could stretch my arms out and touch everything.

Like I could just... float.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Y/N

The bell rings, snapping me back to reality. The classroom slowly empties, the noise of students packing their bags and talking blending into a dull hum in the background. I remain seated for a moment longer than necessary, still caught in the aftershock of what just happened. My fingers gently tap the strap of my bag, my mind running through every word exchanged with Jinx, trying to make sense of it all.

“Y/N?” Mrs. Harrison’s voice cuts through my thoughts, warm and concerned. “Everything alright?”

I straighten up, meeting her gaze. “Yes, of course. I was just... thinking.”

She offers a kind smile, and I can’t help but return it. Mrs. Harrison always has this calming presence. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’ve been working hard. A little break won’t hurt.”

I nod, forcing my focus back to the present. I gather my things, my movements deliberate, smooth. I walk out of the classroom, a quiet sense of uncertainty hanging over me. The hallway is busier now, students rushing past, laughing and talking in groups. It’s all so loud, so... vibrant. I slow my pace, letting the noise wash over me, but I’m still lost in my thoughts.

The library is my sanctuary. Everything here is neat, quiet, predictable. The opposite of everything about... her. I step inside and let the hush settle over me, smoothing the frayed edges of my thoughts.

My shoes barely make a sound on the polished floor as I navigate the aisles. Rows of spines greet me like old friends. Austen. Brontë. Woolf. Names that speak of worlds where chaos still obeys rules, where stories wrap up neatly, unlike the frayed threads Jinx leaves behind.

I find my usual seat by the window—a table no one ever chooses because it’s too close to the radiator and too far from the popular fiction shelves. Perfect. I slip into the chair, the wood creaking faintly under my weight, and set my notebook down with care.

Opening it feels like opening a door. Everything is still and orderly here. My pen glides smoothly over the page, crafting lines of notes, phrases, sketches of ideas. Each one in its place. Each one exactly how I need it to be.

But then my hand falters. A thought intrudes, unwelcome: blue braids trailing like ribbons, boots scuffing, laughter that sounds like it’s daring the world to stop her. I shake my head, focus sharpening again as I scribble furiously, pen digging into the paper as if I can write her out of my mind.

The sunlight filters through the window, painting soft patterns on the table. The world outside is calm, orderly. Here, at least, I can pretend the storm hasn’t touched me.

Here, I can breathe.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: thanks for reading chapter 3, chapter 4 will be coming in due time, I hope you've picked up on the dual writing style by now and how it varies by perspective, Jinx's is more sporadic, and fast paced whereas Y/N's is a bit more structured and slower.

please like and reblog :)

[heyimkana]

I was wondering how Sung Jinwoo met his S/O in pillow talk AU?

Thank you for feeding the delulu readers, Kana ❤️❤️

OOOOOOH OKAY OKAY so i was gonna say that she was one of the people he saved during a dungeon break or something and then he saw her and he fell for her BUT i changed my mind

i think i wanna make their meeting more normal, something cute, just like two strangers meeting at a coffeeshop or something. actually, make it a bakery because she likes to bake and jinwoo also has a sweet tooth. okay maybe she was a pastry chef when they first met and she worked in this nice little bakery that jinah often visits with her friends. OKAY A SILLY SCENE

one day, jinah took jinwoo there with her and their eyes met by accident and S/O was like omgomgomgomg that's S-Rank Hunter Sung Jinwoo!!!!! (i like to think that she was his fangirl back then so she fell first but he fell harder LOL) but she was so nervous to say hi to him so she just ran back to the kitchen and jinwoo spotted her sprinting and he was like "????" but he didn't say anything (he thought she was real cute tho but ofc on the outside he was just like 😶)

so then jinah ordered some cakes to go and she was like "oppa, what do you want?"

"uhh anything."

"pick one 🔫"

"damn alright get me a slice of chocolate cake then"

S/O, hearing this from the kitchen, was like "GIVE ME TEN MINUTES I'LL MAKE THE BEST CHOCOLATE CAKE EVER" and then she made it SUPER SPECIAL like it was the most moist and fudgy chocolate cake ever existed in the universe and she went all out with the decoration too like with all the icing and the strawberries and the frosting like you'd think she was making a cake for the fucking queen at that point

she wrapped it up, handed it over to the cashier cause she was too shy to give it to him in person but jinwoo noticed her and their eyes met briefly before she bolted again and he was still like "????? am i that scary to normal people???"

then they went home and when jinwoo opened the cake it was like

✨syalalalaaaaa a nice slice of chocolate cake✨

and jinwoo was like "???? damn this is kinda crazy for a cake that's only worth 7k won" LMFAOOOASDKLFSADFLD

but then he saw this card written by her and he thought wow her handwriting is really pretty and he read it and it said "Thank you for making the world a better place." and at the bottom, she added a little "I really hope you'll like the cake!" with a silly face that went like 😣. it was clear from her handwriting that she was nervous when she wrote it and he found it endearing (and also jinwoo isn't dumb, he's pretty quick when it comes to things like this so he smiles fondly to himself, thinking oh that's why she was running away earlier. how cute.)

he took a bite of the cake and i shit you not he sat there in silence for a moment and just stared at the cake with rainbows and angels floating in the background like that was legit the best thing he's ever tasted and he was like well fuck gotta wife her up now ig

"hey, jinah. you go to that bakery often, right?"

"yeah, what about it?"

"the girl who made this cake for me. do you know who her name is?"

jinah was like "🤨 yeah, i've talked to her before. she's cool. what, you wanna file a complaint or something-"

jinwoo, grabbing his iced coffee: "i think i wanna take her out on a date"

jinah: *choking noises*

jinwoo: *slurping noises*

[theemporium]

hi!! can request a mai tai💛 #27 “pulling the other one towards them” with luke hughes please!

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

27. pulling the other one towards them

.

“Woah, get over here!” 

“No!” 

Luke couldn’t bite back his smile as you tried to skirt around him, tried to get to the door before he caught you but you underestimated his reach. He managed to grab your wrist, pulling you towards him as his other arm moved to wind around your waist and lock you against his front.

You let out a squeal that morphed into a laugh, the fight leaving your body as your best friend pulled you towards him. You leaned back against him, tilting your head to look up at him with a grin. You were far too pleased to find him blushing already.

“It’s nothing,” he tried to assure you, reaching for the leatherbound journal in your hand but you clutched it close to your chest. “C’mon, it was probably just…hockey stuff.” 

You raised your brows. “Hockey stuff? Dude, come on, at least try to make your lie convincing.” 

“Line shifts?” He tried again, wincing at his own lack of conviction.

“Yeah, I’m sure ten year old Luke was really breaking those peewee line shifts down to their core,” you deadpanned before lightly jabbing his stomach with your elbow. It was just enough for him to be momentarily distracted and for you to quickly dash to the other side of the room, putting two couches between you. “I’m just gonna take a small peek!”

Luke’s face burned hotter. “No—” 

“Hello, my name is Luke Hughes,” you began, a grin on your face as you continued to read the chicken scrawl that was ten year old Luke’s handwriting. “I live with my parents and my brothers. They are older than me. We all play hockey and I love it sooooo much.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Luke tried to laugh it off, tried to jump over the couch to reach you but you were already moving out of his grasp.

“When I’m older, I want to play in the NHL with my brothers,” you continued, cooing a little at the reality of little Luke’s dreams coming true. “I also hope I get to marry my best friend—”

And then you stopped reading aloud, your eyes scanning the page. 

And Luke’s stomach dropped to fucking hell. 

And he swore this was it. This was what he was afraid of happening and now it was a reality and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He knew how the rest of the diary entry went, knew he went into detail about the embarrassing crush he had on you, even almost a decade ago.

Logically, he knew he should say something. He should say he doesn’t feel the same anymore. He should say it was just a joke. But words failed him and just got caught in his throat as he stared helplessly at you.

“Wow,” you eventually muttered out. 

Luke said your name, ready to spout out whatever he needed to say to keep you in his life because he couldn’t imagine one without you. But you were already talking again.

“We are fucking embarassing,” you said with a laugh, shaking your head—almost looking fond—as you grinned at him. “I mean, over a decade of mutual pining? That’s some romcom shit.”

Luke swallowed harshly. “Mutual?” 

“What? You need to read my diary to prove it, Hughes?” You challenged, playful and joking but a hint of something else in your voice. Maybe nerves.

“Nah,” he shook his head, unable to mirror your smile. “But I think a kiss or two could convince me.”

.

[kiyomitakada]

okay fuck it i went to a leonardo da vinci exhibit today and now i have a leonardo da vinci death note AU in my head because i am a parody of myself so you can fucking have it i guess what do i even do with this

light yagami: young genius polymath who is good at literally everything

unfortunately for him he is a foreigner in italia (his family immigrated) so the government is not letting him anywhere near their weaponry projects. instead he does art. yes light yagami painted the mona lisa no i do not take criticism i’m in too deep

his portraits are predictably amazing. smash hit. soon aristocracy from all over italy is contacting him to draw them and their mother. this means he doesnt even have time in the day to draw giant fuckoff warship designs anymore. what point is there to life, he sulks.

eventually he accepts a commission from one kyosuke higuchi! we’re italianizing him because i really don’t think this AU works otherwise but let’s call him higuchi anyway. higuchi is a fifty-something duke of something or other who has recently married one misa amane who is twenty-something (the same age as light). misa is the subject of the portrait because higuchi just loves his darling wife so much (read: they had a shotgun wedding and higuchi needs to keep up appearances)

light is like wow someone who isn’t white it’s been like five years. i kind of feel bad for her, this situation is very suspicious. hello miss amane if you’ll just sit down over there while i get my brushes

misa (seeing the first person who has been even remotely sympathetic to her absolutely horrific life, noticing he hasn’t tried to make any advances on her at all [this is a good thing]): I AM DRASTICALLY IN LOVE WITH YOU.

light: what

misa’s plan of seducing light predictably fails because he’s light, so she explains she has to get the fuck away from higuchi somehow

light is like okay well i am sorry to hear that but what does this have to do with me.

misa, tearing up: im a damsel in distress! also i can get you information about his court

light: whats his job

misa: financial advisor

light: oh fuck yes okay

so light’s plan is now to worm into the yotsuba court to get funding and hopefully sway them enough to let him pitch his cool weaponry ideas so he can Change The World. he does need income in general too (both for himself and his family; expected lifespan was way shorter then obviously).

misa’s plan is to kill higuchi somehow which will be much easier with light as backup she thinks

so. light packs up and moves to the yotsuba court which is thrilled to have THE light yagami portrait artist (i do more than portraits…) in their employ

oh yeah, misa mentions, the prince of the yotsuba court is kind of… weird

light: you could have told me this before

misa: ehe. dont worry about it!! it’s just um. he had a weird personality shift a few years ago? and now he refuses to wear royal attire. he always dresses like a peasant.

light: well it’s not like i’m going to be there to judge him on fashion am i.

THAT’S RIGHT. SIKE THIS IS AN ISEKAI NOW. yes L does remember light killing him <3 he (L) woke up in fifteenth century renaissance italy in a twenty-something-year-old body immediately after the heart attack. by some miracle he already knew italian.

so everything is going swell until one day light walks into his workshop to find the prince flipping through his notebook

light, sleep deprived: hey what the fu—i mean. uh. good morning your highness

there’s no need for that formality. call me L.

(…but your name doesn’t start with an L?) thank you, your highness L. um. sorry i know my handwriting’s messy.

on the contrary i find it completely readable, as long as one reads backwards and caesar shifts it three letters forward.

(oh SHIT he’s onto me) haha what are you talking about?

in fact i think this mechanical dragonfly contraption is rather ingenious.

oh aha that’s not important, just a passing fancy honestly

[ignoring him] if only you had some better way of providing torque, because as it stands the spring engine is extremely poorly designed.

what the fuck did you just say to me

[they end up physically fighting over the notebook because of course they do. meet cute!]

some more details:

ryuk is the patron light eventually gets after being in higuchi’s court for a bit

rem is higuchi’s personal assistant, who was disowned by her own royal-blooded family because her family sucks. she hates her job. if it weren’t for misa she’d probably be on the other side of the country by now

i don’t know where the wammy kids are. they’re definitely competing to be the heir to L’s throne but also they’re not related because there is no way that all the wammy kids (the whole orphanage of wammy kids) could have come from the same person. maybe some kind of insufferably high collar royal boarding school? did they even have those? help me

kiyomi and teru are both advisors in other courts (which are extremely corrupt, light seethes, in his perfect world there wont be any of those anymore) (you work for a court light) (thats different)

okay i’m done for today. you never know about tomorrow though. /threat.

[ @deathnotetober day 12: isekai ]

[toorusluvr]

❥ ҉ CHAPTER EIGHT - RUMOR HAS IT

❥ ҉ CONTENT WARNINGS: reader (y/n) planned a petty revenge lol + pregnancy scare + pretty much a normal chapter + birthday surprise!

❥ ҉ NOTE FROM NIS: hey everyone! i'm dropping chapter 8 for ain't my fault! please have a read and lmk if i missed any warnings. my brain has stopped working this week :/ anyway, likes, replies, and reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you <3

[previous][series masterlist][next]

The Spring High qualifiers were just around the corner. The entire Aoba Johsai volleyball team practiced very hard. Iwaizumi was often frustrated around this time, especially with the upcoming mid-term exam. He was even more snappy than usual. Oikawa told you that this is very normal of him. 

You got scared every time you saw his scowl. If you’d let it continue, he might have a permanent scowl on his pretty face. That would be a huge waste! You once accidentally bumped into him while reading a book and he glared at you like he could tear you apart. 

“You have got to calm down, Iwa,” you spat, not knowing he was on the brink of his running thin patience. 

Iwaizumi groaned, probably annoyed at your words of command. You do not know how hard he pressures himself. How hard he’s been studying and juggling practices. Oikawa might look laid-back but Iwaizumi could sense he was also freaking out at the pressure from their coaches. As the co-captain, the term pressure was just a better word for carrying burden. 

“I like it better when you are not talking, you know?” he jeered as he walked towards his table, leaving you behind. 

You gasped and caught up with his steps. Slowly, you pulled your chair from your seat and made yourself comfortable in front of him. Iwaizumi looked up at you and let out a deep sigh. He tried to ignore you at first by flipping through the Chemistry textbook. Fuck, he was going insane with this subject, despite it being one of his stronger subjects.

With a careful observation – his scrutinised eyebrows, his inner cheeks bitten, you could bet that he was indeed stressed out. The wheels inside your mind was busy working and thinking about what you could say to him to make him feel slightly better. Maybe, emphasise on maybe, it would work. 

“Need someone to talk to?” You tried to get the words out of your mouth but Iwaizumi remained silent. He continued fiddling with his pen and jotted down some notes in his notebook. His sprawling handwriting broke down the topic into bullet points. 

Getting a guy to talk about what he’s thinking might be the equivalent to asking a rock to talk on its own. It would be a huge miracle if they can start opening up. This was how you felt when you were talking to Iwaizumi. Well, as a friend, you were just offering your help to him. 

“Mm, tough crowd,” you murmured. Both of you locked eyes and your face turned warm all of a sudden. You didn’t avert your gaze because then it would mean you surrendered. 

Iwaizumi did not know how to talk about what he was going through. He was not much of a talker, to be very honest. But his observation skills are always sharp. That’s why he doesn’t like talking. It’s also a waste of time and energy to be talking about irrelevant things. 

“I don’t feel like talking about it,” Iwaizumi uttered. 

Right. You might have pushed him and made him uncomfortable just now with your actions. Shit. You owe him an apology, that’s for sure. 

“Oh. Okay. I was just checking on you. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll be right here. After all, we are friends,” you reassured before giving him a soft smile. You could see that his expression brightened a bit at the reassurance. 

“Right. We are friends,” Iwaizumi’s gaze filled with a glint of mischievousness. He was hinting something and you could see right through it as clear as day. 

With a light huff, you crossed your arms to the chest. “We are at school, Iwa. Come on, man. Come to your senses!” 

Your reply earned a soft laughter from him. Wow. This man needs to laugh often because it’s so freaking beautiful. You wanted to demand him to laugh again but that would lead to another catastrophe. Huh, exaggerating much. 

“Enough jokes for today, Y/N. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble if you keep it up,” Iwaizumi said with a smirk. He was playing with you just to get a reaction from you. To rile you up until you cannot take it anymore. It’s a challenge he likes to keep up with. 

Rolling your eyes at him, you dismissed his teasing with a gesture. “Keep doing that, you’ll never see it coming, ” you winked at him before getting back to your seat.

Iwaizumi’s tongue poked the inner of his cheek. Intrigued by your remark. He wanted to test you more, push you again but too bad that the teacher had already come in and your deskmate, Oikawa, finally returned to class. He did not say anything the entire class time which made you wonder if something’s wrong. 

“You good?” You nudged Oikawa in the arm. The brunette was quick to snap out of his thoughts, it seemed. 

Oikawa then shrugged it off, “Yeah, just thinking about something.” 

You let out a huff again. Why is it so hard for these two people to speak whatever is on their mind? 

“Man, I think I should help you guys to seek the counsellor’s help or something. Keep bottling up your feelings, God knows what’ll it do to you,” you exclaimed. 

Oikawa turned to look at you with a confused look. “You’re one to talk, dude.”

“At least I am a very self-aware person,” you said with a grin. Oikawa opened his mouth to speak but he bailed at the last second. He then shrugged it off saying ‘Nothing’. Well, if you weren’t overthinking before, now you do! 

“Girl, you better tell me what you were about to tell me,” you threatened him by taking away the pen he was holding in his hand. He let out a soft gasp when you took it away without any trouble. The guy was holding it quite tightly, he might add.

“Nothing, I swear!” Oikawa tried to take the pen back from you but you moved it away, further from his reach. 

“I’m not giving you this pen until you tell me. No negotiations,” you cut a deal. 

Iwaizumi then kicked your chair from behind. “Stop it. He’ll cry if you keep this up.” With a sinister chuckle, Iwaizumi glanced over Oikawa. The brunette was already glaring at him in a subtle way. 

“Both of you are a match made in hell. Good for both of you, then!” Oikawa said almost cynically. He was acting weird and something was definitely up with this guy. 

You and Iwaizumi exchanged looks, silently communicating with each other facial expressions and body language. Apparently, Iwaizumi did not know what was going on with Oikawa either. 

During the weekend, you and Iwaizumi made a plan to get the project done. It was almost in the final step and both of you decided it’d be great if you guys could get it done outside the comfort of your respective homes. To celebrate the victory of getting the project done, both of you went to a local coffee shop nearby his house.

The local coffee shops around your house are not accommodating enough because they are always filled with people, even outside the rush hour. Doing your work there would be a problem for both of you. 

Iwaizumi was the first to arrive. Well, considering the distance, obviously he would be here first. You entered the less busy coffee shop and tried to spot him in the crowd. In a few seconds, you finally found him sitting by the glass window overlooking the busy road outside. He was scribbling something in his notebook, not even sparing a glance around the coffee shop. 

He was donning a casual outfit, just a plain black hoodie and jeans. Not too far from your table, there was a group of girls around your age doing their work as well. You saw some of them had books on the tables. The other girl was whispering something to her friend while trying to peek at Iwaizumi. 

“Don’t tell me they’re about to shoot their shot now,” you grumbled under your breath. As if possessiveness took control of your body, you quickened your pace to walk over to your shared table where Iwaizumi was waiting for you. 

In your peripheral vision, you saw the said girl was about to walk over here but bailed at the same time you showed up in front of Iwaizumi. That was a bit out of character for you. You gave him a soft smile, “Hey booboo, sorry I’m late!” 

Booboo was just another pet name that you mocked him for. Turned out his ex-girlfriend used to call him booboo and you fueled fire to his annoyance. But this situation actually started from him. If it wasn’t him who started it first, you wouldn’t have taken this route. Blame it all on him, then. 

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows perked at the pet name. He did not know how he slipped out the other day and now it’s all you ever call him. He let out a scoff in disbelief, “You’re not late. I’m just early. How was the traffic?” 

You then took out a chair across him, “Well, it was not terrible, per se. Oh, have you ordered? I am quite hungry. Should we order now?”

“What do you want to eat? I’ll go order for you,” he said before closing his notebook. He then clasped both of his hands on top of the table, waiting for you to speak. 

With a mischievous smile, you then said, “Ooh, acts of service must be your love language then.” 

Again, Iwaizumi let out a deep sigh. You and your endless snarky remarks. Now that you said it, it might be true. But should he admit it? Hell no. You’ll just tease him endlessly and he will never hear the end of it! 

“I’ll let you starve if you continue to act this way,” he lowkey threatened you. 

“Hey, don’t be mean!” Your lips pursed, “Mhm, I think I’ll just order the tuna croissant and an iced caramel latte. Thanks!” 

Iwaizumi nodded and he immediately left to order at the counter. You looked around the coffee shop and suddenly locked eyes with the girls from earlier. They were looking at you without blinking. Maybe they finally realised that they were being weird, they then plastered a half smile. You then returned the same gesture. Oof. They definitely talked about you as if they haven’t made it clear. 

Not long after, your orders were delivered to your table. Iwaizumi and you thanked the waiter. The girls from earlier were still there at their tables. Funny because the whole time you and Iwaizumi were there, he did not even once spare them a glance. You were unsure whether he’s oblivious or he just simply doesn’t care about all the staring. 

“You don’t mind all the staring you’re getting?” You asked as you stirred your iced coffee in the glass. Were you jealous? No way in hell. But did it justify your behaviour from earlier? Only God knows! 

Iwaizumi took a sip of his americano while shaking his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Full of disappointment, you sighed. Perhaps he just simply doesn’t care. Must be nice to not give a damn about anything even if it comes to receiving attention. In a good way, of course!

“The girls were staring at you. You never once realised it?” You asked – the bitter taste of coffee coated your tongue. The same taste that could describe your behaviour now. Just kidding. 

“Why? You jealous or something?” Iwaizumi asked, half-laughing at your ridiculous question. He did realise the stares he was getting. He just did not act on it. Why would he act on it? He is here to do his work, not to find a date. 

Your shoulders stiffened at his accusation. No! You were not jealous at all. 

“Sometimes, I regret asking. Never mind. I will just seal my lips. Zip!” You rolled your eyes at him and he had the audacity to laugh. It’s the same laughter from the other day when you were stunned hearing him laugh. A sudden rush of butterflies swirled in your belly and you did not know how to react. 

“If you’re jealous, you could have told me,” he teased. “Jealousy looks good on you, though!” 

You let out a sigh, “You saw how crazy I acted right? Looks good on me? Nah man, I’ll probably choke a person if they make me jealous. Let’s not go down that road, shall we, booboo?” 

Iwaizumi gave you a pointed stare. The petname is ridiculous but he loved hearing it when he was in a relationship. Now that he’s single, he finally realised that it’s a bit cringey. How did he let it slide before, though? Only heaven knows. 

“Man, I’d love to see something keep your mouth shut,” he murmured under his breath as he took out the notebook from earlier. When he glanced at you, your body turned stiff. He then realised that what he said just now probably carried two meanings. 

You slowly grinned sheepishly, “Aw, booboo. You slipped again?”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes with a disappointed sigh. This banter will never end. Being a bigger person here, he finally ended it for good. “Get your mind out of the gutter, princess. Let’s focus on our task.” 

“Aw, shucks,” you pursed your lips but quickly retaliate when Iwaizumi gave you another pointed stare. He looked scary when doing so. Not trying to push your luck, you dismissed his pointed stare with a wave. 

The second after, it finally clicked in your mind that he called you princess just now. He often – wait, no, he always uses the ‘princess’ petname when you guys are going down for it. Your eyebrows furrowed but you dismissed it as a mockery. That sounds more like it. 

Almost two hours into finalising the project, both of you were finally done! You let out a deep sigh of relief. A heavy weight was finally lifted off of you and that was a bliss you wouldn’t take for granted. Nothing is ever as rewarding as finishing your important assignment. With the amount of hard work you and Iwaizumi had put into this, you really hoped both of you will get an A, so that for finals you don’t have to think much about it. 

Iwaizumi looked at you, “We’re finally done!” 

You couldn’t help but grin happily. You raised your hand in the air and Iwaizumi high-fived you. Unknowingly, he interlocked your fingers together, giving it a firm squeeze before letting it loose. A tingly feeling swirled in your stomach at the skinship. It was a small gesture – heck, a friendly gesture even, but it was more than enough to make you blush. In silence.

“So, how should we celebrate this?” You cleared your throat, tucking both hands under your chin. Well, a celebration sounds really nice now, especially since both of you decided to celebrate it. Maybe a drink? Both of you had just eaten, though. 

Iwaizumi had some ideas in mind but he was unsure if you’d be on board with his ideas. “Should we head back to my house? We can have some drinks if you’d like. My parents are out for an errand, so it’ll be just the two of us,” he suggested. A few days ago, his parents brought home a really nice bottle of wine. Not that they offered it to him. He just took a sip when he saw the bottle and couldn’t get enough of the taste. 

“Mhm, that sounds nice. A drink sounds good, though but isn’t it a bit early for that?” You chuckled under your breath. To be fair, it was still daytime. To be drinking at this hour sounds a bit weird and out of habit for you. 

“If you’re not okay with it, then that’s fine. We can do something else instead,” Iwaizumi said. Honest to God, he did not mean anything weird by that. Sometimes, he just slips out and it gives you room to overthink about what he says! 

It’s only until you gave him a skeptical look that he realised how it must have sounded. Iwaizumi sighed again when you asked him, “What is this something else you were talking about?” 

“I meant, like ordering a pizza or anything,” he clarified with a serious look on his face. Why did he not think before saying anything just now? Ugh, it gave you a chance to make fun of him again! 

You stifled a laugh. He seemed like an angry kitten when being teased. 

“That sounds nice too. So, let’s just hangout at your house!” You said cheerfully as you packed your belongings. Iwaizumi ensured nothing else was left behind before finally leaving the coffee shop. 

Both of you then walked back to his house, which was like 10 minutes walking distance. The weather was nice so there was no harm in taking a walk. While you were busy rambling, Iwaizumi suddenly switched places with you. He walked on the side of the road. At first, you didn’t read too much into it but as time passed by, you were kinda touched by his silent gesture. Sure, it might be a friendly gesture. The gesture was more like a protective friend instead. 

“I never noticed you have a garage,” you pointed a finger to the garage in the doorway. Iwaizumi’s gaze moved towards the direction you were pointing. Slowly, he nodded. 

“It has always been there. Maybe you just noticed it today,” he replied. The garage is filled with car parts that his dad always uses to work on his old cars. His old man collected cars and passed them down to his dad. Sometimes, Iwaizumi worked on them together with his dad over the weekend when he didn’t have any practices. 

You shrugged your shoulders. Before entering the house, Iwaizumi looked at you, “So, what are we going to do?” 

Your eyes blinked several times as the wheels in your head tried to digest his meaning. That could carry double meaning. “Well,” you paused while fidgeting in your spot. Moving back and forth in one place, you looked up at him, “What do you suggest?” 

Maybe other people wouldn’t notice it but you were sure you saw a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. Iwaizumi then turned on his stoic face again. He just gave you an annoyed scoff before turning the door knob. Feeling this unusual desire took control over your consciousness, you then grabbed onto his forearm and pulled him into a kiss.

Iwaizumi’s hands instinctively went to hold onto your waists. He was caught off-guard but the familiar feel of your lips eventually made him soft. His lips pressed against in a leisure and slow pace as his hand slowly made its way to squeeze your ass. 

You moaned softly into his mouth, looking up at him with a dazed expression on your face. The way your body responded to his kiss was indescribable. Something about the way his body pressed against yours, his eagerness to kiss you, and the soft thump of his heartbeat that somehow made you calm being around him. 

Both of you might not realise it yet, but the chemistry between both of you are obvious and intense. It’s like both of you can never get enough of each other and nothing can get in between both of you. Well, it is a bit early to be saying this, given the circumstance that you just know him for a few months. 

At first, you couldn’t believe you just pulled Iwaizumi into a kiss. In front of his house. Your heart almost took a leap out of your body but the moment he reciprocated the kiss, your racing heartbeat finally stabilised. Your knees felt weak and wobbly, but the strong grip that Iwaizumi had on you kept you steady. 

Not breaking the kiss, both of you staggered backwards the moment Iwaizumi opened the door behind him. Both of you stumbled through the front door, and as soon as the door opened, he pushed it closed with his foot, your lips sealed in a soft, urgent kiss. You wrapped your arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, pulling him closer as you moved into the hallway.

Iwaizumi felt this looming presence inside of his house. He knew for a fact his parents were not around at this hour because they went out. They let him know they will be back in an hour. The proof of their absence is that there was no car outside in the driveway. He couldn’t be more wrong. Who was in his house at this hour? It cannot be an intruder because if then, both of you might be in danger. 

He opened his eyes and widened at the sight of his friends, Oikawa, Makki, Matsukawa, and the rest of their volleyball team were there in his living room. Their mouths hung open seeing what just unfolded in front of their eyes. The whole team fell into an awkward silence while holding the birthday banners, balloons, and even the confettis. 

Iwaizumi’s shoulders automatically tightened seeing the ‘small’ audiences that he had in his living room. He was unable to decipher why the heck they would be in his house but judging from all that fancy decorations, it finally clicked. They are here to surprise him on his birthday. 

A flicker of surprise appeared on Iwaizumi’s face when he suddenly broke the kiss. Good lord, Iwaizumi sighed audibly. You looked at how his face turned sour. His attention was not on you anymore so you whipped your head around and your heart dropped seeing the amount of people that were in his living room. 

“Fuck!” You cursed in your mind. At least that’s what you thought until you realised you had said it out loud. In your defence, that was not your intention to yell it out loud. But being in this situation has never crossed your mind. It was not humiliating because it was rather embarrassing! You’d rather be out in the streets right now to save your face from further humiliation. 

Iwaizumi placed a hand on your shoulder. His eyes were still pinned on his teammates. “What are you guys doing in my house?” There was a hint of surprise in the tone of his voice. 

“Surprise!” The whole team, still in obvious shock, cheered happily. One of the seniors popped the confetti and your body jerked in surprise. Iwaizumi kept you steady, one hand moved to hold you by the waist. 

You locked eyes with Oikawa. The brunette staring at you with a smug grin on his face that you wished you could wipe it off in an instant. Matsukawa and Makki were speechless, on the other hand. The obvious shocked expression was all over their faces when they realised their friends are… well, rather intimate with each other. 

Oikawa had this suspicion that both of you are still hooking up but he just doesn’t know how to prove it unless he gathers enough evidence. Trying to prove a point to Iwaizumi when he’s hiding it so well is like jumping into the lion’s den. His best friend would probably kick him in the ass if Oikawa buries his nose in his business. 

“The surprise birthday party just became a lot more interesting.” His voice was casual and nonchalant, but there was an undertone of teasing in the way he phrased his hints. The brunette then took several steps towards both of you who stood still like deers caught in headlights. 

You bit on your lower lip out of guilt. Slowly, you turned to look at Iwaizumi. Hesitantly, you asked him the one question that’s been nagging in your mind. “Your birthday is today?” 

Iwaizumi looked down at you. Those eyes were staring at him and he did not know how to explain to you. He did not mean to not lie to you. “Uh, yeah. But not today. It was yesterday, actually,” he awkwardly ran his hand over his nape. A deep sigh followed after. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, idiot? I would have joined them to surprise you,” a soft chuckle escaped your lips as you jokingly hit him in the stomach. But your fist was met with rock hard abs instead. 

“Well, it’s unlike me to go around sharing my birth date. It’s no big deal. You didn’t miss anything, though,” he shrugged his shoulders casually. You gave him a pointed stare when he pulled off a joke like that. You were being serious and he played it around like that. One way to get you pissed off. 

Iwaizumi’s expression turned soft, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude or anything.” 

“You better be,” you huffed. “Aight! Let’s celebrate your birthday with your beloved and precious teammates!” You then pushed the larger man to where his teammates were waiting for him. They sang the birthday song and you chuckled seeing him standing there awkwardly. It pained you to watch him being awkward all of sudden. Very unlike him. 

When it was time to blow the candles, the rest of the team yelled out, “Make a wish!”  to their co-captain. Iwaizumi stopped in his tracks, thinking of what he should wish for. He then shut his eyes for a brief moment and then blew the candles in one go. His teammates cheered for him before asking the man to cut the cake for them. He rolled his eyes at the pestering guys in his team. 

“Y/N! Feed Hajime now!” Makki asked in a very loud voice that startled you. You grumbled at him, “Why should I? You feed him!” 

“Well, because you are his girlfriend? Isn’t it sweet?” A first year junior suddenly said. All heads turned towards the owner of that voice, with a questioning look on each other’s faces. “What?” He retorted with a panicked look on his face. Poor kid probably thought he was getting jumped. 

All of them groaned in defeat. “I have no hope in this dude,” his friend next to him sighed, making everyone laugh in unison. You just shook your head at the said junior. He was just being pure and that is rare these days. 

“Don’t make fun of him, guys. He was telling us the truth. Come on, Y/N. Don’t leave us hanging!” Oikawa wiggled his eyebrows at you. At this point, he was literally forcing you to come forward and put on the ‘caring girlfriend’ act. And you were sure this will not be his last agenda to push you and Iwaizumi together. 

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows slightly raised as he turned to look at you. You were feeling guilty that you didn’t know that his birthday was yesterday. So, being the good friend that you are, you walked up to Iwaizumi. Another senior then handed you a plate of a small piece of cake with a spoon on the side. 

You grabbed onto the spoon and scooped some of the cake. “Here comes the airplane,” you teased with a playful tone, moving the spoon as if you were about to feed a baby. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes with a slight smile on his face. He felt stupid to have you feeding him like this, with lots of eyes fixed on both of you. Trying to match your height, he bent down his knees so you could feed him. 

Both of you locked eyes the moment you fed him, his lips closing around the offered bite with a playful glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the gesture sending a warm feeling through you. He smiled back, chewing slowly, clearly enjoying the moment. 

Meanwhile, the rest of the team erupted into cheers and teasing remarks. "Way to go!" Matsukawa shouted, while another voice added, "Get a room, you two!" Their laughter and playful comments filled the room.

You felt your cheeks flush, but you couldn't stop smiling. His eyes stayed on yours as he swallowed and licked his lips, savoring the food and the moment. It was a small, silly act, but it held a warmth that stood out in the noisy, bustling living room.

“Lots of you seem to be having too much fun, huh?” Iwaizumi snickered. His form turned to the rest of the team surrounding him. Some guys laughed at his accusation. Well, too much fun when the man is having his guards down. That seems like the safer way to poke the bear. 

“Just enjoy your birthday, old man,” Matsukawa said. Even though he appears like the oldest, you actually learned that he is the youngest among the seniors. Iwaizumi glared at him before a smile appeared on his face. 

“Thanks for uh- feeding me just now. These guys can be galling, I know,” Iwaizumi then approached you again to express his gratitude. He knew you were a victim of their mischievousness just now. 

“Ah, it’s nothing. It’s really nothing compared to what they saw earlier,” you said and then shuddered at the reminder. Geez, if you could rewind the time, swear to God you’d rewind it and change everything. 

Iwaizumi chuckled, suddenly reminded of the whole fiasco. He needed to figure out who planned this, but it was obvious Oikawa was the mastermind. He was the only person that could get his house key from his parents. 

“Alright. You okay, though?” He asked, concerned about how you were doing in case you got uncomfortable. You nodded, reassuring him you’re fine. The man then went to meet with the rest of the team, checking up on them and the snacks they brought. 

Oikawa, then not so subtle, made his way next to you. He looked at you with a grin on his face, arms crossed to his chest. As if it was his way to tell you, “I knew it!” Without stalling his time, he finally got his question out in the open. “So, how long has this been going on, huh? I freaking knew it! I had an instinct that you guys are still hooking up! Good god, I just wish I found out about it sooner!” 

You glanced at Oikawa, your expression a mix of surprise and guilty. “Seriously, Oikawa? You’ve been snooping around, haven’t you?” You crossed your arms, mimicking his stance as you tried to suppress a smirk. “For your information, it’s not like we were hiding anything. We just weren’t broadcasting it to everyone. Not everyone needs to be in the loop about our personal lives, you know.”

You took a deep breath, attempting to keep your tone even. “And, if you really must know, it’s been a while, but that’s really none of your business. We’re okay with it. Well, you are not going to take a peek into our business or anything, right?”

“Right?” You repeated the last question, scared if Oikawa would be out of his mind to catch both of you in the act. That would be traumatising. 

“Euw, do you really think my life is that pathetic? If you must know, I have my ways of getting laid too, ya know?” Oikawa winked and nudged you in the arm with his elbow. He then paused to say something. “I just hope both of you know what you are getting yourselves into. It’s going to be hard for me to make decisions.”

Your face turned into a puzzled expression, “Why would it be hard for you?”

Oikawa gasped. The man was disappointed when you couldn’t take a hint. “I cannot pick sides, shortcake. That’ll be the hardest thing to do. Both of you are hard-headed. How could I solve that?” 

Well, he wasn’t wrong though. About the hard-headed part. That was 100% accurate. You pursed your lips as if in thought, “Both of us know the arrangement. Feelings aren’t involved. So, you don’t have to worry.” 

That’s what you told yourself too. There is nothing to worry about. Right? 

Oikawa then gave you a slight nod before excusing himself to join the team again.

Speaking of the devil, Iwaizumi then came up to you with a slice of cake. “Cake?” His voice was gentle and soft. You took the plate into your own hand, “Thanks, birthday boy. It’s not too late to be calling you this, right?” 

Iwaizumi let out a snicker, “I’m gonna let you decide.” Both of you locked eyes before bursting into a fit of laughter. Just by a mere second of exchanging looks, both of you knew what was on each other’s minds. It was ridiculous how the tables turned today. Almost comical. 

“Looks like we need to postpone our appointment, then,” you paused to chuckle before continuing the rest of your sentence. 

Confused at your statement, Iwaizumi furrowed his eyebrows. “What appointment?” 

You looked at him with a slight disappointment plastered over your face, “Your dick appointment, duh.” 

Iwaizumi groaned in defeat as a blush crept to his face. He could clearly feel the blood rushed to his cheeks and face from how the sentence affected him. How could he not pick up on it sooner? “You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?”

You laughed – clearly enjoying the time of your life to poke on Iwaizumi. “Insufferable? I’ve heard things that are way worse so you’re good to go, booboo .” You then picked up the spoon and fed yourself a spoonful of cake. 

The icing on your lips was licked suggestively with Iwaizumi as the audience. His jaw ticked, “Trying to rile me up? You’re so cute, princess. Good attempt, though.”

“Aw, thanks,” you grinned. “Glad to know it’s working,” you then winked at him before closing your lips around the spoon. 

“I don’t like you right now,” he groaned with a flicker of a smile on his lips. Iwaizumi wouldn’t know how much he can take while being alone with you so he dragged you to meet with the rest of the team. Just to be safe. Yup. That’s what he told himself. 

When Iwaizumi was busy chatting with his friends, he suddenly got a notification. You were standing by his side so you could see who was the sender. It was from an unsaved number. Iwaizumi seemed relaxed about it, though. It almost felt like he knew who the sender was. He then opened the text and a photo of him and his ex-girlfriend kissing then filled the screen. Both of them were smiling and from the look of it, the photo might be from a year ago. Your blood boiled seeing the same girl whom your ex-boyfriend cheated with. Naomi.

Below the photo, that bitch had the audacity to say, “Sorry I missed your birthday, booboo. Happy belated birthday! You know I’ll always love you, right? I’m here for you, always. Look at how happy we were, Hajime. I want the old us back… No one else.”

Iwaizumi’s thumb quickly pressed on the delete button without replying. As far as he is concerned, that girl is no longer his problem and she doesn’t deserve any ounce of his attention. That’s for sure. He then kept his phone inside his pocket and carried on like nothing happened. 

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek, seething with anger. She had the audacity to mess with him again? After everything that she put him through? After everything she put you through? She messed with the wrong person. Guess she hasn’t seen your crazy side yet. And you will show her hell. 

By doing a few detectives’ work, it was not that hard to find what you were looking for. You just needed to put some effort and sacrificed some of your time to finally get what you wanted. The most important resources were in the palm of your hand now. You then looked at the box with the important resource together with a note. Yeah. This should be convincing. 

You are doing this for your own good and no one else’s. You admit, you were consumed by a petty grudge, your mind looping endlessly on the minor slight. But the determination to get back at them festered, growing stronger with each passing day.

With a careful touch, you wrapped each positive pregnancy test in delicate tissue paper, taking time to ensure that they looked as pristine inside the boxes. The boxes, filled with two separate positive pregnancy sticks, were adorned with crisp, white envelopes sealed with a simple note.

In the paper for the sweet Naomi who did you wrong, a typed letter awaited. The heading written, Pregnancy Verification Letter. Its content verifying that the pregnancy test belongs to the girl turned out positive. Other than the note, the positive pregnancy test was enough to convince her whole family to receive the news. 

Oh! Did you also mention that you’re sending the pandora box to her beloved daddy’s office? Yeah. You heard from the vines that her beloved daddy is a director at a huge international business company. It wasn’t difficult to track down her dad’s name and the office address. Easy peasy. 

Then you moved to the next box. This box is specially reserved for Semi. Inside the box, there was also a short note. Inside the note written, “Semi. I couldn’t reach you anywhere! The pregnancy test I took turned out positive. Please call me back! 08148765399. Don’t leave me hanging like this, please.” And you ended the note with her name. This special box will be sent to Semi’s house. He treated you like shit so now it’s his turn to be treated like one.

It was a petty act of revenge, but to you, it was the perfect way to unsettle them — delivering chaos with a touch of sweet, sinister satisfaction. 

Now, it’s only a matter of time before the boxes get delivered to right hands. You smiled in satisfaction, knowing what you just did will raise hell within their families. They will never know it is from you. That’s the best part. 

“You look happy,” Iwaizumi said the moment he saw you entering the school’s area. You didn’t realise he was standing there the whole time. Confusedly, you took off your earphones. 

“I look happy? What did you mean?” You scoffed at his ridiculous assumption. The twisted earphones then were kept inside the pocket of your skirt. 

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes on you, not believing your casual dismissal. “You look different. Not in a bad way, don’t get me wrong!” 

You laughed at his statement. Well, you weren’t sure what he saw on your face that you couldn’t see but he wasn’t entirely wrong. Today, after so long, you finally felt a little better than the previous days. Perhaps your petty revenge did lift most of your grievances from the betrayal you got from Semi. 

Your laughter somehow got Iwaizumi feeling stuck in the moment. It made him freeze for a brief second with this indescribable feeling. Quickly, he retorted, “Why are you laughing? If this is what I got from complimenting you, then I won’t do it again.” Iwaizumi put both of his hands up, surrendering to you. 

With a soft smile, cheeks already hurt from laughing, you turned to him. “Nah, man. Don’t give up on me so easily. Thanks for the compliment. In any fairness, I wasn’t that happy. Look happy? Yeah that might sound true.” 

Both of you fell into steps side-by-side. You looked up at him, his side profile came into your sight. His side view was effortlessly alluring, with a sharp jawline that seemed to naturally catch the light. His slight tan skin brought out the boldness in his black hair, while every sharp feature added to the magnetic pull of his profile. 

Iwaizumi then let out a soft, amused laugh. “You sure do have ways of twisting what you are feeling, princess.” 

You nudged him in the ribs. Hard. Then, the man winced in pain. His reaction caused you to feel guilty in an instant. You were terrified if you had injured the man on accident. “Ah, I’m sorry!” You consoled Iwaizumi who was bent at his waist, crouching in pain. 

“Shit, Iwa. You okay? You need me to bring you to the nurse?” Your words came out in a rush, stumbling over each other as panic seized you. ‘I didn’t mean to—are you okay? Please, tell me you’re okay.” 

Iwaizumi was dying from holding back his laughter. He then stood straight, shutting his eyes close before heaving out a deep sigh. “Glad to know you care,” he laughed airily. He then saw your expression changed as if you just got betrayed.

You then punched him in the arm, “I don’t like you right now. I don’t want to talk to you for the rest of the week. BYE!” Dramatically, you walked away from him and he chased after you. Some other students were looking at both of you, wondering what’s going on. The scene almost seemed like it’s out of a k-drama scene. 

Iwaizumi then grabbed you by the arm, stopping you in your tracks. You glared at him and he flashed you a boyish grin that could cause other girls to melt. Yourself included. Damn him. 

“Our class is that way,” he pointed to the building. You bit on your lip, suppressing your increasing anger. 

“Fine. Lead the way then,” you said to him, pushing his body forward. Iwaizumi laughed seeing your frustrated expression. He walked in front of you and you jumped onto his back. Thankfully, he caught you just in time. If he didn’t, both of you would have been on the corridor’s concrete pavement. 

Iwaizumi laughed again. He never laughed this much early in the morning. Especially in school. “If both of us fell just now, I’d blame you for it,” he grumbled under his breath. 

“You’re so dramatic. Did we fall? No, right?” You rolled your eyes at him. “You can be dramatic like Oikawa does sometimes. Geez. No wonder the two of you are best friends.” 

He broke into laughter again. “I’m losing my mind talking to you.” 

“Drama queen,” you threw lighthearted jabs his way, the tone teasing but affectionate, knowing he would take it all in good humor. Iwaizumi then nudged you using his elbow in which you swerved. 

As you dodged the quick jab aimed your way, your reflexes betrayed you for just a moment, sending you stumbling into a solid form. Startled, you looked up to realize you’d bumped into none other than the football team’s captain, a towering figure whose name slipped your mind in the rush of the moment. His broad hands steadied you before you could fully register what had happened.

“Whoa, there. You good?” His deep voice was tinged with concern as he held you steady, his grip firm but gentle.

Your heart raced, caught off guard by the unexpected collision. The warmth of his body against yours sent a flush of heat rushing to your cheeks. You stammered, struggling to find your words. “Uh… sorry I bumped into you!” 

The guy, standing tall at least 6’1”, merely shrugged it off, his expression easygoing. “Nah, it’s okay. You okay, though?” His gaze softened, genuine concern creasing his brows.

As if snapped out of a daze, you found yourself momentarily tongue-tied. Iwaizumi, who had been watching the whole scene, narrowed his eyes, his usual calm demeanor cracking just a bit as he noticed the way you seemed almost flustered in the other guy’s presence. A twinge of something unfamiliar—jealousy, maybe—gnawed at him, making his fists tighten at his sides.

You finally managed to compose yourself, offering the football captain a soft, slightly embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you said with a slight nod, your voice steadying as you spoke.

But Iwaizumi noticed everything—the way your smile lingered a fraction longer than usual, the faint blush that still colored your cheeks. He shifted his weight, clearing his throat a bit louder than necessary. “Ready to get back to it?” he asked, his tone casual but with a subtle edge that you couldn’t quite place.

The football captain’s gaze flickered to Iwaizumi, reading the situation with an amused smirk before turning back to you. “If you’re sure you’re okay, then,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, “I’ll leave you to it.”

As he walked away, Iwaizumi’s eyes followed him for a moment before returning to you, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “You good?” he asked, his tone softer now, more focused on you, but still carrying that hint of something deeper.

You nodded again, the blush on your cheeks finally fading. “Yeah, let’s go,” you replied, but there was a new awareness between the two of you—a silent acknowledgment that something had shifted in that brief, unexpected moment.

Maybe Iwaizumi was overthinking the whole situation just now. But, the feeling that gnawed at him just now was real. What he was feeling was real and it scared him a little bit. In that brief moment, he was feeling jealous. Even if it’s a little bit, it almost crossed the line both of you had drawn in this arrangement. 

“What’s his name? The football captain?” You asked, glancing over Iwaizumi who had fallen into silence. He looked at you, the stoic expression had slipped, replacing it with something more… intense. 

“Kazuya,” Iwaizumi said, his voice carrying a hint of nonchalance, but beneath the surface, you could sense a flicker of something else—maybe a touch of unease or reluctance.

When the name was mentioned, you repeated it, but Iwaizumi’s gaze had shifted slightly—just enough for you to notice the faint edge of doubt in his expression. Iwaizumi smiled, but the expression didn’t quite match the tone. 

Iwaizumi glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. “Interested in him?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he intended. It wasn’t that he meant to pry or sound so direct; his mind was betraying him, letting his emotions slip through his carefully maintained facade. 

Beneath his casual tone, there was a flicker of jealousy that he tried to suppress, but the tight set of his jaw and the flash of irritation in his eyes betrayed him. He knew his emotions were getting the better of him, and though he tried to mask it with a shrug, the tension in his posture and the underlying frustration in his voice were unmistakable. He couldn't help but feel unsettled, caught between his desire to appear indifferent and the undeniable sting of his own feelings.

You looked at Iwaizumi, a laugh escaping you before you could contain it. The question seemed so out of place that it struck you as almost absurd. “Interested in him?” you repeated with a chuckle, shaking your head. “Not at all. I didn’t even know his name until just now.”

You noticed Iwaizumi’s shoulders relax slightly at your response, though his expression remained guarded. His eyes, still sharp, softened as he took in your amusement. The tension that had briefly clouded his demeanor seemed to dissipate, replaced by a mix of relief and lingering uncertainty. You couldn’t help but wonder if the underlying concern he had showed more about his feelings than about the other person.

The word you have been meaning to say was caught in the back of your throat. Throwing the word out of your mouth would have been a suicide to this arrangement that you asked for in the first place. Letting your emotions take control would be the end of this casual relationship you are having with Iwaizumi. You cannot afford to lose this just yet. It’s what you needed. The thrill of having him close to you, the chemistry that you guys are having. This friendship comes with its own benefits and you cannot risk losing this relationship. 

But what would happen if Iwaizumi found someone else? What if he has a girlfriend? What will happen to you? To us? 

The question suddenly nagged at you. Your expression changed sour, shoulders tensed at the sudden overthinking of what’s about to come. Trying to lighten the sudden shift in mood, you chuckled, “I have you, right?”

Iwaizumi’s heart turned giddy. It was not a confession and you probably meant it in a friendly way, not romantically. He then shrugged, “If you think of it that way, yeah, why not?” 

“You don’t have to be cocky about it, huh,” you shook your head while looking at him. Iwaizumi scoffed, “Let’s not waste our time arguing about this. Come on. We’re about to be late.” 

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Thirty Two: Merry Fucking Christmas SS: 17 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 6.8K Content Warnings: Minyun fluffiness, sex talk, lots of graphic sex details, thoughts of relapse, implied sex Previous Next Masterlist

The living room is a cosy chaos of mismatched wrapping paper, soft pyjamas, and the warm glow of the Christmas tree. Minho is lounging on the couch, his arm casually draped over Hayun’s waist as she sits sideways on his lap. She’s clutching a steaming mug of coffee, her hair tied in a loose bun, looking completely at ease.

Felix, Jeongin, and Jisung are sprawled out on the floor and other seats, surrounded by their piles of gifts, laughing and bantering as they dig through their stockings and presents.

Hayun glances at the clock and sighs. “Hold up,” she says, setting her coffee on the table. She untangles herself from Minho’s lap, much to his displeasure, and heads to the kitchen. “I need to preheat the oven. If the roast isn’t perfect, I’ll cry.”

Minho stretches, watching her leave with a small smile. “You’d cry over a roast, but not a death threat? Makes sense.”

“Priorities, Minho,” Hayun calls back with a laugh.

When she returns, she’s immediately pulled back into Minho’s lap. He wraps his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You’re not allowed to move again,” he says, mock-serious.

“Possessive much?” she teases, taking another sip of her coffee.

“Damn right,” Minho replies, smirking.

Felix claps his hands together, his face lighting up. “Okay, who’s first? Let’s fucking do this.”

“Let Felix open his shit first,” Jisung says, nudging him with his foot. “We know he’s gonna have the best reactions.”

Felix grins, grabbing the first box with his name scrawled messily on it in Jisung’s handwriting. He rips the wrapping open to reveal a pair of sparkling Swarovski earrings. His jaw drops. “No fucking way!” he exclaims, holding them up to the light. “Jisung, you absolute legend.”

Jisung winks. “Knew you’d love them. You’ve been eyeing that shit for months. Figured it was time to treat you so you'll stop drooling on your laptop screen.”

Felix tackles him in a hug, nearly knocking over Jisung’s coffee. “You’re the best, dude. Seriously.”

Next, Felix grabs a neat, perfectly wrapped package with Jeongin’s name on it. “Wow, the wrapping alone screams not Jisung,” Felix jokes as he opens it. Inside are two hoodies he’s been obsessing over online. “Jeongin, what the fuck? These are the exact ones I wanted!”

Jeongin shrugs, a sly grin on his face. “I pay attention. Sometimes. Merry Christmas.”

Felix beams, hugging Jeongin tightly before moving on to Hayun’s gift. The wrapping is pristine, complete with a glittering bow. “I already know this is going to be amazing,” Felix says as he carefully unwraps it. Inside is a complete baking set, from high-end mixing bowls to silicone spatulas and cookie cutters. “Hayun! Holy shit! This is perfect.”

Hayun smiles. “I figured you’d put it to good use.”

“I’m baking for the rest of my life because of this,” Felix declares, hugging her tightly. He finally grabs Minho’s gift: a gaming store card. “Classic Minho,” Felix teases. “But honestly? Love it. Thanks, man.”

Minho smirks. “Knew you’d prefer that over me trying to guess what game you want.”

Jisung tears into his first gift, a sleek new laptop from Felix. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “This is- Felix, you didn’t have to-”

“Shut up,” Felix interrupts, grinning. “You needed it for editing. Merry Christmas.”

Next, Jisung opens Hayun’s present: a pair of high-quality headphones. “Hayun, these are fucking perfect,” he says, pulling them out of the box. “I’ve been needing new ones for, like, years.”

“Well, now you don’t have an excuse to complain about bad sound anymore,” Hayun teases.

When Jisung opens Minho’s gift, he bursts into laughter. It’s a book titled How to Ask Out Your Crush for Dummies. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Jisung says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Minho high-fives him. “Merry Christmas, loser.”

Jeongin’s gift is a new microphone, sleek and professional. “This is for me as much as it is you,” Jeongin says, rolling his eyes. “I’m tired of editing podcast episodes and having you rerecord lines because your fucking mic is a heap of shit. Felix and Hayun picked good mics. You picked a shit one. So, you’re welcome.”

Jisung mock-glares. “I hate you, but thank you.”

Jeongin’s turn comes, and everyone bursts out laughing as he opens his gifts. A stack of gift vouchers from every single person because he is notoriously picky about his gifts. “Fucking predictable,” he mutters, but there’s a small smile on his face. “You guys know me too well.”

Minho’s first gift is from Jisung: another copy of How to Ask Out Your Crush for Dummies. They high-five again, both cackling. “We’re assholes,” Jisung says proudly.

From Hayun, Minho opens a sleek silver watch, his eyes widening. “Hayun, this is fucking stunning,” he says, slipping it onto his wrist.

“You deserve it,” Hayun says simply, her smile soft.

Felix’s gift to Minho is a British recipe cookbook. “You’re welcome,” Felix says with a grin.

Minho nods approvingly. “Fair enough. I’ll master this shit.”

Jeongin’s gift is an Aristocats sweater. Minho laughs out loud, immediately pulling it over his head. “Okay, this? I love it,” he says.

Finally, it’s Hayun’s turn. She opens Jisung’s gift first: a self-defence key ring with multiple tools. “This is actually really thoughtful,” Hayun says, her voice soft.

Jisung grins. “Gotta keep you safe, Mrs. Claus. Speaking of-” He hands her another gift, and she pulls out a sleeveless red dress with white fur trim. “You’re wearing that today,” Jisung says firmly. “Go full Mrs. Claus or I’ll riot.”

Hayun laughs, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous, but fine.”

Felix’s gift is a pair of new AirPods. “Perfect,” Hayun says, hugging him. “You’re the best, Lix.”

Jeongin’s gift is a paid-for spa day for two. “You need to relax,” Jeongin says simply.

“Thank you, Innie. This is amazing,” Hayun says, hugging him.

Finally, Minho hands her a small, elegantly wrapped box. She opens it carefully, revealing a silver ring with an aquamarine stone. Her breath catches. “Minho,” she says softly, looking up at him.

“It’s your birthstone,” he says, his voice low. “I figured it’d suit you.”

Hayun slides the ring onto her finger. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

The morning winds down as Hayun checks her phone. “Chan and the others will be here at twelve,” she announces. “We should all get ready. It’s all hands on deck for the Christmas roast.”

Jisung groans. “Hyunjin wanted to know if there’ll be any Korean food today?”

“For lunch, it’s the roast,” Hayun says, glancing at Minho. “And Minho’s making Korean food tonight, right?”

Minho nods. “Tteok guk, sweet potato noodles, beef bulgogi, japchae—the works.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jisung says, fist-pumping.

Hayun smiles warmly as she sips her coffee. “Merry Fucking Christmas, guys.”

“Merry Fucking Christmas,” everyone echoes, laughter and warmth filling the room.

Hayun and Minho step into her room, the soft morning light filtering through her curtains, casting a warm glow over the space. Her vanity is cluttered but organized, an array of makeup brushes, palettes, and skincare products arranged in neat chaos. Minho flops onto her bed, still in Jeongin’s Aristocats sweater, grinning at her as she settles into the vanity chair.

Hayun grabs a cleansing wipe, running it over her face. “You sticking with the sweater?” she teases, glancing at him through the mirror.

“Damn right,” Minho replies, tugging at the hem of it. “This shit’s amazing. But I’m not wearing pyjama pants all day. I have standards.”

Hayun chuckles, tossing the used wipe into the trash before reaching for her foundation. “Standards? You? In that sweater?”

Minho props himself up on his elbows, watching as she dabs foundation onto her skin. “Don’t knock it, princess. I look good in this. Besides, you should be grateful. I’m tolerating all this holiday chaos for you.”

She smirks, blending her makeup. “Oh, so noble of you. Truly, a martyr.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” Minho quips, stretching out on her bed.

Hayun moves onto her eyeliner, leaning closer to the mirror as she carefully draws a sharp wing. “You’re doing a great job, Min,” she says dryly.

Minho sits up, grinning. “Damn right, I am. Now hurry up, I want to see this Mrs Claus dress Jisung got you”

Hayun rolls her eyes but finishes her makeup quickly, applying silver and white eyeshadow with precise strokes. A coat of mascara follows, her lashes curling up perfectly. She dusts on a bit of highlighter and lip gloss, then swivels in her chair to face him. “Ta-da.”

“Beautiful,” Minho says simply, his tone softening. Then he smirks. “But let’s see the dress.”

Hayun stands, slipping off her silk robe, revealing her white lace bra and underwear. Minho’s gaze immediately sharpens, his smirk growing. “Well, Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

“Shut up,” Hayun says as she grabs the dress. She pulls it over her head, the sleeveless red fabric fitting snugly, the white fur trim brushing against her shoulders and thighs. She adjusts the black belt with the oversized buckle, smoothing the fabric over her hips.

Minho whistles low. “You’re actually pulling off the Mrs. Claus look. Impressive.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Hayun laughs, bending over to rummage through her sock drawer.

Minho’s eyes flick to her and then quickly away. “Hayun,” he says, his voice taking on a teasing edge.

She turns, a pair of white fluffy socks in her hand, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Minho is holding a sprig of mistletoe above his head, grinning. “Let me kiss my girlfriend under the mistletoe.”

Hayun’s eyes narrow playfully. “Girlfriend? You still haven’t watched Harry Potter.”

“I will,” Minho counters, his grin widening. “You know I will.”

“Then ask me properly,” Hayun challenges, crossing her arms.

Minho scoffs, but his tone is light. “Me giving you that expensive-ass ring that’s sitting on your finger wasn’t enough?”

Hayun leans back in her chair, tilting her head. “I don’t recall you actually asking.”

Minho groans, clearly dramatic for effect. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “Jang Hayun, I’m just a guy, standing before a girl-”

“Are you being serious?” Hayun interrupts, laughing.

Minho laughs too, lowering the mistletoe. “Okay, okay. Seriously this time.” He takes a breath, his expression softening as he looks at her. “Jang Hayun, will you be my girlfriend?”

Hayun tilts her head, pretending to consider. “Hmm... let me think about it.”

“Seriously?” Minho exclaims, his voice rising an octave.

She smiles, leaning forward, and Minho takes the opportunity to kiss her, holding the mistletoe above their heads. The kiss is soft but lingering, his free hand resting on her waist as he pulls her closer. When they break apart, he rests his forehead against hers, smirking. “So, is that a yes?”

“Obviously,” Hayun murmurs, her voice light and full of warmth.

Minho pulls back slightly, his expression shifting to something more mischievous. “You need to wear safety shorts with that dress, though.”

“What?” Hayun asks, confused.

“You bent over, and-” Minho gestures vaguely, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Hayun groans, rolling her eyes as she grabs a pair of hotpants from her drawer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m practical,” Minho says, leaning back against her bedframe. “Actually, you probably just shouldn’t bend over at all.”

“Noted,” Hayun mutters, pulling on the hotpants under her dress.

Minho watches her, a smug grin on his face. “Good. Crisis averted.”

She shakes her head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you fucking love it,” Minho counters, standing and adjusting his sweater. He swaps his pyjama pants for black cargos, then holds out a hand to her. “Come on, Mrs. Claus. Let’s go play host.”

Hayun takes his hand, her smile warm and genuine. “Let’s go, Grinch.”

The living room is filled with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, the table groaning under the weight of the Christmas roast. Hayun flits between the kitchen and the dining area, making sure everything is perfect.

Plates are piled high with turkey, chicken, beef, gammon, and an assortment of perfectly roasted vegetables. The gravy boats sit strategically placed among bowls of stuffing, cranberry sauce, and Yorkshire puddings.

Changbin takes one look at the spread and practically moans. “This,” he declares, waving a fork dramatically, “is fucking heaven. Hayun, thank god for your Western influence.”

Hayun laughs as she takes her seat, raising her wine glass in a mock toast. “Cheers to Etta. May she thrive in hell and entertain Satan.”

Jisung cackles, raising his glass as well. “Oh, I miss Etta. She was your best foster parent, hands down.”

“She was a hot fucking mess,” Hayun agrees, clinking her glass against Jisung’s. “But she knew how to roast a chicken.”

“Roast a chicken?” Minho repeats, smirking. “I feel like she could roast a soul.”

“She probably did,” Felix chimes in, pouring himself another glass of wine. “But at least the food was good.”

As everyone digs into the feast, the atmosphere becomes warm and relaxed. Hyunjin is delicately slicing his turkey while Jisung is halfway through his second helping of gammon. Jeongin is buttering his fourth roll when Chan leans back in his chair with a mischievous grin.

“Alright,” Chan says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Let’s spice things up. Who has the most embarrassing sex story?”

There’s a beat of silence, then Felix snickers. “Oh, this is about to get wild.”

Jisung doesn’t even hesitate, raising his hand like a student in class. “Okay, okay, I’ll go first. So, I was giving this guy head, right? Things are going great, he’s about to come, and then- Bam! He fucking cums in my eye. I’m stumbling around half-blind, tears streaming down my face, trying not to scream.”

The table erupts into laughter. Hayun nearly chokes on her wine, and Hyunjin is laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach.

“That’s horrifying,” Seungmin manages to get out between laughs. “Did it, like, burn?”

“Like acid,” Jisung says dramatically. “I swear I saw god for a second.”

Hyunjin wipes his eyes, grinning. “Alright, my turn. I hooked up with this guy, super hot, right? But halfway through, he fucking farts. Loud as hell. And I didn’t stop him. I just held my nose and let him keep going.”

Jeongin groans, burying his face in his hands. “Hyunjin, no.”

“Yes!” Hyunjin says, throwing his hands up. “Because I’m a fucking trooper.”

The laughter only gets louder. Felix shakes his head, raising his hand. “Okay, okay, I have one. So, I’m in this threesome, guy, girl, you know the vibe. The girl’s on her back, and the guy’s railing me in doggy style. But the girl starts queefing, and guess who has to fix it? Me. I’m fingering the air out of her while getting railed. It was like a fucking symphony.”

Everyone loses it. Jisung actually falls off his chair, wheezing. Hayun is covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face, and Minho just shakes his head, laughing. “Felix, what the fuck.”

Felix grins, completely unbothered. “Hey, I was multitasking. That’s talent.”

“Alright, my turn,” Chan cuts in, raising his glass. “So, a guy was sucking me off, right? And he gagged so hard he nearly vomited.”

There’s a collective gasp of horror, and everyone’s eyes immediately snap to Jeongin, who takes a long sip of his wine. “I struggled to relax my throat that day,” Jeongin admits, deadpan.

Chan pats his shoulder, laughing. “It’s alright, Innie. If you’d actually vomited, then it would’ve been awkward.”

“Fucking hell,” Changbin mutters, shaking his head. “That’s brutal.”

Seungmin clears his throat. “Okay, my turn. I was with this girl, and she kept trying to wear a tail butt plug in bed. Like, a fox tail or some shit. I didn’t know what to do when I saw her with it in.”

“Did you pull it out?” Hyunjin asks, wide-eyed.

“No,” Seungmin says, his tone dry. “I just stared at it for, like, a solid minute before pretending I didn’t see anything.”

Jisung turns to Hayun, grinning wickedly. “Oh, Yunnieee. Your turn.”

Hayun immediately starts reading the wine label in her hand, avoiding his gaze. Minho raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Oh, come on, Yunnie,” Jisung presses. “Tell them the handcuff story.”

“Handcuffs?” Minho repeats, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Hayun.

Jisung smirks, leaning back in his chair. “So, once upon a time, our dear Yunnie brought home a guy from the club. Ugly as fuck, but hey, who am I to judge? Anyway, they get freaky, and then I hear her shouting for me. I grab my bat because I think this guy’s hurting her. Felix comes out with a deodorant and a lighter, and Jeongin’s holding a brick.”

Felix nods, laughing. “True story.”

“We burst in,” Jisung continues, “only to find Yunnie handcuffed to the headboard. The guy fucking lost the key. So, there we are, on our hands and knees, trying to find this damn key.”

“It was hilarious,” Felix adds, grinning.

Minho looks at Hayun, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Princess, you’ve got layers. Handcuffs?”

Hayun drains her wine glass, glaring at Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin. “We swore to forget that, assholes.”

Changbin chuckles, raising his hand. “Alright, I’ve got one. I was with this guy, and he asked me to pick him up mid-fuck. So, I did. Then I got a cramp and dropped him.”

The laughter is deafening. Felix is clutching his sides, tears streaming down his face. “Oh my god, Changbin, no!”

Finally, everyone looks at Minho. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. I was with this girl, and we decided to try anal. She farted during the prep, and I couldn’t get hard around her ever again.”

The room erupts. Even Hayun is laughing, her cheeks red as she leans against Minho. “Oh my god, Min,” she says, giggling. “That’s awful.”

“Tell me about it,” Minho mutters, pouring himself another glass of wine.

By unanimous vote, Felix is declared the winner. Everyone raises their glasses, grinning. “To Felix,” Chan announces. “King of awkward fucking sex.”

Felix lifts his glass with a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you. It’s a hard crown to wear, but someone’s gotta do it.”

Plates are steadily being emptied, though Felix is still eyeing a second helping of gammon while Changbin holds court over the mashed potatoes. Minho sits beside Hayun, his arm draped casually over the back of her chair as they sip from their wine glasses.

“So, Princess,” Minho starts, his voice dripping with amusement, “handcuffs, huh? Should I be worried, or is that your way of hinting at something for our next date?”

Hayun, ever composed, smiles sweetly and looks up at him through her lashes. “Why, Minho,” she says, her tone innocent and lilting, “are you saying you’re interested in tying me up?”

Minho groans softly, covering his face for a moment as laughter erupts around the table. “Don’t do that,” he mutters, his voice low and strained. “That fucking look. It’s criminal.”

“What look?” Hayun teases, feigning ignorance as she takes a delicate sip of her wine. “I’m just sitting here, minding my business.”

“Bullshit,” Minho counters, narrowing his eyes at her. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Jesus, Hayun. Do you have to be this much of a menace?”

Hayun tilts her head, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Min,” she starts, her tone dripping with faux-curiosity, “do you have a corruption kink?”

The table collectively groans with laughter, and Jisung practically wheezes as he smacks the table. “Oh, she’s got you, dude. Fucking checkmate.”

Minho hums, taking a long sip of his wine as he considers her. “You know what? Maybe I do. Wanna test it?”

Hayun giggles into her glass, her cheeks turning pink. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, shaking her head, but there’s a playful gleam in her eyes.

“You love it,” Minho shoots back, smirking. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur just for her. “And for the record, if I’m the one using the handcuffs, you’re not calling for Jisung to save you.”

Hayun nearly chokes on her wine, laughing as she bats at his chest. “Minho, you can’t just say shit like that!”

“Can and will,” he replies, grinning. “You should know that by now.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the table is deep in a new round of teasing. Jisung, emboldened by wine and chaos, is zeroed in on Hyunjin. “So, let me get this straight,” Jisung says, leaning his chin on his hand. “Guy farts during sex, and your response is to just keep going like nothing happened? That’s commitment.”

Hyunjin flushes, rolling his eyes as he stabs at a piece of turkey. “What was I supposed to do, stop? It’s not like there’s a manual for that situation.”

“Stop?” Jisung repeats, feigning horror. “Yes, Hyunjin, stopping is exactly what you do when someone farts mid-fuck. You’re not a goddamn priest absolving him of his sins.”

Hyunjin glares at Jisung, though there’s no heat behind it. “Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Jizz-in-the-Eye.”

The table erupts again, Chan nearly spilling his drink as he doubles over in laughter. “Alright, big guy,” Jisung locks in on Chan, his grin returning. “Let’s hear about your perfect sex life. What’s it like being the patron saint of blowjobs?”

Chan leans back, smirking as he rests an arm on the back of Jeongin’s chair. “Ask Innie,” he says smoothly, earning a loud, disbelieving laugh from the rest of the group.

Jeongin groans, covering his face with one hand. “Why do you insist on dragging me into this?” he mutters, though the corners of his lips twitch upward.

“You dragged yourself in when you didn’t relax your throat,” Chan teases, nudging Jeongin playfully. “It’s a team effort, baby.”

Jeongin sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Fine, I’ll work on my form. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Chan says, his grin widening.

Seungmin, who’s been quietly sipping his wine, raises an eyebrow at the exchange. “You two are disgusting,” he says dryly. “And that’s coming from someone who once had to pretend a fox tail wasn’t a giant red flag.”

Hayun laughs, leaning into Minho’s side. “This table is chaos,” she says softly, shaking her head.

“And you love it,” Minho murmurs, kissing the top of her head.

Jisung, ever the instigator, turns his attention back to Hayun and Minho. “Alright, lovebirds. You’ve been weirdly quiet. Something you wanna share?”

“Not a thing,” Hayun says quickly, her cheeks turning pink.

Minho smirks, glancing down at her. “Oh, we’ve got plenty to share,” he teases. “But I don’t think you’re ready for it.”

“Fucking spill,” Jisung demands, leaning forward eagerly.

“Maybe later,” Minho says smoothly, raising his glass in a mock toast. “For now, let’s focus on what’s important: Hyunjin’s inability to stop mid-fart.”

“Fuck you, Minho,” Hyunjin groans, though he’s laughing as he flips him off.

Felix frowns and glances around the room. “Hold up,” he says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Everyone’s here, right? That makes nine of us.”

“Yeah, why?” Changbin asks, raising an eyebrow.

Felix points toward the hallway. “So who the fuck just knocked on the door?”

The room falls quiet, and Hayun stands, smoothing her dress. “I’ll check. Probably just a neighbour or something,” she says lightly, leaving the dining room.

She heads down the hall to the front door, the soft hum of conversation picking back up behind her. When she opens the door, there’s no one there.

Just a small package sitting neatly on the welcome mat. Her name is written in neat, cursive handwriting across the top. A chill runs down her spine, and she glances up and down the quiet street before picking it up.

Back in the kitchen, Hayun sets the package on the counter and grabs a knife to cut it open. Inside, there’s a small note resting on top of a smaller box. She unfolds the note, her heart sinking as she reads:

Happy Christmas, from a friend x

Hayun’s hands tremble as she opens the box inside. Two bottles of oxycodone sit nestled within. Her breath hitches, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s tilting.

“Fuck,” she whispers under her breath, staring at the pills. It’s been over a month since Minho helped her get clean, but the sight of the pills stirs something deep and ugly inside her. She clenches her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fights the urge.

The kitchen door swings open, and Chan steps in. He freezes when he sees the look on her face. “Hayun? What’s going on?”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and glassy. Wordlessly, she gestures toward the open box. Chan steps closer and peers inside, his jaw tightening. He sucks in a sharp breath, then quickly wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mutters, closing the box and holding it tightly. “Hayun, who sent this? Did you-”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice shaking. “But I nearly did. I was just... I don’t know, Chan. After the doll at the college, and now this... I can’t—” She cuts herself off, taking a deep, shaky breath.

Chan squeezes her shoulder gently. “Hey. It’s okay. We’ll deal with this. But we’re not telling anyone else right now. They’ll freak, and it’s Christmas. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

Hayun nods, biting her lip. She pulls open a drawer and takes out a pack of cigarettes. Chan raises an eyebrow. “You smoke?” he asks, his voice laced with surprise.

Hayun shrugs, already pulling one out and lighting it. “Only when I’m really fucking stressed,” she says, taking a deep drag. She opens the kitchen window and perches on the counter, blowing smoke out into the cold air. “Like right now.”

From the dining room, Jisung’s voice carries through dramatically. “Hayun! Did you burn the crumble? Is that why you’re smoking?”

Hayun leans back, exhaling a stream of smoke. “No, Ji! Just needed a cigarette.”

That sets off a chorus of voices from the dining room. Changbin’s incredulous tone cuts through first. “You smoke?”

Hyunjin is right behind him. “Since when?”

Seungmin’s dry voice adds, “I thought she was too pretty for that.”

Minho steps into the kitchen just as Chan discreetly grabs the box and shoves it into his backpack. “Gimme one, Princess,” he says, his smirk lazy but warm. “Guess it’s time to come clean. I’ve been hiding my vice from you. I spray air freshener in my car every time I pick you up.”

Hayun laughs softly, tossing him the pack and her lighter. “Should’ve known you weren’t perfect,” she teases.

Minho catches them easily, lighting a cigarette. He takes a long drag, exhaling with a sigh. “Nope. Just very, very close.”

Hayun rolls her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

Chan shakes his head, glancing between them. “You two are unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

Minho smirks, leaning closer to Hayun. “So, Princess, what else are you hiding? Got any other surprises up your sleeve?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Hayun replies, her tone light despite the storm still brewing in her chest. She takes another drag, blowing the smoke out the window as the faint sounds of laughter drift in from the dining room.

Minho and Hayun flick their cigarette stubs out the window, the glowing embers disappearing into the night. Minho turns back to her, leaning against the counter with a mischievous smirk. His eyes trace the red dress, the fur trim framing her shoulders and neckline, his gaze simmering with something unspoken.

“You in this dress,” Minho murmurs, stepping forward until he’s standing between her legs. His hands rest on either side of her hips, his presence warm and electric.

Hayun tilts her head, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Do you actually have a corruption kink?” she asks, her voice light but curious.

Minho nods without hesitation, his eyes darkening slightly. “You have no idea, Princess. I wanna do things to you that’ll earn us a permanent spot on the naughty list.”

Hayun giggles, her cheeks flushing as she playfully nudges his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not joking,” Minho counters, his voice dropping lower, the smirk on his lips replaced by something more intense. “I’m serious, Hayun. You’re fucking stunning in this dress, and it’s killing me.”

Her laughter softens, replaced by a warmth in her chest she doesn’t quite know how to describe. Before she can respond, Jisung’s voice echoes loudly from the dining room. “Where’s the crumble?!”

Hayun sighs, rolling her eyes as she gently pushes Minho back. “Duty calls,” she says, hopping down from the counter. “Pull the crumble out of the oven for me?”

Minho groans theatrically but obliges, grabbing an oven mitt and retrieving the bubbling apple crumble. The warm, sweet scent fills the kitchen as he sets it down on the counter. Meanwhile, Hayun pulls out a saucepan and starts whisking eggs, sugar, and milk together to make custard from scratch.

As she works, Minho grabs a bowl and starts whipping cream with a whisk, his arm moving rhythmically. “A sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar?” he asks, glancing at her for confirmation.

“Exactly,” Hayun replies, glancing over her shoulder with a smile.

Minho smirks, sprinkling the ingredients into the cream and continuing to whip. “What if we saved some of this cream for later?” he asks, his tone laced with suggestion.

“Oh?” Hayun hums, not looking up from the custard. “What for?”

Minho leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Princess?”

Hayun laughs, shaking her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

Minho dips his finger into the cream, gathering a dollop before swiping it lightly across Hayun’s lips. “You missed a spot,” he murmurs before leaning in and kissing her, his lips warm and soft against hers, the sweetness of the cream lingering between them.

Hayun smiles into the kiss, letting it linger before she pulls back slightly. “You’re trouble,” she says softly, her eyes glinting.

“Only for you,” Minho replies, brushing his nose against hers with a grin.

The moment is abruptly interrupted as Jisung barges into the kitchen. He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Ewwwwww!” he exclaims dramatically, pointing at them like a kid catching their parents kissing. “Guys, they’re making out!”

Minho pulls back reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah? So?”

Jisung scowls, scrunching his nose. “It’s gross! Don’t do that where we eat!”

Minho smirks, turning back to Hayun. “I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”

Jisung freezes, his jaw dropping. “Girlfriend?! Oh fucking finally!” he shouts, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Took you two long enough!”

Hayun giggles, her cheeks flushing as she stirs the custard. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “Oh, it was. You two have been eye-fucking each other for months and doing all this Georgian Courting bullshit. The sexual tension was unbearable.”

Minho chuckles, leaning back against the counter. “You’re just mad it didn’t happen on your schedule, Ji.”

“Damn right I am,” Jisung huffs. “But seriously, congrats. Now get back to work; we’re all hungry as fuck out there.” He points dramatically at the crumble. “And don’t ruin the dessert with your horny vibes.”

Hayun laughs, shooing him out of the kitchen. “We’re almost done! Go sit down.”

Jisung leaves with a grumble, and Minho leans closer to Hayun again, a grin tugging at his lips. “You know, I don’t think we should let him off so easy. What do you say we feed him last?”

Hayun rolls her eyes playfully. “Be nice. It’s Christmas.”

Minho sighs dramatically, grabbing the whipped cream and placing it next to the crumble. “Fine. But only because it’s you, Princess.”

The evening settles into chaos as Minho takes over the kitchen, his usual teasing smirk replaced by an intense, no-nonsense demeanour. Pots clatter, and the savoury aromas of tteok guk, japchae, and manduguk waft through the house, but it’s hard to enjoy the mouthwatering scents over the constant barrage of Minho’s booming voice.

“Hyunjin, that’s fucking raw! Do I look like I want to kill everyone with undercooked meat?!” Minho shouts, his voice echoing through the house. "Chan what the fuck is that?!"

"How is this my fault?!”

“Because you’re holding the fucking knife, you idiot!” Minho snaps back.

From the safety of the living room, Hayun, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin sit curled up with glasses of wine, laughing as they listen to the chaos. Hayun takes a sip of her wine, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You three should probably go save your boyfriends.”

The statement lands like a grenade. Jisung chokes on his drink, Felix nearly spills his wine, and Jeongin gapes at her, wide-eyed.

“Hyunjin isn’t-” Jisung starts.

“Changbin isn’t-” Felix stammers.

“Chan isn’t-” Jeongin adds, his voice high-pitched.

Hayun grins, raising her glass. “But you all knew exactly who I meant for each of you.”

Jisung throws a hand in the air, indignant. “She gets a boyfriend and suddenly thinks she’s better than us.”

“Hyunjin, if you don’t stop fucking up those noodles, I’m going to strangle you with them! Chan, where’s the sesame oil?! Oh my god, Changbin, are you sautéing onions or murdering them?!”

Hyunjin’s voice cracks as he cries out, “Hayun, please help us!”

There’s a pause, and then Chan joins in. “Hayun, suck his dick or something! He might calm down!”

Changbin chimes in with a desperate edge, “Yes, please! Let him fuck you! Do whatever it takes to save us!”

Hayun sets her wine down and calls out sweetly, “Minho!”

A moment later, Minho pokes his head into the living room, his hair slightly mussed and his expression darkly amused. “Yes, Princess?”

Hayun gives him a mock serious look. “We’d prefer not to taste Hyunjin’s tears in our food, so maybe tone it down?”

Minho sighs dramatically, nodding. “Got it.” He ducks back into the kitchen and yells, “Hyunjin, stop fucking crying!”

Hayun shakes her head with a grin. “I tried.”

From the kitchen, Chan’s voice bellows, “No, you fucking didn’t! Suck his dick!”

Hayun rolls her eyes. “Minho, be nice!”

Minho’s tone turns mockingly gentle. “Oh, Hyunjin, you poor thing, don’t cry”

“Hayun, marry me!” A loud smack echoes through the kitchen, followed by Hyunjin’s dramatic whining. “He hit me!”

Changbin’s voice rises above the chaos. “Hayun, for fuck’s sake, help us!”

Hayun sighs dramatically but can’t help the smile playing on her lips. “Alright, alright, I’m coming to rescue you poor souls.”

She walks into the kitchen, her dress swishing slightly as she moves. The sight of Minho standing like a general in the middle of the culinary battlefield is almost comical. Seungmin calmly stirs a pot, looking entirely unbothered as Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin appear moments away from mutiny.

Minho spots Hayun immediately, and his gaze softens slightly, though he tries to maintain his no-nonsense demeanour. “You,” he says, pointing a wooden spoon at her, “do not touch anything. You may have mastered a roast, but you can’t even cook bibimbap without setting something on fire.”

Hayun smiles sweetly. “I didn’t come to cook, Min. I came to see you.”

Minho’s scowl fades completely, replaced by a smile. The shift is so sudden and drastic that Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin all exchange incredulous glances. Without a word, they drop to their knees in unison and begin bowing dramatically toward Hayun.

“Thank you!” Hyunjin cries, his voice filled with mock reverence. “Thank you for saving us!”

Chan presses his forehead to the floor. “She’s a miracle worker. A goddess among mortals.”

Changbin mutters under his breath as he bows. “We’re not worthy.”

Hayun laughs, the sound bright and light as she sets her glass on the counter. She steps closer to Minho, her hand trailing from his waist up to his chest, where she lets it rest. “Min,” she says softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “can you play nice? If you do-”

She leans in to whisper something into his ear. Whatever she says is too quiet for anyone else to hear, but the effect is immediate. Minho’s lips curve into a smirk, and his eyes darken with amusement.

Hyunjin, still kneeling, squints at them. “She’s gonna let him handcuff her or something, isn’t she?”

Chan waves a hand without looking up. “Shhhh, don’t ruin it. It’s working.”

Changbin leans toward Hyunjin and whispers, “She’s gonna be Mrs. Claus, and Minho’s gonna be Santa. I’m calling it now. Look at that fucking dress.”

Minho glances down at Hayun, his smirk widening. “Oh really?” he asks, his tone laced with teasing disbelief.

Hayun leans up to whisper something else, and this time, whatever she says has Minho chuckling lowly. He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Well, if that’s what you’re offering, Princess, how could I not be nice to them?”

Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin bow even lower, their foreheads practically touching the floor now. “Thank you, Hayun!” they chorus, their voices filled with exaggerated gratitude.

Hayun steps back, picking up her wine glass again with a grin. “You’re welcome. I’m going to be on the naughty list for life because of this.”

The trio lifts their heads enough to thank her again, their voices earnest despite the ridiculousness of the scene. Minho pulls Hayun close and presses a kiss to her temple before turning back to the stove.

As Hayun walks back to the living room, Minho’s voice takes on an overly kind tone. “Chan, you’re doing great with the beef. Hyunjin, fantastic work on those noodles. Changbin, that onion slicing is top-tier. Keep it up, guys.”

Hayun flops onto the couch with her wine in hand. Jisung looks at her suspiciously. “What did you say to him?”

Hayun shrugs, her expression innocent. “Just gave him incentive to be nice.”

From the kitchen, Minho’s voice calls out. “Hyunjin, don’t cry. You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

The living room explodes into laughter as Jisung shakes his head. “I don’t know what kind of voodoo you have over him, but I’m glad it worked.”

The living room is filled with the aroma of Minho’s cooking as he, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin bring in the dishes one by one, placing them on the coffee table and the makeshift tables Jisung hastily assembled from a few cardboard boxes. 

Hyunjin, Chan, and Changbin immediately turn to Hayun, bowing deeply in her direction. “Our saviour!” Hyunjin exclaims dramatically. “Our goddess!”

Chan nods solemnly, playing along. “We owe you our lives.”

Changbin smirks. “If you ever need soldiers in your inevitable world takeover, call us.”

“You’re all ridiculous,”

As everyone settles on the floor or the couches, chopsticks in hand, Hyunjin fixes Hayun with an inquisitive look. “Alright, spill. What did you say to him? There’s no way you calmed the storm that fast without some kind of wizardry.”

Minho smirks from his spot beside Hayun, leaning back on his hand. “I don’t know if your virgin ears can handle this.”

Hyunjin flips him off without missing a beat. “Fuck off. Just tell me.”

“If you must know-” Minho starts, but Hayun interrupts by grabbing a dumpling and shoving it into his mouth.

“Nope,” she says, shaking her head with a smile. 

Minho chews exaggeratedly, his smirk undeterred. “Fine,” he says after swallowing, “but you just wait until later.”

Everyone groans, throwing small bits of food or napkins at Minho, who dodges effortlessly. As the meal continues, everyone digs into the feast with enthusiasm. Jisung moans dramatically after taking a bite of tteok guk.

“Holy shit, Minho, you’re wasted on Hayun. Open a restaurant already.”

Hayun swats at Jisung’s shoulder. “Hey! He’s not wasted on me.”

“You’re hogging him!” Jisung accuses with a grin. “I want weekly tteok guk deliveries.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, his tone deadpan. “You'll have to pay me.”

After everyone has eaten enough to be comfortably full, Minho stands and grabs Hayun’s hand, tugging her gently toward the stairs. “Come on, Princess,” he says with a smirk.

Hayun giggles as she follows, but the group’s attention is immediately piqued. Hyunjin leans forward, whispering, “Where the fuck are they going?”

The living room collectively peeks around the corner in time to see Minho scoop Hayun into his arms. She lets out a small laugh, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carries her up the stairs. The door to her room slams shut, and silence falls over the group for a moment.

Jisung finally breaks it, shaking his head. “Alright, everyone ready to enjoy the fucking sex-a-thon we’re about to be subjected to?”

Felix groans, flopping onto his back. “Why couldn’t they go to his house? I don’t need to hear this.”

Chan, sipping his beer, shrugs. “At least we get free entertainment.”

Twenty minutes later, the entertainment begins in earnest. The rhythmic banging of Hayun’s headboard against the wall echoes down the stairs, accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of her moaning and Minho’s grunts.

“My best friend is being corrupted by a man,” Jisung laments, though his grin betrays his amusement. “A horny, filthy man.”

Chan raises a hand, motioning for silence. “Wait,” he says, leaning closer toward the staircase. “His dirty talk is actually good. Let’s listen.”

The group falls silent, save for the clinking of glasses and the occasional stifled laugh. Minho’s voice filters down clearly, his tone low and commanding. “That’s it. Just like that. You take me so well. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Changbin’s jaw drops, his chopsticks frozen midair. “Holy shit. I’m writing this down.”

Seungmin looks over, unimpressed. “You’re disgusting.”

“Excuse me for appreciating quality material!” Changbin retorts, mock-offended. 

Hyunjin crosses his arms, leaning back on the couch. “You all are acting like this is normal. It’s not. They’re up there fucking and we’re down here. Eating. Listening. This is fucked.”

“You’re still listening, though,” Jisung points out, grinning.

Felix sprawls across the couch with a groan. “Someone sedate me.”

Chan, clearly enjoying the chaos, leans back with a grin. “You know, this might actually be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

[cellobuster]

A special message from the Dosage Tango, for the @sexiestpodcastcharacter bracket.

Vote for Sammy: https://www.tumblr.com/sexiestpodcastcharacter/tagged/Sammy%20Sinclair

Vote for Spanks: https://www.tumblr.com/sexiestpodcastcharacter/tagged/Spanks%20Sinatra

Audio transcript:

(Sammy voiced by me, Spanks voiced by @teal-deer)

SAMMY: Hello? Testing, testing. Is this thing on? You're sure this is plugged in?

SPANKS: Stop fucking with it, yes! You had an entire musical career, how do you not know what an XLR cable is?

SAMMY: I used a Rock Band mic.

SPANKS: Jesus Christ. Just... go. Just read the cards.

SAMMY: Oh, right. Uh, hi! I'm Sammy Sinclair, the Scat King of Ganymede.

SPANKS: And I'm Spanks Sinatra, from the Tidal Wave Games "SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY..." actual play podcast.

SAMMY: We want to express our utmost appreciation for your support in the first round of the 2024 Sexiest Podcast Character tournament. We are truly overwhelmed by the astounding adulterations of the voting public.

SPANKS: That's "adulation". Didn't you write this? How are you screwing this up?

SAMMY: I dictated it to Pete, his handwriting is terrible.

SPANKS: (sighs)

SAMMY: Look, forget the cards, just: thanks for the votes, jerks.

SPANKS: Look... I was a bit pissed that you signed me up for ANOTHER contest without telling me or informing me; like, I found out because somebody was knocking on my door like, "hey man, you're in the contest!" (Deep breath) BUT, I can't say that I'm not pleased with my win. And... oh boy, there is this big butch bear of a woman also competing, and, let me tell y'all... I hope I lose to her. 'Cuz she's... damn. Wow. I think her name's Husky? Please vote for her. She's... (sighs) wow. I hope she absolutely crushes me.

SAMMY: Yeah! And I beat up a wizard. Anyway, thanks again for your support, and we hope you continue to rig this crap in our favor in the future rounds. I think I have to fight a pirate next?

SPANKS: And I'm apparently going up against a bisexual orc with a battleaxe.

SAMMY: You're gonna try to make out with this one too, ain'tcha?

SPANKS: And so what if I do??

SAMMY: Heh heh heh, that's my boy! Alright now, how do I turn this shit off? Do I just yank this out?

SPANKS: Wait, no, Sammy-

SAMMY: Yoink!

SPANKS: NO- (Cut off mid word)

[high-voltage-rat]

My final late submission to the RvB OC Week, for day 6: relationships!

Ali and Kris, as members of the Reds and Blues respectively, end up forming really strong relationships with everyone in the blood gulch crew. What this means, practically speaking, is that they participate in a lot of shenaniganry throughout the course of the series.

To start, Ali and Kris are of course very close. The cousins grew up together, and then having been through so much together as adults- the glassing of their planet, their time as freelancers, and everything beyond... Their bond is probably the closest in their lives. During their tenure in blood gulch, even before the formation of a more amicable familiarity between the reds and blues, the cousins spent a lot of time together. They essentially have a relationship akin to siblings, full of playful bickering and teasing, but a very deep trust and understanding of one another.

(This is mostly a collection of some of my old (really, really old) doodles and drawings with some additions and edits thrown in. transcript as an antidote to poor handwriting beneath the cut, plus details on each relationship!)

Ali and Donut:

Ali, staring at red base's curtains: No, you're right actually. Chantilly lace was the move. Donut: O! M! G! Right? It adds so much more natural light!

Donut is probably Ali's best friend on the red team. At first, she found his bubbly demeanour a little exhausting, but quickly grew to appreciate his genuine nature and his spirited can-do attitude. It's a lesser known fact that Ali spent part of their childhood living on a farm- but it was definitely a bonding point between them. They'll sometimes just sit and complain about horses being idiots who try to self-destruct at the slightest provocation, or chickens having bloodthirsty rage within their hearts, or cows trying to kick you in the head while you try to help deliver their babies. Ali is also the only member of red team willing to engage with Donut's ideas for interior design and fashion- mainly because she considers it an important factor in everyone's morale, and eschews the military ideals of uniformity. They often encourage him to keep being his bright and individual self... which is much-needed among a team of party-poopers. Donut, in turn, tries to encourage Ali to be just as bold as him- especially important when their social anxiety gets the better of them.

Kris and Tucker:

Tucker: Hey, baby. Do you have a map? Cause I just got lost in your eyes. Kris, filling up a water gun: Tucker, I'm literally wearing my helmet.

Tucker is Kris' best friend on blue team, despite his incessant habit of practicing his shitty pickup lines on her (Kris actually finds it kind of charming, though she'd never admit it to him). They had a rocky start, with Tucker having a rigid idea of how he was "supposed to" interact with women that generally just made every conversation stupid and uncomfortable while he tried to perform masculinity. But with time, and a few serious and hard conversations about women being normal people, he relaxed, and they eventually managed to settle into a normal friendship- full of dirty jokes, lighthearted banter, and "fake" flirting. Never mind the fact that it feels kind of real. They're just friends. Normal friends. They just hang out, shoot the shit, play video games or take bets on the outcome of whatever new shenanigans are happening around them. Kris is the only one Tucker trusts to help braid his hair. And Kris was willing to be around the same species and culture of alien that had glassed her home planet, just to make sure Tucker was safe. Tucker made Kris the godmother of his child, she reciprocated by helping him learn some of that child's language (again, the language of a people who destroyed her home). When they were split up after Blood Gulch, Kris picked up saying 'bow chicka bow wow' to fill the space Tucker left. and it's all very, totally platonic.

Kris and Caboose

Freinds 4 Evr: Cris + Cabose

If Church wasn't Caboose's best friend, Kris would be next in line for the position. She's really well accustomed to the quirks of living with people who have working memory issues- Ali's ADHD has made sure of that, let alone her time in CANDIV- so she typically does her best to lend a hand when Caboose needs it, instituting a few memory aid systems around the base, and being patient when he has difficulty remembering and understanding things. She's also careful to treat him with respect and kindness, and encourage others to do the same- even if they don't often listen. In a lot of ways, Kris kind of feels like another big sister to him. He also really enjoys giving her piggybacks, and playing roadtrip games or singing songs together when they're travelling or waiting around for long periods of time. Kris also does art as a hobby, so Caboose will often sit and paint or draw alongside her, they'll chat about whatever is on their minds, and when they're done they'll hang their art in the base side by side.

Ali and the Director

Why the CANDIV Agents really rebelled from PFL: as told by Agent Alberta Ali: Director, this ship needs chicken nuggets ASAP. Director: Fuhk you, ayjunt.

Bafflingly, Ali was the CANDIV agent most often in charge of relations with the Director and Counsellor. Despite not being one of the team's leaders, she had both the ability to pick up on Vibes and nonverbal information, and to tolerate their weird and frankly irritating style of conducting themselves (the Counsellor's unbridled therapyspeak and the Director's bitchiness)... which tended to rub everyone else in CANDIV the wrong way. Not that it didn't, you know, also irritate her sometimes. The Director, for his part, just kind of wanted to study Ali like a bug, as he did all the freelancers.

Kris and Ali and Wash + Carolina

Carolina: How did Ali and Nova go so long undetected? They must be incredible at espionage to have fooled you. Wash, remembering: Uh huh, yep, totally! Past!Wash: You guys seem familiar... are you sure we haven't met? Past!Ali, wearing a shirt that says "NOT A FREELANCER": Past!Kris, wearing a shirt that says "REGULAR SIM-TROOPER": Certain! As you can see by our shirts, we are not freelancers! Past!Wash: Hard to argue with that logic!

As shown in my fic covering Season 6, Wash had no idea Ali and Kris were former freelancers, despite a brief feeling of familiarity when they first met. It helped, of course, that he had a lot on his plate, and the literal Alpha AI was there stealing the show. But at the end of Season 8, Ali and Karys finally revealed themselves when they offered him a chance to do the same as them- to fake his death, hide from the authorities, and take on a new sim trooper identity. The way they explained it to him, they were of the opinion that freelancers shouldn't be made to take the fall for the crimes the Director and Counsellor committed, or the things they had to do to survive the Project's bullshit. They helped coach him a bit on how to really sell it, acting like the dumbest of asses, and helped to set him at ease with the knowledge that it really could be over. Then Carolina showed up and was baffled by the three highly trained special ops agents playing capture the flag and recreationally bickering over which team had the superior kill count.

...they'll get her too, eventually. They just need to catch her first, which is hard because she's speedy.

Kris + Ali and Wash

Kris' Imagination!Ali, swooning: ooh wash~ Kris' Imagination!Wash: how are you bending like that Real!Ali: Kris I will literally kill you Real!Kris: No you won't <3

Ali has... a soft spot for Wash. Kris likes to tease them about it. They tease back about her "totally platonic" relationship with Tucker. You know, psychological warfare among cousins.

In truth, Ali and Wash are friends- beyond the whole "learning how to de-freelancer" thing they do with Kris, sometimes Wash just needs the opportunity to complain about the members of blue team, or Ali needs to complain about the members of red team, or they just "need" to practice shooting bottles off the side of a cliff. Sometimes Wash will let Ali infodump about whatever thing she's hyperfocused on in the moment. Sometimes they'll swap stories- usually the embarrassing ones. Both of them are socially awkward, but there's a comfort in both knowing the other person is awkward, too, and not judging you- and that makes it a bit easier. Whether or not they'd ever be more than friends isn't worth complicating matters.

Church + Kris and Ali

Ali, standing on top of red base: I think DOGS should VOTE! Church: Yo Kris! Your red buddy's being weird again!

Kris and Ali firmly hold that Church is a bit of a dick- but they've grown fond of him, anyway. Church, for his part, really finds the cousins weird and a little exasperating, much as he does every other member of the canyon- but he also has a weird sense of familiarity with them he can't seem to shake. He enjoys talking shit with Kris and Tucker, and finds Ali the second most tolerable member of red team after Grif. He also still doesn't really get why Ali hasn't converted to blue team considering how much she hangs around their base, but she sometimes brings snacks from Grif's stash and fixed Sheila with parts stolen from Sarge's stash for them a couple times, so he only complains a relatively normal amount. When they lived together in Outpost 48-A for a year, he spent a lot of time having awkward conversations with them, serving as an extra pair of hands while they worked on projects around the base, and being subjected to attempted shooting lessons from them to fix his terrible aim. He was, frankly, really ready for a break from them by the time Wash and Caboose showed up.

There's of course an underlying layer to the relationship here- Ali and Kris know that Church is the Alpha, they put it together very early on in their time in Blood Gulch. After discovering a little bit of what was done to make the fragments, the CANDIV freelancers definitely started to consider the Alpha as "one of them"- so the two decided to make it a priority to keep him safe and give him some semblance of freedom where possible.

Ali and Grif

Ali, slamming open the doors: Sarge wants us to start eating healthy! Grif, panicking: Oh, god, hide the snacks!

Ali and Grif have a strong solidarity in avoiding work at all costs- though their motivations are very different. They also have a shared love of snacks, and a desire to be as laid-back as possible. The problem comes in what can essentially be summed up as "Ali is messy, Grif is dirty". In this sense, they actually clash over the way the common space is- or isn't- maintained, which drives Simmons nuts because they're both filthy in his eyes. They'll cover for each other to try and help in the ever-present task of evading Sarge's orders, and they'll share their respective snack stashes- within reason. And occasionally, for brief periods of uncommon motivation, they'll have a war over high scores in whatever video game is in vogue for them. The score for Rainbow Road on the team's wii is still occasionally revisited to this day.

Simmons + Ali and Kris

Simmons, staring through the doorway: Ali, perched on top of the fridge, handing a bag of chips down to Kris standing on a step stool: <- red fucking handed

Quite frankly, Simmons doesn't understand how Sarge hasn't branded Ali as a traitor and given her a shotgun court-martial. He comes so close to reporting them every time they bring a blue into their base, and especially when they feed her Grif's snacks. But every time, he's given the excuse that Ali is "cementing their in with the enemy for better infiltration and deception"- and every time, it gives him just enough pause that he never says anything to any of the other reds. What if he's wrong? What if she really is gathering valuable intel? The blues clearly tolerate her hanging around their base, so she is actually in an excellent position to infiltrate them when it's needed most. It drives him nuts that she has a point, and it infuriates him to no end that she can use it as an excuse to get out of work, and Sarge still seems to think she's an excellent soldier. He secretly desires nothing more than to prove they're an incompetent phony compared to him.

Ali thinks Simmons is hilarious. They know he seethes about everything they do- and that he also thinks he's more competent than them. If ever he tries to trip them up or make them look like a fool, they'll sometimes let the sim trooper facade of idiocy fall just for him- just long enough to take anything he throws at them in stride. They're also the one who helped Sarge turn him into a part-cyborg, which just serves to make the beef that much funnier to them.

Ali + Kris and Kris' garden

Ali, carrying a cabbage, sprinting past a sign that says "GARDEN, KEEP OUT!": Kris, aiming a gun at them:

The garden Kris maintains out back of Blue Base is her pride and joy. Every time a member of blue team is eating a plant, Kris watches like a hawk to ensure seeds are saved and replanted- she has meticulously pulled every seed off an entire shipment of strawberries before allowing anyone to eat them. She's chewed Church out for ordering seedless grapes from command. The plants growing there are named, lovingly tended to each morning and evening, and ensure her ability to maintain a vegetarian diet. The plants are her babies.

Ali hangs around Blue Base so often at this point, the fighting is just a formality. In order to keep up the facade, at some point during every visit, Ali will attempt to steal a fruit or vegetable out of the garden, and Kris will attempt to stop them. Usually, it's somewhat tame- a minor heist that's easily thwarted, or a clean getaway after a suitable distraction. However, every once and a while it's instead akin to a fight for the flag, just with a carrot instead of a piece of coloured fabric. Kris has, in fact, shot Ali with live rounds over a cauliflower before. They had full shields, but still.

Kris and Lopez

Kris: So, they crashed the jeep again? Lopez: si. Kris: After you just fixed it? Lopez: si. Kris: That's messed up. Lopez: si.

Kris has a weirdly amicable relationship with Lopez. He likes her most out of everyone in the entire canyon- probably mostly because she doesn't pretend to know what he's saying, but doesn't ignore him, either... and she has a dry sense of humour he really appreciates. They kind of get along on a system of "si or no" whenever they interact.

Ali and Sarge

Sarge, pointing at a "Red Team Victory Scheme V.37.23" poster: Ali, I need you to- Ali, walking past: Sorry, sir, have to spy on the blues. Sarge: Huh. What a dedicated soldier.

Sarge genuinely thinks Ali is his best soldier, aside from Lopez. It helps that Ali, being from a military family, knows exactly how to "yes, and" military guys to make them think you're on their side, and whatever you've suggested is their idea. It also helps that she's teamed up with Kris to run the long con. While Sarge looks at Ali fondly, and holds her up as a shining example of red team loyalty, Ali is actively working to prevent the red team from ever making a successful combat move against the blues. She feeds just enough information that they constantly have to be changing their plans of attack, regularly claims the blues are "unexpectedly on patrol" to force them to abort a mission, and just generally manipulates things to avoid open conflict. Despite everything, though, she kind of looks at him like a vaguely annoying yet still beloved grandfather- and when they work together to rebuild Simmons as a cyborg, or create a robotic vessel for a "ghost", or just revamp the chupathingy... she can't help but be a little fond of the kooky old guy. Especially when she acknowledges that he, like the rest of them, is a victim of the military and Project Freelancer's manipulation and exploitation. She hopes that one day, she'll be able to get him to acknowledge that enough to be someone other than a rank.

Ali and Doc + O'Malley

Ali, with bloodstained hands and blood splatters on their armour, looking haunted: I've seen more of Tucker today than I ever wanted to. O'Malley, similarly bloodstained and fist-pumping: Muahaha! Excellent! We can exploit this weakness! Ali: O'Malley, if you find a way to weaponize Tucker in active labour, I will gladly surrender there and then.

Ali and Doc really don't know what to think of each other. They're both medically inclined- and sometimes they can have a good conversation about patient relations or wound care practices. But sometimes Doc says some truly ridiculous thing that highlights the fact that he very much failed medical school, and Ali really has to bite their tongue as they try to gently correct him. Doc, for his part, finds it a little annoying that Ali has to criticize so much- who's the qualified medic, here, after all?- but does appreciate the extra hand for the treatment he's doing when needed. After he was possessed by O'Malley, their weird half-amicable-coworkers, half-baffled-and-irritated dynamic kind of got cranked up even further. During periods when O'Malley kind of establishes himself as a minimal threat, Ali just kind of smiles and nods at his evil rants and makes polite conversation with him and Doc. Sometimes their dynamic turns into something resembling a spray bottle wielder and a cat- no threats of murder while we're delivering a baby, man, cut it out!

At the end of the day though- Doc is a pacifist medic in a war zone, even one as ridiculous as Blood Gulch, and Ali really respects that. And the fact that Ali doesn't actually fear O'Malley much has earned her his respect, and Doc's, in turn.