lovendeep-thoughts

[lovendeep-thoughts]

i think he knows

This AU is inspired by the same title by Taylor Swift.

pairing: Caleb x feminine character / feminine reader

word count: 5k

💌: Hi again! I hope I captured Caleb’s characterization well. This one is pure fluff. I hope you enjoy it! < The 'Read More' feature doesn’t work with HTML. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Please forgive me. >

I had just finished studying. I propped my legs up onto my desk (still a mess of scattered research drafts and empty sparkling water cans) and tilted my chair back onto its two rear legs. A long sigh escaped me as I stared up at the ceiling, letting the weight of everything sink in.

I had finally transcribed, translated, and formatted ten interviews for language validation. Just a few more months and I’d be free from this project and subject. No more dealing with that one infuriating teacher (╬▔皿▔)╯.

I closed my eyes and sighed deeper. My shoulders felt light, like the stress had been physical all along. Maybe it was. I’d barely slept, though all I did was sit in front of a computer and a laptop all afternoon. I’m becoming a couch potato at this point. At least my skin isn’t breaking out. I’m only breaking down. You win some, you lose some.

The top of my phone lit up with a Messenger notification. I leaned forward with a thud as the chair slammed back onto all four legs and grabbed my phone.

I swallowed hard when I read the last message, and my heart skipped Sixteenth Avenue over the idea that he could be there later. I gently set the phone down and spun my chair around to collapse onto my bed.

I buried my face in my pillow and squealed before I could stop it, followed by uncontrollable giggles; the kind that bubbles up from your chest when something is too good to be real. I kicked my legs, sending my slippers flying across the room.

I promptly lifted my head, realizing how utterly ridiculous I must’ve looked. I barely knew the guy. We only met at a coffee shop. He didn’t have anywhere to sit that one evening, so I offered him the seat across from me.

And let me tell you. The scream I almost let out when I heard his voice. Ugh!

Okay, yes! He’s hot. I noticed that before I offered the seat. His name is Caleb, and he is drop-dead gorgeous, like he could model for a streetwear brand or something. He was wearing a black jacket with blue and orange accents. When he took it off and slung it over the chair, I had to look away so fast. His tank top was paper-thin, and I could see the sculpt of his abs through it. I also *ahem* saw his nipples BUT I’m not talking about that. Nu-uh ✌(-‿-)✌. I’m no pervert.

Anyway, it wasn’t his looks that got me first. It was his soft, lyrical smile, a little shy, but with this mischievous undertone, and the playful warmth in his voice. We started with small talk: names, schools, dream colleges, future plans. Then I got way too comfortable and asked him what motivates him to stay fit.

I wasn’t flirting! I swear! I was just curious. I’ve been on a weight loss journey myself ever since I gained 10 kg back in 7th grade from all the stress. I just wanted to know how he kept going, you know? I want a pretty girl summer too.

It wasn’t until he laughed that I realized how personal and coquettish that question sounded.

“Ah! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…uhm…I was serious!” I waved my hands in front of my face, then just slapped them onto the sides of my face to hide my embarrassment.

And God, that laugh. It was rich and warm and way too easy to drown in. I felt a strange heat in my chest, right where my heart is. I peeked through my fingers and saw his bangs shift as he laughed, his eyes catching the light from the hanging lamp just right, and his head tilted back with ease. It was like time froze and the whole coffee shop melted away. There I was, staring at him, hands now clinging to my skirt like it could keep me grounded.

I shook my head to stop spiraling yet again about that night and reached lazily for my phone to text my friend.

I can come. See you in 20 minutes.

Because I’d need those 20 minutes to pick a dress and put on makeup—not just to cover up how miserable I’d been lately, but maybe catch his attention again, if he’s miraculously there.

I slipped into a simple pink layered off-shoulder dress that floated just above my knees, paired with white heels. I left my hair down and fastened a delicate white floral lace choker around my neck. I’m left with the final dilemma: my bag. It was between my off-white quilted one or the red faux leather apple-shaped bag. Caleb once shared how much he likes apples. It's something we had in common.

I didn’t want to seem desperate just in case he happened to be there tonight… but the apple bag was too cute to pass up.

Apple bag it is.

I texted Julia to let her know I was ready, then gave myself a final spritz of perfume before stepping out of the apartment complex.

The cold hit me the second I left the building, and I mentally cursed myself for forgetting a jacket. But the thought of going all the way back up alone felt more exhausting than the chill. I don't mind it, but I hope I don’t get sick tomorrow.

I told Julia I’d wait outside the coffee shop if I got there first, and I did. I used my phone as a distraction to pass the time, though my eyes kept flicking up and down the street.

A tap on my shoulder startled me mid-tweet about how peaceful midnight air can be.

I turned, and there he was.

Two deep, indigo eyes that seemed to hold entire galaxies in them. My breath was caught in my throat.

“Hi there,” Caleb spoke, a flicker of surprise dancing in his voice. “Didn’t expect to see you here this late. Do you... remember me?”

I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. “Ah, yeah. Caleb. Hi! It’s nice to see you again,” I tried not to sound breathless.

He stepped back a bit and looked me up and down with a small, amused smile.

“You look good,” he said. “What’s the occasion, little apple?”

My cheeks flushed instantly at that nickname. “My friend convinced me to go out. I’ve been cooped up in my room for a week.” I laughed nervously, covering my mouth with the back of one hand while my eyes dropped to the pavement.

He chuckled with that rich sound I remembered all too well. “It’s pretty cold out here. Do you mind waitin’ for your friend inside?”

I nodded, clutching my bag a little tighter. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

The bell chimed as we stepped into the shop, warmth washing over us. Caleb headed straight for a quiet corner booth and I followed, asking Julia for an update.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pull out a chair and pause behind it, waiting. I glanced up from my phone, and he smiled.

“Would you like to sit here?”

My eyes fluttered, perfectly in time with the little flip my heart did. He’s such a gentleman, it almost feels unreal. “Thank you.” I caught the soft rise of my cheeks from my own line of sight.

He waited for me to sit before walking around to take the seat across from me. Julia texted back that she was just around the corner, and I replied quickly:

Already inside. Prince Charming showed up.

Caleb looked over at me. “What do you want to order? My treat. We didn’t even get coffee last time since we were too busy talking.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I insist.”

My eyes fell and scanned the menu like I didn’t already know my go-to. “Just an iced black Americano, then.”

“Would you like a cake?”

I hesitated. I’ve been watching my calories lately, but… I hadn’t eaten all day. One slice wouldn’t hurt, I guess.

“How about... a strawberry shortcake?”

His eyes beamed. “Good choice. I’ll get a latte and lemon drizzle.”

He turned to call over a server, just as Julia walked in.

“Julia!” I waved her down, and her face lit up when she saw me.

“It’s been so long!” she grinned, hugging me quickly before sliding in beside me.

“I know. Glad you managed to drag me out.” I rolled my eyes with a grin.

Her gaze flicked to Caleb, then back to me. Her lips curled with realization. “I gather you’re Caleb?”

He chuckled. “Seems like I don’t need to introduce myself. And you must be Julia?”

She nodded, and then, not so discreetly, grabbed my knee under the table—the ‘we are SO talking about this later’ grab.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from her,” Caleb said.

“I hope she left out the embarrassing bits.” She side-eyed me and I averted my gaze.

Julia laughed and introduced herself. After a while, she turned to fish something out of her sling bag. Looking for her phone, probably. Then she angled it toward me.

“Bad time to ditch you?” she asked with a suspiciously innocent look.

“What do you mean? You just got here.” I raised a brow. She wants to leave me right now? How cruel.

“Look at what my boyfriend texted me,” she said.

Boyfriend?? Girl, you do not have a boyfriend.

I squinted at her screen as she held it near my face.

OMG he is sure handsome! I’m making an excuse to leave you two. I’ll be in the vinyl store just in case you need me. Have fun, sis!

I groaned. Was she seriously playing wingman right now? “You actually let your boyfriend text you like that?” I covered my mouth, trying, and failing not to laugh.

She just shrugged, totally unfazed. “He’s being dramatic. You know how he gets when I’m out with someone else.”

I shot her a look, trying to suppress a smile as she tilted her chin up, smirking at me. “That is your type though, right?”

My hand flew out to smack her thigh. “Julia!”

“What?” she said, all fake innocence, then shot a quick glance at Caleb. “Still embarrassed over that?”

Before I could answer, she stood up dramatically. “It’s getting late. Will you be alright?”

“I can handle myself.”

“I could walk her home,” Caleb offered, a little too fast like he didn’t want to seem too eager. I guess he's just like me. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Julia, whose smile turns up significantly. “Only if she’s okay with that, of course.”

Julia gave me a smug look as she backed away. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

I looked up, making my lips as curved as possible. “Sure.”

I watched her disappear out the shop window before Caleb turned back to me with a grin.

“So…” he started, his tone a low sing-song. “You have a thing for possessive guys?”

“Shut up.” I muttered.

“I’m not judging,” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned in slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “Just… curious.” His gaze flicked briefly to my lips before settling back on my eyes.

I shifted in my seat, feigning nonchalance. “I just want someone to match my freak,” I shot back, tilting my head while leaning on my chair. I don't know where this confidence is coming from, but a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do.

“Oh?” His brow lifted in a slow and deliberate way. He's trying to peel back every layer of meaning in that sentence. “And how exactly does one do that?”

I crossed one leg over the other. “This kind of conversation requires drinks.”

He smirked. “But you don’t drink.”

I clicked my tongue. “Exactly.”

Our coffee and cakes arrived, saving me from having to elaborate.

“Thanks for the treat,” I said while the waiter was serving the plates on the table.

“I’d love to have dinner with you again. But maybe next time, somewhere with a little more space?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to fight the smile tugging at my lips. “This is your idea of dinner?”

“Isn’t it yours too?”

“It’s midnight, Caleb.”

He laughed as I glared at him. I took my first bite of the strawberry cake and my eyes widened. “Wow,” I mumbled, covering my mouth with a closed fist. “This cake is amazing. Strawberry cake’s a hit or miss for me, but this? You have to try it!”

Without thinking, I leaned forward, holding out a forkful toward him.

Just as I realized what I was doing and started to pull back, he gently caught my wrist and leaned in, taking the bite straight from the fork.

He sat back, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. As if he didn’t leave me speechless right there and then.

“Mmm. You’re right,” he said. “It’s soft and buttery, not that weird rubbery stuff from supermarkets.”

“My thoughts too,” I said. My voice evidently faltering.

He picked up his coffee, the cup looking small in his large hand. There was something so effortlessly magnetic about him, like he wasn’t trying to impress me at all… and still somehow completely was.

And that thought had been looping in my head since that night.

We finally exchanged numbers, and we made plans for tomorrow night, the night after, and another night after that. Somehow, our late-night meetups became a routine. Each one more comforting, more thrilling than the last. He always had a way of making the night feel alive, whether it was with his ridiculous high school stories or his rambling about the new recipes he’d tried, like his latest obsession: braised pork belly and egg stir-fry.

He always insisted on walking me home, no matter how late it got. And once he reached his place, he’d text me that he got back safe and how much he enjoyed our conversation. Every time, without fail.

He’s been acting like everything I never admitted I wanted in a guy—cute and bashful one second, flirty and bold the next. But underneath it all, he’s focused, disciplined, and driven, especially when it comes to his studies and workouts.

One night, I wrapped up my part of our research paper just past 2 AM. My brain felt fried to the neurons, so I decided to get up, stretch, and take a walk to clear my head. I threw on my running shoes, tied my hair up in a lazy bun, and stepped out in a plain white tee and black leggings.

I jogged around the circle park, looping until I hit 5,000 steps. But instead of heading home, my feet took me somewhere. Where else? Of course, it was the coffee shop.

Just as I passed by, the bell above the door jingled. And out walked Caleb.

“Caleb?” I blinked. “What are you doing out here at 3 AM?”

He placed one hand on his hip and gave me that familiar teasing smirk. “I could ask you the same.”

Then he added while looking away, “Woke up late. Needed coffee if I wanna finish my assignments.”

“I just finished writing our paper.” I beamed.

“Congratulations,” he said gently. Then his hand reached out, fingers slipping into my hair as he gave it a light tousle.

“And since you mention that, let’s go somewhere to celebrate. The night is still young.”

“Must I remind you that it’s three in the morning?" I turned to him and our shoulders nearly brushed. "Where we gonna go?” I whispered in the dark.

“Here’s a clue,” he murmured softly near my ear. “Charcoal and meat.”

I smiled, and I followed him as he yapped about his day.

He’s never asked me to hang out during the day, not once. No coffee dates, no lunch breaks. It’s always been midnight strolls, secret meetups under the city lights. I’ve been waiting for him to take that next step—to finally ask me out in the open. But instead, he’s been toeing the line, flirty but vague. So tonight, I decided to take the lead.

“Have you ever thought of modeling?” I asked, biting off a piece of barbecue from the skewer.

He tilted his head, feigning to be in deep thought. “I’d rather save my face for my future lover. Wouldn’t want her getting jealous.”

I choked on a laugh at his blatant narcissistic reply. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“What can I say? It’s your fault for complimenting me too much.” He winked.

“How could I not believe it when it’s coming from a pretty girl?”

“You really know how to work your charm.”

“I only use it on one girl,” he said, eyes steady on mine. “Why’d ya ask about modeling?”

“I have a friend,” I started casually. “She needs someone to model for her parents’ photography business. Thought you might be interested.”

He rubbed his chin. “Hmm. Will you be there?”

“Of course. I want to watch a real photo shoot.”

“Then I’m in. Only if you’ll be my personal assistant for the day.”

I smirked. “Consider it done, Model Caleb.”

A few days before the main photoshoot, Caleb and I dropped by Rozanne’s house, the friend I mentioned whose parents run a photography studio. It was just a quick mock shoot to figure out which angles flatter him most, which settings match his vibe, and what kind of makeup brings out his features best. Rozanne’s parents host an annual event like this, gathering friends and familiar faces for photos they can use to promote their business.

Now, we’re just waiting for Caleb’s last afternoon class to finish.

I’m relieved he wasn’t bluffing when he said he goes to the Aerospace Academy Integrated School in Skyhaven. Its college counterpart is one of the most coveted institutions in the country: a top-tier state university with a reputation for academic excellence and a long list of successful alumni—airline pilots, Nobel Peace Prize laureates, presidents, and award-winning national artists. As hard as it is to get into the college, the integrated high school is even more competitive and stressful. Thousands of applicants fight for a handful of slots. You have to be brilliant, not just academically, but also athletically, artistically, and socially. And, unless you’re extraordinarily gifted, a few key recommendations don’t hurt either.

Knowing that Caleb is that type of student still catches me off guard. Not in a bad way—just... surprising. He’s so effortlessly cheerful, so laid-back, so light-hearted. You wouldn’t expect someone with that kind of academic pressure or background to carry themselves the way he does. Despite being orphaned and raised by a modest, middle-class family, he seems to view life with an unshakable optimism. Too good to be true, almost. He’s got the brain, the looks, and the personality. The only giveaway is the tired puffiness under his eyes when he tilts his head down. I find that kinda endearing.

We’re tucked under the waiting shed, shielding ourselves from the stubborn sun. I originally planned to wear a muted mauve-edged red cardigan to hide my shoulders, but I didn’t expect the heat and humidity to be this relentless. So now I’m sweating through a spaghetti strap sundress I bought on impulse because I couldn’t resist the butterfly print. The brown and violet wings flutter across the soft beige fabric. It’s cute, but it adds to the ten aesthetics in one closet. Istg, my wardrobe has zero consistency.

The staff are busy checking equipment, muttering to each other about the settings and lens angles. Two of them are still stuck in traffic. Meanwhile, I’m lounging beside Rozy, gossiping and clutching my shoulder bag. I packed it with everything Caleb might need for the shoot: tissues, handkerchiefs, alcohol, sanitizer, snacks, a compact mirror, safety pins—you name it. I had no idea what to bring, so I just bought everything last night in a mild panic.

Caleb arrives five minutes past 1 PM.

“Good afternoon,” he greets, meeting my eyes with a softer than usual expression.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. Please follow me.”

He leads us toward the room he reserved and offers a casual tour along the way. “This is my homeroom classroom.”

Once inside, he immediately helps the crew unpack gear and adjust the setup. After a bit of conversation with the lighting guy, he excuses himself to change into a fresh uniform and wash up.

He then approaches me, holding out a small bag.

“Can you help me?”

“Alright.”

I’m now standing just outside the boys’ comfort room, ready for his beck and call.

After a few minutes, Caleb opens the door and hands me a plastic bag with the uniform he just changed out of. I tucked it into my tote bag without question.

“Do you have soap? I forgot mine in the classroom.”

“I do. Here you go.” I handed him a new pink beauty bar. I don’t care if it’s too girly for him. It smells good, and it works.

“Do you mind stepping in? There’s no one else here, and most of my classmates have gone home. I just need help making sure I don’t get my uniform wet while I wash my face.”

“You probably should’ve done that before changing.”

Caleb leans back against the sink, giving me that sheepish grin. “My blouse was clinging to me like a koala. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Oh, right! I bought a spa headband.” After washing my hands, I dig it out of my bag and show it to him.

“Apple-themed?”

“Yeah. I saw it at the store and just knew I had to get it. Think of it as my thank-you gift for modeling and helping Rozy out.”

I pop open the facial cleanser, pump it three times onto my palm, and work it into a soft foam. Carefully, I bring my hands to his face and start massaging the lather in with slow, circular motions. His eyes never leave mine, and it’s freaking hard to meet his gaze, like it’s too gentle and too direct at the same time. I fumble for a topic to break the silence, but he beats me to it.

“What do you think of me now?”

I laugh. I'm caught off guard by his question. “Smart-ass?”

“That’s all?”

“What do you want to hear?”

“More compliments from a certain little sunny apple.” He tilts his head to the side.

“You don’t get enough of those around here?”

“They don’t mean anything when they come from just anyone.”

I shake my head in mild annoyance. “Stay still.” I rinse his face with as much care as I can, making sure not to soak the collar of his fresh uniform. Once I’m done, I dry my hands and step back to admire my handiwork. His skin looks clean and bright, even glowing.

“All done!” I clap my hands lightly. “Let’s get going.”

Once his light makeup is done, Caleb starts posing around the classroom. The concept is to romanticize the everyday life of a high-achieving student in a prestigious academic setting, still effortlessly good-looking despite the stress. The team is capturing him like a character from a movie.

I zone out for a while, my eyes trailing him as he moves through the classroom, adjusting to the photographer’s cues. He’s completely in the zone, so I take a moment to enjoy the breeze from the window and watch the trees outside sway gently.

“What are you doing, little hamster?”

He’s now behind me. Turns out they’re on a quick break.

“Just admiring your school,” I say without looking away from the trees.

He joins me at the window, leaning on the railing with his elbows. His black tie sways gently with the wind, and his hair tousles perfectly, like a scene from a coming-of-age drama.

I rummage through my tote bag and pull out a tall, rectangular container. “Want an apple?”

“You only packed one?” he asks, leaning in like he’s peeking inside my bag too.

“If you want more, there’s a supermarket nearby—”

“I meant for you,” he interrupts, flashing a grin. “Wouldn’t you rather have this apple instead?” His voice drops just slightly.

“I’m not really that hungry anyway.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “I’m fine. You probably need it more than I do.”

“Then let’s share it.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Won’t you be grossed out?”

“We’re friends now, right?”

I pause, the question lingering longer than I expect. Friends? Just like that? He says it so easily, so casually, like he doesn’t realize the weight it holds in my chest. “Right,” I finally say, keeping my voice as light as possible. I take a small bite, then wordlessly hold the apple out to him.

He doesn’t take it right away.

Instead, his eyes drift up, focused on my hair.

“Can I tie your hair into a ponytail?”

I blink. “What?”

“Your hair’s sticking to your neck. They made you look hot, but I know it’s uncomfortable.”

I snort. “That’s not how you compliment someone.”

“I’m serious.” He moves behind me before I can even answer, his fingers brushing lightly against my shoulders.

“The little girls in my neighborhood ask me to tie theirs all the time. I’m practically licensed.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” I playfully coo.

“I can be when I want to be.” His fingers sift gently through my hair, combing it back with surprising ease. It’s oddly domestic.

I can’t see his face, but I can feel the care in every motion. His touch isn’t rushed or fumbled. It’s patient. Like he’s done this a hundred times, which he did.

“There,” he says after a moment before he faces me. “All done. Let me see.”

I pull out my pocket mirror, turning it this way and that to catch a glimpse of the back. “Honestly? Better than what I usually do. Not bad, Mr. Neighbor.”

“Told you. Ponytails suit you. It makes your face look longer in a flattering way.”

He finally takes the apple from my hand. His fingers brushed against mine, barely, but I felt it. He takes a bite with his eyes locked with mine.

“It’s sweet,” he says, mouth full but still somehow adorable. He chews slowly, then smiles. “Just like you.”

For some reason, he looks like bread. I have no clue where that thought came from, but it sticks. Soft. Warm. Like fresh bread straight from the oven.

“You’re so corny.” I try to act unbothered, waving him off, but the heat rises to my cheeks anyway. I burst into laughter and had to bend down to clutch my stomach.

“Corny but correct,” he replies with that same lazy confidence, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I look away, pretending to look beyond the trees, but I can still feel his eyes on me. He has to know. There’s no way I’ve been this obvious and he hasn’t noticed. The way I always show up extra early every night. The way I memorize the little things he says. The way I pack apples and apple-themed stuff, for crying out loud.

The rest of the day flies by as we move from location to location: the gym, the hostel, the garden, the library, the computer lab, the art studio. Sometimes I sneak photos with my phone, wanting to catch the behind-the-scenes moments. Caleb always notices and plays along by exaggerating his poses, smirking without ever looking directly into my camera. During breaks, he comes over to explain little details I’ve been curious about: the paintings in the hall, the model airplanes, the significance of the old tree where his class once camped out after pranking their teacher.

It feels like I’m on a field trip. Or maybe... a date. It makes me feel seventeen again, before the pressure of graduation deadlines and college entrance exams started swallowing me whole. Back when days felt slower and lighter. I’ve never thought of myself as a nostalgic person, but I can’t help missing that peace I had before turning eighteen. My thoughts drift. What if Caleb and I had gone to the same school all along? Would we have gravitated toward each other sooner? Would this softness between us have started years ago? Does he even like me now? I'm not sure, but I can’t have that, can I? I want him.

And I ain't gotta tell him, I think he knows.

P.S.

Rozy told me to check their studio’s website, insisting I’d be very surprised. Not even five minutes later, Caleb texted me the same thing.

You can check the website now. I hope you love it.

At that point, the way both of them were acting? I was seconds away from tearing my laptop in half from sheer anxiety. My heart was pounding like I had just been exposed on national TV.

The page finally loaded… and there it was.

Ten photos on the homepage. And both Caleb and I were in every single one of them.

I froze.

Photos of us laughing, talking, walking together. One by the fountain where I almost fell in, and Caleb caught me, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist as my body tipped backward mid-stumble. The photo captured the exact moment he looked at me like the world had slowed down yet again.

Another showed me drowning in his oversized lab coat, sleeves hanging past my hands, while he doubled over laughing, saying—and I quote—“like a kitten drowning in milk.”

No wonder the day had felt suspiciously light and full of breaks. I thought it was just for good vibes. Turns out, it was all part of their plan.

I texted Caleb right away.

And he called me.

His voice has a slight urgency in it as if he couldn’t say his reason fast enough.

Well… they wanted to romanticize my life, right? That was the only way I could think of doing it. You’re cute in all the photos, so it was actually hard to pick.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

Do you hate them? I can ask the photographers to go with Plan B. But… I really hope you’re okay with it.

[lovendeep-thoughts]

Raging Blue and his Pink Chaos

Part 1 | Part 2

This AU is inspired by Gone by Rosé.

pairing: Zayne x female character (might seem a bit oc to some, but I intend for her to be a self-insert)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: The female character here has some unresolved trauma and a tough-it-out personality. Since this is a high school AU set way before the main story begins, Zayne is much colder with his words. I tried to reflect how I personally saw and feel about his character when LaDs first came out: full of misunderstandings and miscommunication. Kyle is just a random name I picked for a supportive side character, but he’s not a love interest. Also, just a heads-up: there's slight gore and mentions of blood 'cuz Wanderers happened.

💌: I didn’t really plan to continue this story since it was just for practice, but my fingers had other ideas—and obviously, I couldn’t stop them—so haha, here we are. I might update the previous part and may or may not upload a part 3. Like I said, this is my very first time uploading fics, so comments on how I can improve, especially about the warnings I may have forgotten to add, are really appreciated. I’ll continue to update this accordingly. That’s all for now. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this part from your—or the female character’s—POV!

It’s 8 in the morning, but it may as well be midnight during summer with how dark and hot it is here. I lie sprawled in the center of my room, the hardwood cold against my back, as I lazily watch the faint glow seeping through the cracks between the curtains. I can see the dust swirling above me like a ghost of the past. It’s as if the ceiling itself is trying to smother me, trapping every fleeting moment of happiness I should be recalling before I leave this place forever. But I can’t. There’s nothing left to remember. At least, nothing I want to.

Three months. It’s been three months since graduation, and the days have blurred together. It all slipped past me in a haze of silence. I spent the last day choking on tears, alone. I felt like a hollowed-out version of who I used to be. A ship going through the motions, carrying a truckload of shattered glasses and feeling used up.

Shutting away that memory, I force myself upright, limbs heavy with exhaustion that sleep never fixes. Trust me, I tried. I should be doing my final sweep of the house to make sure I haven’t left anything behind; but it’s hard to move when every corner, every shadow, feels like it belongs to him. His voice still lingers in the silence, in the fissure of the walls, in the air I breathe. It’s fucking inescapable.

And yet, these memories… they don’t even feel like mine anymore. They now belong to someone else, someone naïve and blind. I walk these halls like a stranger trespassing in a life I no longer recognize. That I do not want to claim. There’s an ache deep in my chest, like I’m searching for something that doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe it never did.

At least I’m leaving those behind. Mom agreed to let me move into an apartment near my college campus, and I’m already packed.

An hour from now, I’ll be gone, and this house, this suffocating tomb, will be nothing but a part of my life I can finally walk away from.

I should be excited, but all I feel is the weight of starting over. A new school, new faces, new routines, new ways to pretend like I have it all together. High school already drained me. Now, I have to do it all over again. Make friends again. Find my place again. Try to survive again.

But if high school taught me anything, it’s that not all endings are happy. And some nights, like that miserable graduation night, haunt you long after they’re over.

My strength to keep my eyes open drains like water through a colander, each second pulling me deeper into exhaustion. The weight of polite smiles and mechanical nods drags at me as people I barely know recount their first impressions of me, how much I’ve changed, how different I am now. For better or worse? I can’t be bothered to read between the lines.

My mom is busy entertaining the parents and classmates I’ve long since tuned out. I should be in bed, knocked out, dreaming about the life waiting for me beyond high school. College is only a few months away, and I should be excited about the things I can finally do. Well, technically, things I chose not to do before. Like dating, maybe. My mom keeps nudging me about finding a boyfriend, yet she’s terrified of me growing up too fast. The contradiction always makes me laugh. Not that it matters. The idea of romance exhausts me. I can’t picture myself giving my heart to someone, only to wonder when they’ll decide they’re done with me. People change for no reason at all. So why take the gamble?

I linger in the corner like I’m the one who’s been cast aside. #acting-like-the-victim. But in all seriousness, I know what rejection feels like. It’s disgusting. Humiliating. A memory I should bury, yet I keep it close to remind myself to never let it happen again. I push people away before they can do exactly that to me.

“Are you alright?”

My eyes flick up, and of course, it’s Zayne. Who else? He’s the only one who still insists on checking up on me, even though I do nothing but leer and curse at him. Sometimes, I think he enjoys irritating me. He must be a secret freak beneath that cold exterior if that’s the case.

“Yeah, just tired.”

Tired and guilty.

The memory of last night creeps up my spine like ice. I asked him something I shouldn’t have, something that clawed at an old wound I’d rather keep shut. His evol nearly killed someone, and I was supposed to leave it alone. But selfish curiosity won over reason. I wanted something from him. A piece of him, something uniquely his. Even if it meant dragging him back into that nightmare.

I’m an idiot.

Before I can dwell on it further, a warm arm snakes around my waist, pulling me against him. My breath stutters, and I keep my head down. Surely, my cheeks are betraying me.

He’s been doing this ever since we started practicing for graduation, and it’s killing me. Not because I’m uncomfortable with his advances, but because I know I don’t deserve it. I have nothing to offer him. I am nothing next to him. Not a trophy girlfriend, not an overachiever, not someone with a bright, shining future like him. Just a normal student with no accolades, no fixed friend group, no grand ambitions. And that’s enough for me. As long as I graduate, get a stable job, and live comfortably, I don’t need anything else.

I don’t need him.

I don’t need anyone, for that matter.

“Are you really that tired?”

I nod sluggishly.

“Let’s get you home.” He tugs me gently, guiding me toward the exit.

My fingers catch the fabric of his sleeve. He stops and glances back at me.

“Wait. What about you?” I tilt my head.

He watches me for a long moment before shaking his head. “I have nothing to do if you need to sleep.”

I release his sleeve and smooths the wrinkles I made with unnecessary focus. “Then what do you want to do if I’m not sleepy?”

“A walk with you would be nice.”

There’s amusement in his voice. I ignore it, still fussing with his sleeve. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for prom?” I ask nonchalantly.

“I don’t have a partner, so I can just not attend.”

I shoot him a glare and whisper-shout, “No! You must go!”

He raises a brow. “What about you?”

“Don’t mind me!” I wave my hands dismissively. “You should have fun! It’s your last night here.”

“Exactly.” His voice is quieter but firm. “I want to spend my time wisely. Let’s go.”

He turns, and I have no choice but to follow as he leads me out of the venue.

Once I catch up to him, he chuckles. “I already informed our mothers that we’ll be out.”

I scoff and playfully shove his arm. “You had this planned out, huh?”

“Since last year.”

We originally plan to take a quiet walk along the beach, maybe eat seafood together at a nearby restaurant, but plans change the moment we overhear a pair of elderly women chatting about a night fair nearby. I don’t need to hear more to pester Zayne into making a detour, much to his dismay.

When we arrive at the fair, I’m surprised it isn’t as crowded as I expected. It still buzzes with energy. There’s laughter mixing with the upbeat folk music and the occasional pop of fireworks illuminating the sky in bursts of pink and violet.

That’s when I realize something is missing. My wrist feels oddly light. My watch. I left it behind 'cause of the ridiculous dress code rules earlier at graduation. I vaguely remember Zayne putting his on earlier when he met with his parents after the ceremony. Without thinking, I reach for his arm, tilting it to check the time.

11:36 PM.

Late, but the night is far from over. Teenagers huddle together to snap multiple group selfies. The sizzle of cooking oil mingles with the crisp scent of grilled skewers, and neon signs flicker against the dark sky, casting warm orange reflections on our faces. They make everything feel like a scene from an old photograph.

Stalls stretch down the street, selling everything from delicate handmade trinkets to impossibly large stuffed animals.

And then I see it.

“Zayne, look! That teddy bear looks like you!” I practically bounce on my feet, pointing at the prize hanging from a ring toss stall.

Zayne follows my gaze, his expression unimpressed. “In what angle?”

I grin. “Mr. White Bear looks serious but cute with his glasses, and he’s even wearing a blue bow tie. Like you right now!”

I turn to the vendor just in time to see Zayne already handing over money for ten rings.

I smirk at him, eagerly accepting five of them. “I am so gonna get him.”

The timer starts, and I take my first shot. The ring sails through the air, completely missing the bottleneck I’m aiming for.

Zayne’s voice cuts through my focus. “You bought it.”

“What?” I shout back, quickly aiming my second throw.

“You bought my bow tie.”

I spare him a quick glance, catching the way his fingers briefly brush against the fabric at his collar. My next ring clatters uselessly against the bottles.

I try to focus again and squint my eyes for better aim. “You hate that?”

“I didn’t say that.”

I swear I catch a hint of something else in his voice, but I’m in desperate mode to get that teddy bear. By the time the timer runs out, not a single one of my rings lands where it’s supposed to. I sigh in defeat, shoulders slumping.

“Such a meanie,” I mutter, shooting Zayne an irritated look.

His lips twitch, dangerously close to a smirk. “It’s just a skill issue.”

“Shut up,” I huff.

He reaches for his rings on the table, his eyes flicking toward the teddy bear. “Guess I’ll have to win it myself, then.”

I reached for the white bear with the blue bow tie, finding it wedged in the corner of my shelf. I was surprised I hadn’t thrown it out like the rest of the trinkets that reminded me of him. Everything else was discarded the same night, as if getting rid of the objects could erase the memories attached to them.

Yet this bear remained.

And now, looking at it, I find it bittersweet how his personality and preferences unconsciously altered my surroundings. Every last thing he ever gave me was in shades of blue, laced with motifs of sweets and snowflakes. The blue and pink chess pieces. The vintage French-style rotary phone in deep navy with gold accents. The custom light-blue Air Force 1 sneakers he bought on a whim, just because I spilled ketchup on my old white ones. Even my bedroom walls, once winter-themed, had been repainted in soft pastel orange, as if I could scrub away the last traces of him.

But the bear? I kept it against my morals. Maybe because, deep down, I had been holding on to some stupid, quiet hope that he’d text me one day to ask how I’ve been. That he hadn’t just walked away without looking back.

I know better now.

He changed his number.

How did I find out? I tried calling. And the calls never went through. And I couldn’t exactly ask Mrs. Li. Not when she was always buried in work.

I understood it as his way of cutting ties.

Maybe that explained his unusual clinginess before he left. Maybe it had been his way of saying goodbye. Thanking me, in his own quiet way, for staying by his side even when he never needed me to.

And now, he doesn’t need to be involved with me anymore.

And that fucking hurts.

But what hurts even more is knowing I don’t have the right to feel this way.

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get to the States?” I drag my feet across the pavement. The soles of my shoes barely lift. My gaze trails to a group of kids squealing with joy as they ride the carousel. Their laughter rises and falls with the horses bobbing up and down.

Zayne walks beside me, casually nibbling on a stick of cotton candy. “Study.”

I let out an exaggerated groan and tilt my head back. “Obviously. Why did I even bother asking?”

“I’ll also try to find someone to spend time with.”

I glance over at him. “A friend? I mean yeah, that makes sen—”

“No. A girlfriend.”

I stop in my tracks, whipping my head toward him. “You’re seriously interested in that now? Wow. Are you trying to tell me you have a thing for American girls or something?”

He gives a small shrug while looking ahead. “Hardly.”

I nudge his arm with my elbow. “Well, either way, good luck with that.”

“I thought you’d be more pessimistic,” he says, side-eyeing me.

“My younger self definitely would’ve been,” I admit. “But... I made this dumb little bucket list for the end of the school year, and one of the items on it was to stop being immature.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’d like to be the judge of that.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t be,” I say with a grin, walking a few steps ahead. “And that gladdens me deeply.”

He stops walking. I turn around to face him just as he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come. He closes it again, letting the moment hang awkwardly.

I don’t press him. I just keep walking, pretending not to notice the way he hesitates, like something unspoken has started to climb its way to the surface... and then sinks back down again.

And he did get a blonde American girlfriend, looking like a model on the front page of some local newspaper printed in this digital age. Casey had shared a photo of it in our group chat out of nowhere. Her message was barely readable between the typos and the evident fury.

We found her sobbing in a Ramyeon store later that night, already five bottles in. Her makeup was smudged and her voice hoarse from crying. I sat there listening to every insult I’d normally spit at shitty guys, but this time, they were all aimed at Zayne.

I sat there, silent, holding back the instinct to defend him. It wasn’t my place. The situation had nothing to do with me, at least not on the surface. But emotionally? It cracked something open.

I was tired, too. Tired of waiting for him.

Waiting for something that never really came. An answer, a confession.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask if he actually liked me. Not with all those flirtatious gestures he kept tossing my way like breadcrumbs. I wanted him to say it, clearly, face to face. But he never did.

And if he was too much of a coward to say it, then fuck it. I’d rather fall for someone who actually had the balls, to be honest. Someone who didn’t dance around feelings like it was some kind of game. I wasn’t about to throw myself at a damn maybe and end up looking pathetic.

Maybe I was just... comfortable for him. Someone he could be himself around. Comfortable enough to pull me in close, to say things that made my heart stutter. Comfortable enough to make me want more.

And then leave me.

It was my first time drinking. I nodded along with the girls as they tore into him and laughed so loudly that I bet all the customers inside the store were inconvenienced. I even threw my arm around Casey, like I wasn’t falling apart too, and I yelled his secrets out as if they weren’t pieces of me. As if I wasn’t still trying to believe he wasn’t that kind of guy.

As if he hadn’t already broken my heart the night everything went to hell at the fair.

The Wanderers appeared in the middle of the square at exactly 12:48.

For the first few months of this year, things had been quiet. Too eerily quiet. That kind of peace you realized too late that you could never be acquainted with because chaos can come at a random time.

Wanderers went on a rampage, kicking up sand and wind in a violent storm that blinded me. I couldn’t even open my eyes at first. I pressed myself against a nearby post, one arm shielding my forehead. When I finally managed to pry my eyes open, my heart fell to my stomach.

There were bodies. At least twenty. Blood soaking through their clothes and pooling beneath them. Some had jagged metal stakes piercing clean through their backs. I couldn’t look away. My lips were quivering, and water started to pool in my lower eye.

Zayne didn’t waste a second. He grabbed my arm with an urgent, firm grip and yanked me into a nearby alley.

“Stay here,” he ordered, not even glancing my way.

I grabbed his arm, desperate for eye contact. “W-What?” My voice cracked stupidly. “Where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re planning to fight them.” It came out more like a plea than a question.

He finally looked at me, and for a second, his expression softened. Then, it snapped back to stone.

“People are dying,” he said, his voice low and clipped. “The hunters already called for backup, but it won’t be enough.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to jump into it!”

“I can control my evol now,” he said flatly.

I shook my head. The panic bubbling up in my throat. “If you leave me here alone, I’ll try to get home. I’m not just gonna sit here waiting to die. The Wanderers—”

“No,” he cut me off sharply. “It’s too dangerous. Just stay. I’ll find a way to get us out.”

“Zayne!” I hollered as he pulled away. He didn’t stop. He hurled a shard of ice at a Wanderer that had locked eyes on him.

I turned away, pressing my back hard against the alley wall. My breathing became ragged and my hands trembled as I dug into my bag for my phone. Somehow, I managed to make a call before something shimmered in the air in front of me.

A Wanderer materialized. I ducked on instinct, barely dodging its strike, and scrambled backward. I ran, no plan, no direction, just away. When I looked back, the spot I had just been standing in exploded, flinging mannequins and shards of glass through the air.

I sprinted through the alleys. I didn’t know this area. I’d never even been here before. Every turn felt like a gamble. I tried to avoid the densest clusters of Wanderers, but one explosion caught me off guard, slamming my side into a wall. Pain bloomed through my arm like wildfire. I gasped, trying to suck air back into lungs that had been emptied by the impact.

Still, I forced myself up. I kept running.

Then, I saw it in the corner of my eye: a Wanderer teleporting behind me.

My body locked up, legs rooted to the ground. It was like time slowed. I couldn’t move. My brain screamed at me to run, but no muscles listened. I could only stare as the creature lunged at me, blade poised to tear through me.

I’m getting tired.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

Then, I heard a crackle of ice.

Time crawled, and I had yet to be impaled.

I hesitantly opened one eye; I found Zayne standing between me and the beast with one arm outstretched and palm open.

The Wanderer was trapped in an iceberg, frozen mid-strike. With a flick of his wrist, the ice shattered, along with the monster inside it.

He didn’t look at me when he spoke.

“I told you to stay put.” His voice was as cold and sharp as the shards of ice still raining down around us.

“But—”

“You think charging into chaos without a plan makes you brave?” He finally turned his head and his eyes flicked toward me. “That was stupid. You have nothing to protect yourself with. No evol. No skill.”

I blinked. My throat tightened. Was this really Zayne? Or was it his evol talking?

“I— I was just trying to—”

“To what?” he snapped. “Be a liability? Get yourself killed so someone else has to clean up the mess?”

He rubbed his wrist like the entire encounter had been a nuisance. Like saving me had taken more effort than it was worth.

“There’s a difference between courage and recklessness,” he muttered, eyes sweeping over me. “You don’t get to confuse the two and expect someone to always show up and save you.”

That was it.

The floodgates opened.

The tears that had clung stubbornly to my lashes finally spilled over. 

It wasn’t just what he said. It was the way he said it. Like I was a burden. Like my fear was an inconvenience and my effort meant nothing.

I’d spent years trying to prove I could survive without an evol. Trying to prove that I wasn’t useless. That I could be strong in my own way.

But Zayne’s words tore all of that down in seconds.

All the failures I thought I had outrun now surged forward like a tide, dragging me under.

I didn’t feel human. 

I felt defective.

I felt… invalidated.

Whatever words he said afterward didn’t register in my brain. I stepped back when I heard the rocks shifting, and pain bloomed from my side like something had finally torn free. I still couldn’t look at him. I knew that if I did, I’d run into his arms again. And I couldn’t let myself do that. Not after what he said. Not when I already felt this small.

He reached toward my shoulders. I flinched.

His hand was cold.

Of course it was.

His words were as sharp as the icicles. I bet his gaze was just as distant.

“Don’t touch me.”

I heard him exhale. “Stop being irrational—”

“Hey! Are you okay?” A warm voice cut through the static in my head.

I turned, blinking away the tears. For a moment, I expected another stranger, another scream, another reminder that I was utterly alone. But it was Kyle, my classmate since junior high.

He jogged toward me. His bright red sling bag bounced against his hip with every step.

My shoulders sagged with relief, like someone had finally peeled the weight of the world off them. My knees finally gave out.

That’s when the sob broke loose from my chest.

It wasn’t a graceful cry. It was ugly. I don’t want to try to hold it together anymore. My throat burned from holding it in for too long, and I let it out because I finally could.

Kyle’s eyes widened in horror the moment he got close enough to really see me. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat. And this made me remember that that’s the same thing Zayne did before the chaos, and I was afraid for a moment. But I saw Kyle smile at me, and somehow that made me cry harder. Because he didn’t look at me like I was pathetic or reckless. He looked at me like I was a person in pain. Like I mattered. Unlike what Zayne did.

“Shit, you're bleeding. Don’t worry, I got you.”

He didn’t hesitate. He slipped an arm around me and guided me toward a toppled monobloc chair. He gently righted it and eased me down before dropping to one knee, already unzipping the red sling bag.

He pulled out a gauze roll and began wrapping my leg.

“You need to apply more pressure,” Zayne said behind me.

Something inside me snapped.

“He’s doing his best!” I barked without thinking. My eyes widened, and I turned to Kyle immediately. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head with a small smile. “It’s alright. You’re under a lot of stress. It’s only natural.”

He finished tying the gauze in place with a neat bow, then gently tapped my knee. “Besides, you were amazing back there. I saw you dodging those attacks. I honestly thought you were a hunter.”

“I panicked,” I explained between sobs. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re alive. That’s what counts, okay? You made it out.”

The wailing of sirens in the distance snapped the world back into focus. Around us, the square was wrecked. stalls were crushed, and the Ferris wheel stalled mid-spin. People limped through the debris while looking for safe spots to rest. A little girl sobbed nearby, clutching a teddy bear and calling for her mom.

Kyle’s gaze dropped to the bandaged leg, and he let out a dry scoff. “We need someone better at this.”

I felt Zayne shift behind me, but I didn’t turn. I didn’t want his help. Not now.

“I want to see Chelsea,” I said.

She’s my friend who should’ve gone into pre-med if her family could afford it. The girl Kyle’s quietly in love with. I figured this was the least I could do for him.

Kyle crouched again, this time turning his back toward me. He looked over his shoulder and patted it. “Hop on.”

I hesitated for a second, then wrapped my arms around his neck and let him lift me. His grip was strong under my thighs as he stood.

“Hold on tight, hunter!” He shouted then flashed a grin. “We’re gonna run fast so they can’t catch us.”

And he did run fast.

And I didn’t look back.

[lovendeep-thoughts]

Raging Blue and his Pink Chaos

In the final days before graduation—before he steps onto the stage, before he boards the plane, before he leaves behind the only life he’s ever known—he is faced with a choice. Should he embrace the fleeting happiness, knowing the pain that will follow? Is it worth the risk to hold on, even when goodbye is inevitable?

Part 1 | Part 2

pairing: Zayne x female character (might seem a bit oc to some, but I intend for her to be a self-insert)

word count: 3.2k

💌: Hi! This is my very first time writing something and committing to it until posting. Comments for improvement are greatly appreciated! I genuinely want to learn more about Zayne, and I thought this would be a great way to do it. I hope you like it!

Finals had just ended, graduation was nearing, and preparations for the grand ceremony were in full swing. It was to be expected that seniors would skip school unless they had to submit documents or requirements for their grades and completion. So the school, quite petulantly, had decided that clearance would involve a week-long activity and that parents were required to attend every graduation rehearsal.

Zayne, as the valedictorian, stood at the end of a long line that looped around the gymnasium, with his mother beside him. The march had started thirty minutes ago, but they'd only taken about ten steps. To make matters worse, the heat of the summer sun felt relentless. Its rays pierced the skin like a scorching beam, so Zayne had raised a wide, dark blue umbrella to shield both him and his mom. He had to switch arms every so often when one began to ache.

He didn’t mind these small discomforts. They were mere inconveniences, nothing worth getting irritated over. After all, soon, this practice would be over. Soon, he'd be on that stage receiving his diploma. Soon, he’d leave this tropical country to pursue his future.

Though the inefficiency of the practice didn’t bother him much, his eyes kept scanning the crowd for a certain slightly unkempt, long-haired figure. His ears twitched every time someone laughed or sneezed in a familiar way, but never quite sounded like hers. His brows kept furrowing every time he had to remind himself to leave enough space for one person in front of him with every step he took.

It was not the heat, but the waiting—the lack of her presence—that slowly chipped away at his patience.

Why is she late?

He asked himself that question, hoping for the usual: a tap on his shoulder, a chuckle, or a shrill shriek—anything. Anything after five seconds. But when nothing came, he asked again and waited—another five seconds—and asked again. It was a cycle, a torturous, systematic one that he had created for himself. He just wanted this day to pass like any other, but he had forgotten one crucial variable. Her.

Is she okay? Did she get sick? Did she skip the practice because she was being lazy? Surely, she’d show up at graduation, so she had to at least attend the practice once. But knowing her, she could be impulsive—like the time she’d skipped the 11th Year Recognition Day. Zayne was the only one who knew she’d lied about being sick and had just stayed in bed while the rest of their classmates were out celebrating. She’d texted him in the middle of the ceremony, saying she wasn’t feeling it. She’d left him to explain her absence when some parents asked where she was—even to his mom.

“Oh, she’s sick? Would you like to visit her later?”

And when he had gone to visit her that night, she was still fast asleep beside her phone, which was glowing every ten seconds from notifications.

She swore she hated people and making acquaintances, but somehow, she always had more friends than Zayne. Maybe it was because of her inviting smile, which helped make people feel comfortable with her—to the point of them ranting to her about their problems. Especially in a batch of students where one liked to bring up everyone else's mistakes and failures, eventually destroying the reputations of certain students.

“Her mom’s not replying to my texts. Is she not replying to yours?” Mrs. Li asked.

“She has a habit of telling me everything and nothing at the same time,” Zayne replied.

Just as he was about to ask the dreaded question—Why is she late?—for the umpteenth time, he felt a familiar warmth encircling his bicep.

Her cheek rested briefly on his arm before she looked up at him with a mischievous, closed-lip smile, her hands still wrapped around his lower arm.

“Hi! I’m late.”

The sunlight danced on the rim of her glasses as she tilted her head slightly, now flashing a full smile. She looked so warm like this. Zayne stared at her for a moment before she raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to react.

“There’s no need to announce it. It’s obvious,” Zayne said, slightly shaking his head, his gaze now fixed ahead. The line was moving again, and the sunlight dimmed. He pressed the button on the umbrella, folding it away into his tote bag.

“Good morning, Mrs. Li,” she said, bowing toward his mother while releasing her grip on Zayne’s arm.

“Good morning. Where’s your mom?”

“She won’t be attending. She was hoping to chat with you, but she had to deliver my dad’s papers,” she pouted, standing in front of them with her arms clasped behind her back.

They exchanged a few more casual greetings and updates as the line moved forward. Zayne placed a hand lightly on the back of her arm and another hovering near her waist, guiding her as both ladies continued their conversation.

“So, what happened before I got here?” she asked Zayne.

“Not much,” he answered, his hand retracting back to his side.

“Kay. Nice,” she replied, her back now turned to him.

“That’s all you have to say?”

She turned slightly, enough to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Zayne reached into his pocket without breaking eye contact. Her gaze followed his hand as he pulled out a blue handkerchief and gently dabbed it at the corner of her lips. Her eyes widened slightly as he repeated the motion twice before pulling his hand away. She shot him a glare, but the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips went unnoticed.

“Like how you woke up early to prepare but still ran out of time. Instead of scrambling to get here on time, you stopped at a store to buy a black canned coffee and sipped it on the way,” he said, scanning her from top to middle before his gaze settled on her lips again. “I’m surprised you didn’t stain your uniform when you opened the can.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Mom would be mad.”

“As any parent would,” Zayne agreed, noticing her subtle glance at his mom. Mrs. Li may have looked too busy with her phone, but Zayne knew she was listening in on their conversation.

The student in front of the girl initiated a talk with her. Zayne was left to study her back to kill time until they reached the gymnasium stairs.

“So, you’re not going to ghost everyone at graduation?” Zayne asked once they sat down in their row. Their shoulders brushed, but neither of them made an effort to move away.

“Not sure. What do you think?”

He didn’t waste a second. “Don’t.”

Her answer was also immediate. “Okay.”

Zayne glanced at her and then back at the stage. “Your responses are short today.”

“I just want this over with. I’d rather be anywhere else. I’m bored,” she muttered.

“You can come to my house after this,” he offered.

“And make a mess in your room?”

“I always clean up.”

He saw her scrunch her nose out of the corner of his eye. “I’m offended.”

“You still have clothes in my drawers,” he pointed out.

She nodded. “Oh yeah. I should get those.”

“They can stay there. We’re just graduating. It’s not like we’re going to be apart.”

She scoffed, eyeing the teacher who was now waving in their direction. “You are going to America.” She poked his side with a finger.

“Right.” He exhaled loudly, sighing so she’d hear him before standing up to walk toward the teacher calling him.

The drive to his home was silent and serene—nothing like the pandemonium of the practice.

“What do you want for dinner, dear?” Mrs. Li asked as she headed straight for the kitchen, tying her apron with practiced ease.

“Thank you, Auntie, but I won’t be staying for dinner.” She leaned against the countertop, balancing on the tips of her toes. “I just need to grab my stuff from Zayne’s room. Right, Zayne?”

She turned her head, only to find him already behind her. Before she could react, he planted both hands on the counter beside her, bracketing her in. He didn’t close the distance completely, leaving just enough space to be respectful—or at least what he considered respectful. His gaze on her was unreadable, like he was studying a medical book on a random Tuesday.

She met his stare head-on, refusing to back down, as if daring him to break first. But the only thing that shifted was the slow, deliberate way he blinked. Her throat felt dry. She cleared it and glanced at the clock near the refrigerator.

“Let’s have dinner together.”

His voice was softer than usual, missing the clinical detachment he’d picked up from his parents when they were in work mode. There was something else there—something pulling at the edges of his words. She frowned slightly, wondering if she’d imagined it.

She hadn’t even realized he was leaning in until she looked up again to find their noses nearly touching. Her breath hitched, and she flinched back on instinct. She could feel the heat creeping up her face.

Zayne could be clingy. He always had been with his parents. But for him to act like this in front of his mom? It wasn’t entirely new, but it was becoming more evident, more flustering. Worse still, both their parents already shipped them, and this little scene would only add fuel and oxygen to the fire. She couldn’t let that happen.

"Alright," she mumbled hastily before ducking under his arm, scrambling free, and bolting up the stairs to his room.

Mrs. Li finally let out a weary sigh. Zayne, still watching the top of the stairs where the girl had disappeared, arched an eyebrow at his mother.

“Don’t force yourself on her, Zayne,” her voice was gentle but firm. “You’ll only end up hurting her more.”

He turned away, opening the refrigerator and pouring a glass of cold milk. He took a slow sip before responding. “I just want to spend time with her while she’s not busy.”

Mrs. Li smiled—a knowing, taunting smile. The kind that meant Zayne had to brace himself for whatever she was about to say next.

“She won’t stay single forever, you know. I’ve been hearing about a few boys at school who seem quite taken with her.”

Zayne’s jaw tightened as he shut his eyes briefly. He had heard those rumors too between some gossipers who had no business knowing more about her love life than he did.

She told him everything. At least, that’s what she claimed. She always said he was the safest person to talk to, that she could confide in him without fear of judgment or guilt. She said he always knew what to say, how to comfort her, how to advise her. And yet, when it came to romance, she kept him at arm’s length. He never knew who she liked, if she liked anyone at all. Every time he tried to bring it up, the conversation would twist into her teasing him about his so-called admirers—girls he couldn’t care less about.

Because all he wanted was to know her. To know her in a way no one else did.

Upstairs, he found her sitting at the foot of his bed, sketching in a small notepad. She didn’t look up when he walked in.

He shut the door she had left open and sat beside her, silently offering her the glass of milk. She glanced at him before setting her pen and paper aside to accept it.

“You can sit on the bed,” he suggested, tilting his head toward it. “It’s more comfortable.”

“With my outside clothes? Nope.”

“You can change into your pajamas.”

He stood up, pulling open a drawer and retrieving the pink pajamas he had bought her back in January. She had once mentioned wanting to do his skincare routine, so he had bought every product from the videos she had sent him on Instagram—along with a couple of sets of pajamas and a matching perfume.

He placed her pajamas on his bed. “Your soap and skincare are still in the guest room.”

She drank the remaining milk in one go. “Why do I feel like you want me to sleep over?”

“I wouldn’t be against it.” He reached for her now-empty cup and set it on his bedside table.

She huffed a small laugh. “I doubt my mom would let me.”

“Then I’ll ask my mom to ask Auntie.”

“Wait, no—”

But Zayne was already out the door.

He knew he was acting differently. He knew she was perfectly capable of asking her own mother. But the thought of her slipping away—of her vanishing from his life, just like she had during their last ceremony, even if it was just for a day—was unbearable.

He needed this sleepover. For his sanity.

He told himself that it was his own fault if they grew apart. He was the one leaving. But why did it feel like she would slip away first?

He had planned to confess to her that day, at their final recognition ceremony. He had rehearsed the words, prepared the flowers—blue hydrangeas and periwinkle, hoping she would understand the meaning behind them. But she never showed up. And all that planning, all that waiting, had crumbled into nothing. But he didn’t blame her. He couldn’t. He should’ve continued his plan that night. He should’ve adapted to the situation. Instead, he just let the opportunity... slip away.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he should try again at graduation. The timing didn’t feel right.

Because he was leaving.

And he didn’t want a long-distance relationship—not when it was still new, not when he had spent years longing for something more. He wanted to hold her hand without hesitation, to hug her without constantly reminding himself not to press his chest against her back, to rest his arm around her waist without feeling like he had to let go too soon.

Zayne wanted her.

And soon, he wouldn’t have the chance to want her this way anymore.

Zayne leaned against the doorframe of the guest room, arms crossed over his chest, watching and waiting. Any moment now, she’d step out of the bathroom to grab her shampoo and hair oil from the vanity.

He remembered when she had once squealed over a Pinterest photo of a guy standing just like this—how she had slapped his arm, shaking him in excitement, gushing about how attractive it was.

She finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a robe, her damp hair piled into a messy bun. She spotted him, smiled, and reached for her bottles.

He wasn’t sure if he had the same effect on her as the guy in the picture, so he did what he did best—said something completely ridiculous.

“If you let me wash your hair tonight, that could be your farewell gift to me.”

She stopped mid-reach and gave him an incredulous look. “That’s… a weird request.” She shrugged, contemplating it for a second longer before sighing. “But okay.”

She turned back toward the bathroom, muttering as if convincing herself. “Sure. Sure, why not?”

Zayne chuckled at the sight—her confusion, her hesitant agreement. She turned back to him, blinking up with wide, curious eyes, looking every bit like a puzzled kitten.

“You coming?” she asked.

Zayne straightened, pushing himself off the doorframe, and followed her.

The sweet scent of strawberries filled the air as Zayne massaged her scalp over the sink, his fingers working in slow, careful circles through her hair. They had cobbled together a makeshift neck rest using towels and had borrowed a stool from downstairs—just high enough to keep her from straining.

“Was I too rough?” He squeezed the excess water from her hair, lifting her head gently.

“No, it’s actually relaxing.” She sighed, leaning into his touch. “If I’d known you were this gentle, I would’ve made you my personal hair washer a long time ago.”

Zayne hummed in amusement, grabbing a towel to pat her hair dry.

“I’ll miss you.”

His hands stilled. His mind blanked.

To most people, she wore her heart on her sleeve. But Zayne knew better. He’d seen the moments when she held back—when she buried her true feelings under laughter or brushed them off with a joke.

So for her to say something as simple as I’ll miss you—with no humor, no deflection—meant something.

Maybe, just maybe, she liked this too.

The domesticity. The comfort. The ease between them.

Nothing in between, but everything within reach.

It took everything in him to steady himself, to keep drying her hair as if nothing had changed, to wring out the towel, and to hang it neatly on the rack.

“I’ll miss you too.” His voice came out calm—too calm for the storm raging inside him.

She exhaled a soft laugh. “I’ll probably send you random videos just to annoy you.”

Zayne recognized the tactic instantly. She was trying to distract him from what she had just admitted. And he didn’t appreciate it.

He wanted to know what she really thought about him leaving. Would she ask him to call her every day? Would she suggest something—anything—that meant she wanted to keep him close?

God, he hoped so.

“As if you don’t already do that.” His tone was sharper than he intended, so he masked it with a cough before reaching for the hair oil. He warmed a few drops between his palms, then ran his fingers gently over her scalp.

“Ah! That reminds me…” she piped up. “I heard Casey is planning to confess to you at prom.”

Zayne’s hands stilled for half a second before he resumed. “Who’s Casey?”

She scoffed. “What do you mean Who’s Casey? She’s our Vice Chairman and an executive of GAD. There’s no way you haven’t heard of her.” She kicked her legs playfully, grinning. “You two kinda match, to be honest.”

“How so?”

“She’s chaotic. Yin and yang, if you’re into that.”

He let out a quiet breath, his earlier frustration replaced with something warmer. Adoration. Because, at the back of her mind, she was thinking about what type of girl would suit him. And whether she realized it or not, she was describing herself.

“I have enough chaos in my life,” he murmured.

She didn’t respond.

After finishing the massage and tidying up, they made their way back to his room. She immediately plopped onto his bed, lying across it vertically, hugging the snowman plushie she had won for him to her chest.

Zayne grabbed his blue pajamas and disappeared into the bathroom to change. “Did you already book a stylist for tomorrow?”

“I’m keeping it simple. It’s just graduation.”

“Your lack of enthusiasm concerns me,” he called from inside. “It’s supposed to be your big day.”

“The grand day of finally leaving that God-forsaken school?” She pressed the pillow over her face. “Yeah, you have a point.” Her voice was muffled against the fabric.

Zayne sat beside her head, idly playing with her hair. “Then let me help you get ready tomorrow.”

She lowered the pillow to her chest, staring up at him. “Why are you being like this, Zayne?”

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Because I’ll miss this chaos.”