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[bluebeary-jay]

Crawlin' back to you

Joel Miller x f!sunshine!Reader

Summary: you ask Joel for help while preparing for your upcoming date with another man. (or so it seems)

Tags: grumpy x sunshine, idiots in love, sweet sweet fluff, age gap, a drop of angst, peepaw is insecure abt his age :(, Jackson era, Joel is kind of slow but it's okay we still love him (pookie doesn't realize how hot he is), me dancing around the smut like i'm a fucking circus acrobat

Word count: 4K

A/N: sooo very long time no see 🙈 ever since the start of 2025 i'm telling myself to get back into writing but it still felt like a chore lol. but i REALLY wanted to finish this fic before tlou s2 drops so here it is!!! i'm really proud of how it turned out and i hope to write more in the near future. love you all so so much and as always, happy reading!! 💕

dividers by @saradika 🩷

Joel Miller didn't have friends.

He had a couple of buddies before the outbreak with whom he used to watch the game sometimes, but nothing more than that. Tommy didn't count, of course, because he was his brother and therefore had to be nice to him. The only other person who could put up with him was Ellie, but the kid was… a kid. As for the other people in Jackson, they were wise to keep their distance from Joel, not wanting to hang around a shadow of a man such as him.

He didn't mind. He liked the peace and quiet, and it didn't bother him one bit that everyone seemed to give him a wide berth, whispering about the danger that he was.

Well, almost everyone avoided him. You, the exact person that should stay far away from a man like Joel Miller, gravitated to him with an almost effortless ease. Even amongst all the hopeful people that created Jackson, you were the purest, brightest ray of sunshine, always helpful and compassionate towards anyone who came your way. And even though Joel wasn't exactly welcoming to you in the beginning, you never gave up and persisted – and eventually, befriended him.

And ever since the first time you spoke to him, he didn't stand a chance. You were young and pretty, and so charming with your innocent optimism… Before Joel realized, he was fantasizing about you during the lonely evenings, dreaming of your voice late in the night, and looking for you in the crowd when he was out of the house.

He was way too old to feel this kind of way, and every now and then it felt like he was balancing on a tightrope between being stupid and borderline creepy. Such a sweet girl like you wouldn't look twice at an old man like him if she knew the things that sometimes ran through his mind when he was seeing other men flirting with you, seeking the same warm light that Joel grew addicted to.

That was the poison mixed with your sweetness – even though it was irrational, with you everything seemed easier than it was.

…even falling in love.

And fall Joel Miller did. It was an embarrassing, tainted experience, especially when he remembered how much older than you he was. But he couldn't help it, and once this burning want became clear to him, he didn't really want to fight it, either.

You were everything he should stay far away from – young, pretty and so bright with your smiles, your hope, your innocence. A sinner like Joel Miller had no place in your life, and yet he couldn't muster the courage to let you go. It was selfish of him, he knew, but spending time in your company was one of the few brightsides of his life… and he didn't have many of those, lately. He genuinely enjoyed being near you – a lot more than he probably should.

That's why, when he noticed you skipping his way with a bright smile splattered across your cheeks, he felt his heart instantly lighten. It was a hard day of work at the construction site and he was relieved to finally be heading home, but just the sight of you made the weariness disappear from within his bones.

“Joel! Hi!” Something must have stirred you quite strongly, for you were practically bouncing with excitement. The words were spilling out of your mouth before he even had a chance to say hello. “I need your help, right now. Please.”

“Slow down, darlin’,” he chuckled, letting you drag him by the arm to a wall of the nearest building and away from the crowd. “You alrigh’?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.” You waved to someone passing by, totally unfazed – or maybe just ignorant – that you were being seen with him in public. “I just need your help.”

“Well, what is it?” he repeated the question and finally, you turned to face him. Joel couldn't help but match the pretty smile on your face, but it quickly faded when you blurted out your next words.

“I like someone.”

That short, simple sentence wrecked Joel’s world by the foundations. For a couple of seconds he just stared at you with his mouth slightly agape while you fidgeted with your hands nervously, but still overjoyed.

“Wh– uhh, sorry?”

“I like someone,” you repeated excitedly, as if your words weren't piercing right through Joel's heart. “And I need your help.”

All of the sudden, the world lost all its colors, as if all the meaning was sucked out of the universe just by your words.

Why it was such a surprise to him, Joel didn't know. Of course you'd sooner or later get together with someone. He should have expected it. You were young, pretty and such a joy to be around, people were gravitating towards you instinctively. Like moths to a flame.

Just like him – yet he was always destined to only get burned.

“Joel?”

You leaned closer and Joel's eyes instinctively focused on your lower lip worried between your teeth.  You were obviously oblivious to his feelings, as well as the effect you had on him – otherwise he doubted you'd tempt him like that, unknowingly making his mind fixate on how perfect your lips would have felt under his touch.

But no, it wasn't his caresses you wanted. There was someone else, someone far more deserving of you, and you were asking Joel only for his help. And though it hurt him – it killed him to lose this small sliver of affection you had been giving him so far – he nodded supportingly.

“Wha… what do you need help with, sweet girl?” he asked softly, trying not to show how devastated he felt inside. Joel had no desire to hear about whoever was fortunate enough to gain your favor, but again, luck wasn't on his side.

“I made a plan to meet him,” you explained enthusiastically, grabbing his forearm. Joel looked at where your fingers touched his skin, barely listening to your words. “Tonight. And I need you to come with me.”

That woke him up from his reverie. Joel huffed and shook his head sharply, looking at you like you were out of your mind.

“No.” His tone was almost biting, but through his firm refusal, a trace of panic was slipping through. You pouted, squeezing his forearm lightly.

“Oh, come on, please? I just want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“No,” Joel repeated, much weaker this time. “Hell no. Why would I–” Then, a dark thought bloomed in his mind and his face turned concerned. “You're worried he'd do somethin’ to you?”

“Oh, no, no!” It was your turn to shake your head, and you actually cracked a smile at Joel's worried tone. “No, he'd never hurt me.”

Your voice got softer; your smile turned serene. Joel wanted nothing more than to turn away when your eyes started to wander across his features, but again that proved to be too herculean of a task compared to the hold you had over him.

“He's kind,” you continued absentmindedly, and on the edge of consciousness Joel remembered your hand was still on his arm, tracing small lines with your thumb. “Respectful and thoughtful… A real gentleman.”

“A-and who’s he?” Joel found the courage to ask, breaking you out of your daydreams. You smiled happily again – that damned, sweet smile of yours – and removed your hand. He immediately started missing the feeling of your touch.

“You'll see.” You looked over your shoulder when someone shouted your name a street away, and waved from the distance. You gave Joel one last pleading look, clasping your hands together. “Come to the Tipsy Bison at 9. Please? You can just sit in the corner but I'll feel so much better and safer with you there.”

Once Joel looked into your beautiful, pleading eyes, he was a goner. He never could deny you anything either way.

Even when he would kill for a chance to go on a real date with you.

“Okay,” he finally caved in. “Alrigh’. I'll be there.”

The overjoyed smile you gave him was almost enough to soothe the hollow pain in his chest.

Almost.

Great. Fucking great.

Joel made another turn around the street, trying to build up the courage to approach Tipsy Bison. The flannel shirt he wore was itching uncomfortably, but he was already half an hour late and there was no time to go back home and change.

He regretted ever setting foot in Jackson. It was a nightmare situation for him, having to spend the evening in a room full of loud, drunk people and watch as you go about your date with another man. Joel thought a dozen times about making up some excuse as to why he can't chaperone your date after all. He even went as far as to beg Tommy to accompany him, just that he wouldn’t have to suffer alone, but his younger brother just gave him a pitying look, saying something about spending time with Maria tonight. Joel could always cancel, lie that he can’t make it after all… but then he remembered how hopeful and thankful you looked, and all his resolve was wavering again. He couldn't ever say no to you, even though he desperately wanted to.

He looked at his broken watch, sighing at the hour. He delayed the inevitable long enough, so with heavy steps he approached the bar at last. You asked him to go through the back door, for whatever reason, and he was too tired at the time to point out there’s nothing back there except for the kitchen and storage rooms. Whatever. You probably were already in the main hall, with your date, and either you were angry at Joel for being late, or not thinking about him at all. He wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

Once he stepped over the threshold, he carefully closed the door behind him. The racket from the bar was muffled here, but from the nearest room he could hear someone muttering. Joel swallowed heavily and cleared his throat to alert whoever was on the other side of the wall.

“Joel?” he heard your voice before you appeared in the doorway. At the sight of him your shoulders dropped and with confusion he noted that you didn’t look angry or disappointed – you seemed relieved. “Goddammit, finally you’re here. You took your sweet time, huh?”

Before he could answer, you walked forward and took his sleeve, half-dragging him behind you. Words of protest bubbled on his tongue, but they all died quickly when Joel saw the room you emerged from.

The storage shelves were decorated with fairy lights and in the middle of the room stood a small table with two chairs opposite each other. The only other source of light were a couple of candles on the table and around the room. There was food on the table – probably cold by now – and a bottle of wine. But most importantly – there was no one else in the room except for Joel and you.

While he was looking around like an absolute fool, searching for an explanation for this situation, you cautiously closed the door and walked around the man, coming to a stop by the set table with your hands clasped in front of you.

“...Well?” you asked after an uncomfortably long silence, letting out a nervous laugh. “What do you think?”

Joel blinked, not sure if you were talking to him.

“Where's the guy?”

You threw him a confused look, but truly, it was the only thing Joel could think of. He glanced around the room again, as if his mysterious competition was going to jump up from behind one of the shelves, but there was no trace of anyone else here.

“Your… your date,” he clarified after a moment and cleared his throat once more. A spark of understanding flashed in your eyes and you pressed your lips together. “It's late. Is he… He didn't set you up, did he?”

“That depends,” you finally answered softly, keeping your wary but hopeful eyes on him. “Are you finally gonna sit down?”

A cog clicked into its place in Joel's mind and he turned his head, not sure if he had heard you right. You smiled nervously and motioned to the table.

“The food’s probably cold by now, but I can heat it up. It’s your own fault, though, since I asked you to be here forty minutes ago–”

“I don’t…”

He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense, but he had to make sure, “So there’s no… there’s no date?”

You were clearly nervous, judging by the way you were fidgeting with your hands, but you sent him a shy smile nonetheless. “I mean, you’re here…”

Joel didn’t answer – frankly, he didn’t know what to say. So many conflicted emotions were swirling in his chest, blocking his throat from squeezing out even a sound. It created almost a physical pain between his ribs, especially when your eyes were still on him, so hopeful and patient.

After another pregnant pause, you let out a quiet breath and took a step forward, throwing him a lifeline since he clearly must’ve looked like an idiot. “There’s no one else coming, if that’s what you’re asking. I made all of this for you – for… us, maybe. I just…” You half-shrugged, and only now Joel realized how nice you looked, wearing a dress he never before saw you in, “didn’t know how to tell you.”

Joel swept his gaze over the room once more – the dinner, the lights, your pretty dress… and you. And it was all for him, apparently.

“Why?” he breathed, the weight of his age almost making him collapse to his knees. He desperately wanted to say something more profound than one word at the time, but his voice was failing him. Thankfully, you were always kind enough to fill in the silence.

“Why did I lie to you or why did I drag you here of all places?” You rounded the table, eyeing the decorations with a proud smile. “Well–”

“No, darlin’, why…” He shook his head. Everything felt too unreal, too sudden. And he felt so tired. “Why me?”

That made you pause and you turned to him with a surprised look, like what he just said was the last thing you expected to hear.

“What do you mean, why you?” you huffed incredulously, leaning forward against the back of the chair, and though you tried to look casual, the nervousness in the tension of your body was apparent. “You’re just… I mean, it must be pretty clear that I really like you… And I thought you might have felt the same. You know, with all the ‘darling’s’ and looking at me, and stuff…”

Was it a dream? You always looked like you were out of a dream, but something about this moment… the fairy lights, your shy demeanor, the words he never thought he’d hear from you… Joel didn't know if he was still alive or maybe that's what the afterlife looked like.

“...You could say something,” you half-joked with a trace of worry in your voice, obviously growing uncomfortable at his lack of reaction. “You know, Tommy only let me have this place ‘til midnight before they come by to restock the bar. We can at least eat and talk a little, right?”

“Did Tommy put you up to this?” Joel asked bitterly, unable to stop himself at the mention of his brother’s name. He recalled the look Tommy gave him earlier today, his excuses as to why he can’t come with him... What other explanation could there be for such a gorgeous, young woman to be interested in Joel of all people, if it wasn’t just a product of his kin’s poor humor? However, he instantly regretted asking you this when your soft smile disappeared altogether, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“You can just say if you don’t feel the same way,” you said dryly with an angry and hurt furrow on your brow. “No need to be a dick about it.”

You walked by him, apparently done with Joel’s accusations and grumpiness, but he quickly caught your arm before he could think better of it. You spun around, probably ready to tear into him, but he wouldn't hear a word either way – no while a vortex of doubts and questions raged in his mind. Joel didn’t know how or why you’d ever take interest in an old man like him, but he was now certain of two things.

One, you were telling the truth. For whatever reason, you really liked him – enough to plan and prepare a whole dinner date just for him.

And two, if Joel let you walk out now, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

You must’ve noticed the change on his face when his eyes flickered to your lips because you froze, the words of hurt and disappointment drying out on your tongue. Joel swallowed and wet his lips, looking for any sign of hesitation or regret on your face, but there was nothing in your eyes but pure, fragile anticipation. He delicately put his hand on the side of your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing your cheek slowly. Your eyelashes fluttered closed and you let out a shaky breath, and that was all it took for Joel to lean down and press his lips to yours.

The kiss started delicate, but almost immediately turned into a fervent, hungry thing, which you ardently reciprocated. Joel wanted to take his time, to test the waters and build up the anticipation until you were ready to beg for him, but he didn’t expect just how fucking good kissing you would feel – and how eager you were for his touch. The smell of you, the feel of your hands on his chest and arms… it was driving him crazy with want, and without thinking twice, he spun you around and pinned your back against the edge of the table, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Goddammit, baby…” The term of endearment slipped out before he realized it, but judging by your reaction you didn’t mind at all. Your breath hitched, making him smirk to himself as he started to realize just how much power he held over you. It certainly shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”

“Joel, if you don’t stop questioning me…” you started, and although your words were firm, your voice leaned into a deliciously needy pitch, the kind of which he yearned to hear for far too long. Joel groaned into your mouth, moving down to press hot kisses against the line of your jaw and down your neck, greedily drinking in the noises you were making.

“Tell me, darlin’,” he asked in a low voice, experimentally running his palm up your thigh under the pretty dress you wore. The effect was immediate, and you pressed your body closer to him, seeking his touch the moment it left your skin. “I need to know if you really mean all this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Joel–” You made a surprised noise as he hoisted you up and onto the table, but it turned into another needy whimper when he knocked your knees apart and slotted himself between them with ease. You glanced behind you, worried that you'll push the silverware off the table, and Joel took this moment to resume the onslaught on your neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could reach. You choke back a moan as his touch made a shiver run up your spine. “Joel, please…”

“I need to hear it, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly against your skin, slowing down to tease you when he felt your heartbeat quicken up beneath his lips. “Need to make sure you know what you're gettin’ into.”

“I do, I promise,” you assured him fervently while your hands went to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his gray locks. “You have no idea how many times I thought about this. I wanted you for so long, Joel, please…”

“Wanted you, too, darlin’.” He put one of his hands on the small of your back, pulling your lower half closer to the edge of the table so you could feel what you were doing to him. “God, every time you smiled at me it was all I could think about… So kind and beautiful, never thought you'd look twice my way.”

You didn't bother to answer this time, instead angling his head up to kiss him deeply again. The doubt and fear were still present in Joel's mind, but he honestly couldn't focus on them with you in front of him. You were so warm under his palms, so pliant and eager, a literal putty in his steady hands. He could never imagine how incredible it felt to be wanted by someone so much, but at the same time he knew he had to take his time. As much as he wanted to keep going, to make you see stars and sing his name, it was more than just lust with you.

So when you reached for the buttons of his shirt, he gently grabbed your wrists and moved them away, finally regaining his self-control. You whined disapprovingly, but the crease between your brows quickly disappeared when Joel kissed your fingers softly, not taking his eyes off you.

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t rush,” he cood, earning a small disappointed pout. He had to close his eyes, lest he caved in. Fuck, the sight of you before him – your pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his ministrations, your heavy breath and the dress bunched around your hips… Joel was sure you’d let him do anything to you right now. And God, he couldn’t wait. “Let me do this properly, yeah? Have a nice date with you, then maybe take you home if you don’t change your mind…”

“We can skip the dinner,” you quietly offered, your breath still uneven and cheeks flushed. He huffed a laugh with fondness and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, his own breathing also slightly erratic.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against your skin before taking your face in his hands. “Someone did say I’m a gentleman, no?”

You seemed to regret your previous choice of words, accentuating it with a disappointed whimper and a buck of your hips. Joel groaned and kissed you deeply again, almost able to taste all the impatience and desire on your tongue. Surprisingly, you didn’t fight him further and instead obediently slid off the table, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to be as close to him as possible.

Joel was grateful for this moment of calm before even more excitement – and he didn’t mind spending it by watching you, standing so close and smiling up at him as brightly as the sun itself.

“You believe me now?” you asked teasingly, stifling your giggles when Joel rolled his eyes playfully. “Good. You will have to make it up to me, then.”

Worry crept back onto Joel’s face, but you were quick to calm him down with a tender kiss to his jaw, and then another one lower, on his pulse point. “You were late. If you got here on time, we could’ve been doing this at least half an hour longer.”

Joel chuckled and lifted your chin with his finger, before kissing you briefly one last time.

“Baby, let’s enjoy the dinner you prepared, first. After that, I swear I’ll make it up to you in however many ways you want.”

Judging by your smile, you didn’t seem to mind at all.

[heesmiles]

FROSTBITE p.sh

synopsis ⤑ Sunghoon’s injury was comparable to the end of the world, at least for him it was. Having not been cleared in time to start practice with his team, Sunghoon is stuck practicing alone after hours, except he's not alone. Forced to share the rink with the practicing figure skaters was his version of hell, especially when one of them couldn't shut up about the fact that the world was their oyster and taking a positive look on life was the only way to live? How could he be positive when the only thing that made him happy was taken away from him. She had felt like frostbite sinking into his skin. Frostbite was quick, it stung and then it killed before you could even see it coming.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!sunghoon x figure skater!reader word count ⤑ 25k

warnings ⤑ smut, mentions of injury, grumpy x sunshine, ft. Ruka from baby monster, angst, probably more I'm missing...reader is heavily inspired by my yapping baby @beomiracles (serene).

crossing the line masterlist here.

Prologue. 

Sunghoon walked into the rink like a fallen prince returning to a ruined kingdom.

The cold welcomed him. Not with open arms, but with teeth. It bit through the seams of his hoodie, gnawed at the edges of his breath, and curled around the ache in his knee like a reminder. The air here was always sharp, always clean, always brimming with the promise of speed and sweat and glory. But tonight, it only felt hollow. Like an echo of the past, stretched thin over the bones of now. His blades scraped against the ice with a sound that used to thrill him. Now it felt surgical, sterile, like a scalpel carving open the truth he couldn’t avoid. 

He wasn’t on the team. Not really. Not anymore. Not while he recovered. And to Sunghoon, that meant the end of the world. Not playing hockey was his apocalypse. Jay said he needed time. Coach Bennett had nodded, voice clipped and clinical, masking the decision behind phrases like “risk mitigation” and “long-term recovery.” But Sunghoon knew what it meant: they didn’t trust his body, and maybe just maybe they didn’t trust him. What a load of bullshit. Sunghoon could play through the pain. He’s done it before. He wasn’t one to shy away from a little leg injury. Who cares, he’d push through. That’s what real pros did and Sunghoon would be a real pro one day. 

He clenched his jaw as the thought burned through him. His knee twinged again, and he tried not to limp, tried to walk like it didn’t hurt, tried to be the player he used to be. Every movement felt like a performance for an audience that had already left the theater. And then he heard it. A laugh. Light and lilted, drifting through the rink like glitter in a snow globe. He didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to.

The figure skaters were still here. Of course they were. Sunghoon let out a groan, loud enough to be heard, sharp enough to cut. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. She was the worst of them. Not in talent, but in spirit. Always smiling, always talking like life was some golden sunrise just waiting to be kissed. She had that annoying, relentless optimism, the kind that made Sunghoon’s blood itch. It wasn't just naive — it was offensive. Especially to someone like him, whose world had cracked open and swallowed him whole. How can someone look at the world and life and all that it offers and be happy about that? Life chewed you up and spit you out like old gum whenever it had the chance. 

She was all light. He was the void that light avoided. Still, she twirled like the world had never wronged her. Every glide, every spin, every leap across the ice was effortless. She was a poem written in motion. And somehow, her presence made the silence of his isolation scream louder. He dragged a puck across the rink, his stick slicing through the quiet like a blade. The sound was dull, defeated. She didn’t leave. Of course not. She was too kind or too stubborn or too oblivious to understand that he didn’t want to share this place. Not with anyone. Especially not her. She skated past, the breeze of her motion catching his hoodie, lifting it for a fraction of a second. She left behind a sentence as light as her blades: “Pretty night, huh? Ice looks good.” 

Sunghoon didn’t respond. 

Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he had. Her voice sank beneath his skin like snowmelt — cold, but oddly soft. He hated that about her. Hated how she turned everything into beauty. How she made it look easy. But figure skaters didn’t know what it was to fall and stay broken. They didn’t know what it was to wake every day and feel your identity splinter under your ribs. They didn’t know how it felt to sit in the stands while your teammates practiced without you. Laughed without you. Moved on without you.  

He looked at her then, really looked. And for a moment, he thought of frostbite. 

Not because she was cold, but because she was warm — the kind of warm you feel right before the skin goes numb. Right before the blood stops moving. Right before the damage sets in. She had felt like that from the start. Quick. Unexpected. Beautiful. 

And by the time he noticed her, by the time he realized she was changing something in him, it was already too late. 

After. 

Sunghoon didn’t look at you again. Not when you moved like a falling star tracing soft-burning arcs in a frozen sky. Not when your laughter spilled into the rafters, bright as windchimes caught in a spring storm. Not even when you passed close enough for your perfume, warm citrus and something he couldn’t name to slip beneath his guard and settle in his lungs like memory. He focused instead on his own rhythm. On fury and fire, on the merciless repetition of sprints. Forward, brake. Backward, pivot. Turn. Drive. His blades carved the ice with the same fury that burned behind his eyes, every motion a prayer to reclaim what he’d lost. 

Jay said he wasn’t ready. Coach Bennett nodded like a verdict had been passed, and just like that, his kingdom of ice and glory had crumbled beneath him. Now, he ran drills alone in the shadow-hours, a ghost trying to resurrect himself one sharp breath at a time. This was supposed to be penance. Precision. Control. But then there was you. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not really. Not like that. Not with your reckless grace and your endless optimism. You spun where he sprinted. You leapt where he lunged. And you smiled like life hadn’t carved a hole in your chest and left you breathless in the wreckage. You were a contradiction. Light in a place he’d turned dark on purpose. 

Still, he moved around you. Like a storm steering around a cathedral. Like a soldier tiptoeing through a garden he didn’t believe in. Until you skated into his path. He didn’t see you at first, he was locked in the repetition, the heartbeat-thunder of his blades slicing the world into before and after. But then, there you were, gliding in without hesitation, your body all poetry and provocation.  

Sunghoon veered, instinct sharp and immediate. His edge caught. Balance tipped. His world lurched and for one heart-clenching second, he was weightless and helpless and human. He caught himself on the boards with a sharp breath, pain flashing down his leg like a warning flare. Behind him, your voice rose, bright, amused, infuriating.  

“That was a triple lutz of fury. You okay, Mr. Thundercloud?” He turned slowly, every muscle tight with the effort not to snap. 

“This is a hockey rink,” he bit out, eyes dark, voice heavy with disdain. “Not a ballerina recital.” 

You just grinned, like you hadn’t heard the venom — or worse, didn’t care. “It’s called figure skating,” you replied, the words wrapped in sunlight and sarcasm. “But I’ll let the insult slide… this time.” He stared at you for a beat too long. You were smiling. Like you’d won something. Like this was a game and he was your opponent. And for the briefest, strangest moment, he forgot how to breathe. 

Then he scoffed under his breath, muttered something bitter and small, and pushed off again away from your voice, your grin, your golden defiance. But your laughter followed him across the ice, light as snowfall, impossible to ignore. He skated harder. Faster. Angry at the sound. Angrier at the way it stayed. You were the flame he never meant to touch. But you’d already left blisters behind. 

The house loomed before him, golden-lit and quiet in the blue hush of evening. Sunghoon stepped across the threshold like a soldier returning from war, though the battlefield had only been frozen water and a girl who laughed like she belonged to the light. He limped. Not dramatically he would never allow that but enough that each step sent sparks of fire through his knee. His leg was screaming, a symphony of torn sinew and stubborn pride. He didn’t slow. Wouldn’t. Not for pain. Not for anyone. 

The frat house was unusually still for a Friday night. No bass shaking the walls. No shouted dares or the sound of someone racing through the halls with a fire extinguisher again. Just a soft, echoing quiet that pressed against the walls like an old quilt — threadbare, familiar. Heeseung was probably with his girlfriend, tangled up in the kind of love that softened even his sharpest sarcasm. And Jake, well, Jake had been quieter lately too. Ever since his girlfriend’s due date began casting long shadows across his smile. The house had learned to tiptoe around anticipation, around the hush of something sacred arriving. 

Sometimes Jay played his guitar in the evenings, those bittersweet chords bleeding down the stairs like spilled wine. But tonight, there was no music. Only the faint crackle of something cooking and the rhythmic clink of a wooden spoon against a pot. Sunghoon followed the scent to the kitchen, where Jay stood at the stove in a hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed to his elbows, stirring something that smelled warm and nostalgic, tomato sauce, maybe. Garlic. Something close to comfort. 

Jay glanced up, eyes flicking to the limp before Sunghoon could hide it. “You okay?” he asked, brow creasing. “You’re pushing too hard again. You need to slow down.” 

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. The words hit like cold water, shocking, unwelcome. He dropped his stick against the wall with a dull thunk, the sound far too final. “I don’t need your concern,” he snapped, voice low, bitter. “And I sure as hell don’t need advice from the guy who kicked me off the team.” 

Jay’s stirring paused. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath. “You weren’t kicked off,” Jay said carefully, like choosing the wrong word might light a fuse. “It’s a recovery period. You know that. It’s just protocol—” 

“Protocol?” Sunghoon echoed, a scoff splitting the word in two. “You think I care what the official term is? You benched me, Jay. You and Coach. And now you want to play big brother?” Jay turned fully now, eyes steady but tired. “It’s not about playing anything. I care, Sunghoon. That’s why we’re doing this. You’re not ready yet.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” 

“Someone has to.” 

There it was. The truth, bare and blunt. And it cracked something in Sunghoon, something already splintered beneath the surface. He stepped back, breath short, throat tight with all the things he didn’t want to admit: that the rink didn’t feel the same, that he wasn’t sure he’d ever skate like he used to, that you haunted the corners of his mind like a flame that refused to go out. He turned on his heel, ignoring the flare of pain that shot up his leg. “Whatever. Just—keep your advice to yourself.” 

And then he was out of the kitchen, storming up the stairs two at a time like he could leave the conversation behind if he moved fast enough. The pain chased him anyway. At the top of the landing, he paused, one hand on the railing, the other clenched into a fist. The house was silent again. Jay hadn’t followed. The scent of sauce still lingered, but it no longer smelled like comfort. It smelled like a life that was continuing without him. 

He exhaled shakily. And behind his eyes, he saw the rink. Saw you. Spinning like the world was made of light. Smiling like you’d never been broken. He hated that it stayed with him. Hated it more that he wanted it to. 

Your dorm room was warm in the way a lived-in space should be. Golden light pooled against the far wall like honey, slanting through the blinds in stripes, soft and sleepy. The hum of a quiet Friday night filtered in through the window, distant laughter, footsteps echoing down the hall, the occasional door creak or hallway chatter swallowed by plaster walls. 

Ruka was where she always was at this hour, curled up at her desk like a monk in silent study, her headphones draped loosely around her neck, textbooks spread like sacred offerings across the surface. She barely glanced up when you opened the door, nose buried in something with a terrifying title, highlighter held like a dagger mid-stroke. You didn’t mind. 

The two of you weren’t close, not in the way girls braided hair and whispered secrets into pillows at three in the morning. But there was a quiet kind of companionship in coexisting. She listened. You filled the air. She was younger than you, ran with a different crowd. 

As always, you started talking. Words spilled from your mouth like marbles from an upturned jar, clattering over every thought you hadn’t had time to process. You flopped onto your bed and kicked off your shoes, legs hanging over the side like punctuation. “I swear the rink was cursed today. I could feel it in the air — like the ghosts of last season were judging me. And someone — won’t name names — almost ran me over. Again. Do I have a sign on my back that says ‘human speed bump’? Honestly, it’s impressive how fast he moves for someone with a busted knee. Like, hello? Take a nap, eat a granola bar, embrace mortality or something—” 

You paused to take a breath, dragging your fingers through your hair. “Anyway,” you continued, flopping dramatically onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. “I survived. Mostly. Though Park Sunghoon nearly gave me frostbite with just a look. I swear, I’ve never seen someone skate like they’re mad at God.” That was when Ruka looked up. 

It was subtle — a tilt of the head, a flicker of curiosity beneath her steady gaze. But you caught it. The way her highlighter froze mid-air. The way one perfectly arched brow quirked in delicate, deliberate motion. “Wait,” she said slowly, voice soft but edged with intrigue. “Park Sunghoon?” 

You blinked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Yeah?” 

“The hockey player?” 

You nodded, slower this time, as if each motion unlocked some hidden meaning. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, so rare and quiet it felt like catching a butterfly mid-flight. “He’s really cute,” she said simply. “I kind of have a crush on him.” And just like that, the air shifted. 

Not drastically, no thunderclap, no sudden gust, but in the way a still lake ripples when someone tosses a stone. The world tilted a few degrees. You stared at her. Not out of disbelief, but in the strange, dissonant surprise that came from hearing someone else say his name with softness instead of frustration. Because you had only ever spoken of Sunghoon with fire in your voice. Sharp-edged. Wry. Annoyed, mostly. 

But Ruka’s words were wrapped in ribbon. Gentle. Blushing. You laughed, more to yourself than at her. “Well, that makes one of us.” 

She looked at you then, really looked, head tilted, eyes curious. “You don’t think he’s cute?” You hesitated. The thing was… you didn’t know. Not really. He was all sharp lines and silent storms, the kind of boy who walked like he didn’t belong to the earth. Beautiful, maybe, but in the way wolves were, wild, cold, untouchable. 

“I think,” you said finally, drawing each word like a thread between your fingers, “he’s complicated.” 

Ruka smiled again, turning back to her textbook with a knowing kind of grace. “Those usually are.” And just like that, the moment passed. She was back to her quiet, and you were left staring at the ceiling again, wondering when his name had started tasting different in your mouth. Like something that might linger. Like something that might matter. 

Monday morning clung to the world like a yawn that never quite finished. The sky was that dreamy kind of blue, the color of notebook margins and sleepy eyes, and you were already two sips into your iced coffee, pretending it had magical properties. Your lecture hall buzzed softly with life, pages flipping, keyboards clacking, the distant groan of someone remembering they had a quiz. You sank into your seat and opened your laptop, but your fingers hovered above the keys like dancers unsure of the next step. Your mind? Miles away. Lost somewhere between calculus and chaos. 

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, drawing shapes in the condensation on your cup. “Finals are coming. Sure. Death approaches in a syllabus-shaped cloak. But we’re gonna be fine. We’ve survived worse. Like that chem lab last semester. Or the time you accidentally locked yourself in the practice rink because you thought the red button opened the door. That was fun.” You laughed a little to yourself, a soft musical thing, then added quietly, “Sharing a rink with Park Sunghoon? Pfft. Easy. He’s just one very grumpy man with a stick. It’s basically like living with a thunderstorm. Moody, loud, and occasionally electric — but you bring an umbrella and move on.” 

You told yourself this because optimism was your armor. Because the world was already heavy enough, and if you didn’t keep spinning, you feared you’d sink. And besides, you liked spinning. You liked believing that everything, in its own way, would bloom eventually. Your fingers tapped absent-mindedly on your notebook. You were mid-thought — something about figuring out a study schedule, maybe, with your chin resting in your hand, your eyes soft and unfocused, when the air in the room shifted. 

Louder voices broke through the usual murmur like a crack of thunder across calm skies. You blinked, sat up straighter. At the back of the lecture hall, four silhouettes gathered in a tight circle. You recognized them instantly. Jay’s dark hair, Jake’s easy posture, Heeseung’s lazy slouch. And Sunghoon, standing like a blade half-drawn from its sheath, tension coiled in every muscle. Their voices weren’t loud loud, but they carried. 

“I told you, I’m fine,” Sunghoon bit out, arms crossed like a shield. “You’re treating me like I’ve lost a leg.” Jay said something quieter — calmer — but you couldn’t make out the words. Sunghoon shook his head, jaw clenched. 

“I’m not some kid who needs babysitting. I could be out there with you. But instead? I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” The words hit like a slap. No warning. No mercy. You blinked once. Twice. You looked down at your notebook, at the spirals you’d been doodling that suddenly looked like a fall. Like something unraveling. 

You weren’t surprised, not really. Not when you’d seen the anger in his shoulders, the way he moved like something had been carved out of him. Grief in motion. Frustration dressed in skates and scowls. Still, hearing it out loud… hurt. Just a little. Like biting into something sweet and finding the bitter underneath.

You forced a smile. Told yourself, He’s just mad. Just hurting. And people in pain say things they don’t mean. You knew that. You’d always known that. So you tucked the ache somewhere deep, beneath the layers of warmth you wrapped around your heart every day. You held your chin a little higher. Kept the sunshine burning in your chest even when the clouds gathered. 

Because that’s what you did. You stayed soft. You stayed bright. Even when the world gave you every reason not to. You glanced back at them one more time, just long enough to catch the storm still brewing in his eyes. Then you turned away. And smiled again. Even though this one didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

The late afternoon folded over the campus like a well-worn quilt, stitched in gold and quiet. Shadows stretched long and slow across the sidewalks, and the sky blushed softly, unsure whether it wanted to be day or night. You walked back to your dorm with your headphones on but no music playing, just the hush of your own thoughts echoing in the space between footsteps and fading sunlight. 

The building was its usual self: scuffed floors, sleepy corridors, the scent of someone's attempt at instant noodles clinging to the stairwell air. You climbed the steps like you always did, counting them beneath your breath like charms. 

One, two, three, four—everything will be fine.

Five, six, seven—you're stronger than this.

Eight, nine—just lace your skates and keep moving. 

Your key clicked into the lock, the door creaked open, and — Silence. Stillness, not unfamiliar, but… different. Ruka’s side of the room sat in its usual state of meticulous calm. Bed made like a hotel sheet ad, her books aligned like soldiers on her desk. But the chair was empty. Her headphones were gone. Her little desk lamp, usually the only star in your shared little galaxy was off. Your brows furrowed. She wasn’t the type to vanish without a trace. She was quiet, sure. Steady as a heartbeat. But dependable as gravity. On Saturdays, she studied. With her color-coded notes and an herbal tea steaming gently beside her elbow. A ritual. A rhythm.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and stood for a moment, frozen between thoughts. The silence was thick, pressing at your ears like water, and you almost called out her name, just to hear a sound bounce back. But you didn’t. You let it go. People have lives. Maybe she went out. Maybe someone swept her into a spontaneous adventure, a brief rebellion against her usual constellations. Maybe she just needed to breathe outside these four walls. You told yourself all of this, gently, while pulling open your bottom drawer.

Inside, your skates gleamed dully in the late-day light, blades catching the edge of dusk. You ran your fingers over the laces, the leather warm from where your dreams lived inside them. Then you pulled out your duffel, began packing with practiced hands, pads, gloves, that ridiculous fleece-lined jacket you never actually wore but always brought just in case. Each item folded like a promise. Each zipper, a punctuation mark. Each movement, a ritual. This is how we prepare. This is how we carry on. 

You glanced again at Ruka’s desk as you slung the bag over your shoulder, something quiet fluttering in your chest. Not quite worry, not quite longing. Just the awareness that something familiar had gone just a little bit strange.

You left the dorm with that feeling trailing behind you like a thread, caught in the breeze of your footsteps. Outside, the sky was starting to darken. Time to skate. Time to shine.

Even if someone else’s words still echoed like bruises in the back of your mind. 

The rink was a cathedral of echoes when you arrived, cold light spilling from the overheads like moonlight dragged down to earth. You stepped through the side door with your duffel swinging low and your breath fogging in the air, a silent offering to the frozen gods of routine. The chill kissed your cheeks the moment you entered, familiar and unbothered by your presence. The ice welcomed you without question unlike the boy skating circles at the far end of the rink, cutting lines through frost like he was angry at the surface itself. 

Park Sunghoon. 

You saw him the moment you stepped through the arch of metal and fluorescent glow. Sharp lines of movement, precise but edged with frustration, like a dancer trying to turn fury into choreography. He didn’t look up. Of course, he didn’t. You might as well have been a ghost to him, a passing flicker in his periphery. And still… his words from this morning clung to you like fog to a mirror. “I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” 

You could’ve held onto that. Let it curdle in your chest. But you didn’t. You’d already chosen to let it melt like frost under sunlight. Because that was how you survived people like him, people with cold hearts and stormy eyes. You stayed warm. You stayed soft. Gooey, like a cookie. Even if his silence sliced like wind over bare skin. 

You moved toward the bench in the corner, began lacing your skates with steady fingers. A familiar rhythm. Loop. Pull. Loop. Pull. You took a deep breath. Told yourself that the ice was still yours. That joy could still be found here. And then you stepped onto it. The rink hummed beneath your blades. You skated a gentle warm-up, smooth glides and soft turns, tracing patterns in silence like a painter laying down the first strokes of something that might become beautiful. You didn’t look at him. Not really. But you felt him, like a shadow trailing just out of view. 

He kept his distance. Good. Let him.

You spun into your routine, finding the quiet joy in motion again. Practicing your turns, letting momentum carry you like a whispered secret. And then, a voice loud and shrill broke the icy silence between you two. “WOO! GO, SUNGHOON!” Your skate caught slightly on the edge of your turn, not enough to fall, but enough to blink you out of your trance. You slowed to a glide, turning toward the source. 

There, in the bleachers near the glass, waving like she was at a concert and not a cold, half-empty rink, was none other than Ruka. Your brows lifted before you could stop them. She had swapped her usual hoodie-and-headphones look for something more casual-cute. Perched on the edge of the seat like a cat in a sunbeam. And her eyes? They were locked onto Sunghoon like he was something out of a dream she’d once dared to whisper aloud. 

“Come on, you look great out there!” she called, clapping. “That last sprint? Totally NHL-worthy!” You blinked. Slowly. Sunghoon, mid-stride, skidded slightly, his jaw ticking as he looked over at her. Not a smile. Not a nod. Just the sharp exhale of a man who’d rather be anywhere else. His annoyance was visible in the set of his shoulders, the way he stared past her like she was fog on the glass, there but inconvenient. 

Your heart tilted sideways in your chest. Not because of the awkwardness. Not because Ruka was cheering for the very boy who had called your world a joke in a voice laced with disdain. But because you saw him. You saw how he stiffened under her praise, how his skates moved sharper, faster, like he was trying to outskate her words. Like kindness grated on him more than silence. Like admiration was a language he didn’t know how to read. 

You stayed still for a moment, one hand on your hip, the other brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. You watched the way he avoided your gaze with deliberate precision. Like even eye contact might unravel him. Then you took a breath. Pushed off. Returned to your own practice. 

Because the ice didn’t belong to him. And your light didn’t need permission to shine.

Still, as you skated, you felt something settle into your bones. Not quite sadness. Not quite jealousy. Just… the sharp awareness that everyone wore masks. Even the ones who scowled at sunshine and rolled their eyes at laughter. Especially them. 

The hours unfurled like ribbons across the ice, silver and slow. You and Sunghoon spun your separate galaxies across the same frozen sky, orbiting each other in careful silence. His skates tore into the rink with force, blades slicing like twin swords, while yours curved and dipped with the grace of moonlight slipping through branches. He was precision and thunder. You were rhythm and light. 

You didn’t speak. Not once. But you felt him. And somehow, that was worse. Every time he passed, your chest tightened just a little, remembering the way his voice had clipped those words this morning, how he’d tossed your world aside with a single breath. But the cold has a way of preserving more than just bruises; it clears the mind, too. By the time practice wound to a close, your hurt had melted into determination, soft and fierce. 

The locker room door creaked as you stepped off the ice. And there he was, Sunghoon, perched on the bench like a statue carved from winter itself. He sat hunched over his skates, fingers tugging sharply at the laces, his jaw tight, sweat painting constellations at his temple. You watched him for a beat. The way his leg trembled slightly. The sharp inhale when he shifted. Pain. Not just ghost pain, not the phantom ache of healing. Real. Present.

Your eyes narrowed, and the words came out before you could swallow them. “You’re doing it wrong,” you said, stepping forward, breath curling in the cold. 

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Doing what wrong?” 

“Your stride,” you said, matter-of-fact but warm, like you were offering a cup of tea to a frostbitten soul. “That’s why your leg still hurts so bad. Your form’s all off.” 

He finally glanced at you, those glacier eyes narrowing, irritation flickering just behind them like lightning beneath snowclouds. “I’m what?” 

“You’re playing wrong,” you repeated, standing tall despite your worn skates, your cheeks pink from the chill and adrenaline. “You’re putting too much pressure on the outer part of your knee when you push off. You’re compensating for the pain, which is making it worse.” 

He scoffed. “And you’re what, a doctor now?” 

“Nope.” You smiled, brightly, undeterred. “Just someone who’s fallen on her ass about a thousand times. Figure skaters crash constantly, but we know how to angle our bodies so the impact spreads. It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance. Control.” He looked back down at his skates, tugging harder now, the muscle in his forearm twitching. 

“I can help you, if you want,” you offered, genuine, hopeful, stubborn. “Just with the angles. Not to overstep. Just to help you skate without pain.” He didn’t answer right away. For a heartbeat, you thought maybe — just maybe — he was considering it. That something in his storm-cloud gaze might soften. Then he snorted. “No thanks, Sunshine.”

The nickname was sharp, but not cruel. More like a brush-off wrapped in thin sarcasm, tossed over his shoulder like a towel. He stood, grabbed his jacket, and limped toward the exit, each step radiating quiet fury. You watched him go, your hands still resting on your hips, heart stung but not shattered. Because here’s the thing about sunshine. It doesn’t need permission to rise. It just does.

So you exhaled. Smiled again, just for yourself. And whispered under your breath like a promise: “Tomorrow, then.” Because you weren’t done. Not even close. The ice hadn’t melted between you yet.

You slipped through the dorm door with your skates still swinging from your shoulder, the scent of cold clinging to your hair like snowflakes that refused to melt. The hallway was dim, the kind of golden hush that only existed in the sliver of hours between late afternoon and true evening, and the air in your room felt just a degree warmer than the rink, barely but enough to sting your fingers with returning blood. And there she was.

Ruka. Curled cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, notebooks spread like wings around her. Her hair was tucked into a low bun, earbuds in, and she was scribbling something down with a pencil that had been chewed nearly to death. For a moment, you paused in the doorway. Something felt…off. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you knew people the way skaters knew their balance points — by instinct. You could feel when someone had shifted, even if they looked the same. She didn’t look up when you came in. 

Still, you offered a bright little sigh, a soft smile breaking across your face like morning light spilling across your pillow. “Hey, you disappeared before I left the rink.” You tossed your bag gently onto the floor and began tugging off your coat, the fabric whispering across your skin. “Didn’t even hear you leave. Were you skating again?” You played dumb, of course. 

Ruka blinked at her notebook, then slowly pulled an earbud free. Her eyes met yours. cool, calm, unreadable. “I wasn’t skating,” she said simply. 

You tilted your head, fingers pausing mid-zip on your hoodie. “Oh. So… what were you doing there?” 

it was a harmless question. Light as air. But her answer landed like a stone. “Just watching.” She turned back to her notes like punctuation, and you blinked. Something in her voice had been dipped in frost. Not biting, but distant. Measured. Not her usual soft-spoken stillness, the kind that let you chatter through silences without ever feeling unwelcome. No—this was different. This was cold. You stood there for a beat, hoodie half unzipped, heart tilting a little sideways. 

“Right,” you said, voice laced in artificial warmth. “That’s cool. I didn’t know you were a fan of the rink.” Ruka didn’t reply.

You let out a little laugh, quiet, the kind that fills a space just to prove you still can. And then, still smiling, you crossed the room and sat on your bed, your bones aching from practice, your mind unraveling in quiet questions. You didn’t press. You didn’t pry. That wasn’t your way.

But you thought about the way she had cheered earlier, about how her voice had filled the cold air with warmth meant for someone else. You thought about Sunghoon, skating like he could outrun something, and the way her gaze had followed him like he was the sun she’d never dared look at before. You lay back against the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. Sometimes, things shift before you see them coming. And sometimes, people surprise you in the quietest ways.

But still, you stayed kind. Stayed bright. Because even if the room was colder than you remembered, you refused to stop being the warmth. 

The night had softened by the time Sunghoon made it back to the house, the sky bruised with the fading violet of dusk, and the air bit at his skin like it resented his stubbornness. His leg burned. Not the sharp, immediate pain of an old injury flaring, but the deep, heavy ache of something being pushed past its breaking point. Again. 

The front door creaked open under his weight, and the warmth of the frat house spilled over him like syrup. thick and too sweet. Familiar voices tangled together just past the hallway. Laughter. The clink of plates. The low strum of Jay’s voice. He almost turned around. But pride is a chain wrapped around the ribs. And his wouldn’t let go. He stepped inside.

The living room glowed gold, lit by the low hum of lamplight and the occasional flicker of the muted TV. Jay was leaned back on the couch, an open water bottle in hand, while Jake sat beside his very pregnant girlfriend, who had her feet propped up on a pillow. Her belly rose like a gentle tide beneath her sweater, and her eyes shone with that ever-glowing light. soft, observant, and infinitely kind. Three heads turned as Sunghoon limped through the door, his hoodie half-zipped and damp with leftover sweat from practice. 

“You’re limping worse than yesterday,” Jay said, always the captain, always the voice of reason. 

Jake chimed in a beat later, his brows drawn in concern. “Why won’t you just rest, man? You’re not gonna heal if you keep pushing like this.” Sunghoon dropped his gear by the door with a heavy thud, his jaw tight, the pain crawling up his leg like a storm trying to find a place to land. 

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, not looking at them. “I don’t need a lecture.” 

Jay sighed, the sound edged with exhaustion. “It’s not a lecture, Hoon. It’s basic logic. You’re tearing yourself up out there. You think Coach Bennett’ll let you back in if you break yourself completely?” 

Sunghoon turned, irritation flashing sharp and raw in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be ‘breaking’ if you hadn’t pulled me off the ice in the first place.” 

“You’re not off the team,” Jay replied calmly, setting his bottle down. “You’re on a required recovery period.” 

“The same thing,” Sunghoon snapped. “Don’t split hairs.” 

A quiet cough cut through the tension, and Jake’s girlfriend — sweet as spring rain — shifted a little on the couch. “I think what they’re trying to say is… maybe listening to your body isn’t the worst idea,” she said gently, her voice like a balm. “I mean, sometimes we think we’re fine just because we want to be.” 

It should’ve landed like comfort. But it struck like a match. “Mind your business,” Sunghoon said sharply, the words out before he could call them back. The room froze.

Jake’s head snapped around, his eyes flaring. “Hey. Don’t talk to my girl like that.” The silence that followed was molten. Sunghoon’s anger flickered, dimmed, and died out in a single breath. He stared at the floor, guilt pooling heavy in his chest like sleet. 

“I didn’t mean…” His voice cracked, quieter now. “Sorry. That was—stupid. I’m sorry.” Jake’s girlfriend gave him a small, understanding smile. She always forgave too easily. That only made it worse. 

Sunghoon grabbed his water bottle and turned away, shoulders stiff, shame clinging to him like another layer of sweat-soaked fabric. He climbed the stairs slowly, every step a needle driven into the muscle behind his knee. When he reached his room, he shut the door softly almost tenderly and stood there in the quiet, staring at nothing for a long moment. The pain was still there, pulsing like a second heartbeat. But deeper than that — beneath the bruised ego and the battered pride was something else. 

Your voice, bright and persistent, kept echoing in his mind.

“You’re playing wrong.”“It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance.”“I can help you.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling just a little. It had sounded ridiculous earlier. But now, with the pain sharp and unrelenting, and the silence of the room pressing in like a judgment, your offer didn’t seem so foolish. Maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe it wasn’t an insult. Maybe you actually knew what you were talking about.

He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, leg stretched out in front of him like a broken line. The ice, the skates, the ache, the quiet praise you gave him even when he hadn’t earned it… it all blurred together. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to push the pain away. He let it sit beside him like a mirror. Maybe see you again tomorrow. And maybe… he’d listen this time. 

The sky was the color of wet pearls as you made your way to the rink, the kind of soft gray that promised rain but never delivered. Your skates were slung over your shoulder, biting at your hip with every step, and your breath came out in visible puffs that floated like little ghosts of determination. You were a girl on a mission, fueled by blind optimism and an unyielding belief that even the most frozen things could melt if you were warm enough, loud enough, kind enough. And Sunghoon? He was a glacier. But even glaciers cracked under time and pressure.

The door to the rink groaned open and welcomed you with that familiar chill, that bite of air laced with the perfume of ice and steel. You stepped in like it was a cathedral, reverent in your own way, eyes scanning the space that had become your evening altar. He was there. Already. Park Sunghoon. Laced in shadow and silence. 

He sat on the bench near the boards, bent over his skates, fingers threading laces with a quiet intensity, jaw set like it was carved from marble. His hair was damp at the edges, the kind of mess that spoke of someone who didn’t care enough to fix it but hadn’t quite let go of vanity either. The light caught on the sharp curve of his cheekbone, and for a moment you paused just a moment because something about him looked… different. He looked Less angry. Or maybe just tired of being angry. You couldn’t figure out which was which. 

You marched up anyway, smile already blooming like a sunflower on your face, warmth radiating off of you in a way the ice couldn’t fight. “Okay,” you said, breathless not from the cold but from the flurry of thoughts bursting behind your eyes. “Hear me out. I’ve been thinking and don’t roll your eyes, this is important I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, you need me.” He didn’t look up. You didn’t let it stop you. “Your form is off. I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. You’re straining the wrong muscle groups and you’re compensating for your knee in a way that’s going to make it worse. You’re going to tear something again and then you really won’t be able to play. And I know, I know I’m just a figure skater and you think I don’t get it, but we fall for a living. Literally. And we fall well. We learn to twist midair so the ice kisses us instead of cracking us open, and I could show you, I could help you—” 

“Okay.”

You blinked.

“What?”

Sunghoon finally looked up. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, but not cruel. Not cold. Just quiet. “I said okay,” he repeated, voice low but clear. “Meet me here. Every weekday. 6:30 p.m. sharp.” 

You stared at him, stunned into something dangerously close to speechless. “Wait. Wait, did you — did you say yes?”

“I did.”

“Well don’t deny me — wait. What.” A ghost of a smirk, barely there, almost imaginary curved at the corner of his mouth. “Meet me here on time, Sunshine.” 

You laughed, half in disbelief, half in relief, the sound tumbling out of you like birds startled into flight. “Sunshine, huh? You really can’t help yourself with the nicknames.” He stood then, tall and limping slightly, but not so much that you missed the way his frame shifted lighter. Like saying yes had peeled off a layer of armor. Like hope, when it finally arrived, it didn't have to announce itself loudly; it just had to be there. “6:30,” he repeated. “Don’t be late.”

You saluted with mock seriousness, grinning wide. “Sir, yes sir.”

He rolled his eyes and skated toward the ice, but this time… this time he didn’t avoid you. Not entirely. And just like that, a crack had opened in the glacier. Small. Fragile. But real. And you, all sun and stubbornness, were ready to shine straight through it. 

The next day dawned with a sky stretched in pale watercolor, as if the heavens themselves were yawning awake. And you moved with purpose, energy stitched into your limbs like golden thread, skipping down the hallway with your skates in one hand and a banana in the other, mid-bite, mid-monologue about how today was going to be the day Sunghoon learned the art of surrender. Not to defeat — oh no but to gravity. To momentum. To pain that teaches rather than punishes. 

The rink was quieter than usual when you arrived, its emptiness echoing with the soft hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice. The air was its usual crisp kiss, sharp enough to sting but not to bruise. Sunghoon was already there, of course, punctual and pouting. He sat on the bench with his skate half-laced and his hoodie still on, like a knight begrudgingly preparing for a battle he didn’t believe in. You practically twirled in, dropping your bag with theatrical flair. “Alright, Captain Crankypants,” you called out, voice bright and bell-clear, “today we begin with the basics. Lesson one: how to fall like a pro.” 

He groaned, long and low, as if your very presence was the headache he couldn’t shake. “You want me to fall? On purpose?” His eyes flicked up at you, unimpressed. “Yeah, that sounds super smart.” You beamed at him, entirely unbothered. “Not just fall. Fall well. There’s an art to it, you know. A science. A rhythm. You can’t just slam into the ground like a dropped dumbbell, you’ll wreck yourself that way.” 

He scoffed, standing slowly, testing his weight on that healing leg with guarded precision. “Pretty sure falling’s the last thing I should be doing if I want to get back on the ice with my team.” 

“But that’s exactly why you should,” you replied, tilting your head, as if the answer was written in the frost forming along the glass. “Because falling isn’t the problem, Sunghoon. It’s how you fall. We don’t learn to stop gravity. We learn to meet it, roll with it, get back up without it stealing anything more than our breath.” His eyes narrowed, a storm cloud gathering, quiet but looming. “That’s figure skating stuff.” 

“Exactly,” you chirped. “Which is why you’re lucky you’ve got me.” 

He looked at you like you were speaking in tongues. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, laughing as you tugged on your gloves. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” With slow reluctance, like a stubborn mountain giving in to time, Sunghoon followed you onto the ice. His strides were careful, a ghost of his former fluidity trailing behind each push. You watched him move with a softness in your gaze, knowing he was fighting something far deeper than physical injury. He was mourning a version of himself that had been left behind in the locker room that day, when his knee gave out and the world fell with it. You stopped near center rink and turned to face him. “Okay. Watch me.” 

You let yourself fall, dramatically and deliberately. A gentle twist of the hips, a tuck of the arms, a controlled slide that kissed the ice instead of collided with it. You rose just as quickly, nimble and unbothered. “See? Easy peasy, gravity is greedy but we’re smarter.” 

He muttered something under his breath, something about this being ridiculous, but you caught the way his lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite disapproval. Just… conflict. And curiosity. “Try it,” you said, your voice dipped in sugar and sunshine. “Don’t think. Just fall. Trust that I’ll teach you how to land softer.” 

He hesitated, eyes flickering across the rink like it might mock him, like it might remember how once, not long ago, it had hurt him. But finally, with a sigh that could have been mistaken for wind, he crouched a little, awkward and stiff, and let himself go. It wasn’t perfect. Not even close. He landed with a thud and a grunt, half-turned and slightly off balance. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t wince. And he didn’t stay down. You clapped, delighted. “Not bad! You’ve got the makings of a Bambi-on-ice!” 

He rolled his eyes, but he was sitting up now, flexing his leg, and something in his face had shifted. A flicker of belief. A spark of possibility.

You offered your hand. He didn’t take it. But he stood on his own. And that, in your eyes, was progress painted in frost and stubborn hope. Practice ended in a flurry of silence and exhale, the kind that leaves your lungs aching and your limbs trembling from exhaustion masked as endurance. The rink had settled into a sleepy hush, the overhead lights casting silver puddles onto the ice like pools of moonlight spilled from a weary sky. Sunghoon had spent most of the hour gliding just beyond your reach, stoic and brooding, a storm cloud in a jersey, orbiting your sunshine in quiet, reluctant circles. But progress had been made. Not in leaps or bounds, but in small things: the twitch of a smile that he didn’t quite manage to kill, the way he didn’t protest when you told him his weight distribution was off. Tiny steps, quiet victories. 

You both sat now on the bench that bordered the rink, his skates half-untied, yours dangling from your fingers as you caught your breath. His hoodie clung to him in damp creases, his hair plastered to his forehead, and yet he still managed to look like he’d stepped out of some tragic poem. A sonnet of scraped ice and stubbornness. “So…” you began, voice light as lace, “about Ruka.” 

He didn’t look at you, only furrowed his brows deeper into the shadows of his lashes. “Who?” 

You turned slightly, lacing one skate in slow loops as you stole a glance at his profile. “The girl who was here the other day. Cheering for you like it was the Olympics.” Realization flickered across his face like lightning fast, dismissive. “Oh. The cheerleader.” 

You laughed, not unkindly. “She’s not a cheerleader, she’s my roommate. And she might have a tiny little crush on you.” Sunghoon groaned, tipping his head back as if the ceiling above might offer him divine rescue. “Great. Just what I need.” 

“What, adoration?” you teased, nudging his knee with yours. “Must be so hard.” He didn’t answer right away, his jaw working through something he didn’t say aloud. Finally, he muttered, “I don’t date.” 

You raised a brow. “Really?” 

“Hockey’s the love of my life,” he said, eyes sharp like ice shards, like truth he’d carved out long ago. “That’s enough for me.” You tilted your head, letting your hair fall like a curtain of gold and starlight across your cheek. “That’s a sad way to live,” you said gently, not accusing, just… observing. “Everyone deserves to love. To be loved.” 

He looked at you then, a long, lingering look, as if trying to decide whether your optimism was a costume or a calling. “I do love,” he said, softer this time. “I love the game. That’s all I’ve ever needed.” 

“But maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet,” you offered, voice barely more than a breath. He let out a short laugh — dry, not cruel. “Sounds like something out of one of those cheesy rom-coms you’d make me watch.” 

You smiled, undeterred, pulling your coat tighter around you as the cold began to kiss at your skin. “You’d be surprised what stories can teach you.” 

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He stood, the worn laces of his skates now untied completely, his posture tight, shoulders stiff with the ache he wouldn’t admit. He slung his bag over one arm and glanced at you, his expression unreadable under the dull glow of the rink’s overhead light.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, voice low.

“At 6:30,” you replied, standing too.

He nodded, already walking away, and you watched him disappear into the tunnel that led out of the rink, his shadow swallowed by silence. Still, even as the chill pressed into your bones and your breath misted in the air, you smiled. Because he hadn’t said no. And sometimes, that was the first word in a yes.

The frat house was pulsing, alive with sound and sweat and lights that flickered like epileptic stars. The bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, the kind that didn’t come from within you but pressed on your ribs from the outside, trying to break in. It was the kind of night made for forgetting, flashing cups, flushed cheeks, dizzy laughter. But Sunghoon had nothing he wanted to forget, only things he was trying to survive. His body was a map of ache, his knee a smoldering ember, his back tensed and twisted, his temples drumming a painful rhythm. He should’ve gone to bed. Should’ve wrapped himself in the quiet and left the world to burn without him. 

Instead, he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the limbs that bumped against his shoulders, the haze of perfume and cologne, the drunk declarations and loud, sloppy choruses of songs everyone pretended to know. The lights made everything look fake — skin too bright, eyes too glassy. He moved like a ghost among the living. The kitchen was a marginally calmer pocket of air, though even it buzzed with tension. Soobin stood near the counter, arms crossed, stoic in a way that looked practiced. Yunjin stood in front of him, animated, eyebrows tight and lips moving too fast, too sharp. Sunghoon didn’t catch the words, but the emotion slapped against the tile floor like broken glass. Love turned into a battlefield over cheap beer and pride. 

Heeseung leaned against the fridge, sipping something bright and unholy from a red plastic cup, and Jay stood beside him, eyes flicking from Soobin and Yunjin to Sunghoon with a practiced detachment. “Rough night?” Heeseung asked, his tone too casual to be innocent. 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He glanced at the tension in the room, the cracked silence in Soobin’s stance, the hurt in Yunjin’s voice. “What’s their deal?” he asked, jerking his chin in their direction. Jay shrugged, reaching for a half-empty bag of chips. “Who knows. Been like that all week.” 

“We try not to get involved,” Heeseung added, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Sunghoon gave a noncommittal grunt and moved to grab a water bottle from the counter. The cold plastic stung his palm, grounded him for a second. The kitchen smelled like too many people and too many drinks, but it was better than the noise outside. 

Jay leaned in slightly. “Hey, by the way — a girl was walking around asking for you earlier.”  

At that, something in Sunghoon stuttered some quiet spark of thought, unspoken and unacknowledged. His mind flicked to you, impossibly bright and smiling, always halfway through a sentence, your words cotton candy and conviction. It was a fleeting hope, gone before he could even name it. Then Jay nodded toward the hallway, where Ruka stood, wearing confidence like perfume and eyeing the room like she owned it. 

Sunghoon’s mouth twisted. The little spark of hope snuffed out before it could catch flame. “Of course,” he muttered. He didn’t wait for her to notice him. He turned on his heel and left the kitchen, weaving back through the crowd, avoiding her gaze like it might pierce him. He wasn’t in the mood for polite smiles or coy compliments, not in the mood to be someone else’s fantasy when he couldn’t even bear being himself right now. 

He was almost free, fingers brushing the door to his room, sanctuary just a heartbeat away when her voice cut through the noise behind him. “Sunghoon, wait.” 

He froze. Not in obedience, but in dread the way a predator might freeze in the moment it realizes it’s been cornered. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, because if he didn’t look at her, maybe she’d vanish into the static of the party behind them. But Ruka didn’t vanish. She chased. Her heels clicked across the floor like punctuation in a sentence he didn’t want to read. Then her hand was on his arm — cloying, too warm, too familiar. He yanked away from her grasp like her touch burned. And maybe it did. Maybe everything burned lately. 

She flinched at his reaction, then softened her voice into something apologetic and breathy, practiced like a song she’d sung too many times. “I’m sorry, okay? I just— I wanted to say something.” He said nothing, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the stairwell. “She’s not who you think she is,” Ruka said then, her voice low but sharp, like a knife being slipped between the ribs. “That girl you’ve been skating with. All that sunshine and sparkle? It’s a show. She’s not that happy. She's actually really depressing.” 

The words echoed strangely in the space between them, bouncing off the noise of the house and falling like lead at his feet. Sunghoon turned then, slowly, like something ancient and brimming with wrath. His face was calm, but his eyes — his eyes held storms. Not the kind that pass, but the kind that drown entire cities. “Mind your business,” he said, his voice cold enough to crack glass. 

Ruka blinked, taken aback. Maybe she’d expected amusement. Maybe she thought he’d nod in agreement or laugh, or at the very least, care. But he didn’t laugh. And he did care and that infuriated him even more. He didn’t wait for her response. He turned and stormed back down the stairs, shoving past strangers with empty smiles and red plastic cups. The house felt suffocating, bloated with sound and people and things he didn’t have the patience for. His skin felt tight, his heart loud, his thoughts louder. 

Why did it bother him? Why did her words sink under his skin like a splinter?

She didn’t know you. Not really. Not the way he’d started to. Not in the way you spoke about falling like it was an art form, not in the way you tried to fix him like he was something worth mending.  He shoved out the front door, the cold air biting at his skin like it, too, had something to prove. His breath left in bursts of fog, pain pulsing behind his kneecap as if to remind him of every bruise he carried, every truth he refused to name. 

He walked towards the diner that nearly everyone frequented on campus. Hoping and praying for some sense of solace. 

The booth by the window smelled of syrup and coffee and the kind of late-night grease that clung to the bones of a day too long lived. The diner was warm in the way a memory is warm, buzzing neon lights humming above like lullabies, and the soft clink of forks on ceramic drifting through the air like wind chimes in a storm's lull. You sat alone, chin propped up in your palm, tracing swirls in the condensation of your water glass, legs still sore from practice but your spirit untouched, untouched the way a flame dances even after the wax is nearly gone. Your plate was half full, pancakes cut into clumsy quarters, syrup pooling in the valleys. You were halfway through recounting your own day in your head out loud, of course, because silence had never been your companion when the bell above the door rang. 

You looked up. The words on your tongue stuttered into stillness. Sunghoon. It was Sunghoon. 

Still dressed in the hoodie he’d been wearing at the rink, his hair damp with sweat or melted frost, eyes dark with something that stormed just beneath the surface. He paused when he saw you, shoulders sinking with theatrical dread. Of course, he thought. Of course you’d be here, light personified, smile too wide for the hour and heart too open for someone who’d barely gotten a thank you out of him. 

“Sunghoon!” you beamed, like the sky had cracked open just to drop this moment into your lap. Your voice, effervescent as soda fizz, bounced toward him like a pebble skipping across water. He groaned. It was low, dramatic, and pulled from somewhere that wanted desperately to be annoyed, but didn’t quite make it. “Of course you’re here.” 

“Where else would I be?” you grinned, motioning to the seat across from you like you’d always meant it for him. “So… what brings you to this fine establishment at such a glamorous hour?” 

“I was hungry,” he deadpanned, walking over with the kind of gait that whispered of pain. He didn’t explain the limp, didn’t bother to soften his tone. “Why else would someone come to a diner?” Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew.

“Touché,” you said, then leaned in with a twinkle in your eye. “Want to sit with me?” 

He opened his mouth, likely to decline with something sarcastic and sharp-edged, but the words caught on the way out. Maybe it was your smile, or the glow of the booth light painting soft halos in your hair, or maybe — though he’d never admit it —i t was just that being near you quieted something in him, something he didn’t know needed quieting. “Sure,” he muttered. 

He slid into the seat across from you, his movements slow, like each inch of space between pain and stillness had to be negotiated. You didn’t mention the way he winced as he sat. You just smiled again, folding your hands in front of you like this was a normal thing, the two of you, alone together in a corner of the night that didn’t feel so lonely anymore. Sunghoon didn’t tell you what Ruka had said. He didn’t tell you how it sat on his chest like a stone, how her voice echoed in his skull like wind through a cracked window. Because it wasn’t his to say. And because, deep down, he already knew it wasn’t true. 

He saw you fall on the ice and rise again like it was a song your body knew by heart. He heard the way your laughter curved around your words and the way your voice filled silence with life, not noise. No — whatever Ruka thought she knew of you, it was only a fraction, and not the kind he cared to carry. Instead, he stared down at your plate, brows raised. 

“Pancakes at midnight?” he asked. 

You shrugged, delighted. “Midnight pancakes fix all problems. Haven’t you heard?” 

He smirked then, small, fleeting. Like sunrise just peeking over frostbitten windows. “Heeseung says that all the time.” 

“Well he sounds like a pretty smart guy.” You quirked, picking at your pancakes leisurely. 

Sunghoon huffed a laugh — small but still there. “Sure.” For a while, the two of you sat in something not quite silence, not quite conversation, but alive and breathing all the same. And in the quiet hum of syrup-sticky booths and flickering neon signs, something invisible began to shift. The hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter had become a kind of lullaby, murmuring softly beneath the quiet chatter of the few remaining night owls nestled into booths and barstools. Across from you, Sunghoon picked at the edge of a sugar packet, his fingers deft and idle, not quite meeting your eyes, but listening in that particular way he always did, like he was preparing to argue but got caught up in your melody instead. 

You sat across from him, legs tucked under you like a child curling into a story, your face glowing with the heat of possibility rather than the diner’s neon haze. And he watched you, not that he’d admit it. Not that he knew what to do with someone like you. “I’m going to make the podium this year,” you said, sudden and certain, stabbing a lone pancake piece with your fork like it was fate itself. “I don’t care what place. Bronze, silver, first runner-up to the crowd favorite. I just want to stand there, see the crowd, and know I didn’t fall flat.” 

Sunghoon blinked at you. “Figure skating finals?” 

You nodded, then grinned. “The big ones. My coach calls it the crown jewel. The end of the season, the whole year in a single performance. I tanked last time. fell on my opening jump and never recovered. My blade caught the edge, and it all spiraled. Couldn’t hear the music over the panic. I was supposed to shine and instead I… dulled.” 

The words weren’t bitter, just honest. You spoke of failure with a sort of reverent gentleness, as if it were a bruise you had long since accepted. It surprised him how freely you gave that part of yourself away. No dramatics. No self-pity. Just truth. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “And you’re trying again?” 

“Of course.” Your voice was light, but sure. “I owe it to the version of me that cried backstage and promised to do better. I owe it to the dream that didn’t die just because I messed up once. Besides, we fall all the time in figure skating on ice, off ice. You just get up and do it again.” Something in him shifted at that. The ice in his chest cracked a little more, as if the warmth in your voice could thaw even the places he'd long buried under frost and fury. 

You caught the flicker in his eyes and smiled, like sunshine breaking through cloud cover. “Don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head. You’re the one always brooding like the main character in a sports anime.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge was gone. He stared at the last of his fries, then slowly pushed the plate aside. “You’re weird,” he muttered, almost like it was a compliment. 

You beamed, unbothered. “Takes one to know one.” And just like that, between the flicker of fluorescent lights and the taste of melted syrup, the world felt a little less heavy. He didn’t tell you about Ruka. He didn’t mention the ache in his knee or the fact that, for the first time in a long while, he hadn’t felt like lashing out or retreating. He just sat there, listening to you talk about your music selection and how you were planning to bedazzle your new competition costume yourself  “with enough rhinestones to blind the front row” and something quiet inside him settled.

He didn’t believe in miracles. But maybe… maybe he could believe in second chances. Especially the ones that came in the shape of bright eyes, chipped diner mugs, and a voice that refused to give up. Even on him. 

The night air was a velvet hush wrapped around the world, stitched with distant traffic and the occasional hum of streetlamp flicker. The diner door swung shut behind you both with a bell's chime like the last note of a lullaby. Outside, the cold kissed your cheeks and painted your exhales into fleeting ghosts, trailing behind you like forgotten sentences. You walked beside him, your boots crunching gently over old salt and fractured pavement, the glow of the diner still soft behind you. He walked with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense, as if he were always prepared for winter — even in spring. 

But you, you carried warmth like it bloomed from your chest. You talked, because silence begged to be filled and your thoughts were too colorful to keep caged. "I always liked walking at night," you began, voice barely louder than the rustle of your jacket. "When I was little, my dad used to say the stars came out just to eavesdrop on our dreams. I used to whisper to them before bed. Tell them everything I was too scared to say out loud." Sunghoon said nothing, only shifted slightly, head tilted as though your words trailed behind his ears like music on low volume. His footsteps matched yours, deliberate, steady. Listening. Always listening. 

You glanced up at the sky, where stars flickered shyly through the sprawl of city haze. “Some nights, when I’m scared before a competition, I still talk to them. Like, ‘Hey, I know I biffed the last triple loop but if you could just not let me crash this time, that’d be amazing.’” You laughed lightly. “They’re probably tired of hearing about my spiral sequences.” He almost smiled. Almost. You kept going, because silence in his company no longer felt daunting, only deep. A pool that welcomed your words, let them sink in, soak through. He didn’t need to speak. He just needed to be there, and somehow, he was. 

“I don’t think people realize how lonely it is to try to be great,” you mused. “Everyone sees the sparkle, the applause, the medals. But they don’t see the bruised knees. The missed meals. The days where you cry on the cold rink floor because you can’t land a stupid jump you’ve done a thousand times. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just chasing a spotlight that’ll burn me up before I ever reach it.” Still, no answer. Just his steady breath beside you, vapor blooming and vanishing. But his eyes had that quiet fire, the kind that flickered only for the things that mattered. 

“I think… that’s why I don’t let myself stay down. Because even when it hurts, I still want it. Not the spotlight. Just the chance. To be better. To feel like I’m flying again, even if only for four minutes.” The street turned quieter, the neighborhood dipping into darker corners, sleepy houses pressing close together like secrets being kept warm. You stole a glance at him then, expecting — what? A laugh? A scoff? 

But Sunghoon’s gaze was forward, brows drawn in thought. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t walk faster, either. He stayed at your side like a shadow that had chosen you. And then, after a silence long enough to count heartbeats, he said, low and rough, “What’s your program this year?” 

You blinked, surprised by the breach in his usual barricade. “It’s set to Clair de Lune,” you said quietly, suddenly shy. “I wanted something soft this time. Something like… falling in love with the sky.” He nodded once. Just once. And somehow, it felt like the biggest applause. You didn’t need him to say more. You didn’t need him to match your sunshine with light. He was the stillness where your words could echo and not be lost. And for that, you walked beside him in silence the rest of the way, the night folding around you both like a promise waiting to be made. 

The night had mellowed into something hushed and golden, a quiet that settled over your shared footsteps like falling petals. The city exhaled slowly, as if sighing into sleep, and still you walked beside him, two shadows drawn in parallel ink, aligned but never touching. Then, out of the hush, his voice rose like a single note plucked from a cello string, low and sudden. “What’s your deal with Ruka?” 

You blinked, startled by the sound, by the question, by the way his words cut through your stardust-thoughts like a falling star slicing the sky. You turned to him with raised brows, lips parted with a breath that hadn’t yet become a word. “Ruka?” you echoed, the name tasting foreign when it came from your mouth. 

He didn’t look at you, just kept walking, hands still in his pockets, his jaw set like stone worn smooth by time. It didn’t sound like idle curiosity. But then again, nothing about Park Sunghoon ever felt idle. You wrapped your arms around yourself, not because of the cold, but because something inside you had curled up, uncertain. 

“Oh, um. We’re not really close,” you said, the words spilling like marbles rolling across a hardwood floor — easy, but a little scattered. “She’s my roommate this year, just this year. My last roommate, Sakura, graduated early. We were kind of inseparable.” You smiled faintly at the memory, soft and aching. “She used to help me with my hair before competitions. Always had a bobby pin in her pocket, even if we were just going to the store. I miss her.” 

He said nothing, just nodded once. The moonlight caught his profile and painted it silver. “She’s really smart, Ruka,” you went on, feeling the silence ask for more even if he didn’t. “Always has her headphones in. Always studying. We talk sometimes, but mostly she just… lets me ramble. Which, you know, I tend to do.” You gave a light laugh, hoping the sound would cut the tension, soften the edges. 

But he didn’t laugh with you. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded again, like your words were being filed away in some hidden drawer inside him. And for a moment — brief and bitter and fleeting you felt a twinge. A single pulse of something dark and unfamiliar. It settled beneath your ribs like a secret. Jealousy. You didn’t want to call it that. You didn’t want to name the way your throat tightened when he asked about her, or the way your heart gave a suspicious little stutter at the thought of her name brushing his interest. 

Did he like her? The thought was ridiculous. Maybe. Maybe not. But it lodged in your chest like a thorn. And what surprised you most wasn’t the question. It was how much it mattered. You shook the feeling off with a practiced smile, the kind you wore in the mirror before competition, the one that told the world everything was okay, even if your knees were shaking. 

“She’s alright,” you said, voice light, breezy, so casual it almost disguised the knot in your gut. “But I think she prefers silence. I talk too much for her taste.” Still, he said nothing.

And you wondered, as the two of you drifted past sleeping houses and rustling trees, if you could ever stop wanting to know what was running behind his quiet eyes. Maybe he’d never say it. Maybe he didn’t even know it himself. But tonight, walking beside him through the tender hours of the dark, you wished he’d turn and say something that would loosen the twinge in your chest. Instead, he walked on. Still and silent. And you matched his pace, wondering if maybe that was enough. At least for now. 

The dorm room welcomed you with the kind of stillness that felt staged, like a scene waiting for the actors to step into place. The air was warm, tinged faintly with lavender and printer ink, the signature scent of shared space and sleepless study. You slipped inside quietly, the door closing behind you with a hush instead of a click. For once, your voice didn’t follow you in. 

You didn’t start with a story or a sigh, didn’t fill the silence with your usual cascade of chatter about a late-night craving or a skater’s cramp or how the moon had looked like a sugar cookie on the walk back. No, tonight you simply moved through the space like a ghost of yourself soft-footed, uncharacteristically quiet. Ruka was there, as always, hunched over her desk like a cathedral of discipline, shoulders drawn tight under the glow of her desk lamp. Her highlighter moved like a slow metronome across the page, precise and deliberate. But when you entered without a word, she paused. 

You didn’t notice at first. You were too focused on your routine kicking off your shoes, dropping your bag by the door, tucking your food container into the small fridge like you were sealing away the last hour of your night. The remnants of warm laughter and cool night air still clung to your skin, even as the fluorescent light washed everything colorless. It was only when she turned, slow and deliberate that you met her gaze. “I went to see Sunghoon tonight,” she said, her voice smooth but wrapped in something slippery. Something rehearsed. 

You blinked. Tilted your head. “Oh?” 

She nodded, looking back at her notes for a second like they might give her the courage to lie again. “Yeah. We talked for hours at his party. I just left from seeing him.” The words hung there like wet clothes on a line, dripping, sagging under the weight of their own fabrication. And you knew. You knew in the marrow of your bones, in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat still synced to the rhythm of footsteps beside Sunghoon’s. You knew because you had just walked home with him, the ache of his silence still pressed like thumbprints into your thoughts. But you said nothing.

You didn’t call her out or laugh or ask her why she thought you wouldn’t notice the lie curling like smoke between her syllables. You didn’t say, “Actually, I just walked home with him,” or, “That’s strange, he didn’t mention you.” No. Instead, you sat down at your desk, unzipping your jacket, fingers steady as you untied your shoes. You offered her a smile — small, polite, hollow in the middle and said, “That’s nice.” 

Ruka turned back to her notes, and you turned to face the wall, blinking slowly as if you could paint over the moment with enough quiet. And though you didn’t say it out loud, a strange new feeling began to settle beneath your ribs, something like suspicion, something like sadness. Not because of the lie itself, but because you couldn’t understand why she’d told it. What purpose it served. What it meant. But more than that, what unsettled you the most was how your heart gave the tiniest tug at the idea that she wanted Sunghoon to herself. That maybe, just maybe, she knew you were starting to want him too. And you hated how that made you feel.

By the time Sunghoon returned to the frat house, the storm of music and voices had softened into something gentler like rain losing its temper. The halls no longer throbbed with bass, just pulsed quietly with leftover laughter, the clink of bottles, the occasional shriek from the living room where someone was trying to revive a dying game of beer pong. The air smelled like stale cologne, cheap beer, and exhaustion.  

He pushed through the front door, body aching in ways he didn’t dare name, shoulders stiff with memory. The walk home had helped, a little. The diner even more so. Or maybe it wasn’t the diner, it was you. That smile. That damn voice of yours, all melody and motion, coloring every dull corner of his night until it looked like morning. He hadn’t even meant to go out. He just couldn’t stay there, not after the lies that curled out of Ruka’s mouth like perfume. 

Heeseung was sprawled across the couch with a bag of chips, half-asleep and still wearing his shoes. Jay sat nearby, nursing a water bottle like it was whiskey, his guitar leaning against the side table, untouched. They looked up when Sunghoon walked in, both of them clocking the shift in him, the unbrushed hair, the frown lines that had softened just barely, like something had tried to loosen their hold. Jay raised an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been?” 

“Diner,” Sunghoon muttered, heading toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. His muscles cried out as he moved, his knee barking like it wanted to collapse. “You missed the show,” Heeseung said through a yawn. “Your little fangirl was here. Again.” 

Jay snorted. “Ruka. She was asking around for you. Whole place thought she’d get a kiss out of you before midnight.” Then came the question, as casual as it was crude, tossed out like a beer can into a bonfire. 

“So?” Jay leaned back, grinning. “You tap that?” 

The words hung in the room like fog, heavy and misplaced. Sunghoon didn’t even look up from the sink as he filled his glass. He stood still for a breath. Then another. “Hell no,” he said flatly. “I just went to the diner.” 

it wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t even irritated. It was simply true delivered with the sharp edge of certainty. A line drawn clean in the dirt. Jay let out a low whistle. Heeseung chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He just sipped his water, jaw tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the counter like he was trying to smooth it out with sheer will.

Because what he didn’t say not to Jay, not to Heeseung, not even to himself was that he didn’t want Ruka. Had never wanted her. Not with her lipsticked lies and her eyes that always seemed to be searching for attention like it was currency. And yet, somehow, your voice kept echoing in his head like a melody he didn’t want to forget. “Falling is inevitable unless you can stop gravity.” He couldn’t stop gravity. Not on the ice. Not in his chest. And it was starting to terrify him. 

Monday came with the bite of wind and the soft shiver of pre-dawn blue, the kind of chill that kissed your skin and whispered promises of something new. The rink sat like a cathedral of silence, your shared sanctuary of sweat and bruised ego, laughter and aching limbs. The boards were cold. The air was colder. But you… you were warm, incandescent, still grinning as you laced your skates with hope braided into every loop. 

Sunghoon was already there, stretching his legs like the world had done him a personal disservice. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, but his eyes those, wintry things, found you easily, like a compass that refused to point anywhere else. His movements were stiff, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t complain as you chirped about your new routine, about your bruised knee from the spin you biffed on Saturday, about how this week felt like the start of something. He didn’t say much. He rarely did. But he skated. And fell. A lot.

You counted at least thirteen crashes before you stopped keeping score—some clumsy, some oddly graceful, all equally frustrating for him. Each time, he’d scowl, curse under his breath, and brush himself off like he was made of pride stitched too tight. But you never stopped encouraging him, your words a steady stream of sunlight spilling through his clouds.

“Better!”

“That fall was cleaner!”

“You angled your shoulder perfectly!”

He looked at you like you were ridiculous. Which, maybe, you were. But you were ridiculously happy to be here. With him. By the time the clock curled toward the last stretch of practice, he’d finally done it. Not a fall, but a landing. A descent that didn’t jar his bones, one where his body absorbed the impact like water receiving rain, smooth, natural, right. You gasped and your joy exploded out of you, bright and loud and uncontainable.

“You did it!” you cheered, skates clattering against the ice as you skidded over to him. “You actually did it, Sunghoon!”

He looked up from where he was still crouched slightly, his breath misting the air, eyes wide. And for the first time, the very first time, he smiled. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t that half-tilted, cynical curl he used when he was being sarcastic or amused. It was real. Unburdened. And somehow, it made him look like a boy again, soft-edged, bright-eyed, touched by something other than pain or pressure. The moment lingered. Too long. 

His smile stayed, your breath caught in your throat like a fluttering thing. The distance between you thinned until there was only the sound of the ice humming beneath your skates, and then,  Then you kissed him. You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward, heart drumming in your chest like a war cry and a lullaby all at once, and kissed him — soft and sure, like the ice beneath your feet had whispered that you wouldn’t fall.

But he didn’t kiss you back. 

You pulled away instantly, horror creeping into your chest like cold water. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like that—I mean I wasn’t trying to—ugh—Sunghoon, I just got caught up in the—” And then he was kissing you. Fast. Sure. No warning, no wind-up, just his lips on yours like punctuation, like a sentence he’d been writing in his head for days but didn’t know how to say out loud. You blinked when he pulled back. He looked stunned, maybe a little dazed. You were definitely breathless. And then, as if nothing had happened, you both went back to skating. Circling each other like stars in orbit silent, spinning, on fire. Neither of you mentioned the kiss. But neither of you forgot it. 

Outside the glow of the floodlights, just beyond the fragile safety of the rink’s boards, a shadow lingered silent and still like frost waiting to bloom. Ruka stood there, tucked in the hollow between concrete and glass, her presence cloaked by the buzz of overhead lamps and the trance of celebration that unfolded before her. She hadn’t meant to come. She had only wanted to stop by, to catch another glimpse of him, of Sunghoon in that candid, breathless space where his armor sometimes slipped. Maybe she would pretend it was a coincidence again. Maybe she’d bring him something warm, an excuse wrapped in a paper cup and a shy smile. But what she saw was not Sunghoon alone. 

Through the gleaming haze of the ice, through the rhythm of blades carving truth into frozen ground, she saw you. Beaming. Radiant in your joy. And she saw Sunghoon — grinning back. Not his usual strained grimace or practiced smirk. No, this smile was something else. Real. Unearthed. Unearned, in her eyes. And then, the kiss. Her breath caught like a gasp in winter wind. She pressed her palm flat against the glass as if to steady herself, as if to break through the divide between her and what she saw, a moment that didn’t belong to her but felt like it should have. That soft, charged touch of lips in the heart of the rink burned like a betrayal, even if no promises had ever been made to her. It was a kiss that seemed to split the ice beneath her feet. And she hated how gentle it was, how true. 

The rage came slowly, like an icicle forming drip by bitter drip. A seethe in her gut. A fire in her lungs. She had spent so much time watching, studying, calculating, positioning herself at just the right angle to catch his eye. She knew the timing of his strides, the way his brows furrowed when he was lost in thought. She had noticed him long before you had ever touched the same ice. And yet it was you — scatterbrained, sunny, ever-yapping you — that he kissed.

She backed away, breath coming out in little bursts of fog, eyes trained on the scene unfolding before her like a play she hadn’t auditioned for but still wanted a lead in. She didn’t care that he pulled away quickly. She didn’t care that you stammered your apology. All she could see was the connection, the tether stretching invisible and unbreakable between your smile and his rare, reluctant joy. She could feel the bitterness pool in her chest like ink in water, spreading fast and without mercy. You hadn’t seen her. Neither had he. You never noticed the fracture blooming quietly in the corner of the world you shared. But she did. And it stung, not because it was love lost, but because it never even had the chance to begin. 

The walk back to the dorm felt like treading on the edge of a dream, your feet barely touching the ground, your breath catching on the remnants of laughter that still lingered like glitter in your chest. The night air was cool, brushing your cheeks like a secret, the kind that only stars overhead seemed to know. You tucked your hands into your coat pockets, smiled like a secret was blossoming behind your lips, and tilted your face skyward, as if asking the moon to keep your moment safe. You had kissed him. Or maybe the moment kissed you, soft and strange and suspended in time, like a snowflake caught mid-fall. It didn’t matter who leaned in first, or that he hesitated, or that nothing had been said after. What mattered was the way the world tilted after. The way his eyes had widened before he kissed you back like something inside him had cracked open. Like he’d been waiting all along but just didn’t know it. Something had changed, undeniably and irreversibly, and it made your limbs feel like cotton, your thoughts like honey. 

There was a shift now. Subtle but seismic. You could feel it humming in the soles of your feet, echoing in the memory of the moment. You didn’t know what it meant yet, not exactly but something had softened between you two, and in that softness, you found a kind of quiet joy. When you reached your building, you entered with the reverence of someone carrying something precious. The hallway lights buzzed faintly, and your steps echoed gently down the corridor, a rhythm almost musical in its contentment. You reached your door and turned the knob, half-expecting to see Ruka with her usual mess of notebooks and headphones, wrapped in her silent storm of thoughts and solitude. But the room was empty. 

The lights were off save for the sliver of streetlamp that painted silver lines through the blinds. The air was still, undisturbed. Ruka’s bed was neatly made, her chair tucked in, her world untouched. And for once, you were grateful. You slipped inside and let the door close behind you with a soft click, as if trying not to disturb the fragile bubble that wrapped around your joy. There was something beautiful in the quiet, something that gave you space to breathe, to process, to smile without anyone asking why. You moved slowly, deliberately, putting away your things, peeling off layers like petals until only your giddy little heart remained.

And then, standing there in the low light, you allowed yourself to relive the glide of your skates, the crispness of the air, the look on his face just before he closed the distance. You pressed your fingers gently to your lips, almost to confirm they still tingled. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t spoken about it. Not yet. It mattered that it happened. It mattered that, for the first time in a long time, your heart felt like it had been seen. And for that, you let yourself float just a little longer on the dream of it all. 

The walk home was quiet, but for once, it didn’t feel heavy. Sunghoon’s limbs ached as usual, the kind of ache that seeped into marrow and muscle and made itself at home but tonight, it was quieter. Like even the pain had decided to take a breath, loosen its grip on his body and allow him a moment of peace. There was a strange calm moving through him, something light and unfamiliar. His mind replayed that kiss, not obsessively, but gently, like turning over a smooth stone in his pocket. The softness of your lips. The way you smiled before it happened. The burst of something warm and startling that bloomed in his chest when you leaned in, and even more so when he kissed you back. Like an ember flickering to life in a long-cold hearth. He didn’t want to overthink it, and yet, it sat with him now — steady, glowing, undeniable. But as the frat house came into view, that flickering warmth began to dim. She was there.

Perched like a stormcloud on the stone steps, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, face streaked with tears that glistened under the porch light. Ruka. Her presence felt like a sudden cold front, a sharp drop in temperature, a wind that bit instead of kissed. Sunghoon paused at the edge of the sidewalk, every instinct screaming at him to turn around and disappear into the dark. But she looked up. And she saw him. 

He kept walking. Slow, steady, bracing himself. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he stopped in front of her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and laced with quiet exhaustion. 

Ruka sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her too-expensive cardigan. “I saw you,” she said, voice breaking on the edge of accusation. “I saw you guys… kissing.” 

Sunghoon blinked at her, unimpressed. “Okay?” he answered flatly, as if that alone should be the end of it. But of course, it wasn’t. “She’s a fraud,” Ruka spat, sitting up straighter now, her voice rising with that familiar, jealous tension. “That whole sunshine act? It’s fake. She’s just pretending to be all sweet and happy. But it’s all a show. She’s actually, she’s miserable. She’s depressing. She’s not what you think she is.”  

He stared at her for a long moment. The wind rustled the trees, and somewhere in the distance, someone laughed a sound so far removed from the bitter drama at his feet. Sunghoon exhaled, slow and sharp like a blade pulled from a sheath. “You know what?” he said, voice like ice over steel. “Maybe you could stand to be a little more like her.” Ruka’s mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t give her time to respond. 

“She’s kind,” he went on. “She shows up for people. She cares even when she doesn’t have to. She’s loud and ridiculous and warm, and yeah, maybe that annoys the shit out of me sometimes, but at least she’s not hiding behind fake tears and whispering poison about other people to make herself feel better.” Her expression crumpled, her mouth trembling. 

“You don’t know her,” she whispered. “Neither do you,” he snapped. “You don’t get to decide who she is because she threatens your tiny little world.” 

Ruka’s hands curled into fists on her knees. “If you really want to know who she is, look her up,” she hissed, the venom returning. “Look up last year’s figure skating finals. Her name. Go ahead. See it for yourself.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. 

“Fuck off, Ruka,” Sunghoon said, and his voice was calm. Steady. Done. He pushed past her without another glance, the door slamming shut behind him like the end of a chapter. The warmth inside him didn’t dim this time. Not completely. In fact, it burned brighter now not in spite of her words, but because of the fact that he’d chosen to ignore them. That he’d defended you, and meant every syllable. He didn’t need to search your name. He didn’t care about the past you carried like quiet luggage. Because when he looked at you, all he saw was someone who got back up. Again and again. And that, more than anything, was real. 

Upstairs, behind the closed door of his room where the noise of the party below had faded to a dull, insignificant hum, Sunghoon sat on the edge of his bed like the silence itself had weight. It pooled in the corners of the room, settled on his shoulders, curled around his ankles. The warm echo of your kiss still lingered, on his lips, in his chest but so did Ruka’s voice. Sharp, needling. Insistent. “Look it up. Last year’s figure skating finals. Her name.” 

He didn’t want to. He knew better. He should have let it die on the doorstep where it belonged. But curiosity was a sly little creature. It nudged at him like a breeze slipping through a cracked window, whispering just look until he caved. So he did. 

With stiff fingers and an unsteady breath, he typed your name into the search bar, letting muscle memory carry him when intention hesitated. The first result glowed like a ghost: “Skater Meltdown at Regionals – Full Clip.” A thumbnail of you frozen mid-fall, your face blurred by motion, your body crumpling like something once fluid and graceful now shattered. He clicked play. 

The screen lit up with harsh white ice and the sound of polite applause. There you were, twirling onto the rink, arms extended, posture poised, the embodiment of elegance. And then it happened. A stumble, a miscalculation. The slip. The crash. You hit the ice with a sound that wasn't picked up by the microphones, but he could feel it all the same, sharp and echoing in his bones. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst came after. The camera didn’t cut away. It kept rolling as you stood up, only to fall again. And again. And again. Until your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven and your eyes — oh, your eyes — were wild with disbelief, glazed with tears that refused to fall quietly. 

You broke. On camera. In front of judges and coaches and strangers and teammates and the faceless audience of the internet. You wept, not just from pain, but from something deeper, something raw and human and jagged with betrayal. You shouted through your tears, voice cracking like thawing ice, about how people only came to see the crash. How they clapped louder for the break than the recovery. How they waited for failure like it was a performance. Sunghoon felt something crawl into his throat and settle there — tight and aching. Not pity. Not embarrassment. But fury. 

Fury at Ruka, for daring to use this as a weapon. Because what he saw wasn’t weakness. What he saw was someone who got back up. Someone who, even in the middle of a storm that stole her breath and shattered her pride, still stood. Still tried. Still gave the world her tears because hiding them would’ve meant giving up entirely. He didn’t want to close the video. But he did. And then, with that same fire that lived in his limbs when he skated, he opened his phone and typed fast, not giving himself the chance to rethink it.

Sunghoon [11:43 PM]: Meet me at the rink. Please. 

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a plan. It was an instinct, pulled from somewhere honest and immediate. Because he needed to see you, not just the practiced, cheery version of you that lit up rinks and rooms, but you, unfiltered, unguarded, as real as you’d been in that video. He needed you to know that it didn’t scare him. That it didn’t change anything. No. If anything, it only made him want to fall with you. And this time, not get back up alone. 

The rink was dark when you arrived, the overhead lights low like the stars were keeping secrets. The air was biting, laced with the cold whisper of ice and memory. Your breath puffed in clouds before you, and your heart thundered a frantic beat in your chest. You’d gotten Sunghoon’s message and hadn’t hesitated, you didn’t even change out of your practice clothes, just threw on a coat and sprinted across campus as if your soul had sensed something fragile waiting on the other end. The moment you stepped inside, your voice echoed in the stillness. “Sunghoon?” 

No response. The silence felt unfamiliar, too thick, too full of unsaid things. You found him in the locker room, perched on one of the benches, still in his practice gear, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. The second you saw him, panic flickered behind your eyes. Was he hurt? Was something wrong? “Are you okay? Are you—oh my god, did something happen?” you rambled as you rushed to him, your hands fluttering over his arms, down to his knees, then back to his shoulders like you were checking for breaks or bruises. “Why did you call me? Are you hurt? Did you fall again? Why didn’t you just text what happened, Sunghoon, seriously, what is going—?” 

He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands found your waist. Not rough or hurried, just certain. He pulled you into him like gravity had finally done its job. And before your voice could form another word, his mouth was on yours. Soft. Fierce. Unapologetic. Your breath caught in your chest, surprise flaring wide in your eyes, but you melted into him with instinct. There was no hesitation in the way you kissed him back. For a moment the ice outside, the night, the ache of the past, none of it existed. There was only the warmth of his touch, the sincerity of his hold, the vulnerability in that kiss. 

When he pulled back, your fingers lingered near his jaw, your gaze flickering with confusion. “Sunghoon… what’s going on?” He looked at you like he was still catching up to his own heartbeat, his voice quiet but steady. “Ruka showed up at the house. Told me to look you up. Last year’s finals.” 

The words dropped like ice in your stomach. You stepped back, just slightly, and your body stiffened before you could stop it. “Oh.” Sunghoon saw it immediately, the way your shoulders curled inward, how your eyes shimmered with tears you didn’t want to spill. Your lips parted like you wanted to defend yourself, but no argument came, only the truth, raw and trembling. “I had a breakdown,” you whispered. “A really bad one. I’d been practicing that routine for weeks, getting up at dawn, going to bed at two, skipping meals, skipping sleep. I thought… if I could just nail that trick, I’d prove I was more than just the bubbly girl with the pretty smile. I was exhausted and wired and terrified. And when I fell… it was like the world collapsed with me.” 

You paused, voice cracking. “But I got back up. I always do. Even when it hurt. Even when the crowd didn’t cheer.” Sunghoon stood, eyes never leaving yours, and took your hands in his — warm, calloused, steady. “I know,” he said simply. “I watched the whole thing. And you — you — were the strongest person I’ve ever seen.” 

Your lips quivered. “But I broke down. I was angry and ugly and scared and—” 

“And you got back up,” he said, firmer now. “You didn’t stay on the ice. You didn’t let it define you. I—” he exhaled, voice softening, “—I was going to quit. When I got hurt, when it felt like everything I’d worked for just vanished, I wanted to give up. I didn’t see the point.” He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But then I met you,” he continued. “And you reminded me that even when it hurts, we keep skating. That it’s not the fall that defines us, it’s the moment after.” 

A silence stretched between you, delicate and profound. And in that stillness, you smiled. Not the bright, performative kind you wore in hallways and crowded rooms, but something quieter. Realer. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to reply. The way his fingers laced with yours said everything. The space between you fizzled like ice cracking under a sudden flame. There was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes, an instinct, perhaps, to hold back but it crumbled under the heat of the moment. Your hands were still curled inside his, trembling slightly, not from fear but from the rawness of being seen. 

Then you kissed him. No hesitancy this time. No uncertainty. You surged forward, your mouth finding his with a quiet kind of desperation, the kind that had been building for weeks, hidden behind teasing words and soft glances, behind shared practices and unspoken understandings. His lips met yours like a dam finally breaking, and suddenly you were both lost to it. 

Sunghoon responded with a heat that startled even him. His hands slid from your waist to your back, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, clutching at the fabric like it could anchor you to something real, something burning and alive. There was nothing cautious about it now, the kiss deepened, mouths parting with breathless urgency, tongues tangling, exhales catching like thunder on the edge of a storm. You gasped softly against his mouth when he walked you backward, your spine brushing the cool lockers behind you. The contrast only made you shiver more, and he kissed you again to chase it away. His hands were in your hair now, cradling the nape of your neck like you were something precious. And you were, he kissed you like you were rare, like you were the first warmth he’d felt after winter. 

Your body curved into his as if you’d always belonged there. You could feel the way he was holding back, restrained despite the tension humming through every inch of him. And maybe that’s what made it even more electric, knowing how tightly he was wound, how carefully he moved against you even as his breath quickened and his hands lingered. “Sunghoon…” you murmured against his lips, dizzy from the intensity. 

He didn’t answer, not in words. But the way he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled where they clutched at his chest was its own kind of vow. The air between you felt heady, thick with longing, the room humming with the pulse of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood there in the glow of the locker room light, locked together in something fierce and tender and brand new. 

But when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt full of everything still waiting to be said, still waiting to be felt. And neither of you ran from it. No, you welcomed it like an incoming tide washing over your heart and your entire being. Your forehead stayed pressed to his, your breaths mingling in the space between like steam curling from a fresh cup of tea. His hands still cradled your face, thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones as if to memorize the texture of your skin, like maybe touching you was the only way to make sense of the storm inside him. 

You whispered his name again, barely a breath, and that was all it took. He kissed you once more, slower this time, deeper. There was a reverence in it, a kind of awe like he still couldn’t believe you were real and here and kissing him back. His hands slid down from your face to your waist again, and he pulled you in until there was nothing between you but heat and air. Your fingers wove into the dark strands of his hair, curling just slightly at the ends, tugging him closer in the most delicate, desperate way. 

The kiss grew from soft to smoldering, like fire catching slowly at first, then flaring brighter when the wind shifts. His lips moved against yours with more certainty now, more hunger, and yours responded in kind. It was dizzying, this exchange of breath and want, of emotion too big to name. Every brush of his mouth against yours made your knees weak, every sigh from his throat made your heart race like a drum in a thunderstorm.  You tugged at the hem of his shirt, not to take it off, but just to feel the warmth of him under your hands, the dip of his back, the rise of his spine, the solidness of muscle beneath skin. He shivered under your touch and kissed you like he was unraveling. 

He pressed you back against the lockers again — not harshly, never harshly — but close enough that you could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of tension. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the contact to stay steady, like if he let go, the whole world might stop turning. “God,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick and rough and nothing like the usual sharp-edged sarcasm. “You drive me crazy.” 

You laughed softly into the kiss, breathless and glowing. “Good crazy or bad crazy?” 

He kissed you again instead of answering, and the answer was everything. For a long, lingering moment, the rink, the cold, the ice, the noise of the world, all of it faded away. There was only the warmth between you, only the taste of each other’s names on your tongues, only the ache of something new blooming fast and bright like spring breaking through the frost. 

With your back still pressed against the cold metal of the lockers you allowed yourself the luxury of tracing your hands up and down Sunghoon’s broad chest, feeling every contour, every muscle beneath your palms. Filthy thoughts filled your head as Sunghoon’s lips trailed down the expanse of your neck and collarbone. A gasp fell from your lips as he sucked on the skin where your neck met your collarbone. 

“Oh!” You squeaked, running your hands through his hair fisting the tufts in your nimble hands like your life depended on it. “Sunghoon…” Your voice trailed with heat laced in the words, want. “I want you.” 

“You want me?” He hummed, continuing his exploration of your neck. “How badly do you want me?” He was toying with you, playing with your need for him — your want. 

“So bad.” Your voice was airy — needy almost. His smirk said he loved it, the way you were willing to beg for him and willing you were. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve been touched so intimately, with someone you cared for so fiercely. The pure lust and adrenaline coursing through your veins had left you feeling like you were ablaze. 

“Beg for it.” His voice was sharp — stern. It was so so hot. The way lips let your body, the way his eyes searched your traveling down your body drinking you in. The way your chest rose and fell as red hot searing need coursed through you. You do anything he asks of you at this moment, anything. 

“Please” You whimpered, hands grabbing at his hoodie. “Please, fuck me.” Your voice was sweet and light your eyes wide as you stared up at him. “I need it so bad.” 

“Fuckkkk” He groaned and next thing you knew his hands were under your thighs lifting you in his arms in one fail swoop. “I can’t resist you, Sunshine.” 

“I don’t want you to.” You pant as his hands find your skirt lifting it enough to show your panties. It was going to be quick, dirty. And that's exactly how you needed him. 

“Take me out.” He hissed at you. Your hands reach for his sweatpants pulling them down just enough to release him from his boxers. He was hard, of course. The tip red and angry with need. Your hand made a fist around his shaft pumping up and down. 

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, his forehead falling forward to meet yours. “Touch yourself before i fuck you.” 

You listened carefully, moving your other hand down, pulling your white cotton panties to the side and rubbing at your sensitive nub with your fingers. “Oh my god.” You whined out. “Please Sunghoon, please” 

“Just a little bit more, baby.” He cooed, “You’re almost ready for me.” 

“I’m ready now.” You couldn’t contain the whimper that threatened to fall from your lips. “I need you, so bad.” 

“Okay, Sunshine.” He nodded, taking his length in his own hand all the whilst holding you up against the lockers. “I got you.” 

Sunghoon’s gazed fell from your face to where the two of you met, his tip slapping against your entrance like a knock. A gasp leaving your lips the instant he pushed into you — creating a beautiful stretch you felt through your entire body. 

Sunghoon started with a slow pace, allowing hips to tap against yours lightly. It was almost romantic the way his forehead rested against yours. His breath fanning your face with short pants. You were in love with this feeling — in love with this moment and how it consumes you whole. 

“Faster.” You whined, hands gripping Sunghoon’s shoulders with white knuckles. You were trying to ground yourself, the pleasure taking you to a whole other planet entirely. “Faster please Sunghoon.” 

Sunghoon said nothing, his only response was the quick motion of his hips against yours. The sound of skin slapping filling the silence of the locker room like a melody, it was a tune you’d grow to love if given the chance. “Oh– my god.” You chanted. “Oh my god.” 

“You close?” Sunghoon grunts, his voice gritty and harsh. “Take it.” 

“Yes.” Your head was weightless as it bobbled up and down in tune with Sunghoon’s harsh thrusts. “I’m so close.” 

“Gooood girl..” He cooed in your ear. “Cum for me.” 

Your end splashed into you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in an overbearing pleasure you’d never felt before. Your thighs trembled in Sunghoon’s hands as you rode out your high. Sunghoon falling suit, moaning your name like a mantra. You had never felt more connected to someone then you did in this moment. Tied together a web of emotion and something that felt so close to love. 

You were falling in love. It was fast and blinding and scary but it was true. You were falling in love. And you hoped and prayed Sunghoon was too. 

By the time you situated yourself it was almost too late into the night to try and sneak back into your dorm room. Plus the thought of seeing Ruka right now with the knowledge of what she had done had been sickening. Sunghoon offered for you to stay at his place and you were in no position to turn the offer down. You allowed him to take you home. You allowed him to worship your body until all hours of the night. And most importantly you allowed yourself to fall in love deeper and deeper as the clock ticked on. 

The morning sun trickled through the blinds in gentle stripes, painting golden bars across the sheets tangled around your legs. The air was still tinged with last night’s sweetness, a lull of warmth that lingered between your skin and his, and the scent of cold air and something distinctly him like mint and pine and a little bit of wild. You stirred slowly, your limbs heavy but content, the kind of ache that whispered of a night where nothing was said aloud but everything was understood in touches, in sighs, in the soft tremble of lips pressed together in quiet devotion. 

Sunghoon was already up, standing near the edge of the room, half-dressed and slipping his hoodie over his head. The light hit his face just right, catching the soft curve of his cheek and the tired determination in his eyes. He looked like someone ready to face something, and for once, not run from it. You sat up, the covers pooling around your waist like the soft folds of a curtain falling back. “You’re up early,” you murmured, voice still raspy with sleep and something sweeter. 

He glanced at you, and there was a flicker in his gaze, that rare smile he barely gave anyone, small, crooked, a secret stitched between two hearts. “I’m going to talk to Jay,” he said, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. “I want to ask him… to let me play again.” For a second, it felt like everything stopped. Not because you were surprised — no, you’d seen it coming, inching closer each time he took a fall and got up again, each time he looked at the ice with something softer than hate but because this was a moment of return. A full circle. A boy broken now choosing not to stay shattered. 

You smiled, and it was bright enough to make the room feel warmer. “You should,” you said, voice thick with pride. “You’re ready.” He stepped over to the bed, leaned down, and kissed you, quick and soft, like a promise sealed in the hush of morning. It wasn’t heated like the night before, but it burned all the same, quiet fire beneath skin.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him like the final note of a song, leaving you alone with tangled sheets, sunlit silence, and a chest full of warmth. You fell back into the pillows with a sigh, fingers brushing your lips. Something had shifted. And you knew, with a certainty that reached down to your bones, that things were only just beginning. 

The cold kiss of the arena hit Sunghoon the moment he stepped through the doors, but it felt different now, less like an echo of pain and more like a memory rediscovered. The air smelled of ice and rubber and worn leather, a scent that once haunted him, now stirring something in him that almost felt like peace. Almost. He walked toward the rink, skates slung over his shoulder, confidence stitched into the rhythm of his steps. The moment he stepped past the glass, heads turned. Jake was the first to notice, eyebrows lifting in surprise, his helmet tucked under one arm. Heeseung followed, stopping mid-lace with a crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth. Jay’s brows drew together in disbelief, and even Soobin looked up from where he was adjusting his gloves. Coach Bennett, stoic as always, stood at the edge of the rink with his clipboard like it was a shield. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jay muttered, not unkindly, but wary. 

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “I’m here to show you I’m ready.” The words settled into the air like frost, and no one moved for a moment. Coach’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Sunghoon…” 

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon said, voice sharp as skates on fresh ice. “I’ve been training, I’ve been pushing myself. I’m not here to sit on the bench and clap for everyone else. I want to play.” There was a silence, heavy and cautious. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Heeseung, who gave him nothing but a tight nod. “You’ve been through a lot,” Soobin offered gently. “It’s not about wanting. It’s about being cleared.” 

“I am cleared,” Sunghoon snapped, the warmth from earlier that morning slipping through his fingers like melting snow. “I’m cleared, I’m stronger, I’ve been working every goddamn day. But every time I come back here, you all look at me like I’m broken glass.” Coach Bennett looked down at his clipboard, unreadable. “It’s not about doubt, it’s about safety.” 

“Bullshit,” Sunghoon muttered. His jaw tensed, breath fogging in front of him. “You think I’d put myself back on this ice if I wasn’t ready?” Still, they didn’t move, didn’t soften. And something in him snapped, not the injury, not the tendon, but something deeper. A flare of frustration bloomed in his chest, blooming red hot. Heeseung, trying to defuse the crackle in the air, said, “Maybe just keep training with the figure skater—” 

Sunghoon’s head snapped up, and without meaning to, without even thinking, the words spilled out sharp and cruel. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” It felt like the words echoed, like even the boards flinched from them. A sting curled behind his ribs the moment it left his mouth, regret instantaneous, but pride, wounded and loud, kept him from pulling it back. “I want to come back to the real game,” he added, voice quieter, but iron-edged. “I’m done sitting out while you all pretend like I don’t exist.” 

A thick pause. Coach Bennett looked at him long and hard, then said slowly, “You can skate at next week’s practice. We’ll see then.” And just like that, it was done. But the victory tasted hollow on his tongue, and when Sunghoon sat to lace up his skates, the chill of the words he’d thrown, not at them, but at you, clung to him like frostbite. 

In the dim hush of the arena’s far bleachers, behind a column of shadow where the sun dared not reach, Ruka sat like a ghost in waiting, silent, calculating, and out of place. The buzz of the overhead lights hummed above her, flickering faintly, illuminating the sharp gleam in her eyes as she angled her phone just so. Her hand was steady. Patient. She shouldn’t have been there, wasn't allowed, wasn’t invited but Ruka had learned long ago that the world didn’t bend for those who asked politely. It bowed for the ones who took what they wanted. And right now, what she wanted was to unravel the ribbon of warmth that had started to thread its way between you and Sunghoon, to cut it with precision, to remind the world of who belonged in the spotlight and who didn’t. 

Her phone was already recording when Sunghoon stormed in, voice clear and edged with fire. She leaned forward, breath caught, her ears tuned sharply to every syllable. And then, there it was. The perfect storm. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” it hit the air like a slap, reverberating across the rink, and Ruka’s mouth curved into something that might have been mistaken for a smile if it weren’t so cold. Her thumb paused just long enough to ensure it had been captured, every inch of his exasperation, the tension in his voice, the pride bleeding into his posture. She tucked the phone into her coat pocket like a prize, one she’d deliver when the time was right, when the sting would land deepest. 

She didn’t care if Sunghoon hadn’t meant it. She didn’t care that he might already regret it. She wasn’t after truth, she was after control, and perception was always stronger than honesty in the court of whispered judgment. As the team fell into uneasy silence, she slipped out like a wisp of smoke, unnoticed and unseen, her heels light on the concrete floor, her breath misting in the chilled air. The doors of the arena sighed open and closed behind her with a hush. Outside, the sky stretched pale and gray, the wind carrying a sharpness that mirrored her resolve. 

Ruka wasn’t stupid she’d seen the way you looked at him, the way your smile bloomed for him like the first flower of spring. And more than that, she’d seen the way he looked back, that faint, unguarded flicker that once might have belonged to her but now seemed to burn only for you. So fine, she thought. If fire was what it took to make him see, then she’d set the whole thing ablaze. Let the ballerina dance on thin ice. She’d make sure the cracks came quick.

The front door creaked open with a burst of wind and sunlight, and Sunghoon stepped inside, shoulders high and heart thundering like blades against ice. His cheeks were flushed, not from the cold but from the triumph still coursing through him like static. The house was quiet, a rare lull between chaos, there you were. Sprawled across the living room floor in one of his oversized sweatshirts, your legs curled beneath you, your eyes bright as twin stars as they landed on him. The moment you saw his face, your own lit up like the sky on New Year’s Eve. 

"Did they say yes? What did they say? Oh my god, are you back? When do you start? What did Jay say? Wait, did Heeseung—" Your words spilled out like a melody, fast and tumbling and effervescent, each one building on the last in that way only you could manage. It was a deluge of sunshine, and Sunghoon didn’t answer — not with words, not yet. Instead, with one smooth movement and a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, he crossed the room in three long strides, swept you up with one arm around your waist, and kissed you. Firm, grounded, and breath-stealing. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission because it already knows it’s home.

You let out a delighted squeal, half-laughter against his mouth, your hands flying to his shoulders as your feet dangled above the floor. “I take it they said yes,” you murmured when you pulled back, breathless, the corners of your mouth lifting in that way that always made his chest ache a little in the best way. “Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper, but his voice held so much more than just agreement. It was relief and victory and hope. “Practice starts next week.” 

You beamed like you had swallowed the moon whole, eyes soft and full of a pride that wasn’t loud, but deep and unwavering. “I knew they’d say yes,” you said, cupping his cheek. “You were born for the ice.” He kissed you again, this time slower, with a touch more reverence, as if he was grounding himself in you. As if your faith in him was the thing tethering him to the world. And maybe it was.

He set you gently down, but your arms remained looped around his neck, unwilling to let go just yet. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes for a beat. “I’m so happy for you, Hoon.” His name on your lips still made something in him tremble. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You would’ve,” you whispered. “But I’m glad I got to watch you do it anyway.” Outside, the wind whispered promises against the windows, and inside, in the soft glow of late afternoon, Sunghoon realized that somewhere between all the broken things, the injuries, the pressure, the pain he had found something whole. You. 

That night, the frat house was glowing, music vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat, laughter spilling out into the cold night air, the scent of cheap beer and cologne wrapping around the porch in a familiar haze. When Sunghoon leaned against your doorframe earlier, looking all casual with his hands shoved in his pockets and a soft smile threatening the edge of his mouth, asking you to come with him to the party, your yes had come quicker than your breath. There was no way you’d miss it not after the week the two of you had. So now, walking in beside him, hand ghosting near his like some secret tether, you tried not to look too amazed at the wild warmth of it all. Lights strung from the ceiling blinked like dying stars, red cups swirled in every hand, and voices collided like waves. It was chaos, but it was the good kind, the kind where possibility clung to the air like perfume.

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate. He kept his hand on the small of your back, leading you through the crowd with a quiet confidence, and then he said it, just loud enough for the group clustered near the kitchen island to hear. “This is my girl.” It took you a second to process the words. Your heart leapt to your throat, and your smile tried to hide behind the cup in your hand, but you felt it. The gravity of it. How he said it so simply, like it wasn’t anything new, like it had been true for ages and he was just now stating a fact everyone should already know.

His friends turned toward you all at once, a mix of grins and raised brows. Jay was first to reach out, pulling you into a quick, one-armed hug. “So you’re the figure skater.”

You laughed. “Guilty.”

“I’m Jake,” said the one with dimples, his voice warm and curious, like he’d been waiting to meet you. “You’re way too happy to be hanging out with Sunghoon.”

You giggled and nudged your shoulder into Sunghoon’s. “I think I balance him out.”

“Or drive him insane,” Soobin added dryly from the couch. His arm was loosely slung around a girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. She was beautiful, no doubt, sleek and poised, but her smile was more of a formality than anything real. That had to be Yunjin. She gave you a quick nod. “You’re very…bubbly.”

“Is that code for loud?” you asked, grinning wide. “It’s okay, I get that a lot.” Soobin cracked a half-smile, and even Yunjin let out the tiniest huff that could’ve been a laugh if you squinted. Still, there was tension between them, an invisible thread pulled too tight. They stood close but didn’t seem to touch, not really. Their words skipped past each other like stones across water, and you wondered what storm brewed quietly behind their silence. Heeseung leaned in then, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “She’s the opposite of you, man. Like…completely.”

Sunghoon only shrugged, sipping his drink with a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. I know.” And the way he looked at you when he said it like it wasn’t a flaw, like it was the best thing about you, made your chest bloom with something warm and wild. You reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled into yours like they belonged there, like maybe they always had. The music shifted into something slower, the kind of beat that made everything else fade, and the crowd swayed around you like the sea. You weren’t quite sure how the night would end, but for now, wrapped in the golden hum of laughter and light, with Sunghoon by your side and your name spoken like something precious between strangers who might become friends you were exactly where you were meant to be. 

The night had curled itself into comfort, like a candle-lit secret shared between strangers now growing familiar. You stood with Sunghoon and his friends in the corner of the room where the music wasn’t too loud, where voices could still dance freely. You were mid-laugh, something Jake had said, your face lit with that easy, golden joy you wore like a second skin. Sunghoon stood close to you, his arm brushing yours every so often, eyes softer than anyone had seen them in weeks. You didn’t know it, but he’d been watching you like you were a lighthouse in the storm, something to steer by. And then the room chilled.

It was subtle at first, just a shift in air, the way conversation dulled, footsteps falling heavy behind the group. You turned before Sunghoon did, and there she was. Ruka. Her presence bled tension into the moment, a sharpness that made smiles go stiff and gazes flick downward. She stood with her arms crossed, dressed like she belonged and yet looking so out of place. You smiled at her anyway, your voice honeyed and warm.

“Hey, Ruka! You made it, have you met everyone?” The sweetness in your tone was genuine, like you hadn’t noticed the way her eyes cut through you, like maybe this time would be different, like maybe she’d smile back and offer a polite nod. But she didn’t.

Instead, her lip curled, and her voice dropped low, sharp enough to wound. “Drop the act.” The words sliced through the air like glass breaking. The laughter stopped, your own breath hitching slightly as confusion passed across your face. “What?” you asked, softly, not in disbelief, but in the kind of gentle hope that maybe you’d misheard her.

“I said,” Ruka stepped closer now, venom twisting in her pretty mouth, “drop the fucking act. The bubbly sunshine girl thing? It's fake. And everyone here’s falling for it, but it’s pathetic.” A heavy silence fell. Jake blinked, Soobin muttered something under his breath. Yunjin folded her arms tightly. And beside you, you felt Sunghoon stiffen, like his muscles remembered rage before his mind caught up.

“Back off,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. But Ruka only laughed, a cold, humorless thing that curled at the edges like smoke. “Really? You’re defending her?” She looked at him, eyes glinting with something twisted and triumphant. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who said he was wasting his time with the ‘ballerina on ice.’”

You froze. The words hung between you like frost. You turned, your head tilting slightly toward Sunghoon, expression unreadable. But he was already shaking his head, already stepping forward. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice rising, urgent. “I was pissed, I was trying to prove I was ready to play again, and I said something stupid—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ruka said smoothly. “They can hear it for themselves.” She pulled out her phone, unlocking it with the ease of someone who’d been waiting for this moment. The recording played loud and clear, his voice unmistakable: “I’m just wasting time with the ballerina on ice. I want to come back to the real game.”

The words hit like a slap. Your chest ached, something invisible curling tight around your lungs. You stood still, perfectly still, like movement might make it worse. The others glanced between you both, some awkward, some stunned. Heeseung winced. Jay looked furious. Jake muttered, “Dude,” under his breath. Sunghoon reached for you then, eyes wide, desperate. “I didn’t mean it—” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. But your smile, your radiant, effortless smile — wavered. Only a flicker, barely there, like a candle in the wind.

The music faded. Or maybe it didn't, maybe it still pulsed behind you, still thudded with the bass of cheap speakers and louder laughter, but in your ears it was gone. Replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat — wild and feral, pounding like fists against a closed door. Your cheeks flushed hot, but your hands had gone cold, and everything in the room blurred with the sting of unshed tears. Your eyes found Sunghoon’s, but it wasn’t safety you felt.

It was betrayal. And shame. Shame so sudden it roared up your throat and turned the warmth in your chest to something molten and broken. “Wait—” he whispered, stepping toward you. You pulled back.

He looked like he’d been struck, like the reach of his hand had meant everything. Maybe it had. But you were already moving, weaving between people, ignoring the murmurs and awkward stares, the way the group parted like water around you. Your heels scraped the floor. Someone said your name, maybe Jake, maybe Heeseung, but you didn’t turn back. You pushed through the door and into the yard where the cold night air hit your face like glass. You breathed it in too fast, too hard, hoping it would drown out the heat of humiliation clawing at your throat. The stars blurred above you, cruel and glinting. Behind you — footsteps.

“Wait—please,” Sunghoon called out, breathless. You spun on him just as he reached the porch, voice trembling with hurt and rage. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” You tried to keep your voice strong, but it wavered at the edges, shivering like frost under sunlight. “Don’t act like I didn’t hear it. Everyone heard it, Sunghoon.”

“I was angry,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me play, I—I said something I didn’t mean because I was desperate. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

“You called me a waste of time,” you whispered, voice breaking now. “You said I wasn’t the real game.” His expression collapsed. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to want something that bad?” You laughed, but it came out brittle and sharp. “To work every night until your legs give out? To fall and fall and fall and keep getting up? I gave everything to this. To the ice. To you.” Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, and you hated how fast they came, how they betrayed the tremor in your heart.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to kiss me. I didn’t ask to be anything more than the annoying figure skater who shares your rink time.”

“You’re not—don’t say that,” he said, stepping closer. But you stepped back.

“I should’ve known better,” you said, voice low now, shaking. “You were always going to go back to them. To the game. And I was just practice. Just something to pass the time.”

“That’s not true.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re more than that. You mean—fuck, you mean everything.” And then he said it.

“I love you.”

The words cracked the night in two. You stared at him, eyes wide, breath stolen clean from your lungs. But it was too late. You shook your head, tears still slipping down your cheeks, chest heaving. “Don’t say that now.”

“I mean it.”

“Then why did you say that?” The question hung between you like a blade. And he had no answer. Or maybe he did, but not one that could stitch the wound he’d just made. So you turned. You turned before he could see the way your whole body broke in half. Before he could see the shiver in your spine and the way your hands curled into your coat like it could somehow hold you together. You walked. Past the yard, down the sidewalk, away from the party that once felt like light. Sunghoon didn’t follow this time. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The days pass like shadows beneath your skates, faint and fleeting, yet always there. Each morning you wake with a hollow echo in your chest, a silence that’s grown too familiar. You lace up your skates like armor, wear your routines like battle hymns. You skate harder now, faster, carving the ice like it wronged you. Blades slicing through your thoughts, breath fogging in the cold as you spin through everything you can’t say. You haven’t spoken to Sunghoon since that night. You’ve seen him in passing, walking across campus, laughing with Heeseung outside the rink, nodding at Coach Bennett with that quiet intensity in his eyes, but you never linger. You turn corners when he comes close. Pretend not to hear when his voice drifts from down the hallway. You are your own silence, sharp and unyielding.

The dorm is no better. Ruka has become a ghost, and you let her be. You don’t look at her, don’t respond to her passive remarks or the way she sighs when you walk in. She’s tried to speak, maybe once, maybe twice, but you shut her out with the same coldness she once offered you. You spend more time out of the room than in it. Your application to switch dorms is in the system now, a silent wish sent to the stars. All you can do is wait. But the nights… the nights are the worst. Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore. Your mind replays everything, his voice, his kiss, the look on his face when you turned away. You wonder if he’s been practicing. You wonder if he hates himself for what he said. You wonder if he meant it.

That night, the silence in your room presses in too tightly, the hum of your mini-fridge too loud, the shadows too long. You grab your skates and your coat. The rink calls to you not just as an escape, but as something close to home. Familiar. Honest. The moment you step inside, the air hits you like memory. Cold. Quiet. Unforgiving. You walk past the front lobby, past the empty locker rooms, and step onto the bleachers with the intention of warming up slowly, maybe skating alone under the low light until the sun peeks over the horizon. 

But you stop short. Because he’s already there. Sunghoon. Alone. On the ice. He’s skating, not perfectly, not as fluid as you’ve seen before, but he’s trying. Focused. Determined. His brows are drawn together, the sweat at his temples shining under the low rink lights. He doesn’t see you at first. Doesn’t hear the way your breath catches. You don’t move. You watch him glide forward, stumble slightly, then correct. He exhales, pushes again. Again. And again. He’s practicing. Your chest tightens. 

At first, you want to run. The moment you see him standing there beneath the pale glow of the rink lights, alone, waiting, searching the dark for something like hope, your body tells you to turn around. To vanish into the quiet of night and not look back. You’ve been skating circles around your own heart for days now, tightening the laces of your silence so securely that the thought of unraveling them in front of him makes you tremble. But it’s too late. His eyes catch yours, and you freeze like a deer in the frost. The tension between you snaps taut.

“Wait,” he says, voice catching, breathless. “Please—don’t go.” You don’t speak. He steps closer, every movement slow, like he’s approaching something delicate, something sacred. His eyes are wide and shining in the cold, like he’s on the edge of something, begging not to fall.

“Just talk to me,” he says. “Please. I—I need to say something.” You don’t know what compels you to stay. Maybe it’s the quiver in his voice or the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. Maybe it’s the days of silence, heavy as snowfall, finally breaking. But you nod. You sit. And you listen. “I’m sorry,” he says first, and the words drop between you like stones sinking into a still lake. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You don’t look at him yet. You’re afraid to. Afraid that if you do, your heart will unravel right there on the ice. He keeps going. “When you first asked me if I believed in love, I told you I didn’t. That it wasn’t real. That it was for other people, not me. And you, you just smiled like you knew something I didn’t. You said I just hadn’t found the right person yet.” You lift your eyes to meet his. He’s closer now. Kneeling in front of you, his palms flat against the boards, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“I found her,” he whispers. “I found you.” The words hit you like a gust of wind, unexpected, sharp, and tender. You blink, and the tears finally come, soft and shimmering, gliding down your cheeks like melting snow. His gaze flickers, worried, but you raise a hand, just one, and rest it over his.

“What you said that night…” you begin, voice cracking like a brittle branch. “It hurt, Sunghoon. God, it hurt. But I don’t think it was the words, not really. It was the moment. The humiliation. Being exposed in front of everyone. Like I was something to be mocked.” He looks like he might cry too.

“I just wanted to feel safe with you,” you continue, softer now. “I wanted to be seen. And Ruka… she hates me for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t want to be in competition with her. I don’t want any of this.” His hand tightens around yours. “I know. And I hate that I let her use me like that. That I gave her the opening. But I swear to you none of what I said was real. You are not a waste of time. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense.” You lean your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air between you.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you whisper.

“I mean every word,” he breathes. “I love you.”

Your lips tremble. And before either of you can speak again, you kiss him. It’s not the fiery kiss of confession or the desperate press of need. It’s gentle. Forgiving. It’s two broken pieces finding a way to fit again, not quite perfect, but perfectly trying. His arms circle your waist, pulling you in close, grounding you as your fingers brush his jaw, his neck, his hair. The kiss deepens with every second. Not in heat, but in heart. Like a vow passed between mouths too tired for words.

When you part, your foreheads stay pressed together. His thumb brushes away your tears. “I forgive you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “But please… no more lies. Not even the ones you tell yourself.”

“I promise,” he replies, voice raw. “No more.” And in that quiet, ice-slicked space between apology and absolution, you feel it, that something between you hasn’t shattered. It’s only just begun to bloom. 

Epilogue. 

The arena hums like a living thing, buzzing nerves and echoing chants, the chill of the ice rising into the rafters like ghosts of old games, old dreams. You sit somewhere in the middle of it all, wrapped in a scarf and a soft coat, heart thudding so loud it’s almost a drumline. Your fingers are clasped tight in your lap, your breath fogs in little puffs before your lips, and your eyes are locked on the rink like the story of your whole life might unfold across its frozen face. It’s his first game back.

Sunghoon. And you can’t remember the last time you were this full of feeling, pride, nerves, joy, a fragile ribbon of fear, but most of all, love. Love so big and bright and burning it feels like a comet carved into your chest. The lights above dim slightly, just a flicker, and then the team is called out one by one. The crowd roars like a wave, cresting and crashing with every name announced, jerseys flashing, skates hissing against the ice as the players appear. And then, there he is. Sunghoon skates out like he’s flying, his form clean and sharp and easy, like every moment he ever doubted himself has been burned away. The crowd cheers louder, not because they know the whole story, but because they can feel it. The comeback. The storm stilled. The boy who refused to give in.

You feel breathless watching him. And then, mid-glide, he turns his head. Finds you in the crowd like a compass always knows where north is. His eyes catch yours and in that moment, the noise fades. The arena, the lights, the cheers — all of it vanishes, melting away like frost under the sun. There’s just him. And you. He points at you — simple, easy, certain. And then his mouth moves, slow and deliberate.

“I love you.” Three words mouthed without a sound, but somehow louder than thunder. Your chest caves in, and a laugh breaks from your throat, trembling and tearful all at once. You nod, hand over your heart, mouthing it back: I love you too. And in that charged quiet between you, across ice and lights and distance, the ache of the past slips into something softer. Something holy. The game begins but you're not really watching the puck.

You're watching him. And he's not just skating. He's flying.

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[fanfictionismyaddiction]

The Grump and Her Golden Retriever

Word count: 467

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: A grumpy Williams employee finds herself relentlessly pursued by Carlos Sainz’s golden-retriever energy as he makes it his mission to break her tough exterior and win her smile.

________________________________________________________

Carlos Sainz was insufferably cheerful.

It didn’t matter if he had just finished an exhausting race, if it was pouring rain at Silverstone, or if he was running on three hours of sleep—he was always smiling. Always.

And it drove you absolutely insane.

“You are like a cartoon character,” you muttered as he slid into the seat across from you in the Williams hospitality lounge, his blue team polo slightly damp from the drizzle outside. “No one should be this happy all the time.”

Carlos, undeterred, grinned even wider. “And you are like a grumpy cat. Always frowning. It’s cute.”

You shot him a glare that should have sent him running. Instead, he looked even more delighted, as if your irritation was his personal source of entertainment.

You and Carlos were not friends. Not really. You worked in the Williams media team, and ever since he joined, he had made it his mission to get under your skin. Why? You had no idea. Maybe because you never gave in to his effortless charm like everyone else did. Maybe because you never laughed at his bad jokes. Maybe because—despite being objectively good-looking and annoyingly nice—you found his relentless optimism exhausting.

“Why do you look at me like that?” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Because one day, I will make you smile, and it will be the greatest victory of my life.” He reached across the table and stole a fry from your plate, popping it into his mouth before you could swat his hand away.

“Carlos!” You smacked his arm, but he just laughed, completely unfazed.

“You know, for someone who insists they don’t like me, you spend a lot of time talking to me,” he teased.

“I don’t have a choice. You follow me around like a lost puppy.”

“Golden retriever,” he corrected. “Puppy sounds too small. I am a full-size, loyal, excitable—”

“A menace,” you interrupted.

Carlos gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Ay, that hurts, mi amor.”

You groaned. “Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You like it.”

Before you could argue, Alex Albon slid into the seat next to Carlos, glancing between the two of you with an amused smirk. “Still trying to win her over, mate?”

Carlos nodded without hesitation. “Sí. She is very stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn,” you scoffed. “I just don’t understand why you feel the need to be so… so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Irresistible?” Carlos offered.

“I was going to say annoying.”

Alex snorted. “Yeah, that checks out.”

Carlos ignored him, still watching you with that ridiculous, infuriating grin. “I will make you laugh, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not a chance.”

“Oh, querida, that sounds like a challenge.”

And with the determined glint in his eyes, you knew you were in trouble.

[rcmclachlan]

wind finding

buck/tommy

8x14/8x15 spec fic

I wrote this right before my first morning meeting, so if it's rushed and makes no sense, I'm well aware. Enjoy!

+

The very second Tommy went with helicopters, people came crawling out of the woodwork to offer their two cents on everything from industry politics (all dangled carrots and empty promises) to what constitutes a good operator (whoever's actually signing your paycheck at the time) to which jobs would bring in the most money (ditching helicopters entirely in favor of planes) to the best ways to manage stress (avoiding utility altogether).

But the one piece of advice Tommy has never forgotten came from one of his first operators in Afghanistan, who had a face like a mountain crag and every word that came out of his mouth had to first find its way around the wad of dip permanently attached to his bottom gums.

"Being able to find the wind is the only skill you need to nail down, or else you're gonna frag out faster'n you can say 'high as bat pussy'. The odds of being able to see the leaves on a fuckin' tree are less'n nothin' out here, never mind spottin' a fuckin' windsock, Kinard. The second you get in the air, you just listen to your bird; she'll tell you point blank where the wind is, so long as you've got your ears on."

Then Warrant Officer Harold hocked a loogie the size of a crow at the ground and stormed away, shouting, "PRIVATE KEATON, IF YOU DON'T STOP FONDLIN' THAT REFUEL PROBE I'M GONNA SHOVE IT IN YOUR DICK HOLE!"

Twenty years later, Tommy's in the cockpit of his favorite AW139 with the mouth of a glock pressed right above his brain stem, and the second he achieves optimal altitude, he finds the wind.

"You make it look so effortless, like it's just something your body does. Like breathing," Evan had said during their one and only legal flight together, like he wasn't furious that Tommy had woken him up at 3:30 in the morning on his day off to go for a joyride. Even as the sun peeked over the horizon to see if the coast was clear, it couldn't hope to match the sheer brightness of Evan's smile.

If being able to find the wind wasn't practically part of his autonomic nervous system at this point in his career, Tommy'd have no business being in the air at all.

"Remember," the guy with the gun, Remo, murmurs into the headset he'd forced Tommy to give him. "Top of the Aon. We're making the switch there."

"Nakatomi Tower would be better for this sort of thing," Tommy mutters.

Instead of being whipped with the gun, the speaker in his ear crackles with Remo's laughter. "I was more partial to the second film."

Tommy grips the cyclic a little tighter. "That's the worst thing you've admitted to so far."

It's not. Bombing multiple police stations was bad enough, but one of them was right next to a school. The last thing that came through the comms before Remo's buddies hacked it was the 118 being called to 309 Lucas Ave in Westlake North for fire containment and emergency medical assistance.

He glances at the dashboard. Tucked right above the radar is a little photo he'd printed out at his local CVS on a whim while he was getting a 'Happy 80th birthday, grandma!" card for Sal. It's barely anything: a portrait forced to inhabit a 4x4 square, so the quality is extra shitty. But the man in it is smiling brighter than a sunrise over the ocean, and Tommy's heart gives a pitiful thud just looking at it.

Melton would've shit a brick if he'd known about it. Despite what Hollywood would have the general populace believe, having pictures of loved ones on a pilot's dashboard can be a hell of a distraction. It goes against LAFD regs.

But having spent the last month reacquainting himself with Evan's smile and the wild hope that they could have a future together, it felt right to tack the photo up. He was professional enough that he wouldn't let it get in the way of the job.

He thinks of Evan watching him from the bed this morning, tangled up in sheets that smelled like the both of them. He thinks of the blurred, sleep-damp smile on Evan's face as Tommy hid the evidence of what they got up to the previous night.

"You're covering up a masterpiece," Evan had said, voice a little blurred with sleep. "That's some of my best work."

"Let me guess: if I connect all the hickeys, it's gonna turn into a dolphin or something?"

Evan had thrown back his head on the pillow and cackled, and Tommy had thought, We could build a life on this.

Except Evan is pulling tiny bodies out of the ruins of Gratts Elementary, Tommy's got a gun to his head, and Remo's little cell of opportunistic assholes are using the bombings across the city to distract from the 51% blockchain hack they pulled off two hours ago. Tommy doesn't understand crypto for the life of him, but what he got from Harbor's newest probie was something something a blockchain’s distributed ledger was changed and double spending was enabled. At the time, it seemed like a lot of bullshit that boiled down to "they now control the invisible internet money conveyor belt," but at least 200 people are dead, and according to Remo, there are still 70 bombs wired and ready to explode on his say-so.

Unless Tommy flies him and his weird, silent friend to the Aon, where someone's going to be waiting to whisk them away to all points nowhere. Tommy knows exactly how this is going to shake out: the second he lands the bird, Remo's going to bury a bullet in Tommy's brain before disappearing into the wind, leaving the world in shambles. But it won't be enough. Remo will get bored before long—the smart, psychotic ones always do—and then pop back up at some point to do even worse if he has the opportunity.

Ten years from now, they'll make a documentary series about all this. Evan will watch it, because he's contractually obligated to seek out things that will hurt him for some reason, and it'll probably be like cutting open a just-healed wound. He'll spiral until Maddie or one of the others forces him to stop. The series will be called something stupid, like Finding Remo.

That is, of course, if Remo has the opportunity.

Swallowing, throat clicking, Tommy glances at the photo on the dashboard. Evan beams at him from where he's posing like the dorkiest Greek god in the pantheon on top of a boulder somewhere on the Temescal Canyon Trail. That had been a good day. It seemed like the start of a lifetime of them.

He looks away and out the windshield where, up ahead, the Aon stands tall against the sky. But standing taller, and closer, is Library Tower.

Exhaling, Tommy keeps his eyes straight. "Listen, you can put the gun away. It's not the threat you think it is."

"No?" Remo presses the glock harder against the back of Tommy's head, and Tommy stifles a wince. "You think I won't shoot you?"

"Oh, I know you're gonna shoot me," Tommy says, almost cheerfully. He refuses to look any closer at that. "I just don't think you're gonna do it while we're hanging 900 feet above the city."

The pause that follows is probably only a second or two, but it feels like a decade. Finally, the press of metal disappears, and Tommy hears the safety clicking back on.

"You seem pretty calm about all this," Remo says, curiosity making his already light voice positively airy.

Tommy shrugs. "Last year I stole one of these to fly some friends into a category 5 hurricane, then landed it on a capsized cruise ship. This? Doesn't even break a 6.5 on my Crazy Shit-o-meter."

Remo laughs, and Tommy hears the tell tale rustling of the gun being holstered. Thankfully the rotors completely drown out the sound of his heart pounding, which would otherwise be audible from space.

"Let me just say that of all the pilots I could've kidnapped, you're by far the most entertaining."

"Thank you," Tommy says seriously.

Below them, the Walt Disney Concert Hall is lit up for the night's show. They'll be passing the BoA Financial Center, and from there it's only a couple of minutes until their destination.

"Hey, uh, since this does end with me getting shot," Tommy ventures, trying to keep a lid on the massive amounts of adrenaline that are being dumped into his bloodstream. He must be visibly vibrating. "Could I... could I make a call?"

Remo snorts. "Let me guess: 9-1-1?"

Okay, that's kind of funny. Tommy cracks a grin. "Not quite. I have someone... I have someone, and there's something important I need to say."

One of the drawbacks of a helicopter's cockpit is there's no rearview mirror, which would really come in handy right now. He has no idea what Remo's face is doing. He has no idea if he's looking at his silent companion and having some kind of wordless conversation, if Remo is the kind of guy who would grant the last wish of someone he's using.

Finally, after what feels like years, Remo says, "You get ten seconds. You'd better make them count."

He's done more with less. "That's fair. But I'm either going to need you to call it for me or let me hook into an open line."

The air inside the helicopter seems to squeeze inward. "An open line?"

"My... my boyfriend's LAFD." He bites down on the inside of his cheek as they pass the BoA Center on the left, and hopes against all hope that Remo isn't too much of a homophobe to deny the request.

But surprise, surprise. Remo only laughs and says, "How romantic. Urs, get him on an open line to his firefighter boyfriend. It's the least we can do after everything he's done to help us."

Tommy can't see what Urs is doing, but his headset crackles with the familiar static of a live comms line.

"Ten seconds," Remo reminds him. Below them, the roof of Library Tower seems both miles away and impossibly close.

It's all he needs.

"This is LAFD pilot Tom Kinard. Evan Buckley, if you're listening, look in the drawer to the right of the microwave. There's something in there for you." He quietly undoes his harness and kills the engine. "It's yours. It's always been yours."

Just as the AW139 is about to clear the roof of the tower, Tommy shoulders open the door and kicks off into the sky.

The wind is blowing southeast.

+

"N-No, no, no, hey, it's okay, don't fight it, you're okay—hey, I need some help in here! He's waking up! Tommy, they're going to take it out, just wait."

There's a tree trunk growing out of his throat, but trying to move it is impossible, and the effort takes everything out of him. So he gives up, gagging and drifting in and out, then decides to just climb the entire length of the tree to get a look at the view. From there, it's just a matter of finding the wind and floating away with it.

The next time he surfaces, there's something hard over his face, warm and humid, and when the clouds clear from his vision he's able to see two things: Evan's wide-eyed expression of relief, and a giant orange poster board in Lucy's familiar, blocky handwriting that says 2 DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.

There's a 1 in front of the 2, but it's crossed out.

"Hey!" Evan breathes, and the mattress at Tommy's hip dips a little under his weight. "H-Hey, there you are. Morning! Well, not, uh, morning exactly—it's like 8 o'clock at night—but you're awake!"

"I am." It's muffled by the oxygen mask.

"How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" Evan leans in, blocking Tommy's view of anything else. He hasn't shaved in a bit, and the hair at his temples looks a little greasy. He's the most gorgeous thing Tommy's ever laid eyes on.

"No pain," Tommy rasps. "M'body's full'f cotton."

Evan smiles a little. "Yeah, they've got you on the good stuff. I can't tell you how many bones you've broken, because it seems like they're still finding them. The doctor did say he'd never seen a pneumothorax quite like yours before, though. He keeps bringing other doctors in to look at your scans. I think a couple of them cancelled their surgeries so they could watch yours yesterday. You're like a celebrity. You've got, like, four tubes in you sucking the excess air out."

For a second, Tommy has no idea what he's talking about. Pneumothorax? How'd he manage that? Lucy's gonna give him shit for the next year.

Then, like a breeze kicking up from the west, it all comes sweeping in. Something starts beeping a little erratically. "Did—did he... he didn't... did... R-Remo...?"

The words are slow and thick, like they have to climb over the broken branches the tree had left behind, but understanding lights up Evan's face almost immediately. He thinks Evan must be holding his hand, because there's pressure on his fingers that feels like it's coming from another room.

"He didn't," Evan says softly, but there's a sparkle of brutal satisfaction in his eyes that Tommy can't look away from. "The helicopter went down like a sack of bricks after you ditched it. It took out the coffee shop in the library. Before you ask: they close at 2:30, so no one had been in there for hours. No one was hurt. Except, well, what's his name."

Tommy closes his eyes and breathes in the canned, almost metallic stuff they're feeding him through the mask. It's so pure, it makes him a little dizzy.

"Good." His sinuses prickle hotly. "Good. That's..."

"Hey, hey, shhh," Evan coos, and Tommy opens his eyes just in time to see Evan press his mouth lushly to the curve of the oxygen mask. Despite whatever they're giving him, Tommy's lips ache with the need to feel that kiss.

"Evan," he whispers.

When he pulls back, Evan's got a wide, almost gleeful grin tugging the corners of his mouth to his ears. He looks like he's about to blow up a Gotham City school bus to try and draw out Batman. Instead, he lifts his left hand.

The lights in the room are low, so the ring on Evan's finger doesn't really glint as brightly as it should, but the light in Evan's eyes is almost blinding.

"Drawer to the right of the microwave, huh?" He laughs a little, like it's bubbling out of him, like he can't stop it. "How long had that been in there?"

It takes a moment for Tommy to pick through the cobwebs in his brain. "Mm... got it... after we did that flight over... hm... Channel Islands."

Evan stares at him, then his bubbly laughter morphs into maniacal cackling.

Tommy glances down at his hands to see if they gave him a button for the pain meds he's on. He's going to dilaudid himself into oblivion.

"That was four months into..." Evan uses their joined hands to wipe away the tears beading on his lashes. "When I asked you to move in, you ran away so fast you left a trail of dust behind you. But you bought an engagement ring four months into dating me?"

"In my defense," Tommy says, suddenly very jealous of Remo for dying a fiery death in the LA Library coffee shop. "I knew... you were it for me. You, on the other hand, had no idea... hm... what you wanted. Asking me... to move in wasn't—it wasn't about me."

Pursing his lips, Evan ducks his head and doesn't deny it, but when he tilts his chin up, the only thing on his face is bare, earnest truth. "I knew I wanted you, Tommy, any way I could have you. I didn't know what that looked like, and not knowing made me... I don't know if you've noticed, but I tend to cling when I panic."

Tommy thinks back over the last month—how every time he showed up on Eddie's doorstep, Evan practically threw himself at Tommy, clutching at him like he was afraid Tommy might go back down the walkway and leave; how getting up to take a piss or grab a Gatorade meant leaving the bed, and the look on Evan's face every time was like watching a car crash—and squeezes Evan's hand. He thinks he does, at least.

"Do you... know what it looks like now?" It takes almost all his strength to get the words out. A wave of exhaustion rolls over him, and he pinwheels a little with it. Kicking his way back to the surface takes concentration.

Evan lifts his hand again. The ring fits his finger perfectly. "It looks like you, about to fall asleep."

Another wave bowls him over, and he fights to keep his eyes open. Lucy's stupid poster blurs like someone's upturned a can of Sprite over it.

"I'll be here when you wake up, and so will half the LAPD and a bunch of people from the FBI. You're the hero of the day," Evan murmurs, and Tommy grumbles a little. "But, hey, Tommy. Before you—how did you know? How'd you know I was it for you?"

Even as he's being pulled down into the dark, he looks up, and he sees the surface roiling, dancing with the light of an old sunrise that couldn't hold a candle to the phenomenon of Evan Buckley's smile.

"Found th' wind," Tommy mumbles, drifting down, down, down. "'s easy. Like breathing."

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: compliments given behind your back

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will tell you some compliments people give behind your back. I hope you enjoy this reading!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Patreon Masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

Pile 1:

"You always see the bigger picture, even when others get lost in the details."

"Your ability to stay calm and find solutions makes you a true problem-solving genius."

"You never just hope for the best—you make the best happen."

"You have a way of making people feel safe, even in the middle of chaos."

"Your mind is like a chessboard, always thinking a few steps ahead."

"You inspire confidence in others because you always have a plan."

"Your balance of logic and kindness makes you a rare and valuable person."

"No matter how difficult the situation, you always find a way to make it work."

"You give the best advice—practical, honest, and actually helpful."

"You're proof that optimism isn’t just wishful thinking, but a powerful strategy."

extended reading

Pile 2:

"You make life feel like an adventure, even on the most ordinary days."

"Your energy is contagious in the best way possible."

"You always know how to bring a little magic into everyday moments."

"Your ability to find joy in the smallest things is truly inspiring."

"You have a heart that sees and understands people in a way that words can’t explain."

"Being around you feels like stepping into a world where anything is possible."

"Your creativity knows no limits—every idea you have is bursting with originality."

"You remind people that it’s okay to be imperfect and to enjoy life as it comes."

"Your laughter is like sunlight—it brightens everything around you."

"You don’t just live life; you feel it, and that makes you unforgettable."

extended reading

Pile 3:

"You walk into a room, and people just feel your presence—in the best way."

"Your confidence isn’t loud or forced—it’s effortless and inspiring."

"You have a way of making people believe in themselves just by being around you."

"Your passion is like fire—it burns bright and lights up everything you do."

"You always speak your mind, and somehow, it’s always exactly what needs to be said."

"You don’t just talk about things—you make things happen."

"People trust you because you always back up your words with actions."

"You don’t settle for mediocrity—you push yourself and others to be the best they can be."

"Your strength isn’t just in your confidence but in your kindness and fairness."

"You prove that being bold and being kind are not opposites—they’re powerful together."

extended reading

[haberai]

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[dollvls3]

aglaja asteroid (47)

the asteroid Aglaja (43) is named after one the Three Graces from greek mythology. Splendor, Glory, and Beauty. Her mythology revolves around the idea of radiant charm, elegance and an aura of harmony, often tied to the beauty of spirit and physical grace. 🪷

aglaja in aries

aglaja in aries, your beauty comes from your boldness and your courage to express yourself authentically. there's a raw, unfiltered charm in your ability to embrace challenges without hesitation. you exude a natural vibrancy, favoring your inner physical strength, energy, and vitality. Your presence is dynamic, and people feel uplifted by your aura. your graceful side emerges when you're leading and protecting others. even in competitive environments. maintain your charismatic edge and watch how many people you inspire.

aglaja in taurus

aglaja in taurus, your beauty is rooted in sensuality and stability, your beauty is in your calm and dependable nature. your appreciation for the finer things enhances your emotional warmth. you radiate a classic, timeless beauty. often associated with earthy, grounded aesthetics, you might favor rich fabrics, natural colors, and an effortless elegance. your graces shows in your loyalty and ability to create comfort for yourself and others. you can transform any environment into something beautiful and serene.

aglaja in gemini

aglaja in gemini, your beauty comes from intellectual and playful curiosity. You inspire others through your words, quick wit and endless enthusiasm for learning. Youthful and adaptable, your charm is in your expressiveness. your gestures, voice, and way of speaking are very captivating. you show grace through your ability to connect with diverse groups of people. adapt your charm to suit in any situation.

aglaja in cancer

aglaja in cancer, deeply nurturing and empathetic. your inner beauty lies into your ability to emotionally connect with others. Your warmth is your greatest charm. your soft, luminous energy often mirrors the moon, with an ethereal, glowing presence. your style might lean toward a romantic or vintage aesthetics. you create beauty through acts of care, such as cooking, decorating or comforting others. your intuitive understanding of emotional needs is your gift.

aglaja in leo

aglaja in leo, your confidence and creativity lights up in any room. you inspire others with your sunny personality, generosity, and natural leadership. you exude a radiant, almost majestic energy. your hair, posture, and self- presentation often reflects a dramatic flair. your grace is expressed through performance celebration, and self expression. Others are drawn to your ability to make life feel joyous and meaningful.

aglaja in virgo

aglaja in virgo, your inner beauty lies in your modesty and ability to be helpful and useful to others. your ability to perfect, refine and improve things inspire admiration. you possess a clean, polished aesthetic. minimalist and natural styles often enhance your beauty. your grace shows in small, thoughtful, gestures helping others, organizing chaotic situations, and offering practical solutions with quiet elegance.

aglaja in libra

aglaja in libra, you embody harmony and balance. your inner beauty comes from your ability to see and create consistency in relationships and life. your physical beauty is striking, and you often may have a preference for reined, elegant styles. your love for art, fashion, and social harmony enhance your allure.

aglaja in scorpio

aglaja in scorpio, your beauty is intense and transformative. you have a magnetic essence that draws others to your emotional depth and mystery. your overall aura exude magnetism. dark, sultry often resonate with your intense presence. you express grace through your resilience and ability to face challenges with courage. your charm lies in your authenticity.

aglaja in sagittarius

aglaja in sagittarius, your inner beauty comes from your adventurous spirit and optimism. you inspire others through your wisdom, humor, and free spirited nature. your style often reflects a feminine-sexy look, with a care free vibe. your energy radiates vitality and enthusiasm. you express grace by uplifting others with your positive outlook and willingness to embrace the unknown.

aglaja in capricorn

aglaja in capricorn, your beauty lies in your determination, self discipline, and your understanding. others admire your quiet strength and reliability. your physical appearance often reflects a reserved, timeless style. you show your grace through your work ethic and ability to handle challenges with composure. others look at you for leadership and stability.

aglaja in aquarius

aglaja in aquarius, your individuality and your mindset make you uniquely beautiful. you thrive on originality and being inclusive. your appearance often has an unconventional charm. bold clothing and futuristic styles might look good on you. you express grace through innovation and inspiring others to embrace change.

aglaja in pisces

aglaja in pisces, your intuition, and spiritual depth define your inner beauty. you embody a sense of universal love and understanding. ethereal and dream like presence. soft and flowing styles complement your energy. you show grace through acts of kindness and creativity, and your ability to see the beauty in everything.

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[urdreamydoodles]

Bat-Family x Fem!OC

You confess your feelings to them

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne (aged up), Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, Selina Kyle & Kate Kane

Jason Todd aka. Red Hood

- Jason Todd is not a man of gentle expressions, but there’s something in his eyes when he looks at you that betrays the storm raging within him. He’s rough around the edges, a product of tragedy and survival, but there’s a softness he reserves for you—a quiet longing he cannot suppress. You’ve caught him staring countless times, his lips parting as if to speak, only to close again as he retreats behind his walls. He’s not afraid of danger, but vulnerability terrifies him, and you’ve become his greatest fear.

- When you finally confess your feelings to Jason, he freezes. His confidence, his biting humor, and his unshakable demeanor all crumble for a moment, leaving him stripped bare before you. He looks at you like you’ve just handed him the most fragile piece of glass, his calloused hands unsure of how to hold it without shattering it. "You don’t know what you’re asking for," he says, his voice low and trembling, but there’s no mistaking the flicker of hope in his gaze.

- Jason doesn’t let people in easily. He’s been burned too many times, betrayed by those he once trusted, and haunted by the shadow of his own death. But you? You’ve always been different. He doesn’t know how you managed to slip past his defenses, but now that you’re here, he’s terrified of losing you. His love is fierce, protective, and consuming, like a wildfire that doesn’t know how to burn quietly. He promises to protect you, even from himself.

- He doesn’t say “I love you” right away. Jason isn’t the type to rush into declarations, but his actions speak volumes. He becomes more attentive, more present, and more open in ways he never thought he could be. He’ll cook for you, fix things for you, and show up when you least expect it but need him the most. Every small gesture is his way of saying what he’s too scared to put into words.

- When he finally does say it, it’s in the dead of night, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” The vulnerability in his tone makes your chest ache. Jason Todd loves like he fights—with everything he has, unrelenting and unapologetic. And as you take his hand in yours, you realize that the walls he once hid behind have crumbled, leaving only the raw, unguarded truth of his love for you.

Dick Grayson aka. Nightwing

- Dick Grayson is the kind of man whose charm lights up any room he walks into, but with you, it’s different. His usual ease and effortless charisma falter slightly, replaced by a nervous energy that he can’t quite mask. He teases you playfully, his laughter warm and inviting, but beneath it all, there’s a flicker of uncertainty. You’ve always known him as a beacon of joy and optimism, but when he looks at you, there’s a depth to his gaze that makes your heart skip.

- When you confess your feelings, Dick is stunned into silence. His bright blue eyes widen, and for a moment, you can see every emotion he’s feeling—surprise, hope, and a vulnerability he rarely shows. Then, a slow, radiant smile spreads across his face, one that makes you feel like the most important person in the world. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he says, his voice soft and full of wonder.

- Dick’s love is like sunlight—warm, steady, and impossible to ignore. He’s the type to sweep you off your feet, literally and figuratively, finding ways to make every moment with you feel like an adventure. He doesn’t shy away from showing affection, whether it’s holding your hand in public, leaving notes for you to find, or pulling you into a spontaneous dance in the middle of a quiet street. With Dick, love is vibrant and all-encompassing.

- He listens to you in a way that makes you feel truly seen, his attention unwavering as you speak. Dick is thoughtful, always finding ways to support and uplift you. He remembers the little things—your favorite coffee order, the stories you’ve told him, the songs you hum when you think no one is listening. His love is attentive and intentional, a constant reminder that you’re the center of his world.

- The first time he tells you he loves you, it’s during a quiet moment. The world fades away as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he gazes at you with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “I love you,” he says, his voice steady and certain. And as he presses his forehead against yours, you know that with Dick Grayson, you’ve found a love that is as boundless as the sky.

Tim Drake aka. Red Robin

- Tim Drake is an enigma, a mind that never rests, always analyzing, always planning. But when it comes to you, his careful composure falters. You’ve seen him lose himself in thought, his eyes distant as he works through some puzzle in his head, but the moment you enter the room, his focus shifts entirely to you. He’s quiet, observant, and hesitant, but there’s a softness in the way he looks at you that speaks volumes.

- When you confess your feelings, Tim’s reaction is as complex as the man himself. His first instinct is to overthink, to dissect every word you’ve said, trying to understand how someone as extraordinary as you could feel the same way about him. But then, his logical mind gives way to emotion, and he smiles—a rare, genuine smile that makes your heart ache. “I… I didn’t think this could happen,” he admits, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and quiet joy.

- Tim’s love is quiet and steadfast, like the gentle hum of a machine that never stops working. He shows his affection in subtle ways—a cup of tea waiting for you when you’re tired, a blanket draped over your shoulders when you’ve fallen asleep, a quiet reassurance that he’s always there. He’s not the most expressive, but his actions are deliberate, each one a testament to how much you mean to him.

- He’s not used to putting himself first, and loving you is both a challenge and a revelation. Tim finds himself wanting to be better, not because he thinks he isn’t enough, but because you inspire him to grow. He shares pieces of himself with you that he’s never shared with anyone else—his fears, his dreams, his insecurities. With you, he feels safe, and that safety becomes his sanctuary.

- The first time he tells you he loves you, it’s quiet and unplanned. He’s working late in the Batcave, and you bring him coffee, setting it down beside him. He looks up, his eyes soft and filled with gratitude, and the words slip out before he can stop them. “I love you.” It’s simple, unadorned, and completely genuine, and in that moment, you know that Tim Drake’s love is as profound as it is enduring.

Damian Wayne aka. Robin

- Damian Wayne is not an easy person to love, but you’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. He’s sharp-tongued, prideful, and often difficult, but beneath the layers of arrogance and bravado lies a heart that beats fiercely for those he cares about. You see the way he softens around you, the way his scowl becomes less pronounced, his tone less biting. He’s still Damian, but with you, he allows himself to be vulnerable, even if only a little.

- When you confess your feelings, Damian’s first reaction is disbelief. He straightens his posture, his piercing green eyes narrowing as if trying to detect a lie. But when he sees the sincerity in your gaze, his expression shifts. “You’re serious?” he asks, his voice low and uncertain. The Damian Wayne who always has a retort for everything is, for once, at a loss for words.

- Damian’s love is fierce and protective, like a knight sworn to defend their queen. He’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but his actions speak louder than words. He ensures your safety with an intensity that borders on obsession, his sharp mind always a step ahead of potential threats. To him, loving you means shielding you from the darkness of the world, even if it means sacrificing pieces of himself.

- Despite his tough exterior, Damian’s affection manifests in small, meaningful ways. He’ll remember the books you love, the meals you enjoy, and the stories you’ve shared. He’ll leave a rare flower on your doorstep, a subtle nod to something you mentioned in passing. Damian may not say “I love you” often, but his actions are a constant reminder of how deeply he feels for you.

- When he does tell you, it’s after a battle, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He looks at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice firm and resolute. “And I… I love you.” It’s not a declaration made lightly, but one that carries the weight of his entire being. And as he takes your hand in his, you know that Damian Wayne’s love is as unyielding as the man himself.

Barbara Gordon aka. Oracle / Batgirl

- Barbara Gordon is a woman of strength and resilience, a beacon of hope in a world often shrouded in darkness. She’s brilliant, determined, and fiercely independent, but with you, she lets her guard down. There’s a warmth in her smile when she sees you, a light in her eyes that speaks of a deep, unspoken connection. She’s not one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but you can feel her affection in every word, every glance, every touch.

- When you confess your feelings, Barbara is caught off guard. Her usual composure wavers, and for a moment, she looks at you as if you’ve just rewritten the world. “You mean that?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief and cautious hope. When you nod, her smile grows, and she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Well, it’s about time,” she says, her tone teasing but her eyes brimming with emotion.

- Barbara’s love is steadfast and empowering. She believes in you, perhaps even more than you believe in yourself, and she’s always there to lift you up when you falter. Her affection is woven into the fabric of your everyday life—the way she makes time for you despite her busy schedule, the way she listens to you with undivided attention, the way she challenges you to be your best self.

- She’s not afraid to be vulnerable with you, sharing her fears and insecurities in a way she rarely does with anyone else. With you, she feels safe, and that safety allows her to embrace every facet of herself—the good, the bad, and everything in between. Barbara’s love is a partnership, a meeting of equals, and she treasures the bond you share.

- The first time she tells you she loves you, it’s during a quiet moment at her apartment. She’s working on her computer, the glow of the screen casting soft shadows across her face. You’re sitting beside her, and she suddenly turns to you, her expression open and unguarded. “I love you,” she says simply, her voice steady and sincere. And as she takes your hand in hers, you realize that Barbara Gordon’s love is a gift you’ll cherish for the rest of your life.

Stephanie Brown aka. Spoiler

- Stephanie Brown’s love is like a burst of color in a black-and-white world—vibrant, chaotic, and utterly unforgettable. She’s the kind of person who laughs loudly, teases endlessly, and throws herself headfirst into life. But when it comes to you, her usual bravado softens. You notice it in the way she lingers a little too long during conversations, the way her jokes take on a tender edge, the way she looks at you as though you’re the only thing keeping her grounded.

- When you confess your feelings, Stephanie is utterly floored. Her first instinct is to crack a joke, deflecting the overwhelming surge of emotion she feels. But then she sees the sincerity in your eyes, and her laughter fades into a quiet, stunned silence. “Wait—are you serious?” she asks, her voice uncharacteristically small. When you confirm it, her grin spreads wide and bright. “Well, it’s about time, gorgeous,” she says, pulling you into a spontaneous, breathless hug.

- Stephanie’s love is a whirlwind, full of spontaneity and adventure. She’ll drag you into ridiculous escapades, like sneaking onto rooftops just to stargaze or planning midnight trips to the nearest diner. But for all her chaotic energy, there’s a depth to her love that surprises even her. She’s fiercely loyal, ready to fight the world if it means protecting you, and she makes sure you never feel like you’re facing life’s challenges alone.

- She’s not shy about showing her affection, either. Stephanie thrives on physical closeness—hand-holding, hugs, and playfully stealing kisses when you least expect it. She’s the type to leave sticky notes on your fridge with doodles and silly messages or text you memes that remind her of you. Her love is unfiltered and unapologetic, as bright and boundless as the woman herself.

- When she finally says “I love you,” it’s during a quiet moment after a chaotic day. You’re sitting together, catching your breath, when she suddenly blurts it out. “I love you, you know that, right?” Her tone is so casual it takes you a moment to register her words. But when you look at her, she’s grinning, her cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. And in that moment, you know that Stephanie Brown’s love is the kind that will never let you go.

Cassandra Cain aka. Orphan

- Cassandra Cain is a woman of few words, but her actions speak louder than anything she could ever say. She watches you with an intensity that can be both unnerving and comforting, her dark eyes seeming to read your every thought. Cassandra doesn’t love lightly; she’s been through too much, seen too much, to give her heart away without thought. But with you, it’s different. You’ve become her anchor, her safe place, even if she struggles to put those feelings into words.

- When you confess your feelings, Cassandra is silent for a long moment. She studies you, her expression unreadable, as if trying to gauge the truth of your words. Then, slowly, a smile blooms on her face—small, tentative, but undeniably genuine. She doesn’t say much in response, just a quiet, “Me too.” But the way she looks at you, her eyes shining with emotion, says more than words ever could.

- Cassandra’s love is quiet and unwavering. She shows her affection in the way she protects you, always staying one step ahead of any danger. She’ll guide you through crowded streets with a hand on your back, ensure you’re safe without being overbearing, and stand by your side no matter what. Her love is steady and unshakeable, like a lighthouse guiding you through the storm.

- She’s not big on grand romantic gestures, but the small things she does speak volumes. Cassandra will sit with you in silence, her presence comforting and grounding. She’ll learn your favorite songs, your favorite foods, and the little quirks that make you who you are. She may not say “I love you” often, but every action, every glance, every touch is a reminder of how deeply she feels for you.

- The first time she tells you she loves you, it’s simple and unadorned, but it takes your breath away. You’re sitting together, her hand resting lightly over yours, when she looks at you and says, “I love you.” Her voice is soft but certain, her gaze steady and unwavering. And in that moment, you realize that Cassandra Cain’s love is a quiet, enduring flame that will never be extinguished.

Duke Thomas aka. Signal

- Duke Thomas is a beacon of light in the darkness, his optimism and determination shining through even in the toughest of times. He’s the type of person who believes in people, who sees the good in the world even when it’s hard to find. But when it comes to you, his usual confidence wavers. You catch him stealing glances when he thinks you’re not looking, his smile softening whenever you’re near. With you, Duke feels like he’s found something worth fighting for.

- When you confess your feelings, Duke’s first reaction is disbelief. “Wait—really?” he asks, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and joy. But when he sees the sincerity in your eyes, his grin spreads wide, lighting up his entire face. “You have no idea how happy this makes me,” he says, pulling you into a warm, heartfelt hug. In that moment, it’s as if the entire world fades away, leaving just the two of you.

- Duke’s love is steady and reassuring, like the warm glow of a streetlight on a dark night. He’s the type to check in on you regularly, making sure you’re okay and offering support whenever you need it. His affection is thoughtful and deliberate, whether it’s surprising you with your favorite snacks or sending you encouraging messages throughout the day. With Duke, love is a constant, unwavering presence.

- He’s also deeply protective of you, not in a controlling way, but in a way that makes you feel safe. Duke is always thinking ahead, always considering how he can make your life better and easier. His love is selfless and genuine, rooted in a deep respect for who you are as a person. He admires your strength, your beauty, and your resilience, and he never lets you forget how much you mean to him.

- The first time he says “I love you,” it’s during a quiet moment, just the two of you sitting together under the stars. He takes your hand in his, his thumb gently tracing circles on your skin. “I love you,” he says, his voice steady and full of emotion. And as you look into his eyes, you know that Duke Thomas’s love is a light that will guide you through anything.

Selina Kyle aka. Catwoman

- Selina Kyle is a mystery, a woman who walks the line between light and shadow with a grace that is all her own. She’s playful and alluring, her every word and movement carefully calculated to keep you guessing. But when she’s with you, there’s a vulnerability she doesn’t show to anyone else. You’ve seen the softness in her gaze, the way her teasing smirks give way to genuine smiles, the way she lets her guard down just enough to let you in.

- When you confess your feelings, Selina’s reaction is a mix of surprise and amusement. She arches an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” she says, her tone light and teasing. But then her expression softens, and she steps closer, her fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” she admits, her voice quieter now, almost shy.

- Selina’s love is like a dance—graceful, unpredictable, and utterly captivating. She keeps you on your toes, always surprising you with her wit and charm. She’ll whisk you away on spontaneous adventures, whether it’s a rooftop picnic under the stars or a midnight walk through the city. With Selina, love is an exhilarating game, one that you never want to end.

- Despite her playful demeanor, Selina’s love runs deep. She’s fiercely protective of you, willing to fight tooth and nail to keep you safe. She’s not one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but her actions speak louder than words. She’ll remember the little things, like how you take your coffee or the stories you’ve told her, and she’ll find ways to show you how much she cares in her own unique way.

- The first time she tells you she loves you, it’s almost accidental. You’re lying together, the city lights casting shadows across her face, when she whispers it, almost as if she didn’t mean to say it out loud. “I love you,” she says, her voice soft and full of emotion. And as she looks at you, her usual confidence giving way to something raw and real, you realize that Selina Kyle’s love is as complex and beautiful as the woman herself.

Kate Kane aka. Batwoman

- Kate Kane is a fortress, her walls built high and strong to keep out the pain of her past. She’s tough, confident, and unyielding, but with you, she allows herself to be vulnerable. You’ve seen the cracks in her armor, the moments when she lets her guard down and shows you the woman behind the Bat. There’s a quiet intensity in the way she looks at you, a depth of emotion she struggles to put into words.

- When you confess your feelings, Kate’s reaction is guarded. She takes a step back, her sharp blue eyes studying you carefully. “You’re serious?” she asks, her voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. But when you nod, her expression softens, and a small, almost hesitant smile breaks through. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she admits, her voice quiet. “But… I’m glad you said it.”

- Kate’s love is a steady, grounding force. She’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but her affection is unwavering and deeply genuine. She’ll show her love through quiet acts of care—making sure you’re safe, supporting you in your goals, and standing by your side no matter what. With Kate, love is a partnership built on trust and mutual respect.

- She’s fiercely protective of you, her training and instincts kicking in whenever she senses danger. But she also knows when to let you stand on your own, respecting your independence and strength. Kate’s love is balanced and empowering, a reminder that she sees you as her equal in every way. She admires your courage, your beauty, and your resilience, and she makes sure you know it.

- The first time she says “I love you,” it’s after a long night of patrols. You’re sitting together, the exhaustion visible on her face, when she turns to you and takes your hand. “I love you,” she says simply, her voice steady and sincere. And as she looks at you, her walls finally lowered, you know that Kate Kane’s love is a fortress you can always call home.

[geekgirl-1717]

Runaway Cat and Runaway Heart

Seth Lowell x Reader

Tags: sfw, fluff, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers, a little bit of smooching at the end. gender-neutral reader and no use of (y/n). 6.3k words

this catboy has me in a chokehold rn

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

You tried to steady your breathing, fighting against the panic rising in your chest. You could feel tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, and you furiously blinked them away.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

You needed to stay calm if you were going to resolve this situation.

It had started with a harmless mistake. You hadn’t given it a second thought when you’d left your front door open while retrieving a package. You’d stepped outside for mere seconds, and your cat had always been so well-behaved that it never even occurred to you that she would try to run away. 

Now here you were, pacing frantically up and down the sidewalks of Lumina Square, futilely reassuring yourself that your precious furry baby was okay and that you’d find her safe and sound. You spared a glance at the sprawling maze of roads and crosswalks zig-zagging through the city center, feeling the rush of air against your skin as cars zipped past endlessly, and the tears threatened to spill over your cheeks again as you imagined the worst-case scenario. 

You were sure you looked like a lunatic to passersby, wandering about aimlessly and calling out your cat’s name in a frenzied tone. With each passing minute, you could feel your hope slipping further and further away.

You rounded a corner, slumped over and defeated from your effortless search, when you spotted a Public Security officer. He was a feline Thiren, with a long, fluffy tail and ears poking out of his mop of white hair. 

As you moved closer, you realized the officer was holding something in his arms. Something fluffy with a long tail and pointed ears not unlike his own. Your heart started beating wildly in your chest as you felt your optimism return, and you couldn’t help yourself as you started almost running towards the PubSec officer. You recognized those furry features as belonging to your beloved cat.

The officer’s ears twitched as you ran up to him and he turned to face you as you approached, giving a clear view of your cat peacefully snuggled up in his arms like a baby. It seems he quickly put two and two together, and gave you an eager grin.

“Hello! Is this your cat, then?”

You could have thrown yourself at this man’s feet, you were so grateful to him. You tried to steady your breathing, giving him an appreciative look.

“Yes, sir, thank you so much! I- I have no idea why she ran away. I swear she isn’t usually like this!”

The officer just chuckled, his bright smile only widening further. 

“Don’t worry about it! I'm just glad this sweet little gal has such a lovely owner. I was worried she might be a stray.”

You felt your face heating up at his words. If it was anyone else, you might have felt uncomfortable with a stranger saying something that could be so easily interpreted as flirting, but he seemed so genuine and wholesome, you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel upset. 

You held out your arms to take your cat back, and the officer stepped closer to hand her off. Your cat, however, seemed to have different ideas. 

Instead of being happy to see you, your cat cuddled closer up against the Thiren, purring contentedly. You huffed before giving the officer an apologetic smile, reaching to try to grab your cat from him again. As you gently lifted her, your cat squirmed in your grasp, digging her claws into the officer’s uniform and refusing to let go.

That little traitor!

The officer laughed at the predicament, giving your cat a scratch behind the ear. Meanwhile, the heated flush of embarrassment creeped further up the back of your neck. 

“I'm so sorry about this. I’m sure you have much more important things you could be doing right now, and I’m wasting your time-”

The officer cut you off with a vigorous shake of his head, his ears flopping cutely with the motion. 

“Not at all! As a Public Security officer, it is my duty to help the citizens of New Eridu, no matter what! Making sure you get your cat back is as important as anything else, and I’d be willing to wait here all day if that’s what it took!”

You were taken aback by how sincere this guy was, and you felt your heart flutter at his kind words. 

Woah, slow down now.

This guy was clearly passionate about his job, and he probably would have said the same thing to anyone else, you told yourself. 

“Thank you, sir. That’s very nice of you to say.”

He gave you a beaming grin in response, and you wondered if his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. 

It took several more minutes of coaxing and embarrassed apologies from you before your cat finally relented to being handed over. You tucked her close to you in a firm but gentle hold so she couldn’t run away again (or jump back into the officer’s arms again, traitor).

You sounded like a broken record, but you thanked and apologized to the officer once more. 

“Thank you again so much for finding my cat. I’m sorry for any trouble this caused.”

“It’s no problem at all! I’m glad I could help! And I guess I should apologize as well. Cats just really seem to like me for some reason, so I’m sure that’s why your little gal was being a bit fussy.”

You almost laughed out loud at his words. It didn’t seem to occur to him that being a Cat-Thiren might have something to do with his cat magnetism, but you found his obliviousness to be adorably endearing.

“You don’t have to apologize. That certainly doesn’t sound like the worst problem to have.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, giving you a bashful grin. 

“Yeah, I guess not!”

His tail was swishing back and forth excitedly, and you found yourself almost hypnotized by it. Was it soft, you wondered? It had to be. You slowly looked up to his ears again, noting how they twitched and swiveled at the slightest sound. These mannerisms reminded you of your own cat, and you smiled at that thought.

It wasn’t as though you’d never met a Thiren before, but this guy was seriously cute. You’d even go so far as to call him pretty, with his soft lavender eyes and unfairly long lashes. His feline features made him all the more intriguing. 

Your eyes were just beginning to wander to his impressive deltoids peeking out from his sleeveless uniform before your cat let out a loud meow in your arms, breaking the silence that had formed between you and the officer and making you realize you’d been ogling him the entire time.

You immediately snapped your gaze back to his face, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just been looking him up and down like a creep. Luckily, it seemed like he’d been doing some staring of his own and was equally flustered.

You cleared your throat awkwardly and gave him a sheepish smile.

“Well, I should be getting back now. Thanks again for your help. Maybe I’ll see you around some time?”

You hoped that last part didn’t sound too pathetic. Thankfully for you, his eyes seemed to light up at your words. 

“Yeah, for sure! Hope to see you again soon!”

He waved you off as you made your way home.

Walking the familiar path back to your apartment gave you some time to reflect on the interaction you’d just had. More specifically, your thoughts kept drifting back to the PubSec officer.

He’d been so sweet and friendly. His upbeat energy was contagious, and even now you couldn’t fight the grin spreading across your face as you remembered his cheerful laughter and blinding smiles. And he was easy on the eyes, charming and boyishly handsome.

Your stomach did a funny little flip when you thought about the last thing he said to you, how he sounded so excited at the prospect of running into you again. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t share his enthusiasm. His genuine mannerisms were refreshing, if not a little bit naïve, and it made you want to get to know him better. 

You suddenly paused, a slight frown overtaking your features. You were reading too far into this, weren’t you? Of course you were. This guy was a PubSec officer, he was basically paid to be nice to civilians like you. And with how much he seemed to love his job, you bet he’d probably have the same happy grin on his face whether he was finding lost cats or arresting dangerous criminals. 

And worst of all, you didn’t even know his name!  You’d been so frazzled from the experience of almost losing your cat that introductions had been the furthest thing from your mind.

Another meow pulled you from your thoughts, reminding you that you’d been standing at the front door of your apartment for a while now without actually going inside. It was a careful balancing act to fish your keys out of your pocket while still holding your cat, but you managed to get the door open and place your cat inside safe and sound.

After double-checking your door was fully closed and locked, you sank down to the floor, letting out an exasperated sigh. Your cat happily plopped herself down in your lap, purring away as if she hadn’t just nearly given you a heart attack and led you on a wild goose chase throughout town mere minutes ago. 

As you lovingly scratched under her chin, you resolved that you had a harmless little crush on the very nice, very handsome PubSec officer who saved your cat, and it wasn’t a big deal because you’d probably never talk to him again anyway. You couldn’t even imagine how busy his life as an officer was, so what were the odds of your paths crossing again?

****

As it turns out, the odds were surprisingly high.

About a week had passed since the “cat incident,” and thoughts of the cute PubSec officer had only briefly crossed your mind.

You were standing in the pet aisle of the grocery store, deliberating between different brands of cat food. Much to your delight (see: annoyance), your cat had suddenly decided she no longer wanted to eat the food you had been buying her for years, and now you were on a mission to find something she wouldn’t turn her little nose up at. 

She stopped eating the chicken flavor, so do I go with tuna? Or would she like salmon better?

You were so absorbed in deliberating cat food flavors that you didn’t notice a familiar figure peering over your shoulder.

“If I were you, I’d pick the salmon one.”

Your head whirled around in surprise as you were greeted with a cheery voice and unmistakable grin. 

“Oh, it’s you!”

Your feline savior smiled even wider knowing that you recognized him (not that he was easy to forget). He was clearly off-duty, as he was wearing plain clothes rather than his PubSec uniform. Without his bulky gear and long gloves, you were able to get a much better view of his muscles through his short-sleeved shirt.

Jeez, get a hold of yourself.

You mentally scolded yourself. You alternated your gaze between the cat food in your hands and his pretty purple eyes until you finally processed what he said. 

“Thanks for the recommendation! Do you have a cat too, then?”

He tilted his head to the side and brought a hand up under his chin, as if deliberating how to answer your question. It was such a simple yet adorable action, and it reignited the spark of attraction you’d felt when you first met him. 

“Hmmm, kinda? They’re not technically my cats. Like I said before, cats just really seem to like me for some reason, and a lot of strays like to come up to me while I’m walking around or out on patrol. So I like to have cat food with me, just in case! Most cats really seem to like that salmon one you’re holding.”

So it wasn’t enough that he was attractive, strong, kind-hearted, and honest, but he feeds stray cats, too? What’s next, he’s going to tell you he helps old ladies cross the street in his free time? Actually, nevermind; he absolutely does.

As your crush on this man started blooming all over again, you finally realized you didn’t even know his name.

Quickly tossing the salmon cat food in your basket and placing the other flavors back on the shelf, you stuck your hand out in greeting.

“I’m so sorry, I never actually introduced myself. What’s your name?”

“Oh yeah, you’re right! My name’s Seth!”

He grabbed your hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake, smiling when you gave him your name in return. He repeated it back to you, as if trying out the way it sounded on his tongue, still shaking your hand all the while. His grip was firm yet gentle, and you couldn’t help but admire how nicely your hand fit into his. 

He finally dropped the handshake, and you briefly lamented the loss of contact. He spoke up again, clearly not in any rush to end the interaction. 

“So how’s your cat doing?”

You sighed before relaying the story of your cat suddenly becoming a picky eater, which made him laugh. From there, the conversation flowed easily between the two of you, as if you had known each other for ages.

You learned he was part of the Public Security Criminal Investigation Special Response Team, a difficult path for a PubSec officer but one he was dedicated to nonetheless. He loved cats (obviously), and he wasn’t a fan of horror movies. You chimed in with tidbits of your own from time to time, but you were mostly content to just listen to Seth. Every now and then, you spared a glance downwards at his tail, which was swishing back and forth excitedly. It reminded you of how your cat looked when she was staring at a bird or squirrel out your window, engaged and laser-focused, and it made you smile internally.

You had no idea how much time had passed. The two of you were in your own little world, and it wasn’t until you heard someone clearing their throat loudly that you realized you were still standing in the grocery store, effectively blocking access to the cat food shelf.

You and Seth both apologized profusely and backed up so an older woman could reach past you two. Thankfully, she didn’t seem upset, and she even shot you a knowing wink as she shuffled away. 

As much as you would have liked to keep talking to Seth, you unfortunately had other errands you needed to run today and you were sure Seth did as well. 

“I’m sorry, I need to head out now, but it was really nice to see you again!”

You told him with a smile. You swore you saw his ears droop slightly, but he perked back up almost immediately.

“Yeah, I’m really glad I got to run into you! Hopefully I’ll see you again soon!”

You gave him a short wave goodbye before continuing on with the rest of your shopping.

Just like when you first met him, you kept replaying your interaction with Seth in your mind over and over. He was so easy to talk to, and you felt so comfortable around him despite this only being the second time you’d ever met. 

Wait, did this mean you guys were friends now? Or were you more like acquaintances? Seth said he wanted to see you again and you certainly shared his sentiment, and the two of you had talked for so long about yourselves, so that probably made you friends at this point. Should you have gotten his phone number?

God, how did you keep fumbling this so badly? It was already a miracle you managed to bump into Seth at the grocery store, you doubted you would be lucky enough to cross paths with him again. 

You felt bad for the old lady who was rooting for you. It seems like your infatuation with Seth was destined to be just that: infatuation, and nothing more. Besides, even if you somehow were able to see Seth again, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who was concerned with dating and romance. He had goals and dreams to pursue, and you were sure he only thought of you as a friend anyway. 

No use worrying about it now, I guess.

You continued on with your errands, resolving that if you did end up meeting Seth again, you would take that as a sign and ask him for his number. Not that it would actually happen, though.

****

Okay, now you were convinced you had some kind of guardian angel or deity watching over you, because what were the chances of this?

It had been about two weeks since you’d talked to Seth at the grocery store, and you had all but given up on the prospect of bumping into him again. You’d found yourself with a bit more free time than usual and to stave off the boredom, you decided to make a trip to the video store on Sixth Street. 

You’d only been there a few times, but they had a massive selection of movies and the siblings who ran the store were very nice, even if they did keep trying to convince you to buy a premium membership. 

You expected to be greeted by one of the managers or their Bangboo when you entered Random Play, but instead you saw Seth standing behind the front counter. It was your turn to tilt your head in confusion as Seth gave you his usual enthusiastic greeting. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

That got a laugh out of you, shaking your head as you walked up to the counter. 

“I feel like I should be asking you that. Do you work here?”

You doubted that Seth would have time for a second job or really any need for one, yet here he was. He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and thinking for a moment before responding. 

“Kinda? But not really. I’m friends with the managers here and they’ve been really nice to me, so I offered to help promote movies for them every now and then!”

Was there anyone in New Eridu this guy wasn’t friends with? It was sweet that he spent his free time helping Wise and Belle around the shop, especially when he probably didn’t get much free time in the first place. 

You leaned your elbows on the counter, giving Seth a cheeky grin.

“Well then Mr. Promoter, do you have any good recommendations for me?”

Seth lit up like a Christmas tree, beaming at you excitedly. He moved from his spot behind the counter and wrapped a hand around your wrist, leading you over to one of the many displays along the wall. 

He searched for a moment before he let out a little “ah ha!,” pulling a movie from the shelf and placing it in your hands.

“Have you ever heard of a movie called ‘Dimensional Musketeer’? It’s about this mysterious guy who goes into Hollows to fight Etherals, and he’s got this cool weapon that lets him take down even the strongest enemies! It’s one of my favorite movies of all time!”

He was talking so excitedly fast, it was almost hard to understand him. Still, if this was one of Seth’s favorites, then it was good enough for you. You smiled at him, pulling the movie case close to your chest.

“That sounds awesome! I’ll definitely give it a watch then.”

You thought you’d seen Seth happy before, but the joy on his face right now was incomparable. 

“Great! Actually, why don’t we watch it together? This movie never gets old no matter how many times I see it, and I really want to know what you’ll think of it!”

It took you a moment before the implications of his words finally set in. 

Was he… asking you on a date?

It seemed like a plausible explanation, but then again with how friendly and frankly oblivious Seth was, it was equally possible he just wanted to watch his favorite movie with a friend and nothing more. 

Regardless, you weren’t going to pass up on this opportunity now, not when you had messed up so badly before. You tried not to let your tone betray how excited you were as you nodded in response.

“That sounds great! Do you want to come over to my place tonight? I’m sure my cat will be happy to see you again.”

Seth frowned slightly, looking bashful. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to feel like I’m inviting myself over.”

You laughed, tucking the movie case under your arm so you could grab both of Seth’s hands in yours. 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure. And you’re not inviting yourself over, I’m inviting you over, silly.”

Seth glanced down at where your hands were joined together, and you thought you saw a pinkish hue spreading across his cheeks.  

“Y-yeah, I guess you’re right. Tonight at your place is it then! Do you use Knock Knock? I can add you right now!”

You let go of Seth’s hands so you could reach into your pocket and pull out your phone, handing it over to him so he could input his contact information. 

When he handed you your phone back, you saw he put a little “(≧∀≦)” after his contact name, and you resisted the urge to squeal out loud from the cuteness of it all.

You followed Seth back to the front counter with the intention of paying for the movie. As you pulled out your wallet, though, he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it, this one’s on me! 

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”

“Of course! I, uh- I actually have the premium membership here, so I may as well put it to good use.”

Oh, poor Seth. Of course a sweet guy like him wouldn’t be able to say no to the managers’ persuasions.

“Thanks, I appreciate it! I have to get going now, but I’ll see you later tonight!”

Though certainly not unwelcome, you weren’t prepared to host guests and your apartment definitely needed some cleaning up before Seth came over. 

“You’re welcome! And yeah, see you later!”

As soon as you made it out of the door of Random Play, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. 

Things had gone perfectly this time. You’d actually managed to secure a kind-of-maybe-not-but-also-maybe-yes date with Seth, and you were determined to make sure everything went smoothly. 

****

You arrived home a little while later, having stopped on your way back to pick up some snacks and drinks for the evening. You started on the task of tidying up your space, letting your thoughts wander as you flited from chore to chore. 

Should you dress up tonight? Or just keep it casual? Should you try to make a move? Was this even a date to begin with, or were you just reading too far into things?

On one hand, there certainly were signs that Seth liked you as more than just a friend. All those times you’d bumped into him, he seemed so genuinely happy to see you. Whenever you had to leave, you noted subtle signs of disappointment, whether it be a small dip in his near-permanent smile or a slight droop in his ears. And he was the one who suggested you watch a movie together in the first place. That had to mean something, right? You bit your bottom lip, trying to suppress your excited grin at the thought of Seth reciprocating your feelings. You could feel your face heating up and your heart beating incessantly against your chest. 

But at the same time, you couldn’t fight the nagging thoughts lingering at the back of your mind, planting seeds of doubt and uncertainty. For as much as Seth wore his heart on his sleeve, you found him surprisingly hard to read. He was such a good-hearted and friendly guy that the cheerful smiles and warm greetings, the constant acts of kindness and generosity, the hopeful promises of meeting again, were probably something he shared with everyone. Were you selfish to think you were special somehow? If Seth didn’t like you back, would it ruin the friendship you’d managed to build thus far?

That thought almost knocked the breath from your lungs. You couldn’t let that happen. You’d much rather spend the rest of your days silently and hopelessly pining after Seth than lose him entirely. 

Suddenly, this movie night didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore. But with how ecstatic Seth had been when you agreed to watch his favorite movie with him, you knew it would crush him if you backed out now. 

You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you heard a ping from your phone, jolting you out of your anxious ruminations. As you’d expected, it was a message from Seth, asking if it was still okay for him to come over soon.

No turning back now.

You sent back an affirmative reply before tossing your phone down to finish preparing for Seth’s arrival. You decided on an outfit that wasn’t too flashy but certainly a bit nicer than what you’d wear around the house. After setting out the food and drinks, you opted to sit on the couch, nervously fiddling with your fingers and trying your best to keep your nervous thoughts at bay. 

You nearly fell off the couch in surprise when you finally heard a knock at your door. You stood at the doorway for a moment, taking one last moment to smooth out your clothes and tidy up your appearance before taking a deep breath. Seth was already beaming at you when you opened the door, and it helped put you at ease. 

That’s right. It’s just Seth. No need to overthink things. 

All of your reassured thoughts flew out the window when Seth pulled you in for a tight hug, squeezing you against him in a near-crushing grip. The feeling of being pressed into his firm chest and his muscular arms wrapped around your frame had your face heating up quickly. 

“It’s nice to see you again!”

His words made you burn even hotter, and you prayed Seth couldn’t feel your embarrassed warmth through his shirt. You hesitantly reciprocated his hug, pushing your face closer into his chest in an attempt to hide your fluster.

“You too! But you know, I just saw you a few hours ago.”

Seth pulled back from the hug, giving you an unfairly adorable pout. 

“I know, but it’s still nice to see you again.”

Your heart couldn’t handle such unabashed sincerity, and you could only smile and laugh awkwardly as you stepped aside to let him into your apartment, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush still present on your cheeks. 

Seth had hardly taken 2 steps inside before your cat came trotting up to him, meowing and brushing up against his legs affectionately. He chuckled, reaching down to pick her up. Your cat was purring louder than you’d ever heard, starting to fall asleep in his arms almost instantaneously. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad, your heart melting at the adorable sight before you. Seth finally turned his attention back to you.

“Thanks again for having me over!” 

You shook your head, closing the door and leading him to the living room.

“Of course! I’m glad you could make it. I’m excited for the movie!”

“Me too!”

You crouched down in front of the TV, setting up the movie while he got comfortable with your cat now snoozing peacefully in his lap. Once everything was ready, you moved to take a seat on the couch next to Seth before you paused for a moment. How close should you sit to him? If you sit too close, it could be awkward. But if you sat on the far end of the couch from him, wouldn’t that be more awkward? He seemed to take note of your hesitancy, giving you a confused look before patting the empty space next to him. 

“C’mon, the movie’s starting!”

Seth having made up your mind for you, you plopped down in the spot he designated for you, your thighs just brushing up against his. You stole a glance at Seth out of the corner of your eye to gauge his reaction, but he was already engrossed in the movie. You directed your gaze back to the screen, resolving that you would just focus on enjoying the movie in favor of dwelling on Seth’s intentions. 

But as the evening went on, you found it harder and harder to stick to your resolve. While Seth remained fixated on the movie, you remained fixated on him. You realized this was the first time you’d really been able to admire Seth up close. Of course, you’d stolen plenty of glances at him during the times you’d spoken with him, but you had tried to keep most of your attention on his words, not wanting to be caught staring.

Now though, with Seth being so enthralled by the movie, you figured it was okay to let your gaze linger on him for a bit longer. You were positive he wouldn’t even notice. 

The light from the TV screen illuminated his features, casting a soft radiance over him. In the relative darkness of the room, his hair seemed to glow, reflecting the light like a fresh blanket of snow. His bright purple eyes seemed somehow brighter, full of excitement and contentment. His ears were standing straight up, not wanting to miss a single word of the movie. 

But most of all, your eyes kept drifting back to Seth’s tail.

It was swaying back and forth the way you’d seen it before when he was focused or excited, and it took all your willpower not to reach out and run your fingers through the fluffy tufts of fur. Whenever you’d encountered Seth previously, your eyes had always drifted down to his tail, your thoughts wandering to how it would feel to pet it. Realistically, it probably wouldn’t feel any different than when you pet your cat, but a part of you thought it might even be softer. 

You knew it was such a weird fixation, and Thirens probably had to deal with rude people trying to touch them all the time, but you’d never be able to stop thinking about his tail if you didn’t get to pet it at least once. 

You took a deep breath before steeling your resolve, shifting your position on the couch so you were now facing him with your legs crossed. 

“Hey, Seth? Would it be okay if… I touched your tail? It just looks so soft and I keep wondering what it would feel like.”

The question tumbled forth from your lips faster than you’d meant it to. Seth’s jaw dropped at your words, a deep blush quickly spreading across the expanse of his face.  

“You want to touch… my tail?”

He sounded so dumbfounded by your request, and you were afraid you’d overstepped a boundary. 

“Only if that’s okay with you! I’m sorry if that was a weird ask. You can just forget I said anything-”

You started to backtrack, but Seth cut you off. 

“No! You’re totally fine! You can touch my tail if you want to, no problem at all!”

He was trying to sound nonchalant, but his nervous tone betrayed his words. A blush was starting to spread across his cheeks, and you swore his breathing picked up. You tried to give him another out, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

“Seth, if you’re not okay with it, that’s totally fine. I swear I won’t be offended.”

He took a deep breath before shaking his head. He grinned at you like he’d done a million times before, but this one felt different somehow, more vulnerable and earnest.

“If it’s you, it’s okay. I promise.”

Now it was your turn to blush. You were caught off-guard by how earnest his response was, and it was all you could do to nod in response.

Seth shifted on the couch until his tail was in your lap, the movement causing your cat to hop off from her perch on his legs and meander away with a meow of discontent. Despite his best efforts to keep it under control, his tail still swished nervously, but the softness brushing against your legs was a pleasant sensation. You reached a cautious hand up, gently running your fingers through the white strands of fur.

You were right: his fur was somehow softer than your own cat. You found yourself almost memorized by the impossibly fluffy texture, and you had to stop yourself from burying your face in his tail as you imagined how nice it would feel against your cheeks.

You turned your attention back to Seth, your hands still stroking his fur absentmindedly. He was more flustered than you’d ever seen him, fiddling with his fingers in his lap while avoiding your gaze. You could feel your own face heating up as you noticed a tension building between you two. 

“Thank you for letting me touch your tail, Seth. It’s uh- really soft.”

You’d meant to try to lighten the atmosphere a bit, but you internally cringed at how awkward you sounded. Seth’s ears perked up at your words, his blush now spreading all the way down his neck. He only nodded in response, swallowing thickly before finally looking at you again. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally speaking in an uncharacteristically timid voice. 

“Can I, uh- I mean would it be okay if I.. kissed you?”

“Wait, what?”

You honestly couldn’t believe what you’d just heard. Seth wanted to kiss you? Right now?

While your brain was short-circuiting, Seth began to panic. His face was an alarming shade of red, and his tail was swishing about wildly. 

“Wait, do you not like me uh- you know, like that? I’m so sorry! I just thought with you wanting to touch my tail, you… you know. But if not, that’s totally okay, too! I’m really sorry!”

You wanted to slap yourself for your ignorance. Of course, Thiren’s tails were special to them, and asking Seth to touch his tail was a huge deal! This certainly wasn’t the outcome you’d been expecting when you’d first asked, but you couldn’t believe that Seth reciprocated your feelings. Your words came out in a rushed frenzy as you tried to salvage the painfully awkward situation. 

“No! I mean, yes, I do like you! A lot, actually. I just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

Seth tilted his head to the side, staring at you like you’d grown an extra limb. 

“Of course I like you! I’ve liked you since I first met you! How could I not? You’re attractive and funny and nice and you like cats and-”

You cut off Seth’s rambling by sealing your lips over his, pouring all of your feelings for him into the kiss. If Seth had continued listing everything he liked about you, you’re sure your heart would have exploded. 

Seth was initially caught off guard, but he quickly recovered and kissed you back with equal fervor, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek. 

Kissing Seth was everything you hoped it would be and more. His lips fit against yours like a puzzle piece. He seemed a little hesitant and unsure of what to do, but you were happy to take the lead, moving your lips softly and gently against his so as not to overwhelm him. 

You only pulled away when your lungs were burning for air. Seth wasn’t in much better shape, his breath fanning across your face as he panted heavily.

For a while, neither of you spoke, choosing instead to bask in the passionate moment you just shared. Finally, Seth broke the silence.

“So, uh- was that okay?”

He asked with a sheepish grin, his face still painted with a pink flush. God, he was so disgustingly adorable. You swore you were getting the same feeling of cuteness aggression you got whenever your cat did something precious.

You gave in to your impulses, reaching up to squish Seth’s cheeks in both your hands. You yanked him close until your nose was brushing against his. Seth let out a yelp of surprise, his ears sticking straight up.

“You’re so fucking cute.”

You mumbled before pressing your mouth to his once more. One hand reached up to run through his soft hair, your fingers barely brushing against the base of his ears.

He shivered at your touch, his tail wrapping around your waist to drag you further into him until you were almost sitting on his lap. 

The kiss was indulgent and lazy yet no less passionate than before. You had all the time in the world to kiss Seth now, and you intended on savoring it. 

After who knows how long, Seth pulled away first this time, planting a final kiss on your nose and leaning his forehead against yours. 

“You’re way cuter.”

You giggled at his sweet words, and Seth couldn’t help but laugh with you. As you leaned in for another kiss, you made a mental note to give your cat as many treats as she wanted, silently thanking her for running away from home and leading you to the man you never knew you belonged with.

[selenepsyche]

★ Placements That Could Indicate Being a Powerful Manifester ★

Jupiter in 1st, 2nd, 8th, 9th, 10th, or 11th House - Naturally lucky, attracts wealth and success effortlessly

Jupiter conjunct, trine, or sextile the Sun or Moon - A strong belief in oneself, optimism fuels manifestation power

Jupiter in Sagittarius or Pisces - Enhanced spiritual connection, faith in the universe, and easy attraction of good opportunities

Jupiter in 8th or 12th House - Can manifest wealth and blessings through spiritual and psychological power

Pluto in the 1st or 8th House - Magnetic and strong spiritual abilities, can control outcomes and their reality, and have a strong focus on desires

Pluto conjunct, trine, or sextile the Sun, Moon, or Jupiter - Deep transformative energy, manifesting through sheer will and emotional depth

Pluto in Scorpio or Capricorn - Strong abilities to turn challenges into success, understands power dynamics

Pluto in the 12th House - Subconscious manifestation, strong connection to spirituality and higher powers

Neptune 1st, 8th, 9th, 12th House - Strong intuition, can turns dreams into reality, deep spiritual power

Neptune conjunct, trine, or sextile the Moon or Jupiter - Natural ability to visualize and attract your dreams into your existence

Neptune in Sagittarius or Pisces - Extra mystical energy, strong belief in divine timing and faith in the universe

Neptune in 2nd or 10th House - Manifesting wealth and career success through visualization and creativity

Venus or Jupiter in the 2nd House - Money, love, and success come easily, strong manifestation abilities for material wealth

Taurus Rising or Taurus North Node - Stability and abundance come naturally when you trust the process (law of attraction)

Venus trine Jupiter - Attracts wealth, love, and success without much effort

Sun conjunct Jupiter - Extreme luck, charisma, and abundance will follow you naturally

Moon trine/sextile Jupiter or Pluto - Emotional alignment with desires bring effortless manifestation

Neptune conjunct the Ascendant or Midheaven - Your dreams and imagination become real, often manifesting things through belief alone

Thank you for reading! I will most likely make a part two for this since there are a lot of other placements I wanted to add. I didn't wanna make this post too long though. If you have any questions, comment them down below!

dividers: @cafekitsune

written by: @selenepsyche. do not steal.

© selenepsyche - All Rights Reserved

[wisesoultarot]

Who is your future spouse? Pick an image

Instagram | Tip Jar | Book a Reading with me now!!

🌷IMAGE 1:

The color red, often associated with intense emotions, plays a significant role in your reading, serving as a powerful symbol of passion, courage, and boldness. This vibrant hue suggests that your future partner will embody these very traits, presenting themselves as a confident and action-oriented individual who thrives on exploration and adventure. Rather than conforming to societal rules or traditions, they will embrace a more spontaneous and free-spirited approach to life, seeking out new experiences and challenges with enthusiasm.

While this adventurous nature may lead them to act impulsively at times, it is precisely this fearlessness that distinguishes them from others. They are not afraid to take risks or step outside their comfort zone, which can lead to exciting and unexpected journeys together. Their willingness to embrace the unknown will inspire you to join them in their pursuits, fostering a sense of adventure in your relationship.

In addition to their boldness, this person radiates warmth and positivity, creating an inviting atmosphere wherever they go. Their natural ability to spread joy and optimism will uplift those around them, making them a source of inspiration and motivation. You will find that their infectious energy can brighten even the dullest of days, encouraging you to adopt a more positive outlook on life.

Moreover, their quick-thinking mind and insatiable curiosity drive them to constantly seek knowledge and understanding. They are not content with surface-level information; instead, they delve deep into subjects that pique their interest, always eager to learn and grow. This intellectual curiosity will keep you engaged and alert, as they share fascinating insights and ideas that challenge your own perspectives.

Together, you and your future partner will embark on a journey filled with passion, adventure, and intellectual stimulation. Their boldness will encourage you to step outside your own boundaries, while their warmth and positivity will create a nurturing environment for your relationship to flourish. As you navigate life together, you will find that their fearless spirit and thirst for knowledge will not only enhance your connection but also inspire you to embrace your own passions and dreams.

🌷IMAGE 2:

This individual embodies a sense of romance and daydreaming that is truly enchanting, captivating all who encounter their presence. Their essence is painted in an abundance of white, yellow, and blue hues, colors that symbolize purity, joy, and tranquility. This vibrant palette suggests that they exude an air of mystique, drawing others in with an almost ethereal quality. Beneath this enchanting exterior lies a deep-seated purity, a genuine heart that radiates kindness and compassion.

They possess a remarkable ability to spread positivity, creating an uplifting atmosphere wherever they go. It is as if they carry a light within them, one that never casts negative energy onto others. Instead, they inspire those around them to embrace their own potential and pursue their dreams. Their kindness is not just a trait; it is a way of being that enriches the lives of everyone they touch.

In the realm of manifestation, this individual excels with an effortless grace. They have a unique talent for bringing their desires to fruition, as if the universe conspires to align with their intentions. This ability is enhanced by their strong connection to intuition and spirituality, which serves as a guiding force in their life. Their spiritual depth adds to their allure, making them not only captivating but also profoundly charming.

While they are inherently romantic and gentle, there exists a sensual side to them that they tend to keep private. This intimate aspect of their personality is reserved for that person who deem special, creating a sense of exclusivity and intrigue. It is in these moments of vulnerability that their true depth is revealed, showcasing a complexity that goes beyond the surface.

Rather than challenging or provoking, this person serves as a beacon of inspiration and motivation. They encourage personal growth and empowerment in those fortunate enough to be in their presence, fostering an environment where others feel safe to explore their own potential. Their influence is subtle yet profound, leaving a lasting impact on the hearts and minds of those they encounter. In a world that often feels chaotic, this individual stands as a reminder of the beauty of kindness, the power of dreams, and the magic of genuine connection.

🌷IMAGE 3:

Choosing a life partner is one of the most significant decisions you will make, and it is crucial to approach this selection process with a great deal of care and discernment. The importance of finding someone who resonates with your core values and lifestyle cannot be overstated; compatibility is the foundation upon which a lasting relationship is built. As you embark on this journey, it is vital to maintain an open mind and be willing to explore a variety of dating possibilities. This exploration will not only broaden your understanding of what you seek in a partner but also enrich your romantic experiences.

During your early twenties, particularly until you reach the age of 25, you are likely to experience a dynamic and sometimes tumultuous romantic landscape. This period is marked by significant personal growth and transformation, as you navigate the complexities of relationships and self-identity. It is a time when you will learn more about yourself, your desires, and the qualities that are truly important to you in a partner. This journey of self-discovery is essential, as it will lead you to a profound spiritual awakening, granting you clarity and insight into what you truly want from a romantic relationship.

As you engage in various romantic experiences, you may encounter individuals who are at different stages in their lives. Some may be overly focused on their careers, leaving little room for a meaningful relationship, while others may be transient, unwilling to commit to anything serious. These encounters, while sometimes frustrating, are part of the learning process that will ultimately prepare you for a more stable and fulfilling partnership.

Once you have navigated this transformative phase, you will find yourself better equipped to enter into a serious relationship. You will have a clearer understanding of your own needs and desires, which will enable you to identify a partner who aligns with your vision for the future. The person you are destined to find will likely embody qualities of practicality, stability, and a grounded nature—traits often associated with strong earth sign characteristics. This meaningful connection will emerge as you focus on your career and financial aspirations, creating a solid foundation for a relationship that can thrive alongside your personal and professional growth.

In summary, the journey to finding a life partner is one that requires patience, openness, and a willingness to learn from each experience. By embracing this process and remaining true to yourself, you will ultimately attract a partner who complements your life and supports your aspirations, leading to a fulfilling and lasting relationship.