#Izzy made his points

[aucoba]

Izzy's death is fucking sad and so meaningful to me at the same time. we won't see him take care oh his guys or of him self anymore yes, but that doesn't mean his death is meaningless : he gets proper closure with Blackbeard, his last words are him voicing out the peace he gained during this season, he goes away proving what he did before was wrong, embracing the love and support of the community he finally treated well and took care of rather than try to end.

Izzy was a living nightmare and lived beautifully. I am sad to see him gone and I will never regret knowing him or having to say goodbye.

[electric-friend]

wait hang on 😭😭 are people seriously debating “he’s a complicated man” right now??

i agree that izzy’s an unreliable narrator, and i think that some of the things he’s said about ed aren’t necessarily true, much as many other things he’s said are also not necessarily true. he’s not really aware of the full picture the whole time, poor duck, as much as i adore him.

but like… besides the fact it really doesn’t have anything to do with wether or not you think izzy’s doing complex evil shit to ed on purpose, and people seem to be making it about that…

ed is VERY MUCH a complicated man. as someone who relates to ed probably more than stede or izzy… he’s absolutely a complicated man. ed can be violent, and suicidal, and he clearly experiences some form of emotional dysregulation, and he’s done things to people that weren’t justified. the crew was traumatised by ed’s behaviour and how much violence he placed them in a position to commit.

the way ed responds to rejection is so violent and out of proportion, his consecutive raids, his suicidal antagonism towards the crew… and for me and my personal issues, that’s extremely relatable… but it is NOT mentally well behaviour.

ed also exhibits patterns of disordered alcohol use, and his anger often causes him to lash out (yes, often at izzy who pushes his buttons, and yes, izzy’s behaviour is a factor in this. but it’s also worth noting ed has agency as a character and his violence is still violence, provoked or not) and one of his most integral traumas is how an act of violence saved him from the violent alcoholic who was his father.

there’s nothing about ed that’s not a complicated man. he’s done bad things that weren’t justified. that doesn’t make him a bad man. it makes him a complicated one. it’s very clear he knows how to be a better person. and that he can be. that the show left out a lot of that journey is really disappointing, but ed feels like he’s a monster and he does bad things to become the villain he thinks he deserves to be treated as, you know?

he is SUCH a complicated man. that doesn’t mean he’s irredeemable or bad, it doesn’t mean there’s a moral obligation to dislike him either. none of that’s the case. but izzy got it right when he called ed complicated. i think in some ways izzy had finally realised that he wasn’t always going to understand ed because ed wasn’t always going to think the way he did, but he was coming to accept that he didn’t need ed to be someone he could understand as long as ed was happy? does that make sense? i know that’s a sappy outlook on a canonically toxic relationship but i just cannot believe that there’s a genuinely widely accepted take going around which boils down to people thinking it’s wrong to call ed a complicated man. like, huh???? girl….

[arsenicflame]

modern au where ed + jack have spent the last several decades buying izzy the absolute DUMBEST shirts for every occasion- its a competition between them at this point- whoever gets izzy the shirt that makes him groan louder wins. izzy complains about this ridiculous tradition but he secretly loves it, has kept every single shirt, and often even sleeps in them (he will kill anyone who ever finds out)

[who-the-fuck-knows-blog]

[post that directly states/implies that izzy saying ‘a shark did this’ was him admitting that he is responsible for everything ed did to him and thats part of his character growth]

good fucking lord

[fist-amidst-the-hands]

something something after a particularly rough fight izzy has a cut high on his cheekbone near the corner of his eye. ed tends to his injuries and maybe it's the rum or maybe it's the way izzy is looking at him but he can't stop thinking about placing a tender kiss right over the mark

[lesbiancocksucker]

okay I'm on chapter 5 rn but chapter 2 is a piece of work. like using a ball and cup as a metaphor for why izzy is alive is so stupid (also so unnecessarily long)

[creature-once-removed]

.

[avelera]

Man, there’s all these little beats in OFMD S2 1-3 where people keep EXPECTING Stede to be upset or horrified about Ed’s actions and then he’s just. Not. In a way that reminded me of how a lot of fanon kept softening Stede into someone who doesn’t swear and is horrified at Ed for setting those ships on fire when imo to my eyes he was horrified for Ed because Ed was still so clearly distressed about it.

- Zheng Yi Sao asks Stede how he’s doing now that he knows Ed did horrible things to his crew and there’s this beat and Stede just pivots to, oh yeah, sometimes Ed is troubled. Like it didn’t occur to him to be upset on the crew’s behalf he’s worried about Ed.

- Izzy keeps trying to spare Stede’s feelings and cover up Ed’s spiral, but Stede clocked what was going on with Ed immediately and wasn’t the least bit intimidated or bothered. The knives brought the room together. Of course Ed’s trying to burn the world down or die trying. Duh. And I genuinely don’t think the STUFF in the Revenge mattered even a fraction to Stede as much as the signs of Ed’s breakdown broke his heart. It’s just STUFF, who cares.

- Lucius had to SPECIFICALLY call out Stede for not being surprised or bothered by what happened to him. What Ed did. Stede has to almost consciously remind himself to express polite concern. He just doesn’t actually care, instinctively or automatically, about what happened to Lucius. Part of it is he blames himself more than Ed. Part of it is he just doesn’t care, Ed is the priority.

They’re little blink and you’ll miss it pauses in some cases. Micro-expressions. The absence of a reaction. But honestly, I will scream it to the end of time, Stede is not some nonviolent creampuff scared or upset by Ed’s evil ways. He wants to join Ed in the atrocities. The man ran away to become a pirate. He asked if Lucius was taking notes during a murderous raid.

Stede’s at least a little on some kind of whackadoodle pirate comedy neurodivergence spectrum to the point where he actually really actually struggles to empathize with people, even people he cares about!, if their feelings conflict with his hyperfixation (piracy) and the love of his life (Ed Teach). He’s always, ALWAYS going to pick Ed over Lucius or Izzy or his crew or even his own feelings, if the option is there. He will literally throw himself overboard to get to Ed’s side. No pause. No consideration of anyone else or even his own safety.

Stede sometimes seems to have to consciously remind himself things like, oh yeah, the crew, I need to see to them. Not because he’s heartless or doesn’t care, but because it takes a bit of conscious effort for him to see beyond the laser-focused spotlight of what and who he does care most about, he has to remind himself of social niceties and other people’s feelings (just see him running away in the first place!) when he gets an idea in his head. It’s as if he had to train himself to consciously care about some things other people care about and as a neurodivergent person myself, that felt very familiar in a comedically writ large sort of way. I’d even argue that’s where all his aristocratic social niceties come from. They were his guidebook for how to do things “right” in a world that otherwise made no sense to him outside his hyperfixations. He practiced being a person through the aristocratic training because it was all so foreign to him from the start, including caring, actually caring, about the needs of others. Not because he’s consciously evil or consciously a jerk. The instinct just isn’t there unless he practices at it until it becomes reflex to ask how others are doing, because on his own his brain just doesn’t really notice or care.

I just… hope the fandom notes and has as much FUN as I do noticing all the little moments where even people inside the story of OFMD expect Stede to act in a normal way and instead he remains unhinged, laser-focused on Ed.

Stede’s not just an Ed apologist, he truly doesn’t blame Ed for any of it. He blames only himself. He doesn’t always voice this but he really really only cares about anyone else including the crew as a DISTANT second and he has to consciously REMIND himself to do so. He is able to rally to take action, to care about their physical needs like safety during the rescue, but he still struggles, deeply struggles, to remember to show empathy in a non-performative way for anyone except his special person, Ed.

Stede’s not a creampuff, not a nice guy, not some emotionally or morally perfect angel. He has to consciously practice caring about literally anything else but what he wants to do and his special person. And to me that’s a thousand times more interesting than shoving him in a box labeled “the blond, pacifist do-gooder good guy” in their relationship.

[incorrectbatfam]

batfam members being the smartest and dumbest person in the room at the same time

Damian: Here's the plan: we wait for your mother to put the pie on the windowsill to cool. Then, I'll spoof a call to her work phone in order to draw her away. That's when you come in and take it. Are we clear?

Jon: *walks up to Lois*

Jon: Mom, can Damian and I have a piece of pie?

Lois: Of course, here you go.

———————

Cullen: I tripped over my shoelaces again.

Harper: I can make self-tying shoelaces that can only come apart when you use a password-protected app.

Cullen: ...I was just thinking of wearing velcro.

———————

Duke: Check out my project! Not to brag, but I think I know who's winning the science fair.

Izzy: What is it?

Duke: It's a chamber that excites nanoparticles to generate short-term high-intensity thermal energy that can alter organic matter to make them suitable for human consumption. What do you think?

Izzy: Funny, I have one at home. Only I call it a microwave.

———————

Dinah and Babs: *talking*

Dinah: One sec, I'm getting a call.

Dinah: *answers her phone*

Dinah, immediately hanging up: Never mind.

Barbara: Was your number leaked? I have a list of possible suspects and plans for dealing with each one.

Dinah: Relax, it was just spam.

———————

Bernard, with a mic: Welcome back to MasterChef: Young Justice. We're down to our finalists, Red Robin and Spoiler. Let's see what they brought us today.

Tim: I made a nutrient-dense mass-conserving meal replacement with all essential components compressed in a gelatinous cube for a quick, on-the-go meal during our off-world missions. I'm serving it with a protein shake served in a vacuum-sealed pouch made completely out of recycled materials.

Steph: I made authentic Belgian waffles using techniques dating back to the 1958 Brussels World Fair. I'm serving it with a warm Swiss chocolate ganache, Japanese white strawberries, and homemade ube powdered sugar. For a drink, we have a cappuccino made with fair-trade Colombian dark roast beans and milk sourced from local farmers.

Kon, Bart, and Cassie: *taste and discuss*

Kon: You're both eliminated.

Tim and Steph: What?!

Cassie: Red Robin, the point of this competition is to showcase taste and culinary artistry, not just your engineering skills.

Bart: And Spoiler, you were supposed to make soup.

———————

Cass: *sneaks out her room*

Cass: *rolls down the hall*

Cass: *jumps over the couch*

Cass: *crawls through the vents*

Cass: *climbs down the rafters*

Cass: *slides down a gas pipe into the Batcave*

Cass: *lands in front of the door*

———————

Dick: I'll infiltrate the Iceberg Lounge with my state-of-the-art wearable camouflage that uses reverse psychology to throw all suspicions off of me by catching people's attention in a completely different way.

Jason: Pfft, lame. You should check out my latest tech. It's a potassium nitrate–based mixture that can be activated with a built-in timer to both create a diversion and incapacitate more of the Penguin's cronies at once.

Dick: That's stupid. We need to be subtle.

Jason: No, what we need is efficiency.

Dick: Roy, what do you think?

Roy, looking up from his phone: I think one of you wants to dress in drag and the other made a bomb.

———————

Bruce: I need the kids to steer clear of Crime Alley tonight so I can deal with a situation but I don't want to bench them because then they'll be mad at me. Any ideas?

Alfred: Give them paperwork.

Selina: Send them on a wild goose chase.

Kate: Get them to bench themselves.

Renee: Wow.

Renee: You all suck.

[dragonmuse]

Keep It In The Box : An Essay on OFMD Season 2 and the Failure to Heal

(here in is my season two reaction. It contains many many spoilers. It's also about 3k words long so you know what you're getting into.)

“See, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box in my mind, and I put the things in the box..” -Frenchie, Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death

…..and then he never opens it. Chekov’s locked box has no key in season two.

On first watch, it seemed clear to me that Frenchie’s declaration was a narrative plant. Clearly the whole season would be about that box of pain and trauma being opened, sorted through and at least the beginning of healing. The show had developed a reputation after season one of being kind and focused on queer narratives of healing from childhood. Ed and Stede’s parallels in their childhood traumas were frequently on display through season one and were repeated in flashback throughout season two. Jim’s season one arc about becoming someone who doesn’t think just of revenge and can now forge meaningful connections was profound, beautiful and often funny. Izzy is an antagonist because he doesn’t want Ed to move on or stop acting like the trauma-response version of himself. The antagonist wants to stop healing. The point is to grow, to change, to learn how to love. It’s one of the things that made season one work for me at the time, despite reservations about pacing and tone.

So naturally season two should follow suit. It’s a kind show! About healing and falling in love!

For the first several episodes, the remaining crew on the Revenge go through a gauntlet of trauma, forced to do and receive violence at Ed’s whims as he careens from self-destructive behavior to self-destructive behavior. This is the wounding setup. It was dark, but it seemed like it would have a payoff and at first it did.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful moments of the season comes in one of the small respites in those early episodes as Jim recounts Pinnochio to Fang to soothe him through his grief. That was the show that I expected. The kindness of that moment struck me very deeply. It gave me some understanding of Archie too, who seems to fall for Jim right at that moment.

That scene is the show season one promised. Season two led with packing Frenchie’s box full to bursting. Here is the fight to the death between lovers, there is a first mate who is mutilated and rotting in the very walls (the rot of the Revenge itself), and there is the storm of Ed’s rage and pain that threatens to consume all of them.

So surely these remaining episodes would concentrate on finding the humor in healing from those moments. That is the setup. Frenchie has a box. The box must eventually open.

Except time and again, all the characters who suffered are told that the only way to deal with what they’ve been through is to stick it in the box and never open it again.

Pete tells Lucius that he’s unable to move on and needs to let it go. Izzy has a story about a shark. Ed’s apology to the crew which doesn’t even contain the words ‘I’m sorry’ is just…accepted. I kept waiting and waiting for a meaningful apology to the people Ed had hurt the worst with his actions, but it seems all we get is Fang saying ‘eh, no problem, I got to hit you back so I feel better’.

The playful theme of ‘pirates are just violent sometimes’ from season one becomes a grinding horror machine in season two when every atrocity visited on someone is forgiven because the narrative needs it to be. Ed and Stede spend more time making amends with each other over the bloodless night on the beach than either of them spend trying to repent for their actions towards anyone else.

And let’s talk about Ed. Arguably this season pivots on his narrative, on his path to healing and growth. A path that starts at a very low point. His moment in the gravy basket, deciding he wants to live because there are still things to live for is so great! So one might assume that what would follow would be him pursuing those things, making amends, making connections. He and Stede have a wonderful moment, talking about being whim prone and how they’ll work to avoid that, build a relationship by going slower.

Yet, at no point do either of them stop following whims. They never heal or learn from what’s happened to them. They both keep running from thing to thing, particularly Ed. It’s a whim to sleep with Stede, it’s a whim to run off to fish, and the finale gives us just more of their whims. Ed drops fishing as fast as he picked it up. He finds those leathers in the ocean, murdering the symbolism of leaving them behind. Even the inn is a whim, one of those things Ed decided he’d be good at without evidence. And Stede joins him in that without a single on screen conversation about it ahead of the moment.

Ed needs to heal himself and to do that he needs to confront what he’s done and do the work to heal the wound. Instead, he doesn’t meaningfully apologize to anyone, besides Stede and Fang. Despite Izzy’s dying words (we’ll get to that), not only do we never see the crew caring about Ed, working to make him family in the same way they do with Fang and even Izzy, he also doesn’t choose to stay with them. So what is the point? Where is the healing? Or does even Ed, beloved main character, have to live with it all stuffed in a box?

He ends the season in the leathers he threw away, in a relationship that’s barely stabilized, going to live in a house which we are told by the narrative (in that they are very very clearly paralleling Anne and Mary with Ed and Stede or why do we even get that whole Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? episode) will only end in them setting fire to each other to stay warm.

But Vee, I hear you cry, it’s a ROM-COM. This is all meant to be ha-ha funny and you are taking it so seriously!

Cool beans. Then why the hell isn’t it funny? Healing is often filled with comedy because people deal with pain with humor. You can heal and laugh at the same time. The finale especially is almost entirely devoid of laughs, almost entirely devoid of joy until the last minute for that matter. The episode that should show off with a flourish how far everyone’s come, mostly serves to show that no one has grown.

Okay that’s Ed. I want to talk about Lucius next. Our former audience surrogate (that’s taken away in season two when he doesn’t get enough screen time to perform that role and no one takes his place) really goes through the wringer. He experiences many many terrible things, including sexual assault (which is made into a grimace-laugh line that doesn’t take away from it’s seriousness because oh hey, that can be done as it turns out). He’s nervous, he’s smoking, it’s clear he’s suffering.

There’s a beautiful moment where Pete tells him ‘hey, I was also in pain. I grieved’ and that’s great. It’s good that Pete sets a boundary about Lucius not obsessing over the past to the point of occluding their future.

We even get our comedic moment where Lucius pushes Ed off the boat (still not apology, but I’d lost hope for that by then) and that doesn’t help enough. So Izzy comes in with a shark and the advice that you just have to move on.

Just…you know. Play pretend. Forget.

Shove it in a box. Ed didn’t take my leg, a shark did. Ed didn’t kill you, a shark did. Live with the person that tried to murder you because it’s your fault you dangled your leg over the side of a boat. That is the show’s message. I thought on first watch, that surely this would also come back up and be explained that you can’t live that way, that that is no way to heal. That it would become clear that this was no way through. You cannot make everything into sharks.

Lucius can move forward and still carry pain. He can still want a meaningful apology and still want to talk to his lover about what he’s dealing with while moving forward toward a brighter future.

And what of the flirtatious promise of relationships and connections being the way to heal? Look to Oluwande and Jim, whose heartfelt romance from season one was relegated to the bins of history in favor of a narrative that made him a brother Jim once had sex with. They could have had Archie AND Oluwande, who in turn could also have Zheng, but that never seems to be an option. With a single short conversation, they are broken up with, despite a brief tease at the birthday that they still ‘dance’ together, it never actually manifests. Jim and Archie never talk about what they went through. It’s swept under the rug as fast as knives are lowered.

Lucius also no longer flirts with other people, the solution to his pain is to propose and get married (but not too married, lest we forget that they’re two men, they don’t even get to be husbands or even the more respectful mates, no. They’re mateys.) This season proposes that the only happy endings are monogamous ones, where no one talks about anything painful that went before.

To ensure that message, beyond assuring the success of Oluwande and Zheng’s relationship, Jim and Archie almost entirely disappear from the narrative. Sorry you guys were given layers of trauma and no growth and not even much to do this season, we need to make sure that everyone remembers Oluwande is the break in Zheng’s day so when he says that to her five minutes later we know exactly what he’s referencing. No time for Archie to learn what an apology is or for Jim to get one line in with Oluwande that isn’t affirming their newfound broship. Must do more flashbacks to things we just did two episodes ago!

The show even dangles the conversation of the Revenge being a safe space. Why would any of them ever feel safe when the man who tortured them is allowed to walk among them and they are expected to forgive and forget? What’s safe about that? The ship is never made safe for any of them, but that’s never addressed.

And Zheng! Amazing, hysterically funny Zheng! She loses her ships, her entire way of life, the kingdom she built for herself and then…she doesn’t even get to captain the Revenge. We don’t know what becomes of her fleet, of her plans, her ambitions. Don’t worry about it, she has a romantic partner and isn’t that what every lady wants in the end?

(But Vee, I hear you cry again, there will be a season three! Maybe it will be All About Zheng! To which I say: then why did they present us with the most series finale feeling episode ever? If there’s more, I have no idea where it’s going. BUT VEE: BUTTONS AS SEAGULL ON THE GR- Fine. It’s time.)

Let’s talk about Izzy Hands.

Izzy manages more healing than anyone else this season. He reaches his lowest point, suicidal in the bowels of a ship that’s become a prison (very much in contrast to Ed’s suicidal low). The person he loves most in the world has shredded him physically and emotionally (and if you’re in the camp that thinks Izzy deserves the abuse that Ed gave to him, I would really like you to sit quietly with yourself and ask why you think there is ever anything anyone can do to deserve that treatment). He’s low, he shoots Ed to protect everyone, and then seems to plan to drink himself to death, mourning his losses.

And then another beautiful moment! The crew move past their own pain to help him. They work together for the first time and it’s to give Izzy mobility back. He treasures it. He cries over it. He uses that kindness extended to him to reach a new understanding of Stede and help him succeed, doing the work to make real amends. He sings in drag, he’s vulnerable and beautiful, celebrating the side of himself that he must’ve loathed in the first season. He’s an elder queer man, coming into himself.

He never gets an apology though. (‘Sorry about your leg’ without eye contact is not an apology. There is no responsibility taking, no acknowledgement of the weeks of torture that came with it.) Izzy also never really has an honest conversation with anyone about what it means that the man he loves punished him so severely for the crime of trying to protect the crew (yes, lest we forget, Izzy lost his leg because he was trying to keep Ed from re-traumatizing the crew and himself).

Izzy does all this work, but even he’s not allowed to take it out of the box. It’s a shark, not Ed. Ed is just ‘complicated’ (the language of abuse here is so upsetting and I think not even intentional).

And then he dies. His last act? To apologize to the man who tortured him and shot at him. To have done all this work, to take on all the blame. And then die.

In a rom com.

This show ends in a profoundly unfunny moment of telling the audience: this is the one character that did the work, that made amends, that tried his hardest to accept the parts of himself that he had a hard time embracing and formerly embittered him. He’s fully accepted his queerness and turned it into beautiful music. He’s disabled, and he worked hard to accept that. The man he loves will never love him back, so he worked hard to make Stede able to meet Ed on an even playing field. The Giving Tree gave up its limbs and its trunk, and it’s not even allowed to be a stump to sit on.

Kill the queer elder, who has managed to figure out how to live and in his own way how to heal. Kill him before he manages to teach anyone else how to meaningfully move forward (he almost gets it with Lucius, almost, but it’s meant to be rule of three, you know. Cigarette..shark…and then…and then fuck it, Lucius doesn’t even get to say a word at his funeral).

The message of this season again and again is that there is no healing, just moving forward. Like a shark. Like a bird that never lands.

That is not a kind show.

Season two is not a kind season.

It splinters people up and jams them back together without purpose or reason. It tells everyone who experiences pain that they should shove it in a box and not deal with it. No one who really needs one gets an apology of any sincerity. No one puts in the work to gain forgiveness. (Ed wearing a onesie is not The Work. Ed fixing a door is not The Work. Ed broke people that the show wants us to care about. Ed never does the work of making those amends. He fires off a Notes app apology at best. After all, it’s what he told himself via Hornigold in the gravy basket: you move on or you blow your brains out! Good thing he took his own advice and therefore had to change nothing to get his just rewards.

I would’ve taken just fifteen minutes of Ed trying to actually make amends. It could’ve been hilarious! Imagine awkward Ed trying to dance around what he’s doing with Jim and the two of them having a knife throwing competition about it. Or him and Frenchie attempting to make music together, writing a song about the raids they went on! It’s not just the crew robbed of their healing because of this, it’s Ed himself. He never meaningfully changes or makes amends. How is he any different at the end of the finale then he is standing on the edge of that cliff with Hornigold? He hasn’t moved on, he hasn’t healed. He tried one thing (fishing) that doesn’t fucking work and then he runs right back.

No one leaves this season better than they went into it. They’ve lost an elder queer, they’ve lost their joyous and queer polyamory, they’ve lost a chance for meaningful reconciliation with Ed and Ed lost any chance of looking like he gave shit if they did. Stede grows enough to accept the crew’s beliefs as important and then leaves them behind without a care.

Izzy gets a beautiful speech about piracy being larger than yourself. Ed and Stede, within twenty minutes of that speech, leave piracy. They are incapable of giving themselves to something bigger, apparently. They haven’t learned to be a part of a community. They haven’t healed from their childhood trauma or their fresher wounds. They are still just following their own whims.

Zheng’s life work is in tatters, but it’s fine, she has love. Oluwande and Jim aren’t together, but it's fine because they both have dedicated monogamous partners. Lucius was deeply scarred by what happened, never recovers much of his first season personality, but hey he got-well it’s not married exactly- but you know good enough!

Frenchie, who has a box forever locked in his head, is captain. Because the key to success is to lock it all in a box and never open it. What a message. What a show. Conceal, don’t feel. Smile because it’s a happy ending. Don’t mourn the dead, don’t try to tell people what happened to you (they will literally run away or cry too hard to listen and really you’re just bumming them out), and any meaningful change you make is only rewarded with death.

Frenchie is now a pirate captain with a box in his head full of trauma that’s never been opened, leading a crew with more wounds than scars. Wonder how that could turn out? Wonder how many years before he might want to retire and then happen to run across a gentleman pirate. As if no one learned anything at all.

[arsenicflame]

i really liked my tags on this post so i wanted to touch them up and post them as a stand alone! i ended up adding quite a bit to this ''':)

What artistic skill does Izzy possess?

I think he has a lot of 'practical' artsy skills. he’s decent at sewing (mending your own clothes isn't just useful, it's almost a requirement at sea with limited possessions and resources) he's probably decent at braiding hair from having to splice rope- simply anything with roots in being useful I think he has done enough to be decent at by this point in his life.

Singing comes into this as well, holding a rhythm is important for certain sailing tasks, and while I think he can sing in ways that don't translate to shanties, I don't think he has utilised this in a long long time (so excited that we are apparently getting an Izzy singing scene in s2!!!! I need him to know he can have fun)

Another thing is I think he was a really good tattoo artist! I don't actually see him as having the creativity to come up with interesting and unique designs but I do think he is excellent at the act itself, and at copying requested designs. you need a swallow? an anchor? a ship? any common sailors tattoo? he can absolutely do it and it will probably be the best tattoo you have. it was always a mark of honour if you could convince him to do yours on the Queen Anne- he was very busy and didn't often do them, and definitely wouldn't do them if he didn't respect you. He's done a lot of Ed's 'quality' tattoos (though I think Ed also does a lot on himself), he's done tattoos for Fang, and Ivan, and he will do them for the rest of the kraken crew in the future. (he will even do one for Lucius one day, one of his own pieces of art as long as its not an Ed face or a dick. They understand each other now)

anything else? I don't know, I see him very much as, he won't let himself do things if they aren't practical. his canon whittling is as close as he gets and that's more of a 'thing to do with your hands while watching the deck' kind of thing. have knife will whittle

I think ultimately, Izzy doesn't let himself do things for himself. if you love something, if you have a soft spot, it can be targeted, taken away.

I do think he maybe dances though. He always plays it off as something Ed forces him to do when they're drunk/on shore but... he loves it- the motion; the reliance on another partner and the intimate understanding of exactly what they're gonna do next? I think he would love that actually.

I think dancing might be the one thing he always does for fun. He never lets himself have it, but if Ed demands a partner? Yes, of course, anything for his Captain.

(Ed always demands a partner. he likes dancing well enough but he likes seeing Izzy do it more- he knows Izzy will never do it on his own, he understands why, but Ed is Blackbeard. Nobody fucks with Blackbeard- and if he wants to dance? if he wants his first mate to dance? they're fucking dancing.)

but that's not the truth of the situation, really.

It always takes him a second to let his guard down, but he relaxes into it. He lets himself loose in a way Ed only sees when he's deep into the rhythm of a swordfight. And perhaps it's the same, to him- finding the flow of the battle, of the music. Feeling his partner, understanding them and being understood in return? It's all the same- but dancing is safe. Dancing is fun. In a swordfight there are stakes- and he loves the stakes, he loves that this thing that means everything to him matters, but sometimes, just sometimes, it really is nice to move like that in a way that doesn't matter.

And when they really get going- all twirls and jumps and frankly being a little ridiculous, Izzy laughs. A deep belly laugh, a kind of joy you didn't think was possible from him. But here he is, letting go at last. He laughs and he smiles and he feels such joy, the rest of the world melts away, and it is just him and his partner, dancing.

(later- much, much later, a man will play a battle song over their raids, a jaunty little tune that throws off everyone they fight against, and Izzy gets to dance, and fight, and feel free, unburdened by the weight that he's carried with him his whole life. They'll dance after too, and he will have finally found a place where he completely belongs)

(if you liked this, can I recommend Talking Bodies by ItsClydeBitches, i feel like that fic fits the themes of dancing incredibly well)

[itachi-with-a-chicken]

I just.. feel so sad for Stede. He's finally a good captain, who can protect his crew, who is loved by them, chosen by them. He's reunited with the man he loves, who agrees with him that they can create something real. He had good sex and made love for the first time in his life with someone who actually wanted it.

And the day after his crew is leaving him, his love decides that the night before (and potentially their entire relationship) is a mistake and his newly found status as decent captain is totally gone.

Like. How is Izzy Hands the only fixed point in his life wtf

And the worst thing is, he's still gonna try and help, save everyone else.

[carelessflower]

On Testing and Qualifying Magnus Lightwood-Bane's Sugar Daddy Behaviors - An Analysis

Multiple arguments have been made against the current High Warlock of Brooklyn, superficially regarding whether this gentleman's reputation as the current Consul of the Clave's sugar daddy is underappreciated or exaggerated. This study aims to dissect the argument with the support of textual evidence throughout the couple's appearances in the series

Paying for their first date

Taking care of the bill like a gentleman. From this instance, one can assume he takes his gentlemanly courting ritual very seriously, as he also reached for the meal cheques in other occassions

Conjuring and pelping to pick fine clothes for Alec

On their famous Europe vacation, it is shown Magnus has a habit of magicking tuxedoes, suits, and well-made sweaters for Alec. Now, if he could upgrade that GAP scarf to a Burberry one, it would be much appreciated

Gentleman behavior

Even though his boyfriend is supernaturally strong with biceps to bite for days and hunts bloodthirsty demons for a living, Magnus would still rather pay someone to carry the heavy luggage than his darling

Luxurious accommodation only

There has been a previously published study on the expenses for all these places here, so this article will be repeating the same key points:

one night at Istanbul Grand Suite on the Orient Express: $26,000

suite in Belmond Hotel Cipriani: $1,056

suite in Palazzo Manfredi, Rome: $729

It is understandably relatable when one pulls Alec Lightwood and wants to do everything in their power to woo him. For Magnus, it apparently includes never letting Alec stay in any place less than five stars

Letting Alec drive the Maserati

It costs around $10,860 to rent a red Maserati 3500 GT Vignale Spider for one day. Therefore, it speaks volumes to Magnus's affection for his boyfriend that Alec almost crashes them and the expensive car off a cliff is just a "tiny accident". It is also very likely he buys this type of car later, seeing his husband's fascination with them

Living together in Brooklyn

Months into the relationship Alec has already possessed a literal key to Magnus's home and proceeds to move in after weeks of getting back together. For other poor souls who are looking for a 3-bedroom brownstone in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, the rent would be estimated at around $5000 per month. For the Consul, it certainly would involve a different type of payment method

Alec's magically money-full pocket

The consul carrying energy bars in his duffle bag instead of using the 15000$ in his pocket guarantees the funniest mental images one could possibly imagine

Enchanting Izzy's whip for Alec's birthday

Knowing Alec's top wish is to keep his family safe, Magnus chooses to tip his boyfriend's sister's whip in a prized potion to help her on the battlefield. Loving someone to the point you want to protect what else they love

Assisting shadowhunter without payment

This element may prove to be the strongest supporter of Magnus's claim as THE sugar daddy of the shadowhunter chronicles universe title, seeing how he used to overcharge shadowhunter on their business (deservingly so), and now he is willing to do all kinds of crazy shenanigans without an ounce of money. Whoever's in charge of the Clave's budget better send Alec the biggest, freshest, most expensive fruit basket

Final note

In conclusion, this research paper does not provide a definitive answer to the argument but encourages readers to draw their own perspectives. Nevertheless, it is a great possibility that in his report, the consul stated he used 10-20 dollars each week while he was traveling across the world, going to Japan when he craved sushi and staying in the finest places, all thanks to his generous husband

tag list: @magnus-the-maqnificent @literallytypogod @hoezier-than-thou @sociallyineptbibliophile @queenlilith43

@khaleesiofalicante @wandererbyheart @raziyekroos @onetimetwotimesthreetimess @alexandergideonslightwood @andrwminward

@noah-herondale-lightwood @elettralightwood @dustandducks @deliciousdetectivestranger @delightfullyterrible

@letsgofortacos

@kita-no @thelightofthebane @secrettryst @goldendreams3 @cityofdownwardspirals

@stupidfuckindinosaur

@i-have-not-slept @rinadragomir @potato-jem @kasper-tag @cam-ryt

@banesapothecary

[forpiratereasons]

all right. i'm ready to talk about izzy.

izzy is a great character. in s1 he sits in this great position as an antagonist that's close to the main characters, and in s2 he sits in this great position as an antagonist who's gotten everything he wanted, and found that actually - fuck! - that's not it at all. the world changes enough in s1 that there's no satisfaction in izzy getting what he wants out of blackbeard. and it's not just ed that's changed, it's not just the crew, izzy himself is fundamentally changed too. even before s2, and that change continues to grow and flourish through the series.

in reality, death is cruel. and death is senseless. and death is unfair, and shitty, and it happens to the wrong people at the wrong time, too early, with too much to live for, who mean too much to too many. it happens.

maybe izzy's death is all of those things, but i don't think that's the point. it's not meant as a lesson in mortality; it's not meant as retribution for past crimes; it's not meant as a commentary on who deserves to live and who deserves to die. it's not about deserving. if anything, it's about the fact that deserving doesn't come into it at all.

the point is that izzy healed.

a lot has been made of the fact that izzy is the only character who bears visible scars from the kraken era - the scar on his head, as well as the leg. but i don't think they're meant as a reminder of the injury, or as a sign that izzy is "damaged" post-kraken era. they're representative of the fact that izzy healed. the scar is there to remind you that izzy survived. you see it heal over multiple episodes because that's the work izzy is doing - he's healing from blackbeard's actions, from his own actions, from his history, from his constraints.

it's not too late to heal. it's not too late to find your place. it's not too late to come out. it's not too late to let people in. it's not too late.

and all those things are worth doing despite the fact that our time here is limited. we are all going to die. but we are here right now, which means it's not too late, and it is worth it to free ourselves to be who we need to be regardless of who we have been and who we are now and what time we might have left.

izzy isn't suicidal in ep 8. he's healed from that. izzy isn't abused or depressed or alone in ep 8. izzy is strong, and competent, and respected, and loved.

and some folks have been disappointed it's not romantic love. i get that. but i think it's super important too that izzy's healing is worth it without romantic love. familial, platonic love is so fundamentally important to the queer community. found family. friends. solidarity. the look when some stranger sees you and you see them and you both know the other is family, that they're safe. the way we fight for each other - for our rights to love who we want, fuck who we want, to marry, to adopt kids, and also for housing, for jobs, for healthcare. for our rights to use the bathroom, for our rights to choose our own names and our own bodies and our own families. we're fighting for our right to exist and that, guys, it's not romantic. the foundations of our community is about - well, i'll let izzy say it:

it's not about glory, it's not about getting what you want. it's about belonging to something when the world has told you you're nothing. it's about finding the family to kill for when yours are long dead. it's about letting go of ego for something larger. the crew.

ed and izzy, following s2e3, interact and communicate on izzy's terms, and that's made clear. that's the last relationship for izzy to heal. when izzy finally approaches ed in ep 6, it's - not great. it's a start. you gotta start somewhere. he lets ed apologize, in their very closed, guilty way of speaking to each other, but then goes back to the crew, back to his safety.

he finally finishes his healing arc with the drag performance and la vie en rose, and then he and ed DO have good moments. he teases ed about stede. he directly reverses his previous actions in s1 and tells ed to listen to his good feelings. that's where djenks is getting this (imo, still a bit weird) father-figure business. the scene in the republic where ed's watching fishermen and izzy comes to say hey, it's all right, hey, listen to your gut. they don't need to directly come out and have some deep serious conversation about their relationship because that's just not like them, man. they're doing their healing their way. i think it would be nonsensical to expect these two to be open and honest with each other regardless of how they are with everyone else because their relationship is not like their relationships with anyone else.

until they run out of time.

and this, i think, is important. izzy controls this last conversation because it's what ed needs to hear, because izzy no longer needs to hear it. izzy doesn't need to hear that ed's sorry, izzy knows ed's fucking sorry. ed's whole arc this season is about the guilt he's carrying. izzy says what he says because he knows ed needs to hear it. ed, you weren't a monster all on your own. ed, i saw you. i saw you outgrowing him, and i didn't want that to happen because i was worried about what it meant for me, but i see now that it could have meant this all along - family. balance. something to die for, sure, but something to live for.

you could argue that ed and the crew don't think of each other as family. i think it's a bit more complicated than a yes or no on that one, but when izzy says, ed, you're surrounded by family, maybe it doesn't matter whether that's fact. maybe it's a statement of possibility. look at this family who can love you if you let them. look at this family who will forgive you even when you don't deserve it. look at all the ways you can still heal. look at how worth it it all is.

just be ed, izzy says, there he is.

he says it to ed because izzy already knows he can be just izzy. izzy already knows he's dying surrounded by family. izzy already knows that love and belonging and family are worth it, and he uses his dying moments to make sure ed knows it too because despite everything, despite everything he did and despite everything ed did and despite not being ed's romantic choice, he loves ed. it's worth it to use his dying moment to make sure ed knows this because izzy loves him.

it's worth it.

izzy is the stand-in for the stereotypical pirate, the villain - the representative of how repression and oppression work together, of how race and class and colonization interact with each other, of the lines between love and obsession and power and rage and fear blurring beyond recognition - and he heals. guys, the point of his story is not that he was all those things and paid that price. the point of his story is that he could grow beyond all those things and that growth and healing was all worth it despite the fact that yeah. our lives will inevitably end.

historically, israel hands is said to be one of the only major pirates who survives the golden age of piracy, and he doesn't survive it well - according to the contemporary account of "captain charles johnson" (almost certainly a pseudonym) in A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the most notorious Pyrates, published 1724, hands dies a beggar in london sometime between 1719 and 1724. it has been suggested by some pirate scholars that hands may have actually been the source for much of the information johnson is able to relay regarding blackbeard - and that johnson's apparent wealth of information contributed significantly to the legacy blackbeard left behind and his lasting fame. i had actually really hoped to see this play out in ofmd - izzy protecting ed and stede through perpetuating stories about blackbeard's 'death' (fake, i'd hoped) and legacy.

but i think - he is. in his way. he's there on the hillside, keeping watch. he's there to hold all the stories and all the memories of pirates and what it meant to belong to something, even as the golden age of piracy sets. he's there to show what it is to love and to be loved in return: eternal.

i don't like that izzy died. i think he's a great character, i think he's great fun to have in the ensemble, i think his dynamics with ed and stede are so fucking chewy and delicious. i think con o'neill has done the work of a lifetime on this character and, i hope, had and continue to has the experience of a lifetime with this fandom. my heart goes out to those of you who are devastated; i've been there in past fandoms, i know how achingly difficult that is. i'm so sorry.

but izzy's story is worth telling. izzy's story is worth celebrating. izzy is about making mistakes - bad mistakes! - and finding your way back to something better. izzy is about healing, and about community, and about hope that even when things are shit and people are shit - they can change. things can change.

and maybe - yeah. it's about the role stories play in our lives. about using fictional little scenarios to deal with our traumas. we're here. we're alive. we're coping. we will heal.

not moving on is worse.

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNSPOKEN

A/N: i literally started writing this over a year ago, then forgot about it and now i revisited it and finished it. im not entirely satisfied with how it turned out to be, it's kind of one big clishé, but... i would hate if it went to waste, it's a long fic so here it is!

WORD COUNT: 9.8k

SUMMARY: Your college roommate wants to get you out of your shell and brings you to your first frat party. It's not quite your setting, but when you meet a nice boy in the bathroom it gets better. Right until he catches your roommate's eyes as well.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

FRESHMAN YEAR

Your first ever college party is just like how you imagined it. Lots of drunk people, a frat house packed to its fullest capacity, music blasting so loud your ears will surely be ringing in the morning and lots and lots of anxiety. On your part, at least.

You’ve never been quite the party person, weren’t really invited to them most of the time through high school, but it seems like that’s about to change thanks to your roommate. Izzy is practically your polar opposite, judging from the two days you’ve known her, she was definitely part of the popular kids in high school and she’ll make herself a name in college as well. She seems nice and she was the one who dragged you to this party, some guy invited her, she met him on her first day on campus, they just randomly bumped into each other and of course, he tried to flirt with her. She is the kind of girl guys fall head over heels in love with within seconds, while you’re more of a wallflower. Seemingly it’s her mission to push you out of your comfort zone and get you to socialize more. 

Normally you wouldn’t want to change, there’s a reason why you don’t like parties and lots of people around you, but because you’re desperate to find new friends, you’d do anything it takes and right now Izzy is your best shot at it. 

“Come on, let’s get a drink!” she smirks and already pulls you towards the kitchen as if she was already familiar with the place. 

There are bottles and red cups everywhere, you keep bumping into drunk people as you try to follow Izzy into the kitchen. She snatches a bottle of vodka as if it was waiting exclusively for her and pouring some into two cups she tops the drinks with orange juice, handing you one of them.

“Cheers to the best years of our lives!” she grins, bumping her cup against yours and you just smile as you both take a sip from the drinks. 

“Wow, it’s… strong,” you say with a surprised frown, you haven’t been quite the drinker either and the proportion of vodka and orange juice in the drink is definitely wilder than you expected.

“That’s the point,” she winks. 

You follow her around for the next about an hour, it seems like Izzy didn’t waste her time since her arrival and already made several friends. She keeps introducing you to everyone she runs into, though you remember just about no names minutes later. 

You feel like you stand out, but you tell yourself it’s only because everyone is new and you’re overwhelmed by all the changes that’s been happening around you. 

Excusing yourself you go and look for a bathroom somewhere upstairs. After opening a few wrong doors you finally find the one you were looking for and lock it behind you so no one can walk in. Just as you approach the toilet, a voice speaks up from the bathtub.

“Um, before you do anything, you’re not alone.”

“Holy shit,” you gasp in shock when you turn around and see a guy sitting in the bathtub. Your heart is about to jump out of your chest, you weren’t expecting anyone and it’s a luck he spoke up before you went on to use the toilet. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckles, holding his hands up in defense. 

“I-It’s fine, I was just not expecting anyone to… be sitting in the bathtub,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows as you say it out loud.

“I know, I just… I’m having a break so I’m not forced to take another shot,” he shakes his head chuckling.

“And the tub was your best idea to hide? Aren’t people coming in to use the bathroom?”

“Well, yes, but more often to have sex than to actually use it.”

“Oh…” you breathe out. 

“But I didn’t watch, if that’s what you’re concerned about, I let them know the room is occupied in time,” he grins and it makes you laugh. “Seemingly that’s not why you’re here, so I’ll let you use my little hideaway.”

He gets up and leaves so you can use the toilet in peace and you expect him to disappear, but when you walk out, he is standing by the door.

“You’re coming back?” you ask, as you switch places.

“I’m gonna enjoy some more peace,” he shrugs with a smile. “You can join me, if you want,” he offers and it comes as a surprise, because it feels like he genuinely wouldn’t mind it if you joined him. 

Honestly, you could use a break from the madness outside, so before you could overthink, you nod and follow him inside, closing the door behind you. 

The guy is already climbing back into the tub and when he has taken his spot, he gestures for you to do the same and sit across from him. It feels weird and ridiculous, but you join him at last, the cold surface of the tub feels soothing against your hot skin that heated up because of the crowd that’s outside.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he introduces himself, holding a hand out for you. 

“Y/N.”

“Are you a freshman too?”

“Is it that obvious?” you ask with a nervous chuckle.

“No,” he shakes his head smiling. “Just maybe a little bit,” he then adds. 

Sitting in that tub, you engage into a conversation with Harry that flows so smoothly and easily, it almost feels like you’ve known him for longer than just about thirty minutes. He has a great humor and he’s exceptionally smart. All of that pairs with a pretty charming look and he almost feels too good to be true to be chatting with you at a party full of girls like Izzy. 

Almost an entire hour passes, but you barely notice, his phone’s buzzing is what pops your little bubble.

“Ah shit, my friends are asking where the hell I went, I think I need to make an appearance,” he sighs, texting something back quickly. “Do you want to grab a drink?”

“With you?” you ask with wide eyes, which makes him chuckle.

“Of course! Come on, let’s show our faces.”

Harry climbs out of the tub and then helps you out as well offering you a hand that you gladly take and when you’re standing on your feet outside of the tub, his hold stays a bit longer, pulling you towards the door, only letting go of your hand when you step out of the bathroom. But even as you head downstairs, he places a hand to the small of your back, guiding you through the sea of drunk guests as you make your way to the kitchen. 

The butterflies in your tummy are definitely going crazy, the attention and affection Harry has shown you in the past hour is more than what you’ve gotten from boys all your life. 

“Alcoholic or something light?” he asks, looking around at the selection on the counter.

“Maybe something light,” you say and he doesn’t even try to convince you to drink something else. He pours some kind of juice into two cups and hands you one, bumping his cup against yours with a charming smile before he lifts it to his lips. 

“I don’t know where my friends are, but they are up to no good for sure,” he chuckles as he looks around. “Do you want to look for your roommate?”

You open your mouth to answer, but right in that moment Izzy appears out of the blue.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you for ages! Where did you go?”

“Oh, I was just…”

“My fault, sorry,” Harry speaks up. “I kept her up, bored her to death,” he adds chuckling. Izzy turns to face him and you immediately see the shine in her eyes upon seeing Harry while your stomach churns. 

“And who are you, handsome stranger?”

“I’m Harry, nice to meet you. And you must be Izzy, Y/N’s roommate.” Harry holds his hand out but Izzy goes for a hug instead, which obviously surprises him, but he circles an arm around her waist anyway.

“Nice to meet you too, Harry, would you like to join me and my friends for a round of beerpong?” she invites him right away. Harry looks at you as if he is looking for your approval, but you feel like you have no power in this situation, Izzy is the boss, so you just force a smile to your face.

“Um, sure,” he nods.

The three of you join Izzy’s group outside at the beerpong table and you feel overshadowed even more now than before. Seemingly your roommate is very into your new friend, it’s pretty obvious Izzy is flirting with Harry, showing her liking to him, it doesn’t even occur to her that you might feel the same way about Harry. 

If you were confident enough you’d stand up for yourself, you met Harry first and up until Izzy showed up it seemed like he liked you as well, but now he is too busy to pay any attention to you, because Izzy makes sure all of his attention is on her. But you’re not the type who speaks up that easily, so you just stand back and witness your roommate shamelessly flirting with the one guy you had your eyes on.

If you’re being honest you’re not surprised, only disappointed. If you were a guy you’d choose Izzy over you anytime, she is outgoing, gorgeous, charming, exactly what guys usually look for. Everything you’re not. 

You go home that night on your own, Izzy is very much into partying until dawn, but you lose interest watching her cling onto Harry, so you sneak out sometime around one o’clock and go back to the dorm. You wake up when she arrives hours later, but pretend to be asleep in case she wants to brag to you about anything that might have happened between her and Harry.

The semester officially kicks in on Monday. It turns out Izzy has a class together with Harry and she goes on and on about how this is fate when the two of you meet at the dormroom later. You just sit and listen, nod along and try to swallow the bitterness in your mouth. 

“I’m so happy you introduced me to him, Y/N!” she sighs dreamily and you can’t help but clench your jaw at her words. You never really introduced them, she just showed up and joined the conversation. She never asked if you liked Harry, if you wanted to shoot your shot. She just assumed she’s got the green light. 

Harry sends you a friend request on Facebook and you accept it, he even starts to chat with you, which is nice and definitely makes your heart flutter, but knowing that he’s hanging out with Izzy and that she definitely wants to further their relationship, you remain a bit distant and cold so your heartbreak won’t be as bad.

A week later they officially become an item.

Izzy drags you along sometimes, even though you tell her you don’t quite like third wheeling, but she always tells you that won’t happen. It does and you hate every minute of it, so after a while you start to make up excuses just to avoid spending time with them.

It goes on for about two months, right until one day, out of the blue, Harry breaks up with Izzy. She is seemingly heartbroken and hurt, though you have a feeling it’s more about how her ego was hurt by being dumped rather than the actual emotional part of the breakup. 

The aftermath of it is that it’s not said out loud, but it’s obvious Izzy doesn’t want anything to do with Harry ever and she expects you to do the same. She cuts out any and every possible future chance for you to even be friends with Harry.

ONE YEAR LATER

It’s a relief when you step into your favorite little café you found last year near campus. This has been your hideaway from the busy everydays. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries hits you instantly, the little bell rings above the door upon your arrival and a smile stretches across your face without even realizing it.

It’s your first time here since the start of the semester after the summer, you had a great vacation at home with your family, but it’s also nice to be back to your usual. It’s not a popular place, pretty hidden, so you don’t have to wait in line for hours, like at the Starbucks next to Building C. There’s only one guy at the counter when you arrive, two more people at the tables with plenty of empty seats available. You’ve written several papers at these tables, drinking coffee after coffee until you finished with your eyes red, head aching, but at least you could turn them in. 

Behind the counter there’s a barista you don’t remember from last year. As you step closer you see her nametag says Sarah and she is smiling brightly at the guy in front of you as she hands him over the change that eventually ends up in a tip jar, as always. The guy moves over to wait for his drink and now it’s your turn.

“Hi, what can I get you?” she smiles warmly, her ponytail flipping around as she tilts her head to the side.

“A cappuccino please with a bit of cinnamon, on the go.”

“Alright,” she nods, pressing around on the screen in front of her. “That’ll be 3.65.”

You grab a five dollar bill from your wallet and hand it over to her.

“Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” she beams as her eyes wander down to the pin on your backpack while you put your wallet away. “Nice pin,” she chuckles and you look down at the Office pin you got last year. It’s Dwight’s head with the word ‘FALSE’ written underneath.

“Oh, thank you,” you chuckle. “You like the show too?”

“Love it and I made my boyfriend watch it with me too, he wouldn’t admit it, but he is a fan now too,” she says laughing. She seems like such a nice, genuine and open person, so you dare to further the conversation.

“Are you a new worker here? I used to come here all year last year, but I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah, I started in August. My boyfriend transferred here this year and I came with him.”

“You’re not studying?”

“No, I can’t really see myself going to college. So I’m here until I figure out what I want to do,” she shrugs smiling, it doesn’t seem like she’s bothered that she has no certain plans for her future. 

“It’s better than to study something you absolutely hate,” you agree, chuckling.

“Oh, yeah!” she smirks, nodding.

You chat with Sarah until your drink is ready and you feel like you already made a new friend. She even let you know they are having a little open mic event on Friday where people can read their poems or perform a song freely. It sounds exactly like the kind of thing you want to do on a Friday. 

Last year was a bit… hectic in terms of friends and socializing. With Izzy as your roommate she kept trying to drag you to different parties and events, she never asked if you even wanted to go or not, just expected you to follow her everywhere. At the beginning you complied, but later it became way too draining, so you made up excuses so you could ditch her plans. 

Since you engaged with Izzy and her friends in the beginning, that’s what you ended up sticking to for the rest of the school year. You don’t want to sound ungrateful, but sometimes, or maybe often, you felt like you were an outsider in their group. Now you’re thinking about maybe looking for other people to hang out with, but you don’t really know where to start and you also don’t want Izzy to get the wrong idea about it. 

As you walk through campus with your coffee in hand to get to your first class, you spot a familiar face sitting under a tree with two other guys. It seems like Harry has started to grow his hair out during the summer, his curls now reach his shoulders practically, but he is still wearing skinny jeans. 

He looks good. He always does, but it seems like he got even more handsome throughout the summer and since you haven’t seen him. After the breakup you spotted him a few times around campus and it seemed like he might have even wanted to talk to you, but you avoided him like the plague. At first because of girl code, because that’s what Izzy wanted you to do, and later it simply felt awkward. Part of you was mad at him for choosing Izzy. Even though their relationship didn’t last long, he still chose her over you and that stung. Once again, you fell second after someone else and you didn’t feel like sticking around when you were just a second choice. 

But every once in a while you think about him, how good of a friendship could have been between the two of you at least. The talk you had in that bathtub was probably the best time you had all year at a party. You think about the missed opportunity way more than you probably should, but not enough to actually approach Harry and give it another go. 

He is laughing at something when his gaze falls upon you and you see him zone out of the conversation as he watches you continue your path. You want to look away, but something is not letting, your eyes stay focused on him and he stares back at you. For a split second it seems like he is smiling in your way, but that scares you and you turn your head, fastening your steps to reach the building and flee as soon as possible.

By the time you reach the entrance your heart is hammering your chest and you swear you could feel his gaze on you the whole time. You go on with your day thinking about those few seconds while you were looking at each other, but of course, you never mention it to Izzy.

“Gamma Epsilon party on Friday night, you’re coming, right?” Izzy bursts through the door of your shared room on Wednesday, her fingers relentlessly typing away on her phone. You’re sitting on your bed with your laptop on your lap, updating the schedule you’ve put together, fixing the color coding so it looks perfectly neat.

You look up at her and almost start thinking of an excuse, only to realize you actually have plans for that day already.

“I can’t, I have plans.”

Izzy stops in her steps and looks at you with clear surprise in her eyes.

“What plans?” she asks and the disbelief is quite apparent in her tone, which is kind of hurtful, but you let it slide. As if you couldn’t have plans on your own… 

“There’s an open mic evening at Beachwood Café, I’m going there.”

“Beachwood Café? I have never heard of that place and who are you going with?”

“It’s off-campus. And I was invited by one of the new baristas, she seems pretty nice.”

“And you’d rather go there than to a party?”

“Well… yes, I guess,” you nod uncertainly, though it’s pretty obvious to you that your choice is the better one. 

The look she gives you sends a shiver down your spine and it’s not the good kind. You almost want to apologize for making plans on your own, but your rationality knows you did nothing wrong. Yet, she still has the power to make you doubt yourself. 

“Alright,” she then shrugs and acts like she doesn’t care, but the stinging feeling remains deep under your skin.

When Friday rolls around Izzy tries again a few times to get you to ditch the open mic event, but you don’t budge. There’s literally anywhere you’d rather be than at a frat party. So you put on a nice dress, do your hair and makeup the way you like the most and leave the dorm with an excitement you didn’t get to feel too often.

You’ve never been to anything like this and it’s surprising to see so many people at the café when you arrive. Usually it’s just a handful of customers lingering around, but today there are at least two dozen people taking up every tiny space in the small café.

“Oh, Y/N! Hi!” Sarah spots you from behind the counter as you step inside. You make your way through the people and greet her with a small wave.

“Hi Sarah. I didn’t think this is so popular,” you chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s a great success,” she grins winking at you. “I saved a seat for you next to my friends over there,” she says pointing to the back of the room.

“Thank you!”

“Do you want to have something to drink?”

“Maybe just a bottle of water for now.”

Sarah rings you up and once you’ve paid you make your way to the back to look for the seat. She said you’ll spot her boyfriend with his long hair and as she called it “hot Jesus look” so that’s what you’re looking for. There’s a tiny stage already set up near the counter with just one microphone and a stool and you’re curious what kind of performances you’ll see tonight. It amazes you that people just stand up in front of others and do this, you could never work up the courage to get in the center of the attention. 

Navigating your way between the tables you finally spot who you assume to be Sarah’s boyfriend and just as you’re approaching him, you see who he is sitting at the table with. 

There are three seats at the tiny table, one is empty, one is taken by Sarah’s boyfriend and the last one is taken by Harry. 

He spots you just when you see him, freezing just a few feet away from them. It seems like he’s surprised to see you, but he also doesn’t appear to be upset by your appearance, maybe even pleasant.

“Hey, you must be Y/N, right?” Sarah’s boyfriend stands, holding a hand out for you.

“Uh, y-yeah,” you nod, shaking his hand.

“I’m Mitch and this is–”

“We actually know each other,” Harry cuts in.

“Oh, really?” Mitch smiles warmly. “Well, have a seat then,” he nods towards the empty seat that is of course next to Harry.

It’s awkward. For you, at least. Sitting so close to the one person you’ve been avoiding at all cost for about a year now and now he is just right there next to you. 

You sit in silence for a while and you’re just nervously fidgeting with the bottle of water in your lap and then he is the first one to speak up. 

“At least this time we’re not meeting in a bathroom for the first time in the semester.”

You want to stay serious, but you can’t. A smile tugs on your lips and the two of you start laughing together.

“This chair is more comfortable than the bathtub, if you ask me,” you giggle under your breath.

“Definitely,” he nods grinning. “So how do you know Sarah?”

“Oh, I just come here often and we just… you know, started talking.”

“You come here often? How come I never saw you? I drop by almost every day.”

“Well, I guess we just missed each other.”

“Mm. What a shame,” he hums and you can tell there’s more behind his words. 

You stare back at him, there’s so much you want to say to him, yet nothing comes out of your mouth. You feel shame, regret and confusion, all at the same time as you look back at him, all the unsaid things hanging between the two of you. 

Clearing your throat you turn to look ahead, feeling his gaze linger on you for a few more seconds but then a man steps to the microphone and the evening starts.

Even after the performances have started, more and more people arrive until the tiny café is so full, you can’t even drop a pin. You hear poems, songs and stories, originals and covers as well and you love all of them. 

Harry seems to be enjoying them as well and you even start to discuss your favorite parts and the best thing is when you look at each other at the same time hearing something that caught your attention and you know the other one thinks the exact same thing. 

You realize just how much you missed him. It’s almost like in the bathtub all over again and it doesn’t even process that a year has passed by and so much has happened. 

When the performances are over they start to wrap up the evening, but the three of you remain sitting at the table, waiting for Sarah to finish. Mitch walks up to the counter to keep his girlfriend company while she puts the cups and glasses away, so it’s just you and Harry now.

“There was a frat party tonight, you didn’t want to go?” you ask, eyes focused on your nervously fidgeting fingers in your lap. 

“I’m not really a party person, usually end up hiding in the bathtub,” he chuckles.

“So that’s your usual? Did you end up in the bathtub with someone else too?” you ask and try to sound as unbothered as possible, ignoring the stinging pain in your chest when you think of him having the same experience with someone else.

“No,” he smiles at you softly. “Only with one person, though I didn’t see her for a long time after that.”

And you’re back at the touchy subject, but this time you feel like you can’t avoid it.

“I don’t like to be the third wheel,” you mumble, heat crawling up the sides of your neck towards your ears.

“I didn’t go out with Izzy for long, you practically vanished even after we broke up.”

“Because Izzy is my friend and you broke up with her. I couldn’t side with you.”

“Says who?” he chuckles. “Besides, it wasn’t that deep. It’s not like we dated for years, we barely had a handful of dates.”

“But you had them,” you find yourself replying, your voice coming out a bit harsher than you intended. 

Harry stays quiet for a while and you start to think he won’t add anything, he speaks up again.

“You were mad at me for going out with Izzy?”

You didn’t expect him to question it at all and now that he hit the nail right on the head, you feel exposed, almost naked as he is looking at you with questioning eyes.

“No, I–Um… I need to go,” you blurt out and grabbing your purse you launch to rush out of the café, but Harry is quick to run after you.

“Hey, wait! Y/N, let’s talk about it!” He jumps in front of you to block your way, a hand coming to grab your arm gently. “It’s the first time you talked to me in almost a year, don’t just run away, please,” he begs and suddenly you feel ashamed of how you just acted.

“S-Sorry, I just…”

“Harry!” You hear someone call from the entrance of the café and you both turn in the direction of the voice. Mitch and Sarah are stepping out, watching you with questioning looks. Harry sighs and waves at them.

“I’m walking Y/N home, I’ll meet you later!” They just nod and head in the other direction as Harry turns to you again. “Can we please talk? I don’t want you to leave like this, let me walk you home.”

“Okay,” you whisper nodding as the two of you start walking towards your dorm. 

“So, I feel like you were mad at me for dating Izzy.”

“I was just… confused,” you say, looking for the best way to express what happened.

“About what?”

Sighing you realize you won’t be able to talk it out without giving away something.

“You didn’t seem like the type of guy who would go after a girl like Izzy. And it turned out you weren’t a match anyway, so… I don’t know, I was confused that you asked her out.”

“Okay, just to be clear, she asked me out and I thought going on a date could never hurt. It wasn’t that disastrous, but if I’m being honest I knew it from the beginning it wouldn't last long.”

“Then why did you even go into it?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, I just started college, I was open to meeting new people. Who am I to judge someone so quickly?”

You hate that his answer is rational. You can’t blame him for not being judgmental, yet you still want to be mad at him.

“Besides,” he continues, “the person I really wanted to get to know didn’t seem to be interested in me.”

Your eyes snap up to meet his and your knees almost go weak when you see the tiny smile that’s curling up the corners of his mouth. Was that a hint? Did he imply he wanted to get to know you? As if Harry could hear your questions, he continues.

“After Izzy came up to us that night you kind of stepped back. I tried to reach out, but I felt like you didn’t want to talk to me anymore, so I didn’t force it. Izzy asked me out and I figured since you two are friends it was cleared, okay by everyone, but apparently it wasn’t.”

You stop in your tracks wrapping your arms around yourself as you chew on your bottom lip. It feels like the right moment to open up, but you haven’t done much of that in your life, so you don’t know how to do it without making a fool out of yourself.

“I just… I didn’t think you’d want to spend time with me when you could be with Izzy.” Harry sighs as he looks at you with a tender gaze.

“Y/N, I had a great time with you. When you were so cold towards me, I took it as a sign that it wasn’t the same on your part.”

“It wasn’t… I had a good time with you,” you admit truthfully, which brings a smile to his lips. “I just… Izzy seemed to like you too and…”

He doesn’t force you to finish, as if he could tell that talking about it makes you anxious, but he understands everything you’re trying to say. 

“Izzy is a nice girl, but not really the type I usually hang out with.”

“Your friends from the frat seem to like her.” It slips out before you could even think about it.

“Actually, I spend more time with Mitch and Sarah and they are not at all like those guys. If you remember, I was kind of hiding from them at the party when we met.” The boyish smile definitely makes the butterflies in your stomach start dancing wildly. “Alright, let me make this clear, because I don’t want to dance around it anymore and I don’t want any misunderstanding either,” he starts and you hold your breath as you stare back at him. “I like you, Y/N. I liked you a year ago and I only went out with Izzy because you didn’t seem to be interested in me. But if you like me too, I would really love to spend more time with you. As friends, or… whatever else.”

This is new. Harry just openly told you that he is interested in you. Not in someone else, not in Izzy. You. 

For the first time you’re not second behind someone else.

He smiles at you warmly, your shocked reaction is probably quite entertaining while you’re looking for the words to say.

“Do you want to spend more time with me, Y/N?” he then asks with that boyish smirk you love so much.

“I do,” you smile shyly.

“Great,” he nods. 

He walks you back to the dorm and you catch up on everything that basically happened since the bathtub incident. School, friends, family, you feel like you’re continuing exactly from where you left it a year ago and it’s a relief that neither of you changed too much over the time. At one point he drapes his sweatshirt over your shoulders when he notices you’re feeling cold and it gets hard to focus on what he is saying when all you can smell is his sweet scent. 

“I’m really glad we met again tonight, Y/N,” he smiles at you when you finally arrive at the dorm.

“Yeah, me too,” you return the smile and start to peel off the sweatshirt he gave you, but he stops you.

“Keep it.”

“But I’m here, I won’t need it inside.”

“Let’s say it’s the leverage that we’ll meet again, so you can give it back. How about lunch sometime this week?”

“That sounds great,” you nod and the smile just widens across your face. 

“Amazing, then see you later,” he grins as he backs away and you just nod, biting into your bottom lip, but then he runs back to you and leaning down he presses a kiss to your cheek before finally turning around and leaving.

You keep smiling like an idiot as you take a shower and get ready for bed. Folding Harry’s sweatshirt neatly you put it over the back of your chair at your desk and every time you look at it your heart skips a beat. You did not expect things to take this turn, but you couldn’t be happier now. Smiling to yourself like a lovesick schoolgirl you hug your pillow as you try to get some sleep.

Izzy gets back to the room at around two in the morning. She almost trips in her shoes she left out before leaving and you wake up to her cursing in the dark.

“Sorry babe, it’s just me,” she sighs, as she starts to strip out of her clothes.

“You alright?” you ask groggily.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but you should have been there tonight! Rick jumped into the pool butt naked,” she laughs, falling onto her bed.

“Mm, sounds fun,” you reply, but it’s nowhere near genuine. You’re not interested in seeing some random fratboy butt naked and probably drunk out of his mind.

“How was your evening?”

“Great, I really liked it,” you say, a smile stretching across your face instantly. She doesn’t ask any more questions, it’s clear she’s not quite interested in how your night really was, but as she is about to get comfortable under the covers she spots the sweatshirt on the back of your chair. 

“Whose sweatshirt is that?” she asks, but her tone reveals she already knows the answer. You hesitate and at last you decide to lie.

“Sarah’s boyfriend let me borrow it, I know her from the café.”

Izzy stares at the sweatshirt for a couple of moments before she pulls the covers over herself and turns to face the wall. 

When you’re waiting for Harry at the school’s cafeteria on Tuesday, for a moment you think that he won’t come. Holding onto his sweatshirt you kept as a treasure since Friday you’re anxiously kicking around the dirt even though he is just one minute late to what you agreed on earlier.

“Hey! Sorry, Professor Hastings just loves talking,” he runs up to you and before you could even snap out of your thoughts he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“It’s alright,” you smile. “Here.” You hand him the sweatshirt and he just smiles before tucking it into his backpack.

Normally you eat with Izzy and her friends, but this time you take it away, because Harry says he knows a great spot. Behind building E there’s an old oak tree with a little bench underneath. The route behind the building is not too popular, it leads next to the trash containers, but when you reach the tree you sense nothing of it, so the bench sits unoccupied when you arrive. 

It’s like a little picnic as you pick up the conversation exactly where you left it earlier. Talking to Harry is so easy, so natural, no doubt you missed him so much after you lost contact. You truly turn into a giggling mess every time Harry compliments you or looks at you with so much adoration you never thought anyone could. 

As much as you’d like to spend the whole day like this, you need to get to your next class, so the picnic has to come to an end. Harry insists on walking you to your building, just so you can spend a little more time together. 

“So, there is this party on Saturday, I’m kinda forced to go, but I thought that maybe we could… go together?” he asks, when you reach the building. “And also, if you’re free on Friday, I would love to take you out.”

“Like, on a date?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “On a date.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, so swooned by his charm. 

“To both?” he smiles brightly. 

“Yeah, both sounds good,” you nod, chuckling lightly. 

“Great! And maybe we could have lunch together some other time this week as well.”

“You’re suddenly occupying all my free time,” you giggle, but it’s not at all a complaint. 

“I’m just that greedy,” he grins, before checking the time on his phone. “I have to run now, but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Sure,” you nod. Harry leans down and kisses your cheek before going his way and you can’t stop smiling for the next two hours.

You have lunch with Harry one more time this week and you go to the library with him too, spending more and more time together while slowly canceling plans with Izzy and her friends. 

It remains in the back of your mind that sooner or later you’ll have to come clean. You can’t hide it for long and if things turn serious with Harry, she’ll for sure find out about it. You just haven’t figured out how to present it to her.

Hey, how has your day been? Mine? Oh, it’s been great, because lately I’ve been dating your ex. Okay, see ya later!

That would be a disaster. Knowing Izzy there’s no right way to tell her, it’s certain she’ll be fuming no matter how you put it. She very much implied that none of her friends can ever get in contact with Harry after their breakup, which was seemingly pretty rough on her, although… you’re not even sure you want to be friends with her anymore… 

You didn’t miss that she’s been acting weird towards you and you’re guessing it’s because of the hoodie. She must have recognized it and she’s not stupid, she must be suspecting what’s really going on, it’s a miracle she hasn’t asked you straight in your face. Your time is ticking.

Friday afternoon you’re getting ready for your date and praying you can leave before Izzy gets back. You put on a nice dress, do your makeup and hair just the way you like it. Luckily, you get a text from Harry that he has arrived before Izzy returns so you leave in a rush, once again avoiding to face her with the truth.

He is waiting for you in front of the building next to a car you know for a fact he borrowed for the evening, wearing a pair of slacks with a funky patterned shirt tucked into it and a beaming smile on his handsome face.

“Hi,” he greets you softly, pulling out a rose from behind him and handing it to you. 

“Thank you. You look good,” you chuckle, taking the rose.

“I should have said that to you first,” he laughs as he opens the car door for you.

“Sorry,” you grin and get into the car.

You haven’t been on a date, ever in your life, so you didn’t have high expectations for tonight, but Harry has definitely fulfilled all of them. 

He takes you to a gallery where you wander around, talking about the abstract paintings and what you see in them, then comes a nice dinner and because neither of you wants the evening to end, you start walking around the neighborhood aimlessly, the conversation never really dies.

You feel like a fool for staying away from him for so long, you haven’t felt this good in such a long time and you were the only reason why it couldn’t happen earlier.

When you’ve passed the dormitory about five times you realize it might be time to say goodbye, you can’t stretch the evening any longer now. 

“Thank you for tonight, I had an amazing time, really,” you tell him as you stop by the dormitory for the final time. 

“You’re not just saying it to get rid of me, are you?”

“No,” you shake your head chuckling. “I mean it.

“Then, how about dinner tomorrow before the party? And then we can go together.”

The thought of arriving at the party with Harry reminds you that in that case you have to come clean to Izzy. Harry notices how your face falls and he thinks he said something wrong.

“We don’t have to, if it’s too fast, we can–”

“No, it’s not fast, it’s just that… I need to tell Izzy. I haven’t been able to get myself to do that.”

“You mean, about us?”

“Yeah.”

“So… there’s an us?” he asks, tilting his head to the side with a wide grin stretching across his face. You get nervous right away, as if you just made a fool out of yourself.

“I-I mean, i-it’s not, I just–”

“Y/N, stop,” he chuckles and stepping closer he cups your cheek in his hand. “I’m really hoping that there is an us, if it’s still not obvious.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply as he slowly closes the gap between the two of you.

His soft lips press against yours in a gentle, patient manner, as if he is giving you a way out of it, but you’d be a fool to break away from him. So when he feels you kissing him back, he deepens it, his tongue runs along your bottom lip and you let him in without hesitation. You haven’t had many first kisses and most of them have been terrible, to put it nicely, but with Harry… He practically melts your whole being, you just want to feel as close to him as possible as you lock your arms around his neck, he is everywhere, all you can feel and sense, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A kiss never felt this way and it scares and excites you at the same time. 

You have no idea how long you stay like that, minutes or maybe hours, it could be a lifetime but even that wouldn’t be enough. Harry pulls away, but then peppers your lips with a few more tiny kisses before actually moving his head back.

“Do you want me to talk to Izzy?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours as he gently caresses your cheek with his thumb. 

“Tempting, but I think I should be the one to tell her.”

“Or we could tell her together. Tomorrow, at the party?”

“Is that the best option? I mean, shouldn’t we do it more privately?” you ask hesitantly.

“Okay, then maybe I could drop by the dorm before the party and we can tell her then.”

“I don’t think she’ll take it well,” you sigh.

“Is there anything she takes well that’s against what she wants?” he questions arching an eyebrow and he is right. Izzy has a hard time accepting it when things don’t go her way. “So, let’s ditch dinner, I’ll be here at… eight? How does that sound? And we can talk to her together.”

“Okay,” you nod, smiling weakly. Leaning down he kisses you one last time before peeling himself off of you.

“See you tomorrow then,” he winks at you before jogging back to the car he left in front of the building while you were walking. 

You told Izzy you wanted to talk to her before the party. She knew you wanted to talk, yet she is still nowhere to be found. It’s like she is purposely avoiding you.

It’s past eight, Harry is already in your room, the two of you are waiting for Izzy to show up so you could tell her what’s been happening, but she disappeared.

“She still hasn’t read my message,” you sigh, dropping your phone to the bed next to where Harry is sitting as you pace the floor relentlessly.

“Have you ever seen Izzy without her phone in her hands?” he asks and it’s a valid question. She is practically glued together with her phone 24-7, there’s no way she hasn’t seen your text.

“You think she already knows and she’s just avoiding talking about it?” you ask, chewing on your bottom lip. Harry reaches out and taking your hand he pulls you closer so you stand between his legs.

“I think that’s exactly the case. And if you ask me, she is acting like a child. Let’s just go to the party and talk to her there. We had the intention to do it privately, she didn’t want that. We can’t work everything around her all the time.”

You know he is right, but you’ve always been the kind of person who wants to please everyone. Izzy might have not been the best of friends to you this past year, but you still want the best for her no matter what.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right,” you nod. Reaching up he gently caresses the side of your face before pulling you in for a kiss.

You still haven’t gotten used to Harry just freely kissing you, every time he leans in and you feel his soft lips on yours your heart skips a beat, you can’t believe he wants you, that for once in your life you’re in the focus and that it’s Harry that’s so into you… it feels like a dream you never want to wake up from. 

His hands cup your hips as he brings you close against him, curling his arms around your waist as he deepens the kiss, easing your nerves within just moments. Now you don’t really want to go to that party, it would be a lot nicer if you could just spend some time alone with Harry.

“Maybe, we could skip the whole party?” you suggest between kisses.

“Would love that, but I already promised I’d be there. They always tease me for being a party pooper,” he chuckles softly. “But believe me, I would rather be here with you than at a party.”

“Okay, then we are leaving early, right?” you propose.

“That sounds manageable,” he chuckles before stealing one more kiss.

You arrive at the party together, but until you talk to Izzy you keep your hands to yourselves, though both of you are dying to walk around hand in hand finally. It’s another frat party, nothing special or different from the ones you’ve been to. Drunk college students everywhere, couples making out in every possible corner and the single ones are trying to find a hookup for the night. This setting was never your cup of tea and it’s now just settling in your mind how Izzy always dragged you to these parties even though she knew you didn’t quite like them. 

Looking around you spot her outside, talking to her friends as if you weren’t waiting for her at the dorm and it gets your blood boiling. Harry follows you out to the backyard, his presence is what keeps you collected enough not to snap at Izzy when you finally reach her.

���Hi girls,” you smile around politely. “Izzy, can we please talk? I was actually waiting for you in our room, I guess you forgot.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, it totally slipped my mind,” she says, but there’s nothing genuine about it.

“Okay, so then can we talk now, please?”

She takes a sip from her drink, as if she was debating whether she wants to hear you out or not, her eyes knowingly shifting between you and Harry behind you.

“Of course,” she nods at last and the three of you move to a more secluded spot to have a tad bit of privacy. 

“I wanted to tell you before you find out from someone else, that… I’m dating Harry,” you say it calmly, hoping she won’t cause a scene, that’s the last thing you need right now. 

You didn’t entirely think through what you’d tell her and now as she is staring at you with deadly eyes, you’re looking for the right thing to say, but she speaks up first.

“You really thought you hid it well from me?” she huffs. “I knew it when I saw his hoodie on your chair that night. I’m not stupid.”

“No one thought you were,” Harry says.

“Oh, so then you just decided to backstab me, that’s fine!” she lets out a dry laugh.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Harry sighs.

“No one wanted to backstab you. It’s not how we planned, but it happened, alright? It’s nothing against you.”

“But I do think it’s something against me. You’re dating my ex, Y/N. Are you really that jealous of me?”

“I’m not jealous of you, Izzy. But honestly, you never even asked me if I liked Harry when you started dating him! You just assumed you were more of his type than I am and pushed me aside!”

Clearly, Izzy is surprised that for once, you’re standing up for yourself, because the stunned look on her face is something you haven’t seen often. It’s like you just solved a puzzle you’ve been struggling to finish for a year.

Izzy was never really your friend. She saw you more like a charity project, to look better next to you and she couldn’t put up with Harry being interested in you rather than her so she did everything she could to keep you away from him. But not that she failed, she is trying to make you feel guilty, but it’s not gonna work. 

“I will be requesting to change rooms. It’s better if we just keep our distance from each other. I’m sorry this is how it turned out to be,” you say, truly disappointed it had to take such a bitter turn. 

“Whatever, Y/N. I’m not wasting my time on you two, I have better things to do,” she spats and walks away. One year of friendship down the drain just like that. 

“You did good,” Harry speaks up and turning around you can feel yourself easing up from the tension as you look at him. “Maybe she will come around in time. Or not, it doesn’t matter,” he chuckles as he pulls you closer by your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I would really like to leave though,” you sigh.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he agrees, not even caring about what his friends will say about his early departure.

You were done there, in every possible sense.

TWO YEARS LATER

“Thank you for your attention, it’s been a pleasure to teach you this semester and I wish the best for all of you in starting your career!”

Professor Turner smiles as he finishes the very last class you have as a college student. A round of applause washes over the room before everyone starts packing up and leaves the auditorium for the last time.

“I’ll see you at the graduation ceremony, right?” Claudia smiles at you, swinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Yes! We need to take a picture together!” you beam at her.

These past two years you’ve made some great friends and Claudia is one of them. You had several classes together and bonded over a group project. After your initial fallout with Izzy, you were afraid you’d be on your own, but making friends turned out to be easier when you were looking at the right places. 

And besides that, you wouldn’t have been alone. You had your amazing boyfriend.

As you walk out of the building you spot Harry by the same bench he has waited for you after Professor Turner’s class all semester. He is reading a book, but as if he had a sixth sense, he looks up when you walk down the stairs and slips his book back into his backpack before standing up and walking towards you smiling as he meets you halfway. 

He curls his arms around your waist and sweeps you up from the ground while kissing you, making you laugh against his lips with his enthusiasm about seeing you again, even though you parted ways just a few hours ago.

“Hi,” you smile when your feet touch the ground again and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“How does it feel to be free from school?” he asks, taking your hand as the two of you start walking back to the tiny apartment you’ve been renting for the past year. 

You stayed in the dorm after you switched rooms and left Izzy, but you felt like you could use some privacy for the last two semesters, especially because Harry was living with two of his friends and there was basically no place where you could be alone. Now Harry spends more time at your place than at his, so it’s almost as if you’re living together, but you have nothing against the idea. You’re planning to move in together soon, it’s been your trial for the official thing.

“I’m not free and you aren’t either,” you chuckle. “We still have our thesis defenses and graduation.”

“Those are nothing, we’re practically free,” he smirks, giving your hand a playful squeeze. 

If only you knew that the guy you sat with in a bathtub in freshman year would turn out to be the person you love the most… 

Harry is talking your ears off, trying to convince you to go to the movies on the weekend when you turn a corner and almost bump right into someone.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, only realizing that it’s Izzy you almost walked right into. 

She seems just as surprised to be facing you as you are to see her this close again. Following that party you only met a handful of times until you eventually switched rooms with a freshman. It’s been radio silence since then.

“Hi,” she breathes out and unlike the last time you faced her, there’s no sign of anger on her face as her gaze switches back and forth between you and Harry and then it slips down at your intertwined fingers. 

“Hey,” you say softly and you hear Harry mumbling the same.

It’s awkward, how the three of you are now facing each other after being silent for most of your time in college. You would be lying if you said you never thought about making up with Izzy since your fall-out, but the thought never turned into an act. 

“Um, see you guys at the graduation,” she breathes out, a nervous smile flashes through her face.

“Yeah,” you nod and return the smile with a genuine one. 

You can feel there’s something hanging in the air, something unsaid that’s been there for way longer than what feels comfortable and as the moments pass by you start to realize that it won’t be addressed this time either.

With a round of awkward nods everyone moves on and keeps walking, but then for your surprise, Izzy calls after the two of you.

“Y/N, Harry, wait!”

Turning around she is right there in front of you and she takes a deep breath before speaking up. 

“I just… I wanted to apologize. For how things happened… Between us.”

Looking away she tugs her hair behind her ears and then continues.

“I acted horrible. Like a… Like a child,” she chuckles. “I was jealous, there’s no doubt and not just because… it bothered me that Harry chose someone else who was not me.”

She attempts a smile in Harry’s way who is curiously listening to her talking while holding your hand, his thumb grazing your knuckles nonstop.

“I was not used to things not going the way I wanted them to and I never had that kind of instant connection you guys had… have. So, I’m really sorry for… well, for everything, basically.”

That was unexpected. But in the best way possible. You can tell she meant every single word and the Izzy standing in front of you is not the same girl you shared a room with. She has grown a lot and it looks good on her.

“I guess I’m sorry too,” you say. “I should have told you straight in the beginning that I liked Harry, so we wouldn’t have gotten into this whole situation.”

“Knowing who I was then, I would have still tried to take him,” she chuckles, but then her face falls, realizing this might come out wrong, but you laugh, knowing well what she meant.

“Maybe,” you shrug. 

“Anyways, I’m happy you guys are still together,” she smiles. “Good luck for whatever you are planning after school.”

“Thanks,” Harry finally speaks up and pulling you closer he kisses the crown of your head.

“Good luck to you too, Izzy,” you tell her and genuinely mean it.

With one last nod you all turn around and part way.

“Well, I did not expect that,” Harry admits, when Izzy can’t hear you anymore.

“Right? But… It was very nice of her.”

“Mhm, at least the reunion won’t be that awkward this way when we show up.”

You bite into your bottom lip as you peek up at him.

“So, we’ll still be together at our reunion?”

“Of course,” he smirks at you confidently. “Married, with a dozen kids.”

“Harry, that’s biologically impossible to have a dozen kids by then,” you laugh, smacking his chest playfully.

“Okay, then just… half a dozen,” he grins, curling his arm around your waist to pull you in for a kiss.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[sohnric]

to. my first – k. sunwoo

pairing: kim sunwoo x fem! reader

genre: 90s au. twenty-five twenty-one au, friends to lovers au, exes to lovers au. fluff, slice of life, coming of age, suggestive. highschool au, football player! sunwoo, baker! sunwoo. cheerleader! reader. first love au. what we call wet cat sunwoo. meeting your ex after years and falling back in love with him kind of thing.

warnings: alcohol, throwing up, swearing, reader has hair long enough for a ponytail, a heated make out session or two that alludes to them having sex but no actual smut happens, finger sucking, the reader moping around a lot, no plot just vibes.

word count: 31k

a/n: inspired by me telling @/csenke that sunwoo is my first love. why am i so soft for this man i truly dont know... thank you best friend for betaing this monster i appreciate it a LOT! also thank you to sana @/heemingyu and izzy @/from-izzy for the help on some parts of the fic and brainstorming the ending w me, as well as beta reading small parts of this.

spin-off to my fic millennium bug because sunwoo deserves love too! the reader from eric's fic is referenced to as MB!Y/N in this. you don't have to read the first fic to understand this one, but there are a lot of references in this and i highly encourage you to do so!

they say you never forget about your first love. you guess that's true. (or– a story about reckless love, first kisses, growing up, ambition, and inevitably, failure.)

August 2007

The laughter all around is electric. The music playing in the background makes you sway and hum to the melody, the familiar tunes making your insides light up with a different sense of nostalgia when you remember the times in which these songs were popular. Your tired limbs make you cut your way through the room and sit down on a vacant chair, not really caring about where your designated seat was anymore, just needing to rest for a second before you either throw up from exhaustion or faint from how tired your legs are from all the dancing. Paying a quick goodbye to Juyeon on the dance floor, you heave out a satisfied sigh when your bottom meets the cushioned seat of the chair, eyes zeroing on the filled dance floor.

Feeling a cramp in your foot, you scowl and lean down, ready to do the thing you’ve been desiring for at least the last three hours– if not the whole day. Hands playing with the strap on your heel, you make the shoe come undone before you slip the uncomfortable footwear off your feet, relaxing when your naked limbs meet with the cold tile on the floor. 

You don’t really know who in their right mind would have a wedding in the middle of the summer heat, but you guess there are people that are out of their mind like that– and those people are your friends from high school. 

Everything about coming back to your hometown has made you feel unpleasantly nostalgic so far– the streets haven’t changed a bit, your childhood home still looks just the same, furniture unmoved, and the air is still as crisp, yet humid as it always was during late August. It’s only tonight that finally makes the weird bittersweetness turn into joy. You’re back home with everyone you’ve ever known, with everyone who’s made you into who you are today. You’re seeing all their faces for the first time in ages– and frankly, it does feel good. 

The satisfaction in your veins stays for a bit until a figure dressed in a suit comes into your point of view. It’s not like you’re seeing him for the first time tonight– he’s a big character, even when it comes to this wedding, so it’s hard to not notice him– but as his legs take him towards you in a wobbly nature, it dawns on you that now is maybe finally the time you get to talk to him. Don’t get me wrong– there are no hard feelings between the two of you (or at least you don’t have any, you’re not so sure about his side of the story). It’s just that seeing him dressed in a tux, tie now a little loose around his neck, the twinkle in his eye still present as back when you were both a lot younger, there’s still a strong aftertaste of your feelings towards him somewhere on the tip of your tongue. 

His walk is a little lopsided as he grins at you and takes a seat on the vacant chair next to yours, a huff of air escaping his lungs as his body relaxes, limbs falling freely down the sides of his chair. His cheeks are a little red and his hair a little messy– there’s only so much to explain his composure apart from all the dancing he’s done.

“So I see that you still can’t handle your liquor well even after all those years?” you joke, making the boy turn his head to face you, an amused twinkle appearing in his smile. 

His eyes are still the same chocolate orbs you know, still the same soft look adorning them whenever he feels particularly ecstatic. He shrugs, jolting his bottom lip out before he sighs to himself. “Well, it’s not every day you are the best man at your best friend’s and your sister’s wedding,” he muses, shrugging. 

Laughing at his remark, once again taking in the state of the room– Juyeon, Hyunjae and Haknyeon each dancing somewhere in the middle of the dance floor, MB!Y/N’s friends from university twirling her around in the right corner, Eric staring at the bride with a warm gaze in his eyes, sipping on a drink while resting against one of the tables, clearly taking a mental image to look at every time he feels the need to– it all feels kind of surreal. Who would’ve thought all those years ago that it would end like this?

Well, Eric Sohn, for starters. He confessed to everyone in his wedding speech that he knew he wanted to marry MB!Y/N the moment she kissed him on New Year’s Eve of 1999– him being this cheesy was only acceptable because it was his own wedding. In any other circumstance, Sunwoo wouldn’t be able to let his best friend live this down.

It’s not like you ever expected those two to break up– it just makes you a little in awe at how fast time is passing. “It’s kinda crazy, isn’t it?” you hum, squinting at the flood of people on the dance floor.

“It is,” Sunwoo hums, tonguing the inside of his cheek, “still can’t believe they’re dating. Hell, they’re getting married right now…” 

“You can’t believe your sister is dating your best friend?” you laugh, wiping the sweat that’s accumulated off your forehead, the mist appearing there both because of your reckless dancing and because of the unbearable heat of the August night.

“That, and also the other way around,” he hisses, “but I guess they’re both so insufferable that they go well together, so I don’t know why I’m still so surprised.”

Chuckling at his comment– you guess the bond he has with his sister is never to be changed, no matter how many years have passed– you watch as he shrugs off his suit jacket and throws it over the back of his chair, starting to roll up his sleeves to expose his forearms. Eyes following his motions, you clear your throat and force yourself to look back into his eyes when he asks you a question. “What about you, though? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” you nod, no hesitation, “it’s really nice to see all of you after so long. Plus, I’m having a lot of fun, so that’s a nice bonus." 

“I can see that,” he grins, “by the way you sat on my seat just now, and all–” 

“Oh god– I’m sorry,” you gasp, suddenly feeling a little silly. And here you thought he went up to you because he wanted to catch up… “I’ll move, if–”

The sound of Sunwoo’s hearty laugh lands into your ear– it’s just the same as it was back when you were both high schoolers, making your heart soar– before he shakes his head and urges you to stay with a motion of his hand, putting his large palm on your thigh to keep you from moving. “No, no, don’t be stupid,” he says, “I don’t mind. I was looking for you anyway, so you just made it easier for me by sitting here, actually.”

He was looking for you, resonates in your head, the familiar buzzing in your fingertips alerting you of the effect he has on you even tonight. God, maybe you were the one that had too much to drink…

“You were?” you ask, tone of voice light– not at all suspicious. 

Sunwoo nods, shrugging. “Well, I guess we have a lot of catching up to do,” he smiles, “don’t we?” 

Eyes meeting his, the contact feels electrifying to the point it makes your head spin when you look at him, taking in his glossy eyes and the flush of his cheeks. They’re less round than when you two were young, but his eyes still stay the same– big, round and tender.

He reminds you a lot of the time when you saw him drunk for the first time.

to. my first time getting drunk

April 1999

Havoc rings in his ears like jingle bells, the world around him spinning like he’s on a rollercoaster. His head feels like someone is installing a nail to the middle of his skull and when he looks around, Lee Donghyuck is staring at him with a glass bottle of soju in his hand, urging him to drink more.

Sunwoo doesn’t have it in him to do much else other than shake his head. It feels like he forgot all his vocabulary, not a single word coming out of his mouth or to the awake parts of his brain, watery eyes begging his classmate to not make him drink any more. 

What seemed like a good idea just a few moments ago– see, it’s prohibited to drink on school trips, but Kim Sunwoo is infamous for loving to break the rules– now seems like the worst idea of his whole entire life. He feels so sick he thinks he’s going to die of alcohol poisoning, but the laughter around keeps painfully reminding him that he hasn’t even had that much to drink in the first place. The amount of times he’s been called a lightweight this night is making his pride severely hurt, and even graciously intoxicated, he can’t bear the sting this is putting on his already hurt ego. 

“Come on, birthday boy! I’m sure you can handle one more,” Donghyuck urges, uncurling Sunwoo’s fist and placing the bottle into his grasp, making the poor boy wince and battle back tears. 

He knows he’s being embarrassing. The choice between not dying and not humiliating himself is rather a difficult one, but the moment he finally finishes the crossword puzzle in his brain and puts the glass opening against his lips, the bottle is thankfully taken out of his grasp and discarded somewhere where his eyes can’t reach.

“You’re done for the night, Kim Sunwoo,” you haul at him, shaking your head at the poor boy, “you’re done.”

Sunwoo wants to open his mouth and protest, maybe ask you what you mean, but the moment his lips unseal, he gets a sniff of the alcohol in the air and suddenly, he feels like throwing up. Your eyes lock with his, a pleading– maybe a warning– mirrors in Sunwoo’s gaze, and even though he’s so drunk he feels like he crossed dimensions, he applauds your ability to know just what he means by a single look into his eyes.

“Oh, Christ–” you curse, hurried steps moving to the corner of the room, swiftly grabbing the trash can and running back towards your friend sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor. 

You make it just in time to catch the contains of Sunwoo’s stomach into the trash can, making the boy insanely grateful– he’s wearing the new shoes his mum got him for his birthday, and god knows he’d hate it if he ruined them the very first day he can show them off to his football friends.

The whole world disappears into the background as he throws up while making a mental promise to himself to never drink again. The only thing keeping him from losing it all is the feeling of your hand on his back, comforting rubs grounding him back to earth. Giggles fill his ears and he’s sure everyone’s laughing at him– even in his drunken state, he can recognise the shame filling his veins– but before he can open his mouth to argue with his classmates, the sound of your angry voice makes him seal his lips close and listen to the scolding you offer to his teammates for making him drink so much.

“You know he has a weak stomach, Donghyuck!” you huff and puff, your hand still drawing comforting circles to Sunwoo’s back as his head stays stuck in the bucket, not having enough energy to even straighten his spine. 

“It’s his birthday! Come on, don’t be so tight-arsed.”

“Well, do you want him to die on his day of birth? That’s not very cool of you,” you growl, the shuffle of your clothing and a pained “ow” escaping his friend’s lips hinting to Sunwoo that you just kicked the right wing to his shin. 

Deserved, Sunwoo thinks.

“Can somebody get Eric? I’m pretty sure he’s in Daehwi’s room with MB!Y/N, Minjeong and Jihoon,” you hum, waiting for anyone to follow your orders. 

Sunwoo blinks in and out of it, his consciousness giving up on him with the incredible pain in his temples. He feels incredibly grateful to have someone like you by his side not only now, but all the time. The two of you have gotten incredibly closer ever since he joined the football team– and with you being one of the cheerleaders, you’re always somehow around. Not that he’s complaining, of course. It seems like you are one of the more responsible ones in this room right now, and god knows Sunwoo needs a bit of guidance on his day to day ventures.

“Do you think you’ll be sick again?” you ask, voice soft in his ear. “Or can I take the trash can off you now?”

Sunwoo thinks for a bit, then he nods and lets go of the plastic bucket. He doesn’t know what happens to it after and nor does he care– it seems like the alcohol in his veins took away all his sense of object permanence. He can barely see anything in the yellow lights of the room (which makes him believe he is going blind from all the alcohol he’s had– don’t tell him it’s just his eyes getting hazy and confused with how much his head is spinning), but he’s sure he can feel you wiping his tear-stained cheeks (he wasn’t crying– his eyes were just watering) and pulling him closer to you when he threatens to fall over even in his seated position. Your hand comes up to play with his hair when you let him rest his head against your shoulder, your actions making him sleepy, eyes closing on themselves like a threat for him to fall asleep any second.

Something about the care, the loyal protectiveness you take over the boy makes his heart soften. He breaths in your scent, trying his hardest to focus on your presence and not the weird feeling in his stomach– although it’s settled a bit since he threw up, it’s still a little uneasy– and before he knows it, there’s a tap on his shoulder waking him up from the haze.

Sunwoo mourns, not really wanting to move from his position, too comfortable with your fingers threading through his hair– but much to his dismay, your soft voice appears in his ear, telling him he has to get up. “Can you walk on your own? We’re gonna get you back to your room,” you hum, your lips accidentally brushing against the shell of his ear, making everything in him light on fire. He’s not really sure if this is the effect alcohol has on you, but if it is, he’s certain he never wants to drink again.

“Sunwoo?” you call, the way you say his name suddenly all too angelic in his ears– but still not enough for him to answer. “Alright,” you sigh after the dreadful silence, taking charge of the situation, moving away from the boy and offering him your hands to hold on to as you try to get him on his feet, “I guess we’re gonna find out.”

His fingers intertwine with yours as he stares up at you, his vision blurry, but still sharp enough to make out your tired face. The sight is enough to make Sunwoo worry– is he being too much? Are you mad at him? Do you not want to be his friend anymore? – but before he has a chance to address any of those concerns, he’s being tugged up to his feet. Not ready for the weight of his own body, his knees buckle and refuse to work. There is a pair of hands clutching his arm automatically– yours– as another pair holds him up from behind by his waist. 

He’s not really sure who was his other savior, but by the silent curse heard from behind, he thinks he recognises Eric’s voice. 

“I know I shouldn’t have left him alone,” he hears his best friend say, voice full of frustration.

“You really shouldn’t have,” he hears you sigh, making the poor boy scowl.

It still feels like he can’t really speak, exhaustion taking a toll on him, but he follows the orders as you tell him to get on his best friend’s back– Eric’s crouching figure ready for the impact, waiting for the taller one to clutch onto him so he can carry him into the safety of their shared room. The operation has to be quick if they don’t want to be caught by their teachers while walking through the hall, and somehow, in the distant crevices of his brain, Sunwoo recognises that and he makes no battle to resist, doing exactly as he’s told.

“Man, you’re heavy,” he hears Eric huff under him as the poor boy carries him through the hall. “You’re gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow, dude…”

Sunwoo’s head rests against his friend’s shoulder, hands carelessly hanging around Eric’s neck. He tries to blink away the sleep, desiring to stay awake, when your concerned face appears in his vision and suddenly, he feels insanely guilty.

“I’m sorry,” the two words escape his mouth with no trouble– the first words to appear in his vocabulary after the few minutes of him being surprisingly mute– only to hear his friend chuckle.

“Well, you’re going to be dying from a headache tomorrow, not us,” Eric hums, “so I think you have to apologize to future you first.”

Sunwoo pouts, bangs falling into his eyes making him blink in a desperate try to get the stray hairs away, attempting to make eye contact with your side profile. “Are you mad at me?” he asks, voice a little groggy from all the screaming and drinking.

“What?” you ask, genuinely surprised to hear his question. Your face morphs into a confused expression, the one where a wrinkle appears in between your brows– and it takes everything in Sunwoo not to poke the little line with his pointer finger in utter endearance.

“Are you… mad…?” he asks again, watching as your face morphs into amusement.

“No,” you shake your head, a hint of a laugh in your tone. “Why?”

“You look grumpy.”

“I’m just worried,” you note.

“About?” Sunwoo asks, his intelligence morphing into a one of a 10-year old with the influence the alcohol has on him. 

“You,” you say, sighing and shaking your head as you move two steps in front of Eric and open the door to their room, closing it swiftly behind you and following the duo towards Sunwoo’s bed. 

The younger one drops the boy into the cushions of his bed with an exaggerated sigh (that might as well be real, for all we know– god knows you wouldn’t be able to carry Sunwoo on your own), and the comfort of the pillow around his head is enough to make Sunwoo’s eyes start closing again, sleep threatening to take over his consciousness.

There’s some noise interrupting his sleep, though, making the boy tear his tired eyes open to notice you walking through the room. Sunwoo finds Eric putting a glass of water onto his bedside table and watches as you put a trash can beside his bed, hushed whispers sent Eric’s way resonating in the quiet room. “Make sure that he sleeps on his side so if he throws up again, he doesn’t choke–”

“Y/N?” he calls your name, watching as you look at him with careful eyes.

“Hm?”

“Are you leaving?” he asks, maybe a little foolishly.

“Yes.”

The boy nods at your reaction, showing his acknowledgement. In the drunken state of his mind, he knows he doesn’t particularly want you to leave, but he’s also fairly certain, finding the rational thought in the sober part of his brain, that you have to leave, and so he lets it go. The drunken state of his mind wins, though, when the next sentence foolishly escapes his lips.

“Please don’t stop liking me after this,” he mumbles, words slurring.

“What?” you ask– confused because you either don’t fully comprehend what he’s trying to say, or because you truly just couldn’t hear what words escaped his mouth– but when you don’t get a clarification, you just nod at the boy, seemingly desperate to keep him happy tonight. “Okay, I won’t.”

“You won’t stop liking me?” he asks, a big pout playing with his features.

“No.”

“Okay.”

That seems to put his mind at ease– enough to make his brain finally turn off and lead him to sleep. He doesn’t really remember what he dreamt of that night, but the last memory he has of the night of his 18th birthday is that you promised to not stop liking him after seeing him a drunken mess, and how he so deeply wished you’ll continue to like him forever.

It hits him only a few months later that the thing he so desperately hoped for that night was that you’ll keep liking him even at his worst– that he didn’t drive you away and one day, maybe, you’ll like him more than just a friend.

to. my first detention

September 1999

Sunwoo was never the one to break the rules. 

Well, if you don’t count that one time he skipped class just because he got too bored of it in the middle of the lecture. And it wasn’t even that hard either– he just asked if he could go to the bathroom, and when he got the approval, he stood up and left, never returning. 

Or if you don’t count that one time he climbed up the ladder on the side of the school building with his friend Juyeon and had his lunch there. Or that one time he cheated on an exam and made a scene about it when accused of the act, leading the professor into letting him off just that one time. 

Sunwoo is usually too lazy to break the rules. Some days, paradoxically, his laziness is what leads him to break the rules. He can’t really help it, even if he tried.

The one time he does break the rules, expecting to be punished by his teacher for coming late to class, it’s not even his fault in the first place. Morning football practice ran late and he didn’t feel like rushing to change out of his practice clothing– see, the laziness is playing a part in this as well– so when he arrived into his Physics lecture, the clock was already 15 minutes after the bell rang for the first period.

Much to his surprise, his teacher didn’t even punish him. “Well, you’re an athlete, so it’s understandable,” he heard, making his lips stretch out into a subtle smile. If he knew that joining the football club would lead him to have such privileges, he would’ve done it a long time ago. 

How did he still end up in detention, you may ask? Well, that’s a funny question.

Your flushed face appears in the doorway of the classroom exactly 2 minutes after Sunwoo does, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Your hair tied up in a ponytail is loose now, stray hairs falling out to frame your face, your school uniform wrinkly, shirt not tucked in properly, as you spit out endless apologies to your teacher about being late for lecture.

“I’m really, really sorry about being late,” you bow, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you look around the classroom with apologetic eyes, “I had cheerleading practice and it ran a bit late, so I didn’t have enough time to–”

“Sit, Ms Y/L/N,” the teacher hums, “if you have time to do any other activities other than being in class, I’m sure you’ll have time to stay after class for detention, am I right?”

“Sir, I really–”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Now, are you seeing the difference in the way you and Sunwoo were treated? That’s right. It may not look like it, because the young football player rarely puts effort into anything (other than the game), but when something angers him, it’s quite difficult for him to keep it in. 

And that’s exactly why his ass is currently sitting in one of the chairs of his classroom, legs spread wide as he looks around the silent room in boredom. Accusing his teacher for being sexist and holding to double standards wasn’t the best idea, but it was enough to get him into detention alongside you. 

His eyes get caught up with something– someone– sitting two desks in front of him, one to the right, scribbling their homework into their notebook. At least you are using up the detention time for important and useful things, he thinks. That won’t stop him from interrupting you in your task, though. Even better– it encourages him.

Tearing out a piece of paper from his notebook, Sunwoo fishes for a pen in one of his pockets, writing a short note that says: Wanna get ramen after this? before he crumbles the paper into a small ball. After watching the teacher for a few seconds, making sure that he’s not going to get caught, he throws the ball in your direction, aiming straight for your head.

He misses. Well, that’s why he plays football and not volleyball– he doesn’t have good aim when it comes to his hands– but nonetheless, the note ends up hitting your shoulder before it bounces off and falls to the ground.

Confused, you look around before you find Sunwoo staring at you, pointing towards the paper on the ground with a grin on his face. You sigh, sending a telepathic signal of ‘you’re acting like a child again,’ straight into his brain before you reach for the paper ball and take it into your hands, fingers uncurling the thin material and reading out the words he’s sent to you.

Only a few seconds pass before you throw the ball back to him– he catches it in his hands, earning an approving look from you at his strangely fast reflexes, making a sense of victory flow gracefully through his veins. A frown settles on his face when he reads out your reply, though.

can’t. I promised Aeri I’ll hang out with her later. we’re going for frozen yogurt.

Sunwoo furrows his brows. Oh how he hates to be denied. 

I can join!! i could use some froyo

You send a tired look to him over your shoulder when you receive the message, rolling your eyes at his comment. It’s obvious that Sunwoo can’t join– he knows it by the look in your eyes. Hell, he knew he wasn’t invited even before he asked– he just likes to see your frustration. Something about the way your face scrunches up, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, amuses him in a way he can’t really describe.

you could’ve gotten yours instead of staying in detention. what was that about, by the way?? I’ve never seen anyone willingly do detention… you must be out of your mind

The message makes him chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. His motives are clear– well, at least in his brain. If he stays in detention, he can see you for some more. Which means he can hang out with you more (or look at the back of your head from afar, whichever you grace him with on that particular day). And he wants to spend as much time with you as he can, well, because… because he just likes to do so. Why?

Don’t ask. He hasn’t thought it out that far yet.

I just like things to be fair. I came late too :(( 

He writes back instead. Fairness is the last thing he cares about if the world is in his favor. If the world is unfair to you, though– that’s another thing. 

weirdo.

You write back. The pen is already in his hand, ink getting hotter as he masters up a reply, when the loud voice of his teacher cuts through the classroom and announces that detention is over and they’re all dismissed. Something in Sunwoo’s stomach drops. 

Sighing, he puts the note back into his pocket (and will forget to throw it out. Then, he’ll find it there after a few days, unravel the ball and read over the letters with a smile. He won’t throw it out then either– he’ll crumble it back and keep it there until the paper wears out and forms into litter in the pocket of his pants). Gathering his things into his bag, he swings the backpack over one of his shoulders before catching up with you, already halfway out of the classroom. You seem to be in a rush to meet Aeri– he understands– but there’s still one more thing he needs to do.

Clearing his throat, Sunwoo approaches you from the back. “Hey!”

“Hi,” you hum, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Aeri’s waiting for me outside, so I gotta–”

“Wait, I– I have something for you,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. Why does he suddenly feel so nervous? The words his sister said to him yesterday keep resonating in his head, and although he knows it’s not true and he doesn’t see you in that way, his stomach churns and he clutches his hand into a fist by his side, a desperate act to ground himself.

“What?” you look at him, eyebrows furrowed, all confused. Sunwoo’s not the one to give gifts– sure, he pays for your meals sometimes, but that’s only because you share them and he comes to the logical conclusion that he eats more of the portion than you do anyways, so it’s only fair.

“Um… well, my sister… she was making those bracelets yesterday and she made me do it with her, because she’s really annoying when she wants to be,” he mumbles, fishing for the bracelet in the front pocket of his backpack, lying straight through his teeth. 

You stare at him with wide eyes, completely unreadable to Sunwoo. Well, he already said it, so he may as well just dig his hole even deeper. The yarn is soft under his touch when he twirls the bracelet in his fingertips, eyes focusing on the shades of red and pink, suddenly too afraid to face you and look you in the eyes. “And, uh… we made too many, so I brought you one, because… you’re my friend, and all,” he mumbles, chewing the inside of his cheek.

His sneakers are oh so interesting to look at in the few seconds he spends waiting for your reply. He feels like he’s in court, waiting for his ordeal– anxiety making him bounce on the tips of his feet, his other hand clutching the strap of his backpack for dear life. 

“Did you make that?” you ask, tone of voice genuinely appreciative.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. 

He did not.

“That’s– that’s really cute,” you gasp, making the boy finally look up. When he finds that the words are addressed to the bracelet his sister made, not his act of kindness, something inside of him gets irritated, but the little devil in his chest leaves just as fast when you meet his eye and take the yarn from his hands, examining the red and pink knots from a closer distance.

“Yeah,” he hums, not really knowing what to say.

“Can you tie it for me?” you ask, offering the bracelet back to the boy and smiling at him, waiting for him to circle it around your wrist and secure it to place with a knot. It’s a bit long, the ends sticking out to different directions, but Sunwoo admits that it does look quite nice against your skin, and that if he forgets about the fact that it was his sister who actually made the bracelet (even though he begged her to teach him for approximately two hours, going as far as bribing her with his snacks), he does feel quite proud of the gesture.

There’s something possessive about the bracelet, he thinks. It's like a sign to everyone that you have someone who cares about you enough to tie it around your wrist. It’s like saying hey, this is my best friend! No one else enjoys their company enough to make a bracelet to prove it, but me. It’s like a silent translation of the heart’s calling: this person is mine. They’re not allowed to take this off until I die.

Sunwoo feels a bit giddy as he watches you admire the yarn around your wrist. You sport the same expression as Eric did when he forced a bracelet out of his sister yesterday– eyes glimmering, the widest grin on your features. While he may be sure what the face meant when it came to his best friend (although he tries to close his eyes from the obvious crush he has on his sister), he’s not quite certain when it comes to you.

In his mind, you smile like this at everyone. You’re just that kind of person.

But oh does he wish you mirror Eric’s feelings on the matter. Oh does he hope you tell everyone he is the one who gave the bracelet to you– he hopes you boost in front of your friends, tell them just how much you like it.

…maybe his sister was right. 

Maybe the bracelet had a deeper intention.

August 2007

“So,” Sunwoo hums, taking a salty chip from the bowl settled in the middle of the table, looking over at you with a curious gaze, “how have you been?” he asks, chewing as he waits for you to answer.

It’s an easy question, one would think– and it’s true, it’s not the most difficult thing to answer. But considering the circumstances, the fact that you and Kim Sunwoo haven’t seen each other since you both graduated from high school, despite telling each other you’ll stay in contact and see each other whenever you have the chance to– it gets a little bit more difficult. It’s been 6 years, many things have changed, you had your fair share of good things happening to you as well as the bad. 

What do you tell Sunwoo, though– a friend you lost somewhere along the way, much like everyone? Well, you can’t really blame him for growing distant with you– although to this day, you don’t really know the reasoning. He was the first one to leave, and although you always wished him the best, nobody can really blame you for doing your part at flying out of your nest. Everyone has to experience the outside world before they can find their place in it, no? 

It’s not your fault that you weren’t as successful as you wanted to be… 

“Well, you know,” you shrug, “so and so. Many things happened, but I guess I’m doing fine,” you conclude, nodding to yourself.

The face Sunwoo offers you is one of concern. You recognise that this is not really what he wanted to hear– not really what he expected you to say. The both of you were always ambitious, shooting for the stars, so it would be nice to know that at least one of you finally chased down the dreams you’ve had since you were young.

“What about you?” you ask quickly, shielding yourself from more interrogation. “How did football go?” 

That has Sunwoo chuckling, averting his gaze. He takes a sip of the soda placed on his table before he turns to you again and answers the question, shrugging to himself. “Didn’t really go as I planned,” he says, nodding to himself. “Guess I lost many years on it, but oh well. Can’t really take it back now.”

“Don’t say that,” you hum, chewing on the inside of your cheek. The answer he offered you was not surprising to you– not that you didn’t believe in his abilities, not at all. It’s just that by now, if Sunwoo’s dreams came true, you’d be aware. You’d hear about him everywhere. You’d see him on the news, in the paper… It seems like your friend has disappeared out of the spotlight he always wanted even sooner than he could walk straight into the stardom. You wouldn’t say you were keeping tabs on him, no– you just cared enough to try to look for him in every place you could. “It wasn’t lost years. You did what you loved, and you tried your best.”

“I know,” he says, scrunching up his nose in an adorable manner before he sighs, “I’m just moping around. Besides, I quite like the life I’ve had since coming back home,” he admits.

“You do?” you ask, eyes glimmering in the lights. Something in you shifts– moves to a more comfortable place at the information. It’s strange that hearing that he’s doing fine still makes you feel at peace. It’s been years– you really shouldn’t care by now.

“I do,” he nods, “I work at Juyeon’s father’s bakery now. I didn’t really expect to like it, but there’s something charming about it, I’ll have you know,” Sunwoo says, taking another handful of chips into his hand before feeding them to himself, seemingly trying to chase down the tipsiness in his bloodstream.

That drags out a giggle out of you, shaking your head at the news. “I wouldn’t take you for a bakery kind of guy,” you say, “I can’t really imagine you in the kitchen.”

“Well, times change, Y/N-ie,” the nickname slips out between his lips like a punch to your gut, his teasing tone dragging nails to you in a weird sense of nostalgia, “I’m the best baker in town right now. People go crazy over my cinnamon rolls,” he nods, pointing a finger to you as if to prove his point.

“I find that hard to believe,” you squint at him, shaking your head in disbelief.

“You’ll have to come and find out,” he says, the sentence so casual that the contrast of his following statement has your heart drop a little, “well, if you’re… staying around for a bit, of course…”

Humming, watching as his eyes soften at the shift in your composure, you nod in agreement. “I’ll make sure to add that to my plan.”

Sunwoo nods in acknowledgement. Swallowing down the chips that were in his mouth, he dusts off his hands off the excess salt and licks his lips before speaking up again, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “So you’re staying around for a while?” he asks, a little bit cautious. 

He doesn’t really know how sensitive this topic is for you– you don’t even know if he’s aware of your previous whereabouts, if he knows where you left off to and why– but Sunwoo stays caring, no matter the amount of time you spent not talking, no matter the big canyon that slowly formed in between the two of you in the years of no contact. It’s something you’ve always appreciated about him. He liked joking around, but he always knew where the boundaries laid, always knew when the joke went too far. He tried hard to avoid poking around too much, but he always made sure to apologize if he realized he hurt someone’s feelings. He’s a spark of violent fire, but he’s also tamed like a fireplace when he wants to be– warm, comfortable. It’s easy to feel like it’s back in the old times when you’re around him. It’s easy to pretend neither of you ever really left.

“I am,” you nod. “Things… didn’t really work out for me either, y’know,” you chuckle, the dry kind that shows just how bitter you are about the matter. “I went to New York with the internship my aunt arranged for me in KBS, but I guess I just… wasn’t really good enough to keep full-time.”

“Don’t say that,” Sunwoo mirrors your previous statement, an honest attempt at comforting you.

“No, it’s okay,” you laugh, “I stayed abroad for a while, tried hard, but sometimes, it’s just not meant to be, y’know? So after I realized my jobs weren’t making me enough money for a decent living in the States, I came back home,” you say, mouth forming a pout as you speak– the kind that shows you’re lost in thought, making up a plan as you go, “I’ll help my parents out for a while and then look for something to do here, I think.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Sunwoo says, offering you a soft smile. “I… I guess I’d say it’s good to have you back,” he admits, averting his gaze as he says the words, “ever since I came home, it felt like something was missing, so… anyways, you’ll figure it out, so don’t worry too much.”

“Thanks, Sunwoo,” you hum, pressing your lips into a tight smile, heart squeezing a little at his sincerity. It’s strange– it’s been years, having lived through countless different situations that were supposed to change the both of you, shift you into two completely different people– but somehow, Sunwoo still feels the same. Almost as if you two never left. Almost as if you two never drifted apart and instead spent your early twenties side-by-side, just like you always planned on doing.

The boy looks at you from the corner of his eye, a content smile spreading on his lips. You feel the atmosphere shifting, the situation tensing up a bit, and with the discomfort the image of him leaving you alone brings you, the words slip out of your lips with a bit too much ease.

“Would you want to… dance with me? I wanna see if you still remember what I taught you,” you grin, watching as the playful expression mirrors on your friend’s face, a nod eliciting from him that makes you quickly put your shoes back on and get ready for the dancefloor.

“Of course,” he hums, standing up swiftly and wiping his hands on the fabric of his pants before outstretching a hand for you, tone of voice sweet like honey, “my lady?”

to. my first dance

November 1999

“Who are you asking to the dance?” you question one afternoon, the two of you behind the closed doors of his room. There aren’t many times where Sunwoo gets to invite you over– mostly because he’s too shy to have someone around when his sister is home, and his sister isn’t known to have that many friends to hang out with– so the times where he finds you settled on top of the sheets of his bed, he treasures deeply.

“I dunno,” he mumbles, looking up at you from the comfort of his rug, shrugging, “I don’t really think I’m going, actually.”

“Oh?” you gasp, pouting at the boy. “Why not?”

“I don’t really have anyone to go with,” he says. What he really means is– you’re going with someone else. Sunwoo doesn’t really see himself dancing with anyone else but you– that’s just that kind of bond you two have in his mind. Your friendship is dear to Sunwoo, and the boy can’t think of anyone else he’d like to spend the evening with. 

When his sister argued with him with logical words, telling him that he treasures his friendship with Eric just the same, but wouldn’t invite him to the prom, he just scoffed at her. MB!Y/N doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t treasure Eric in the same way, no matter the fact that they pretty much grew up together. Some things just don’t feel the same way with Eric as they do with you. He feels closer to you, in a way.

“Well, that’s bullshit,” you scoff, shaking your head at your friend, “you’re handsome. And you play football, which is every girl’s dream. I bet anyone would go with you if you just asked,” you propose, pointing a finger at the boy, not really noticing the way he blinks at hearing the words ‘you’re handsome’ coming out of your mouth in regards to him. 

Do you find him handsome? Is that your subjective opinion or are you just objectively saying what you’ve heard in the cheerleader changing rooms? 

He’d like to know. Just out of curiosity.

Sunwoo scratches the back of his neck in nerves, now fully seated and facing you. It’s hard to meet your eye when he talks, his words coming out muffled. “I can’t dance anyway, so it would be no fun for everyone involved.”

And watching you dance with his classmate Shotaro would be no fun either. See, it would be easy for Sunwoo to be okay with the fact that you were going to the prom with someone older (which is practically impossible, since you’re both seniors, just for the record…). He would understand your point, then. It’s easy to be okay with defeat when your opponent has the upper hand, but when you put two men against each other that are hierarchically equal to each other, much like Sunwoo and Shotaro, the poor boy finds it hard to not feel as insecure in his position. 

But with Shotaro being the same age as him and the same amount of popular as him, Sunwoo can’t help but compare himself to his classmate. What does Shotaro have that Sunwoo doesn’t? Is it his smile? Should Sunwoo smile more…? 

It doesn’t really help his case that you’re going to the prom with the head of the dance team. Sunwoo can’t dance… Is it the fact that he can’t dance?

Or are you just going to the prom with Shotaro because he was the one to ask you to go? Sunwoo can’t help but wonder– would you have gone with him, had he the balls and asked you first? 

“What do you mean, you can’t dance?” you say, eyeing the male. 

“Just… never learned to, I guess,” Sunwoo shrugs, “but it doesn’t really matter, since I’m not going, so…”

“But you have to go,” you pout, putting the boy in a difficult position. He doesn’t know if you’re aware of the fact, but your pleading look does wonders to his decision making. He’d commit arson if you asked him to with those glimmers in your eyes. He’d kill for you. Or die for you. Both, depending on the situation. He’d do anything.

“Why?”

“It won’t be fun if you’re not there,” you say, sighing. Your face looks so genuine Sunwoo almost believes it. It makes his heart squeeze and contemplate his decision. “I know Donghyuck is gonna spike the punch, and there are gonna be fireworks,” you hum, chewing on the inside of your cheek, “and this is our senior prom, Sunwoo… you have to come.”

The words resonate in his brain, making him even more hesitant about his decision. This is your senior prom– the last dance of your high school years. The last opportunity for Sunwoo to enjoy this time with you and his friends, the last chance he gets at seeing you in a pretty gown, all dolled up and smiling from the sneaky sips of alcohol you’ll get with everyone outside of the school gym. The last opportunity for Sunwoo to dance with you, his best friend, and possibly the last time he’ll ever enjoy his evening with the rest of his football team before all of them have to study in order for them to take their CSAT.

Maybe you’re right. Maybe he should go. 

“I’ll think about it, I guess…” he mumbles, watching as your face morphs.

“You guess?” you scoff, glaring at him. “You’ll go or I’ll personally come to your house and drag you there by your hair, you get me, Kim Sunwoo?” you threaten him, having the boy laugh at your outburst. You’re really adorable when you tease him, Sunwoo thinks. 

“Got it, chief,” he says, offering you a playful look as he salutes and lays back down onto the carpet, eyes pressed to the ceiling. “Don’t expect me to dance, though, because I refuse to embarrass myself. I have quite the reputation to uphold, you see.”

Sunwoo hears you chuckle, the noise of his sheets tousling landing into his ears. Before he has a chance to look at you and see what you’re doing, his view of the white wall above is shielded with the sight of your face, hair framing your cheeks as you stare down at him and put out your hands, waiting for him to take them and get up to a seated position. 

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“I’m gonna teach you, come on,” you call him with a motion of your hand, arms still outstretched and waiting.

“Huh?” he squints, watching as you roll your eyes in frustration.

“I’ll teach you how to dance, Sunwoo,” you snicker, watching as the boy slowly takes your hands and lets you drag him up from where he’s laying on his electric blue rug, “so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

That has Sunwoo stuttering, his figure freezing even when you manage to somehow make him stand up in the middle of his room. A million different exclamation marks appear all over his brain, warning him from the upcoming events, but he has no way of denying your proposition now, no matter how hard he tries. “No- it’s- you don’t have to, I’ll just-”

“Okay, so,” you say, dismissing all his previous attempts at stopping you from your quest, “first, you put your hand here,” you order.

The skin of your fingertips touches Sunwoo’s hand, making the boy’s heart stummer in his chest. You drag his palm towards your waist, placing it on the curve of your body. He swears he feels electricity flowing through the contact, warmth radiating off your skin even though it’s shielded by the fabric of your favorite shirt. He gulps as you put your hand on his shoulder, his eyes carefully following your movements, examining every slightest shift of your composure. 

“And then you hold my hand with your other hand,” you instruct, but move to do it yourself when the boy doesn’t seem to have it in him to reach for your palm himself. 

Your fingers interlock with his, making the boy chew on his bottom lip in a sudden flash of nerves. You’re standing so close he can smell your perfume, the scent making his head spin and feel lightheaded. If you made him turn in this moment, he’s sure he’d fall over, weak legs barely holding him up in your close proximity. 

“Sunwoo?” you ask, making the boy gulp before he hums in acknowledgement.

“You have to look into my eyes when you slow dance,” you laugh, the sound soft and airy, but enough to have his stomach feel all weird, like he’s about to throw up. Still, he forces himself to look into your eyes, instantly feeling like you’re hypnotizing him. (He’s convinced he’d jump out of his window right in this moment if you asked him to.)

“Okay,” he nods, standing still, maintaining eye contact. His body is stiff, muscles tense as you just stand there for a moment. Sunwoo battles his inner fight and doesn’t look at any other features of your face– he has a weird obsession with staring at your lips whenever you talk to him lately. He feels like a weirdo every time he catches himself doing it, so he tries to get rid of the bad habit as much as he can.

“Now, you just… kind of sway to the beat,” you say. The boy nods, but his body stays unmoving.

“There’s… there’s no music playing,” he gets out, watching as you chuckle, your lips stretching out into an adorable grin.

“Right,” you nod, sighing, “well, I’ll just… let me just…” you mumble before you start humming a tune– one that makes Sunwoo laugh from how ridiculous it sounds, the notes so unfamiliar to him he’s sure you’re making it up as you go. Before he knows it, you start moving, making him mirror your actions. 

It’s not as difficult as he thought it was, he thinks. You stare at him, all encouraging, as you sway from one foot to the other, nodding at him when you see that he’s following your lead well. Dancing with you suddenly feels like the easiest thing in the world, it feels like he was born to have you in his arms, in the middle of his room as you hum an unfamiliar song to him. He thinks going to the dance won’t be so bad– not if he gets to dance with you there for at least one more time.

“Doing well,” you smile, making the boy feel all warm on the inside. A feeling of victory flashes over him for a mere second. He beams in your considerate words, feels fuzzy under your warm gaze. He feels like he just won the lottery. It’s kind of silly, if he really thinks about it.

A boyish grin appears on his face, having Sunwoo shaking his head at how both ridiculous and over the moon he feels right now. The stream of hums coming out of your throat cuts off for a second as you talk to him with an instructing tone, a warm gaze pressed into his features. “So you can either do this, or you can…” the hand that was holding his suddenly untangles itself from between his fingertips (and Sunwoo’s momentarily glad, because his palm was getting quite sweaty– although he admits that it does feel empty now that you’re not holding it), before you place his other hand on your waist as well. 

Something about the pose makes Sunwoo feel strangely intimate, a little bit bashful under your gaze. It only intensifies when your hands go up and entangle behind his neck, bringing you two even closer than before. The proximity has him blushing, red cheeks bringing heat to his face. He prays you don’t mention it– he really doesn’t know if he would be able to talk himself out of this one.

“Or you can do it like this,” you say before you lead the boy again, bodies swaying to an imaginary rhythm. You’re not even humming this time, having Sunwoo follow your movements in complete silence, his aimless movements mirroring your own. He’s surprised he hasn’t stepped on your foot yet when you decide to quickly teach him how to waltz (while also mumbling something about this dance being performed with the previous hand placement). He follows your orders– step forward, close, then another step backwards– and before he knows it, you’re leading him into a gentle turn, rising and falling in a ¾ count.

He’s getting lost in your voice– the softest “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3,” helping him to stay in rhythm– before he’s pulled out of his trance as he feels your fingers playing with the hair on his nape, entangling yourself into his black locks. The motion has him look back up to your eyes (that have been previously glued to your feet, making sure he’s not stepping on your socked limbs), surprised when he sees you staring at him with a sweet smile playing with your lips.

Halting your movements for a bit, you let out a giggle and take him by surprise when your hand reaches up towards his bangs, ruffling his hair as he still holds you around your waist, the two of you almost hugging in his room. “See? Not that hard. You’re a born natural.”

His heart feels like it skipped a beat, a weird sense of panic enclosing around his chest. He doesn’t know what it is, not really knowing how to name the feeling, but it has him nervously smiling and urging him to escape you– escape your touch, escape your scent, your voice and the way you smile at him like you may feel the slightest ounce of the things he does for you, but refuses to accept on most days.

Rushed movements make him break apart from your grasp, quick breathing making him feel like he might spiral. 

“Hey! We weren’t done yet!” you call after him when he runs towards the door of his room. 

Not looking around, the boy gulps and nervously calls back to you, facing the door. “I’ll be back! I just have to pee!”

The door to his bathroom closes behind him with a loud shut. The boy doesn’t aim for the toilet– instead, he walks over to the sink, turning on the tap and splashing his face with ice cold water. When he’s done, feeling a bit less heated up, he looks up and stares at his face in the mirror. He gives himself some time to collect his thoughts, to hopefully let go of his foolishness.

How many more times will he have to remind himself that he only sees you as a friend?

to. my first date

January 2000

The snow crunches under his sneakers and makes Sunwoo slip on the cold surface– no wonder his mother screamed at him for not wearing his winter shoes before he went out with his friends. He bets it would be way less difficult to walk in the whiteness of the ground if he had more grip in the soles of his shoes, but oh well– he’s not really good at making clever decisions half the time. Nobody can really be surprised.

Somewhere along the way between the moment he’s interrogated his sister about the reason for her bad mood and the moment where he purposefully let her with his best friend at the top of the hill with no way out (he had a hunch the two of them had some things to talk about, from both of their uneasy demeanours for the last day), he realizes he lost both his sister and his best friend, and while he’s quite certain Eric can find his way home just fine, Sunwoo shivers at the thought of not bringing his sister home to his mother. He’s not quite sure he’d survive that. 

The quest of finding you both begins the moment the friend group reaches the top of the hill. Given his sister’s impulsiveness, she could’ve ran away from home, and that’s not what he wants to deal with on such a pretty winter day.

Sunwoo finds his plan being successful the moment he reaches the hot chocolate stand. The victory he feels after finding his younger sister alive and healthy is quickly overshadowed with the sight of his best friend’s face close to hers, very clearly going in for a kiss. He thinks he has to do something before he is permanently scarred with the image of them two making out right in front of his eyes as he gathers some of the icy texture into his hands and makes a ball, aiming straight at the head of his best friend.

The snow hits the both of them, right in the middle where their faces are supposed to meet. It’s not quite where Sunwoo was aiming, but he figures it’s good enough– it stopped his sister and his friend in the act, and that’s all he really cares about at this moment.

“Eric Sohn, what the fuck do you think you’re doing with my sister?” Sunwoo hollers, watching as his childhood friend takes off and leaves his sister alone on the bench to watch the conflict. The rest of the group follows with laughter as Sunwoo gathers more snow, tailing Eric and making sure the boy is punished for whatever he’s been doing.

It’s not like he disapproves. Not at all, actually. He just thinks it’s fun to mess with him a little.

“I didn’t mean to! Hey!” Eric cries out over his shoulder, trying his best to escape the frostbite. Karma is not on his side as he trips over something and falls to the ground, efficiently helping Sunwoo and the rest of their circle to corner the poor youngest, snow hailed on his limp figure. 

One would think the group of them were making a snowman with how they’re rolling the poor boy around in the snow. Juyeon and Donghyuck make sure there’s not a hint of skin unhidden by the ice, making Eric mourn and kick around– he’s left helpless, though, outpowered and outnumbered by his peers. If anyone unknowing was watching the scene, Sunwoo is sure he’d be framed for bullying.

He thinks it’s quite deserved. Why? He’s not really sure why. He just has a hunch.

“Okay! Enough!” Eric mumbles, shaking his head when Donghyuck tries to fit snow into his mouth. “I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!” he says, eyes opening wide as MB!Y/N appears somewhere behind her older brother, a teasing pout settled on her face.

“It won’t?”

“MB!Y/N– I– Just help me..?” the boy pleads, making the rest of the group laugh and finally relax, easing the attack. Juyeon hums something about young love, making the rest of the guys roll their eyes on his unusual cheesiness, before Donghyuck taps his teammate’s shoulder, making sure he’s paying attention to him.

Sunwoo raises his eyebrows at him, waiting for what he has to say. “Look, isn’t that Y/N?”

There are a few ways to catch Sunwoo’s attention. First– you have to mention football. He could spend hours on the topic of who’s the best player– Ko Jongsoo or Ahn Junghwan? If anyone asked him to write an essay on it, he’s quite certain he’d do a great job explaining their techniques and goal statistics for numerous pages. Second– you have to mention food. He’s a big fan of junk food, but ever since his friend Juyeon introduced him to their family bakery, he’s been a big cinnamon roll enthusiast. And third– you have to mention Y/N. 

Just the mention of your name is enough for the boy to stand alert, suddenly all too knowing of his surroundings. He turns his head to look for you, catching sight of your figure dressed in your long coat, standing all alone at the bottom of the hill. There’s an almost bored-looking expression on your face, although Sunwoo thinks there’s a bit of disappointment behind your eyes, making a cloud shade your them and make them lose their usual glimmer. That alone has the boy frowning, and before Donghyuck can say anything more or try to gossip about your sudden arrival, Sunwoo takes off– trying his hardest not to slip on the snow in his sneakers as he runs down the hill and tries his hardest to get to you quickly.

“Y/N!” he calls for you, getting your attention. You turn to him with expecting eyes, watching as the boy runs towards you and does, indeed, slip on the snow.

He manages to save it. Doesn’t mean you didn’t see him falter, though. “Careful there,” you grin, making the boy mentally kick himself in the shin at being uncool in front of you.

Sunwoo glosses over the comment, ignoring the previous two seconds of his life. If he acts like he’s not embarrassed, it might as well come true. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you’re hanging out with someone else when I invited you on the phone today,” he says, curious to know why you changed your plans so suddenly.

There’s a hint of bitterness in your composure when you shrug, averting your gaze. “That fell through, and I didn’t wanna… I figured you’d be here, so I came…” you trail off, your half-assed explanation enough to bring the boy into an inner conflict– one part of him feels bad for you, his heart clenching when he takes notice of your stern gaze and the disappointed expression on your face, the other one foolishly happy that he got to see you today, that you went here looking for him.

“Oh,” he nods, not really sure if he should pray more information out of you. He tried to ask you about it when he called you this morning, twirling the landline on his finger nervously when he asked you if you wanted to go sledding with him and his friends. He even mentioned his sister tagging along to make sure you didn’t feel as awkward going– you wouldn’t be the only girl there! You’d get along with her well, he said, not really sure if he was lying or not. Either way, his sister does need her own friends… “Well–” he starts, not really sure where his own sentence is going, before you cut him off with a rushed out sentence, spoken so quickly Sunwoo barely registers it in that confused brain of his.

“Would you wanna go on a date with me?” you ask, eyes big as you stare into his. 

The question takes a few seconds to register in Sunwoo’s brain. He can physically feel the auditory waves entering his ears and converting themselves into electrical signals by the auditory system. The signals enter his left hemisphere– maybe he could point towards the area with his finger if you asked him to, the impact of the question so present in his mind– and then it decodes in the Wernicke’s area, slowly, but surely making more and more sense to him. The boy gulps at the invitation. He understands the question theoretically now, he’s registered it in his brain, but the practical implication of your preposition is still unclear– why in the hell would you ask him to go on a date with you?

“I…” he stutters, feeling heat rushing to his cheeks. He feels like a fool– he should’ve said yes a few seconds ago, when you first asked the question– but something inside of him is telling him that maybe his reaction is valid. No one expects their friend to randomly ask them out on the bottom of a snowy hill. Certainly not when he was 99% sure you liked someone else.

“Look, it’s- it’s good if you don’t want to, really, I just… I was supposed to go on a date with Shotaro today, but he never arrived, and I…” you nervously scratch your neck, once again averting your gaze from him, “I guess I was hoping you were in the mood to go out with me, since I got all ready and stuff…” you mumble, your tone of voice breaking something inside of him.

Oh. So you weren’t really asking him out. You just didn’t want to feel like a fool that got stood up. How stupid of Sunwoo to think you wanted to go on a date with him. The two of you were just friends, after all. Best friends.

And best friends are for cheering each other up. So despite feeling absolutely defeated, Sunwoo battles the weird feeling in his chest and puts on his best smile. “Of course! Don’t even mention it. Where… where did you wanna go?” he asks, watching as your face relaxes, shoulders falling back to their natural position.

“Are you in the mood for some ramen?” you ask, eyebrows rising in question.

“I’m always in the mood for some ramen,” he nods. He’s always in the mood for whatever you are.

“Great,” you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Great.”

“So… let’s go,” you say, nodding to yourself as you walk away from the hill, having your best friend tailing you, following you towards the ramen place in the center of the town.

There’s a bit of an awkward silence hanging over you as the two of you escape the sledding area. Sunwoo doesn’t even pay his goodbyes to his friends and his sister, but he trusts that Eric can get her home safely when the time comes to head back. The boy mentally curses out Shotaro for standing you up– how does he dare to ask you out and never arrive? He doesn’t care about the possible circumstances of his classmate’s absence. All he cares about is the saddened look on your face and the unusual quietness enveloping your aura. 

“Should I go kick his ass?” he asks, trying his hardest to make you feel better.

“It’s okay, Sunwoo,” you shake your head in disapproval, eyes pressed to the ground.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, not satisfied with your answer. “I’m quite good at fighting, contrary to popular belief, but if things go wrong, I know my friends would have my back,” he says, playfully punching the air.

The little play consisting of him kicking and punching an imaginary figure goes on for a while until he’s satisfied– meaning: until you’re left laughing at his overly exaggerated movements and grunts, shaking your head in disbelief at his boyish antics. Taking his hand in yours to make him stop with the play-fighting, you drag your now interlocked fingers towards your coat pocket, hiding his cold hand in the thick fabric.

Sunwoo’s heart beats fast at that, making him believe it’s going to run out of his chest any minute now– or make him go into cardiac arrest, either or– as he grows speechless, looking at you with big, surprised eyes. You don’t seem to put much meaning to your gesture, going as far as gently caressing your thumb over the back of his palm, his frozen skin growing hot at the contact. 

He’s never held hands with you before– if he doesn’t count the amount of times you dragged him around when the both of you were late for the shared cheerleading and football practice on Tuesday afternoons– and so the intimacy of the act makes him feel strangely weak in his knees. It’s hard for him to take his eyes off you, almost looking like a deer in the headlights to anyone watching you two right now. Sniffling from the cold, you shrug.

“It’s okay,” you smile, sending him a quick glance, “I didn’t really like him like that anyway. It just… feels a bit disappointing to get stood up, that’s all,” you nod.

Sunwoo nods at that too, something in him shifting. You don’t like Shotaro like that? When was this piece of information when he really needed it? (For like the last month, every time he couldn���t fall asleep because the thought of you marrying his classmate at one point in the future haunted him too much and made him want to poke the dance club leader’s eyes out?)

“I get it,” he says, walking along with you. Every time he feels the eyes of someone on you two, he feels his chest filling up with an unfamiliar sense of pride. Something about being seen with you as you’re all dolled up and holding his hand in your coat pocket makes him all giddy on the inside– no matter if this is a real date or not.

Because screw it, Kim Sunwoo is tired of reminding himself that he’s supposed to only see you as a friend. Because he doesn’t.

“I’ve never been on a date before, though, so you have to teach me all about that too,” he hums, tonguing the inside of his cheek. 

That has a giggle escaping your throat, another shake of your head in disbelief at his words. He doesn’t know what’s so funny, but he decides that as long as you’re laughing, he’s fine with feeling the tiniest bit of humiliation. He’d do anything to make you happy, he thinks. It’s a feeling stronger than him and he doesn’t know how to make it go away– he decided to stop battling it a long time ago.

“Just be yourself, Sunwoo,” you say, “that’s already perfect enough.”

Perfect. Sunwoo’s cheeks grow hot at that. He’s happy that it’s cold out– maybe he could blame his blushing on the weather. The boy isn’t so sure you know about the effect your words have on him. He’s always thought of you as perfect– flawless, funny, friendly, smart, kind and… and beautiful– but the adjective doesn’t quite seem fitting when he looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t believe you could hold him to such standards. He’s nothing special. God, he knows he’s not good enough for you– still, he keeps wishing he could be. 

“You look really pretty, by the way,” he hears himself say, the words escaping his mouth before he has the chance to stop them. The tone of his voice is quite unnatural in his ears, softer than it usually is, and somehow, the comment makes you roll your eyes, which he finds to be an unnatural reaction.

“You don’t have to say that just because you’re on a date with me,” you hum, eyes not meeting his. (Which might be a good thing. Sunwoo would like to keep his feelings hidden for a bit longer, and he’s not so sure you wouldn’t recognise the tender inkling he has towards you in his longing gaze.)

“I’m not saying it because of that,” he mutters, voice quiet, yet honest. 

Watching the side of your face, eyes still glued at every feature of your profile, he knows he’s not lying. He finds you oh so pretty even in the faint hue of the winter sun, with your scarf pulled up to the middle of your chin and hair pinned up with a pretty, silky bow. He finds you nothing short of angelic. Perfect. It’s kind of silly, if he really thinks about it.

Still, he can’t help himself. To this day, he counts the afternoon he spent with you, eating ramen at your favorite place, to be the first date he’s ever gone on.

Somewhere in the corner of his soul, he begs you count it as real too.

August 2007

It’s only a couple of days later when you find yourself in front of Juyeon’s father’s bakery, nervously chewing on your bottom lip and gazing at the glass door. The sun is shining strongly down on your skin, making you feel like you’re going to get a sun stroke if you keep standing in the direct light for any longer, and with the pressure of both the weather and your own thoughts, you decide to stop wasting time and push the door open, entering the establishment.

Not really sure if you’re welcome– who knows, Sunwoo might have just been acting nice and civil for the sake of not ruining his sister’s wedding– you prepared a mental shopping list of things you wanted to get at the bakery. You hadn’t seen your parents in a long time, so you thought a few donuts might make them happy. If Sunwoo just treats you like any regular customer when you walk in, you’ll take it as your sign to act like one and let this whole thing go. 

Truth be told, you don’t even know why you’re so nervous. It’s not like you’re promising yourself something more from this… right? 

It’s not like you suddenly felt younger again when seeing him at the wedding. It’s not like the memories choked you up when you went to sleep that night, it’s not like the feelings you had for the young boy suddenly waved at you in greeting, reminding you of just how close the two of you were all those years ago. 

Not at all. Why would anyone even think that?

The ring above the door makes a sound as you walk in, your insides clenching in a weird mix of nerves and anxiety at encountering Kim Sunwoo again. The store is empty when you reach the counter, but you’re soon greeted by the sound of the staff door opening, a tall figure stumbling in with a tray of pastries, yelling out a quick: “I’ll be right there!”

And as you watch Sunwoo with his bangs sticking to his forehead, an apron tied tightly around his thin waist, you feel like he hasn’t aged a single day and you two are still the same teenagers that ran around your school in order to not miss practice. The boy looks up at you from below his eyelashes, a boyish grin taking over his features as he puts the hot tray down on the counter and throws the kitchen towel he’s been using to shield his skin from the heat to the side, greeting you.

“Y/N! It’s nice seeing you again,” he beams, wiping his hands on his apron, gaze gluing to yours and never leaving, capturing you in a sincere eye contact that you don’t have the heart to break.

“Hi, Sunwoo,” you chuckle, pressing your lips into an honest, yet a little bit awkward smile. “How’s it going?” you ask, desperate to keep the conversation going– afraid that if it dies down, you won’t be able to revive it ever again and you’ll just regret it forever. There’s a weird sense of urgency in you, like you have a time limit to figure everything out– like you have to act now, or everything you ever wanted might slip from between your fingertips– yet, the more you watch Sunwoo in the serene atmosphere of the sweet-smelling bakery, you notice yourself relaxing.

“Good! Better now that you’re here, actually, it’s been a slow day,” he muses, nodding to himself. “What about you? Can I get you anything?” he asks, eyebrows raising, round cheeks on full display as he stares at you with an expecting smile.

“I’m doing well,” you nod, humming, “really well… catching up with my parents, settling in and stuff… You know the deal,” you laugh. “I actually came to get some donuts for my parents, sort-of like a thank you gift for letting me stay until I figure out my own place and stuff,” you say, watching as Sunwoo urgently nods with acknowledgement.

“Say less, darling,” the nickname slips out from him a little too easily, a little too casually for the way it captures your heart. It has you nervously shifting from one foot to another, insides warming up with the impact of his fleeting gaze as he moves to get a box from under the counter, moving closer to the glass vitrine filled with the sweet pastry. “Your mum loves these ones,” he points towards the donuts coated with the pink glazing.

It’s kind of weird– how Sunwoo knows exactly what your mother likes, despite him not being around your house every other day like when the two of you were teenagers. It makes you realize that even though you moved away for years, the time here didn’t stop. Everyone moved on with their lives, everyone continued on as if nothing happened. And you can’t hold it against them– you guess you just hate the weird pit in your stomach that opens up with the realization that while Sunwoo knows which pastries your mum likes (most likely because she stops by to buy bread often, taking some treats with her for her and dad while she’s at it), you don’t.

You try hard not to show it on your face, though. Sunwoo continues to pack more donuts into the box, not really attempting to ask you for what you’d like– he just chooses himself, making sure you bring home the best ones of the bunch, the most delicious ones they carry. Letting him do his work, merely watching as he carefully moves the donuts from the vitrine to the box, you hear him continue on with the conversation.

“You came in on the right day,” Sunwoo hums, “Juyeon works tomorrow, so you wouldn’t be able to catch me if you went.”

Ignoring the fact that he sees right through you– sees that your intention was to see him, to have a way to visit him and attempt to rekindle whatever bond you had when you were young– you just chuckle. You can’t blame him for knowing you so well, despite not being around each other for so many years. When you were young and in love, you used to call him your soulmate, after all. You guess there’s always a hint of truth, even in the most lovesick fantasies. “Well, then I’m glad I went in today,” you admit.

Sunwoo smiles at that– the kind of smile you always loved at him, the one where he shows his teeth and his eyes crinkle up into moon crescents. Once he’s done packing your donuts, he puts the box on the counter, showing you his back just as fast when he turns around, seemingly grabbing something else as well. When he’s facing you again, there’s a sweet pastry in his hand, still warm.

“What’s that?” you ask when you notice him offering it to you, eyes peering into his.

“A cinnamon roll,” he says, waiting for you to take it into your hands, “I told you everyone goes crazy over my cinnamon rolls, so I wanna see if their magic works on you too.”

“Is this how you flirt with girls over here?” you chuckle, but take the bun into your hand nonetheless, taking a hesitant bite of the treat. The sweetness melts on your tongue, the warmth of the freshly-baked pastry enchanting you with its taste, something about its essence weirdly reminding you of home. 

“Haven’t tried it before,” he shrugs, “so tell me if it’s working,” he jokes, watching as you chew on the roll. 

“Well, is it any good?”

Humming in satisfaction, delight on the tip of your tongue as you swallow down the heavenly dough, you nod. “It’s to die for, Sunwoo.”

“Told you,” he shoots you a cheesy finger-gun, reminding you so much of your best friend from high school, before he turns and takes a paper bag from somewhere, talking to you as his back faces you again, “I’ll get you some more to take home with you. I bet they didn’t have those in the Big Apple.”

“If I knew I was missing out on these, I would have come back quicker,” you joke, watching as Sunwoo turns to you with an amused look on his face, seemingly enjoying the praise.

The eye contact unarms you again, your composure falling just the slightest. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you clear your throat and reach for your wallet, ready to pay and leave so you can think about the interaction on your way home (and overthink every slightest detail, just like teenage you would after every fleeting touch young Sunwoo would send your way). “How much do I owe you?” you ask.

“Oh, it’s on the house,” he says, licking his lips, “consider it a… welcome gift, if you will,” he hums, offering you the box full of donuts and the paper bag consisting his infamous cinnamon rolls, your skin touching just the slightest when you take them from him, but still making electricity jolt through the nerve endings of your fingertips.

“No, Sunwoo, I really can’t-” you shake your head, but get caught off by him.

“Take them, please. You can pay me back some… other time?” he cautiously says, seemingly not really knowing if he’s still within your desired boundaries. 

“O-okay, then,” you nod, agreeing to the subtle invitation– the subtle promise to meet again, the hopeful question leading into something more. “Thank you, Sunwoo,” you hum, smiling as you turn towards the door and get prepared to walk out, giving both of you some time to think about what happened in the last few minutes.

As you open your mouth to say goodbye to him, hand landing on the doorknob, you hear him call after you once more.

“Oh and Y/N?” he says, a confident look suddenly overtaking his features. “I end here at 5, if you’d like to hang out after.”

Unknowingly, a grin appears on your features, the one that’s so strong you can’t really mask it no matter how hard you try– as you nod at him, the victorious feeling flowing through your veins maybe even a bit dangerous. Still, you don’t have it in you to turn the invitation down– you wouldn’t be able to even in your wildest dreams.

This is what you came here for, after all, isn’t it?

“Okay,” you agree. “So… I’ll see you later?”

“See you later,” he nods, teeth capturing his bottom lip. It’s kind of adorable. He couldn’t battle the smile threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth, no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe coming here– coming back home– was the best thing you could’ve done.

“Wanna come in?” Sunwoo asks. It’s a few hours later– you followed through with his invitation and waited for him in front of the bakery at 5:05 sharp, catching him after his shift. You two took a walk through the whole town, waltzing slowly through his neighborhood until you reached his childhood house. You remember far too many afternoons spent in the comfort of the walls, and although you think it would be nice to revisit those memories, you notice his mother’s car (is it still hers? You have no way of knowing.) in the driveway, and suddenly, you’re too shy to join him as he drops his stuff off in his house.

It’s like you’re a teenager again– except, you never had any problems meeting his mother before. She was a nice woman, although a little busy (you only heard Sunwoo complain about the fact a few times– mainly when he was feeling sentimental or particularly under the weather about something), and she always treated you very nicely. Almost like you were supposed to join the family one day. His sister once asked you if you’re gonna marry him, and you laughed at her back then– you were so young, you didn’t even think of having a wedding with Kim Sunwoo. The funniest thing was the timing: you weren’t even dating him at the time. Or planning to, really. Sure, you always imagined somehow spending the rest of your life with him, in one way or another, but the thought of marriage didn’t often cross your mind. Life is ironic, you think– MB!Y/N was the first one to have a wedding and here you are, retangling your life paths with her brother again. 

So no, you were never really scared or shy in front of his mother. Back then, things were different though. Simpler? You’d say they were definitely easier. You were more extroverted and open, more ambitious and less embarrassed of how your life turned out to be.

Also, you didn’t want to give her any ideas. It’s far too soon for that, you think. 

“No,” you shake your head, hesitating a little bit, “I’ll wait for you here,” you say, watching as he smiles at you and nods, walking inside of the house to drop off his things and change.

You two didn’t really have any plans for the rest of the evening. You told Sunwoo he could show you around town, tell you what changed and what stayed exactly the same, since he came home earlier than you– you bet it could be two or three years ago. He eagerly nodded, although noted that not much is different in your hometown and your walk could turn out pretty uneventful. No plans were set in stone, though.

Nervously shuffling from one foot to another, you decide to walk around the yard. Sunwoo’s house was always big– although it seemed more giant to you when you were a teenager. It’s a strange observation, since you didn’t really grow any more inches since you hit puberty. Your eyes study the flowers in front of the gate, the mowed grass, the big tree in the backyard. If you focus hard enough, you could almost see the two of you laying under it, letting the leaves shield you from the sun, both much younger and carefree than now. Sunwoo would show you pages of his favorite comic books and you’d play on your Tamagochi, making sure it doesn’t die in two days like his did when he first got it. When you turn to your right, you see the garden house you two– sometimes with his sister, sometimes with Eric, sometimes with both of them at once– spent many afternoons in.

There used to be an old, red sofa inside. There wasn’t much space, since it was filled with gardening supplies, Sunwoo’s and MB!Y/N’s old bikes, flower pots, packs of soil and all other things you could need for gardening, but it was fun to hide away from the sun in there and drink iced tea, talking about whatever came to your minds or solving nanogram puzzles in comfortable silence (or occasional sigh from Eric when he got stuck somewhere in the middle of his crosswords).

Your curiosity gets the best of you when you open the door, deciding to see if it’s still the same inside. Your eyes widen when you notice the garden house a little less packed than before– mainly because Sunwoo’s mother no longer does gardening in her free time and buys her vegetables on the market like your mum does, you presume– but instead, it’s full of all the things the childhood you knew so well.

Sunwoo’s old bike– red and a little rusty, but you bet it could still work. The rug they used to have in their dining room is now in the middle of the little garden house, stained with dirt. Next to the usual red sofa is a leather armchair that they used to have in their living room for a while, the dark brown fabric now worn out, chapped and peeling off. In the corner of the room, you find a box filled with various sports equipment– tennis rackets, a yellow tennis ball, a jumping rope, and lastly, a half-deflated football. The sight of it has you sighing a little, reminding you of Sunwoo’s composure when he told you about how he never got to pursue his childhood dream fully. 

Your eyes glaze towards his old skateboard, having you chuckle, the memories of him riding it down the hill in front of his house appearing in your mind. Sometimes, he would be there with his sister and his childhood friend Eric as well (that more often than not let MB!Y/N borrow the board, watching her with lovesick eyes instead of riding it himself), the young boy trying to teach himself tricks he saw on the TV.

“Do you think I still got it?” you suddenly hear Sunwoo ask from behind your shoulder, making you jump in surprise. The male laughs at your shocked face, shaking his head in disbelief at your easily shaken composure. 

“You scared me,” you breathe out, clutching your chest for good measure, to show him how much you really mean it– your heart was racing, and contrary to popular belief, the sight of him in casual attire (a gray hoodie, so similar to the one he used to wear in high school, baggy Adidas sweatpants covering his legs) wasn’t the reason for the little heart attack.

“So did you!” he exclaims. “I got outside and didn’t see you there, I thought you ran away for a second,” he hums.

“As if,” you mumble, “I walked all the way here, why would I leave so suddenly?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “you could’ve changed your mind, or something,” he says, his composure suddenly as boyish as when he was just a teenager, something in your heart softening. You guess he sometimes still carries some of the same insecurities he tried so hard to mask when he was young. Some things don’t really change, but you really wish at least this would’ve.

Smiling at him, you shake your head. “I don’t think you still got it, though,” you go back to reply to his initial question, pointing towards the skateboard.

“Well, who knows,” he peeps, “maybe I could do an Ollie, or something.”

“I really don’t think you could, Sunwoo,” you laugh softly, watching him regain his statement competitiveness.

“Wanna bet?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t want you to break your bones, so let’s just say I believe you,” you giggle, watching as the boy mirrors your expression, his gaze softening. 

A short moment of silence overtakes you two as you sigh and look around the garden house, instinctively taking a seat on the red sofa covered in dust. You bet it’s been years since anyone’s sat on it, and you’re glad to be the one revisiting its comfort. It’s like solidifying your return– like the old piece of forgotten furniture in Sunwoo’s garden house is the spawn point of your childhood. “Doesn’t this make you nostalgic?” you ask, eyeing your companion.

“Well, I live here,” he shrugs, “so not as much as it makes you, I suppose. Having you here again makes it more nostalgic, though, I’ll give you that.”

His words have you overcome with something bittersweet. Seeing the town you love so much makes you almost regret you ever left. The rational side of your brain reminds you that you gained a lot of experience abroad, though, and so you settle with being just a little bit remorseful of your past self for being so overly-ambitious. 

“It’s weird,” you allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of him, the essence of him being your best friend– your first love, the first person you ever felt safe with– overtaking you in the moment of weakness, “it’s like everybody moved on, but I stayed here.”

“Well, not everybody moved on,” Sunwoo hums, referring to himself. “Juyeon stayed, too. Eric and MB!Y/N are moving only a few hours away… Haknyeon lives down the street now,” he points out, a poor attempt at making you feel better.

“Yeah… it’s just… I hoped I would do big things. I hoped we would both do big things,” you say, tone of voice quiet, your eyes avoiding him. It’s hard to keep eye contact with him when you share your struggles– at least that’s the way it always was when you were young. The look he offered you always made you feel so tender, so cared for that you wanted to burst out crying. In your age and state, you can’t afford to tear up in front of your ex-boyfriend anymore.

“Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to,” Sunwoo says, tone of voice considerate. “And that’s fine. I wanted to be a star, and I’m not, but that’s okay, because hey… I’m happy anyway. I’m content. And I know that one day, you’ll be too. It just takes a bit of time.”

Snickering, you play with your fingers in your lap, legs plopping up and crossed, striking an almost defensive pose. “Were you… were you embarrassed when you came back?” you ask.

Sunwoo laughs, the sound so heartfelt it makes your insides squeeze. “Terribly. I mean, look at me in my mid-twenties, still living with my mother. Even back then, I felt like a failure. I felt like a disappointment, but… then I realized not everyone had the opportunities I had. Not everyone almost made it professional, you know, and that’s still something to be proud of.”

“I’m still living with my mother, but hey– she’s getting older and the house is big. MB!Y/N moved out, and I wouldn’t want my mum to get lonely… so I think I’m doing pretty well, given the circumstances,” he says. Pausing for a heartbeat, as if collecting his thoughts, he continues. “I think you should find the positives in your situation too. Not everyone got to live in New York... Work for the national TV… That’s still a huge achievement, and I think you should be proud of yourself for that.”

Rolling your eyes– although grateful to hear the words– you snicker. “It’s hard to do that right now…”

“I know,” he nods, smiling when you finally look at him. “It takes time. And until then, well, for what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you. And maybe… maybe you coming back home is how life’s supposed to go anyways.”

Biting down on your lower lip to stop yourself from tearing up– see, you knew you shouldn’t have looked the boy in the eyes during his little pep talk– there’s suddenly a weight leaving your shoulders, heart softening and growing more tender. Your wounds seem to sting a little less. It’s strange– even after so many years, he still knows just the words you need to hear.

“Yeah,” you nod, voice barely louder than a whisper, a soft smile playing with your lips, “maybe.”

to. my first kiss

March 2000

His eyes stay glued to the TV in your living room, the boy almost looking hypnotized as he focuses on the program running, furrowed brows and all, showing his utmost concentration. A sigh lands into his ears, but goes unnoticed when you enter the room, a scowl sitting on your face. “Sunwoo! I told you to watch the oven! What if the cookies burn?”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, not a single word coming out of your mouth truly registering in his brain.

“Sunwoo!” you grunt, but when you get no reply, you just choose to roll your eyes and walk into your kitchen yourself, opening the oven and making sure the cookies you two have been baking haven’t burned down into coal yet. Not long after, you plop on the sofa next to your best friend, tone of voice still showing a bit of frustration at his carelessness.

“You shit on Eric for watching those, but you’re just as bad,” you hum as you notice the kdrama going on in the TV. It’s one of the ones that hardly make any sense and each scene is overly-exaggerated and repeated at least twice to create impact, but Sunwoo finds himself living for the drama. Each argument has him examining the scene, mentally rooting for his favorite characters– and although he is busy with football practice nowadays, he doesn’t skip a single episode of Happy Together. 

It’s not as entertaining as the manga comics he borrows from Hyunjae’s father’s comic shop, but he figures that it’s good enough to pass some time… and indulge over.

“I think they’re gonna kiss,” he notes, pointing towards the screen.

“Oh, good point, Sherlock Holmes,” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief. If there was something you’d expect out of your friend, it seemingly wasn’t his enjoyance of cheesy dramas that air in the afternoon hours of the week. 

And Sunwoo admits, he was never the one to enjoy romance. Hell, it was something he always made fun of when it came to his friend Eric– he was not the one to watch romantic comedies, he wasn’t the one to tell girls cheesy lines or bring them flowers on Valentine’s day. He does seem to be enjoying the laughable scenes rolling on the TV a little too much lately, though.

Maybe he should start hanging out with Eric less.

The scene slowly transforms into close-ups of the two main characters, showing them instinctively closing their eyes and leaning towards each other, eyes trained on each other’s lips. It doesn’t take much to predict the next actions, but Sunwoo still finds himself restless in his seat when they finally kiss, legs kicking up and a gasp escaping his mouth. One would think he won the lottery or was just greeted with the greatest surprise ever, with how he’s reacting. None of the two are true, though.

“Oh, wow,” you hum next to him, seemingly not really interested in the drama as much as your best friend is.

“You’re ruining it,” Sunwoo sighs, looking at you as you roll your eyes and settle deeper into the couch cushions. 

“Oh, sorry,” you note, but your composure stays a bit annoyed. 

Sunwoo watches the TV for some more– the scene of the two characters kissing stays on the screen, slowed-down and repeated, in the true 90s TV show fashion– before his eyes trail off the device and move towards you, glazing your side profile. He takes notice of your casual attire– you changed out of your school uniform in the time he was supposed to watch the cookies baking in the oven, and something in his stomach churns, making him blurt out the random question that so suddenly appears on the tip of his tongue.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” he asks, genuinely curious. He doesn’t even know why the response matters to him so much– he also doesn’t really know what reply he’d like to hear better, if he’s being honest– but now it’s out in the open and he can’t take it back.

“Hm?” you hum, snapping your head towards him. “Oh. Yeah, I guess…”

“You guess..?” Sunwoo repeats, furrowing his brows. How can one not be sure? 

“Well– yeah. It only happened once, though,” you shrug. It takes everything in Sunwoo to not ask who you kissed and when, or under what circumstances, and decide to despise that person until the day he dies. It’s not his business and he shouldn’t even care in the first place… He can’t say he’s disappointed in your answer– it’s your life and your decisions– but something inside of him screams that now, he can’t be your first no matter how hard he’d try. (It’s not like you’d want to kiss Sunwoo anyway, so he really doesn’t know why he’s making such a big deal about it.)

“What about you?” you ask, the question catching the poor boy off guard. He didn’t necessarily expect you to ask him back– so much to his title of Sherlock Holmes– and the reality that he can’t lie to you takes him out in full force as he bashfully stares out of the window.

“No,” he peeps, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

There’s something embarrassing about admitting to the girl you like that even at the ripe age of 19, you’ve never kissed anyone before. Shame creeps up his neck and adorns his cheeks after the simple word slips out of his mouth, eyes refusing to meet yours.

“Really?” you ask, and you sound genuinely surprised– there’s a hint of Sunwoo’s ego recovering, but he thinks the hit was too hard for him to ever recover.

“Yup,” he says, a popping sound heard as his lips voice out the last consonant, the view of him playing with his own fingers suddenly more interesting than anything else happening in your living room right at this moment.

“I thought– nevermind,” you hum, scratching the back of your neck, “why are you asking?”

“Just… just curious, I guess…?” he stummers, shrugging. 

A moment of silence overtakes you two– enough to make the boy instantly hate everything he’s ever said on the matter. If there could open up a hole in the ground right now to swallow him, he’d jump in with much enthusiasm. Why did he have to ask?

“Do you wanna try?” you suddenly propose, making the boy’s heart feel like it burst and threw him into a cardiac arrest. His hands start sweating, his cheeks tint red and it feels like all oxygen was suddenly sucked out of the living room, his lungs collapsing on themselves.

You seem to try to save the situation, noticing the utter shock on his face. “I mean– you don’t have to, but I… I wouldn’t mind, and it’s– I don’t know… if you wanted to practice with me, or something, I’d be down to…” you stutter, chewing on your bottom lip as you finish the little tangent, terror evident in your eyes.

Sunwoo feels like a little boy that just found his favorite gift under the Christmas tree. Like he found the most pricey toy there, the one he always wanted, and now that it’s there, he’s scared to actually play with it, because he doesn’t want to break it. Much like your friendship, he thinks. There’s too much to lose if he crosses this line, and he’s very much aware. 

But the offer seems tempting. Almost too tempting. God, he doesn’t think he could say no.

He may not be your first kiss, but you’re asking to be his. This sounds like a dream, if he really thinks about it.

“You know what? Just forget–”

“I’d– I’d like that…” he mumbles, trying really hard not to avert his gaze from you.

Your gaze softens, nodding your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Okay,” you nod again, moving a little closer to him. Your knees knock into the side of his thigh, your whole figure now facing him on the sofa as his legs still point forward to the TV. He keeps staring at you, a little nervous, but expectant. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do it just because–”

“I’m sure,” he cuts you off, watching as your face relaxes, a smile appearing on your lips at the next addition. “I want to.”

“Okay.”

You move impossibly closer, your crossed legs in contact with his clothed skin. He curses the thin fabric of the pants of his school uniform for making him feel every slightest flex of your muscles when you move, making his skin flare up and burn. He keeps staring at you, watching you as you lean closer to him, your faces now inches away from each other. Sunwoo finds himself focusing on every feature of your face, counting the eyelashes framing your eyes, glazing over the sparkles in your orbs. You stay close for a minute, unmoving. 

Eyes locking, Sunwoo finds himself gasping a little, breathing shuddering when he notices your gaze falling to his lips. Your breathing mixes, air meeting his face when you breathe out a minty breeze. His heart is already racing and you’re not even doing anything.

When he finds you finally moving towards him and notices your eyes shutting close, he mirrors your actions, but stays unmoving. After what feels like eternity, he feels something soft pressing to his lips, warmth spreading from that part of his face to the rest of his body. The contact of your lips with his is gentle, like you’re testing the waters, and although the feeling is unfamiliar, Sunwoo decides he doesn’t hate it.

The weird firework show in his stomach actually suggests that he’s quite enjoying it. Your lips break away from his for a bit, rewarding him with only a peck, and before the boy has the chance to think this is it and it’s over, you dive in for more and kiss him again, this time longer, more firmer.

Your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, holding him close. He feels himself burning up, his composure completely crumbling when he feels you smile against his lips. 

“You know you can kiss back, right?”

“Mhm,” he hums, opening his eyes to see you staring at him with a tender look.

“Try it,” you say, hands gently coming up to brush his bangs away from his face. If anyone was looking at the two of you now, Sunwoo thinks they’d conclude that you two were in love.

And maybe Sunwoo was, by the way he was looking up at you like you hung the stars on the sky. By the way he was staring at you with such a vulnerable look he feared you might see right through him, see right to his core and call him out on every unconfessed word hiding in his heart. He looks a little scared, a little tense, still, but his eyes don’t lie. They never do. There’s no one else that could make him feel the way you do.

“Okay,” he nods, moving in his position so he’s facing you, ready for more. 

He mirrors your previous motions, leaning towards your face. He wets his lips and closes his eyes when he’s sure he’s close enough to not miss your mouth, and after another deep breath in to calm his nerves, he presses against you. He feels you freezing under him, a momentary panic spreading all over his chest as he thinks he’s done something wrong, before he feels you kissing him back.

A whole other sensation takes over him when he feels your lips moving against his, his fingertips buzzing when he drags his hand up and moves your hair behind your shoulder, large hand resting on your jaw. He’s not sure if he’s doing this correctly– hell, he’s never done this before– but after you move a bit and entangle your hands behind his neck, pressing against him a bit more firmly, yet still tender and gentle like the first time, he recognises that somehow, it feels right, and he thinks that’s all evaluation he needs for now.

The need for oxygen makes him break away from you, breathing heavily as he opens his eyes and finds you resting your forehead against his, smiling. “Like that?” he asks, shamelessly staring at your wet lips, already yearning for more.

“Something like that,” you nod, giggling. “You still need more practice, though,” you suggest, making the boy frown.

“Was it that ba–”

Rolling your eyes at him, frustrated at the way he always needs everything spelled out for him, refusing to take a hint, you press your lips against his again, teeth clashing a little when Sunwoo picks up the pace and kisses you back. The TV is a mere white noise in the background now, everything around you two disappearing, all of Sunwoo’s senses focused on you and only you. He could get lost in the way you taste– like strawberry bubblegum you bought at the store on the corner of the street– and the way you feel against him– soft, tender, warm.

He feels like he could burst. He knows his hands are a bit sweaty, but he’s only half aware of the fact when his palms move to hold your cheeks, much like you did to him before, and your hands entangle in his hair, playing with the strands.

He could stay like this forever, blissfully unaware of the consequences of this act. He could kiss you over and over and over again, even if it meant he was still bad at it and needed more practice– he could get lost in your scent, in the tender way you hold him to you, in the way you keep smiling against his lips whenever he does something to surprise you: like get a little bolder and angle your head by your chin with his thumb, getting more comfortable.

He’s glad he’s sitting down, because he’s quite sure his knees are too weak to carry him right now. When you break away from him again, lips swollen and eyes blown-out, he thinks you might just be an angel. He’d love to engrave this image into his memories forever.

Although, he’s doubtful that he could ever forget about this. Or anything about you, really.

And even as you suddenly gasp, finally aware of the world around you, running to the kitchen and screaming: “Sunwoo! We forgot about the cookies!”,

he wonders just what more you could teach him about life. He’d follow you to the end of the world if you asked him to, holding your hand in his and not thinking twice. He’d bring you down a star, if you only so expressed you would like one. He’d do anything. 

You taught him what friendship is. You taught him what it means to care for someone. What it means to have someone special. You taught him how to drink (although by scolding him when he was hungover. He felt cared for even with your stern gaze). You taught him how to slow dance– even though you spent the prom with someone else. Just now, you taught him how to kiss.

And although you’re unaware, he’s quite certain that when he’s 19 years old, spending each of his days with you, although unaware, you taught him how to love someone too.

August 2007

You feel kind of silly, standing in front of the bakery as the sun sets over the horizon, the clock striking near 5 in the afternoon as you gnaw on your fingernails and hesitate a little before coming in. Pushing the door open and slipping inside, the male currently sweeping the floor looks over at you, a look of pleasant surprise sitting at his face and a sunny smile sent your way upon your arrival.

You don’t really know why you keep running back to him. The whole town reeks of familiarity to you, every corner and inch of each street filled with the essence of your childhood and your whole growing up. It’s not like you don’t have anything else to ground yourself back to, but somehow, your inner voice always keeps calling for Sunwoo. It’s weird– it’s been ages and you shouldn’t feel like this around someone who you haven’t even properly dated for that long, if you don’t count the few months before he left– but it’s something you can’t control, an essence you can’t hold back. 

“Y/N,” he calls for you, “what are you doing here?” he asks as he continues his routinal cleaning, putting the broom away behind the counter. 

It’s a stupid question. You bet he realizes it too, but you’re somehow glad he is taking initiative. This way, you don’t have to be the first one to spark the conversation. This way, you know you’re welcome. 

“Oh, well,” you shrug, “I’m… looking for you…?” you say, tone of voice suggesting that you’re hesitant, almost a little shy to admit it to yourself. 

Maybe you’re foolish for feeling this way. Because you know what all those things mean– you know what the lightness in your stomach is, what the giddy feeling resonating through you whenever the male smiles at you is. You know that thinking about someone constantly, more so before you sleep, isn’t an usual occurrence with someone you pay no attention to, with someone you don’t care about. You’ve been in love before– with the same man that’s standing right in front of you as well, funnily enough. You know what this all means.

But with how he’s inviting you in, letting you into his little bubble, you think it’s not as bad of a thing. He’s not pushing you away. He’s not building bridges. He’s the same way he was all those years ago, and you’d hate to find out that all of this wasn’t something more and was just him being nice.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he chuckles, wiping his hands on the apron still tied around his waist. “I’m off in a few, though, so if you want anything from the bakery–”

“I’m not here for the food,” you laugh, dismissing him with a wave of your hand. The boldness is unusual for the present you– there’s a hint of your past shining through whenever you are with the boy, though. Maybe you like this sense of familiarity. Maybe you like to feel real again– maybe you like to feel like yourself. It’s hard to admit it, but you did lose your sense of identity after moving abroad. It’s hard to stay true to yourself with so many new people around and with so many expectations and responsibilities. The pressure changes you, and you now rely on Kim Sunwoo to bring you back to default– to where you’re supposed to be.

“Okay, then,” he nods, thankfully not making a big deal out of your desperate visit, “what would you like to do?” he asks, eyes sparkling under the lights when he looks at you. It’s like an open invitation– he gives you the chance to tell him how you’d like to spend your time with him. He did this a lot when you two were younger as well. It felt good to have someone that would make the effort to enjoy your hobbies with you– no matter how disinterested he could be in the matter.

“Hang out… I guess…?” you hum, shrugging. You didn’t really have anything planned. All you knew was that you wanted to be with him. It’s like the heart’s calling– you don’t know when your inner monologue got so cliche.

“Anything specific?” he asks.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shake your head in disapproval. You fear that you disappointed him, let him down in some way– you came all the way here, after all. You could’ve made something up on the way, couldn’t you? But still– just like the Sunwoo you once knew, so lively and full of ideas– he just purses his lips for a second before speaking the suggestion into existence.

“Well… do you want to bake with me? Like the old times?” he says, sending you a look full of warm honey.

You wouldn’t say no to that invitation. You’d be crazy to do so.

The Kim Sunwoo you used to bake cookies with in the comfort of your kitchen back home wasn’t so skilled in making the dough like he is now. He wasn’t so good at knowing the recipe from memory, nor was he gifted with the kitchen appliances he has now, all professional and shiny, reserved just for the use of the bakery. You don’t really know if he even had the love for baking in him back then– you just know you two enjoyed your time together, and when you are young, that’s all you really cared about anyway. It didn’t matter that he let the cookies burn sometimes. It didn’t really matter that they didn’t turn out well on some days– all morphing into one big block, making you cut the dough into pieces so you could eat it when you accidentally added too much butter. 

He still looks the same, though. A few years older, but with the same boyish aura to him when he wipes dirty hands on his apron. All grown up now, but still with the same glint in his eye whenever he looks up at you in between your conversations. When you’re with him, you no longer feel the distance between who you are and who you used to be, the distance between you and him. It’s like the old days, but a little better.

Maybe you have more time now.

The two of you work on the cookie dough, enveloped in a comfortable conversation. “You have to add more sugar,” Sunwoo hums from next to you, watching as you work on the mixture.

“Isn’t it funny how I was the one always giving you directions when we baked together and now you’re the one ordering me around?” you laugh, taking the sugar from the counter and sprinkling more in, listening to the opinion of a professional.

“Well, my cookies don’t turn into one big blob of dough anymore,” he jokes, laughing. “Besides, it’s my job now, so you’d kind of expect me to be good at it.”

“You can’t be so sure of that…” you hum, shaking your head.

“Why? Do you have any experience with being bad at your job?” 

“Oh you bet I do,” you laugh, nodding. “I was an intern before, Sunwoo. A colleague of mine once tried to console me by saying being an intern means being bad at the job, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I still cried myself to sleep multiple nights,” you conclude, thinking back to your New York endeavors.

“That bad?” Sunwoo asks empathetically.

“Yeah. Mixed up everyone’s coffee order on my first day. When I was confronted about it, I tried to play it off by saying I don’t have a good memory…” you muse.

“Well, it’s hard to remember a lot of stuff at once, to be fair–”

“I was getting coffee for three people, Sunwoo. Objectively speaking, it shouldn’t be as hard…” you say, now thinking back to the events of your internship with more humor than embarrassment.

Sunwoo laughs at your story, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not worse than my teammate back in Boston. The first match of the season, he scored a goal against our own team. His reasoning? He used to play against the goalie back in high school, so he got confused.”

The boy takes over at making the dough once it’s the turn to add in the chocolate chips, glancing at you momentarily when you laugh at his anecdote. Watching him from the side, you heave out through your laughs. “That’s actually hilarious,” you get out, washing your hands in the sink. “What about some funny stories about yourself, though?”

“Don’t have any. I’m too perfect to humiliate myself like that,” he notes, pressing his lips together and raising his eyebrows at you in an ironic expression, nodding.

“Oh, as if–”

“How is it?” he asks you suddenly in the middle of the sentence, seemingly done with kneading the mixture. Sunwoo puts the cookie dough in front of your lips, waiting for you to taste it. You’d do it all the time when you were both teenagers, but back then, the gesture didn’t feel half as intimate as the mere image of it does now.

Locking eyes with the male, you hesitantly open your mouth and let him put the dough into it, tasting the sweetness on your tongue. Sunwoo’s eyes darken, as if he’s just realized what he’s done, the weight of the situation falling down on him as your tongue comes in contact with the skin of his fingertips. Gulping, he watches as you suck the tip of his digit into your mouth, getting all last remains of the sweetness off of it, something in the air shifting towards a direction you didn’t expect from tonight.

“Good,” you nod, licking your lips, “delicious.”

Seconds turn to what feels like eternities as you stop all motion and look into each other’s eyes, finding any hint of disapproval with the so obvious turn of events. His chocolate orbs peer into yours, making you ignite with something close to an urge you can’t control, his eyes anchoring themselves to the curve of your lips when you decide to let go of all anxiety and insecurities and just go for it. The cookie dough was sweet, but you’ve never tasted anything sweeter than Sunwoo’s lips. You might just have to refresh your mind, you think.

Leaning closer to him, your breathing mixing in the few centimeters left between your mouths, you relish in the déja vu this action brings you. It feels like yesterday, yet also centuries ago since you last kissed the male, and although you’re sure you enjoyed it back then, you wish you could’ve told the younger you to kiss him more often, more firmly, with more passion, maybe even sooner. For longer. 

Pressing your lips against his first, almost like always– since Kim Sunwoo was a bit shy with his kisses when you were both just high school seniors– your eyes shut close and everything around you disappears. You guess there’s something about baking that makes the two of you want to feed off each other’s lips– except this time, it’s not practice anymore. It’s not innocent, it’s not clueless. This time, it’s real, alive and passionate. You can’t say you hate the sentiment, the weird parallel your relationship has come to. It’s like you’re reliving your life again, but this time, you know how the story ends– you know how to fix the ending. How to keep him here.

Sunwoo’s more experienced than he was when you kissed him for the first time. He’s less shy and more bold, lips firmer against yours, but still careful and gentle. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw and position you so he has the best access to your mouth as he slips his tongue in, as if chasing down the taste of cookie dough he fed you just a few seconds ago, and although you liked to battle him when you were young, you let him win this time– you let him take you home, bring your mind to where it’s supposed to be.

Hands gripping the front of his shirt, but immediately going to circle around his neck when a particular movement of his makes you moan slightly into his mouth, you play with the hair on his nape and feel him shuddering under your movements, an automatic response that makes fondness spread over your chest. Everything about him is familiar to you– he still reacts the same way to your tender ministrations, he still smiles against your lips when you tangle your fingers through his hair and want to ground yourself in the touch. 

You know him like the palm of your hand. It’s easy to get lost in something you are so familiar with, in someone that was once your everything. It’s easy to indulge too much in something that was forcefully taken from you, to get right back where you left with him, because time and circumstances were never on your side.

A touch of his hand on the side of your neck, lips trailing down your mouth towards your jaw. The boldness, the urgency of his movements is enough to have you turn your back against the counter, his body pressed tightly against yours. His palms under the backside of your knees have you sitting up on the cold marble, his lips never breaking away from your skin. 

You’re enjoying the shift in the dynamic. You’re enchanted with the way he handles you, like he’s been starved of you for years, wanting to chase down all the time you spent away from each other. Breathing heavily, feeling his plush lips sucking down on the sweet spot under your ear, then trailing down the side until he reaches the juncture of your neck, an involuntary “God…” slips past your mouth.

“I missed you,” he says, words muffling against your skin, “I missed you so much, I felt like I was going crazy.”

The confession makes you dizzy, your whole body growing weak. It’s like he knows exactly what words you wanted to hear. It’s like he knows what haunted you all those years, what you kept asking the universe on sleepless nights over and over, praying for an answer. It’s like he knows exactly how to get you close to him, to have you completely let go of the past. 

“I missed your jokes,” he says, planting a kiss on your neck. “I missed your smile,” he presses another one a little more up, “I missed your laugh,” another kiss, now on your jaw. “I missed holding your hand,” a peck planted to the corner of your lips, “and I missed kissing you…” he trails off, pointing his attention back on your mouth, locking the two of you together again, as if kissing you was his new addiction and you were the drug.

Sunwoo’s hot hand creeps up your waist, fingers slipping under the thin fabric of your tank top. The contact makes you shiver in response, your bodies still as responsive to each other as back when you were 19, and when you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth and slip your tongue back into his mouth, you feel the boy tug at the right strap of your top, sliding it down your shoulder. You’re barely registering the bowl of dough to your right, the fact that you’re in the kitchen of Juyeon’s parent’s bakery, or the fact that you only just met the boy two weeks ago for the first time in years. All you focus on is him– his touch, his taste, the way he makes you feel. All you know is longing. The desire.

Before you have the chance to take anything further, the sound of the door opening makes you jump away from each other– your head almost hitting the top cabinets, had Sunwoo not instinctively put his hand there to shield you from the impact. Before you get a chance to register what’s happening, a familiar voice calls for you, their tone a little guilty and bashful. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt, or anything–” Juyeon peeps, clearing his throat. 

Glancing at Sunwoo, you see his cheeks redden at being caught by his older friend, yet his eyes still roll in annoyance at the interruption. You can’t help but try to hide your face into his shoulder– it’s not like you’re embarrassed of being with Sunwoo, you’re just embarrassed that it had to happen here, of all places.

“Well, you just did,” Sunwoo grunts, frustration coating his words.

“I’m just here to grab something,” Juyeon hums, almost racing through the room to get to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen, taking out a carton of milk from the inside and showing it to the two of you. “This is gonna go bad soon, so I’m taking it home to use it. Uhm.. anyways, well, don’t let me stop you in anything… bye!”

Neither of you greet the male back, instead sharing a meaningful, knowing look between each other. The view of your first boyfriend with his lips puffy, cheeks flushed and hair a little disheveled makes your senses go crazy, and although you’d like to continue what you started, you don’t think now is the right time or place.

Hopping off the counter, you smile. “So… where were we with the cookies?”

to. my first girlfriend

May 2000

Eyes trained on the ball, feet restless as he runs across the field to retrieve it and pass it to one of the shooters– either Donghyuck or Jinyoung, the more capable ones of the team– Sunwoo finds himself completely focused on the game. It’s one of the last matches of the season, and since he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to play his favorite sport again– he hasn’t received a verdict on the university applications he sent yet– the boy figures he should enjoy each game like it’s the last. Because who knows– one day, it may as well be, and if he’s not prepared for it, if he has any regrets, he knows he’ll take it harder than he’s supposed to.

Kim Sunwoo’s position in football is midfielder. While Eric once told him that it’s a loser position, since he’s not the shooter and he doesn’t score many goals (which is a lie– the boy had him know he scored his fair share despite his defensive position on the field), Sunwoo’s grown to love it. He’s the one that’s supposed to counter all attacks on his teammates. He’s the one that runs after the ball and passes it to the shooters, so technically, he’s the reason why any of them even have the opportunity to score. His position is as important as any other player's, and he takes pride in the compliments he gets from his coach whenever he does particularly well at a game. 

Sunwoo loves football. He’d say his first love is football, but something inside of him keeps telling him that that’s a lie (don’t ask him why. It’s a secret.). It’s the first game he’s ever been exceptionally good at, the first thing he could do for periods longer than a few weeks. He’s been playing with the ball since he was young, and although he never had a father to kick the football around with in his backyard, his sister was always happy to be included in anything he was into at the time– when she got older, she even got better at being his designated goalie, although less interested in the play itself. Sunwoo feels like he lets go of all worries when he plays. It’s good to have an escape, something to keep his mind occupied. He doesn’t have many things to worry about, but he finds that kicking the ball around, making strategies in his brain on how to get it to his teammates the fastest, is enough for him to get out both his frustration and get something nice out of it. He enjoys the thrill. He enjoys the excitement, the shared joy of the team whenever someone scores a goal. He is addicted to the ecstasy in his veins whenever his team wins.

It was easy to determine that if Sunwoo wanted to do anything for the rest of his life, it would be football. It’s what he enjoys, what he loves. It’s what he’s good at. 

It’s strange to imagine a time when he wouldn’t play football. He doesn’t even want to imagine it in the first place– it makes a chill run down his spine and an unsettling feeling churn in his stomach. In a perfect world, he’s always a football player.

Everyone keeps telling him he could easily make it professional, if he tried. 

Football is how he met most of his friends. It’s how he met Juyeon– he was the captain of the high school team when Sunwoo was a sophomore, and he found that hanging out with the older boy was easy and fun. It’s how he met Donghyuck and Jihoon (before the latter dropped out of the team after a few months). It’s how he met you. 

His coach always warned the players about dating the cheerleaders. For his coach, it wasn’t right to do so– it would throw off the dynamic of the game. “Nobody wants their ex to stare at them during their game!” the coach had said– not even thinking of the possibility of any of those teenage romances to last. Sunwoo only laughed back then. It wasn’t something he should be afraid of– he never liked anyone on the cheer team.

Until… until he did. Sunwoo met you on one sunny day, at your joint cheer-slash-football practice. You pointed out that the number on his jersey– 03– was your favorite, and the boy felt himself smile. Ever since then, he never wore any other number. He considered it to be his lucky charm. What started as friendship blossomed into something much more for the boy, and somehow, he can’t even remember when the feelings he had for you morphed into adoration. He doesn’t know when they shifted Into absolute enchantment, or Into a silly crush– he doesn’t know when he started seeing you in a light that was more romantic.

Wearing your favorite number on his back, Sunwoo runs towards the opposing player. There’s something akin to an angry face playing with the man’s features, and Sunwoo imagines it’s because of the very clear lead his team has on them. Sunwoo makes sure he doesn’t slip as he tackles the opposing player– he swears he heard someone call the shooter Jaechan– and as soon as he secures the ball, Sunwoo aims to forward it to his teammate.

The screams resonating all around him– although he tries hard to filter them out to focus on the game completely– suggest that it’s only a few moments before the game is over. It wouldn’t matter even if they didn’t score the goal, but something inside of Sunwoo’s heart leaps at the thought of winning with such a lead. The boyish excitement only grows when he watches Donghyuck retrieve the goal and run towards the goalpost, neon-orange sneakers shining through the green grass.

“Come on!” Sunwoo cheers, a hopeful spark lighting within him as the boy prepares to shoot, eyes quickly scanning the field.

And Lee Donghyuck almost never lets him down. Maybe that’s why he liked the boy so much in the first place– Sunwoo didn’t like players that dismissed the chance he won for them. He liked the skillful ones. The ones that knew what they were doing. (He also liked Donghyuck’s humor. He found himself grateful to have a friend so funny. He made even losing feel like it wasn’t such a big deal.) 

Choosing the golden shooter proved to be a good idea once again– Donghyuck, number 35, shoots for the goal and the ball gets in. Seconds after, the sound of a whistle is heard across the place, the game over with Sunwoo’s team winning 4:1.

Everyone cheers– yells from the audience are heard, excitement reeking through the air. The whole football team gathers around, sweaty bodies sticking together as they perform some sort of a cliche group hug, arms patting each other’s backs and complimenting each other’s play. 

The commotion dissolves shortly after. Sunwoo finds himself trying to catch his breath, eyes looking across the space for someone in particular. His heart leaps even harder when he finds you standing at the edge of the field in your cheer uniform, a big smile plastered on your face. Your eyes are glimmering as they meet with his. Your hair is a little tousled from the routine you just finished doing and there are smears and smudges on your cheeks from the face paint you used to symbolize the team’s colors– blue and gold. Over-all, you look ecstatic.

Sunwoo finds himself running over to you before he even registers that he’s going to do it. He’s like a fast, unguided missile, the goal of getting to you as fast as possible being the only thing resonating through his excited mind.

“Good jo-” you grunt as the boy finally gets to you, words cutting off when he (maybe a little harshly) puts his arms around your middle and picks you up, twirling you around. You screech a little into his ear and he finds himself laughing at your reaction. It’s like a runner's high– he feels like right now, he is capable of everything. 

“Okay! Okay! Put me down!” you laugh when you start to get a little dizzy. The boy complies, since he’s running out of strength to carry you anyways, and puts you back to your feet. His arms stay tightly wrapped around your body, though, locking you into a secure hug. 

“We won!” he cheers, the brightest grin settling to his lips as he announces the obvious. 

You beam at him, eyes soft and crinckled into little moon crescents, a dumbfounded smile playing with your features. “I know, Sherlock,” you dismiss him again with the teasing nickname, shaking your head in disbelief, “I was here. Cheering for you,” you say.

And sure, Sunwoo knows that by you, you don’t necessarily mean him in particular– more like cheering for the whole team, the whole 11 players on the field– but something about the sentiment makes his stomach feel all light and a slight blush spread over his glowing cheeks. You were here– cheering for him (and his team) – and although you’re here out of your own will, out of your own devotion to your hobby, he somehow feels grateful for your presence. You never miss a game. You went even when you caught the flu and felt too sick to do your cheer routine– you just sat on the bench and rooted for your best friend. (The team lost that match. Sunwoo felt a little bad for tugging you out of your bed for it.)

The boy studies your face for a while. You look perfectly content in his hold. You fit perfectly into his arms, he thinks– almost like you’re supposed to be there all the time. He should hug you more often, he decides. Sunwoo foolishly finds himself focusing onto your lips– he blames the shiny lipgloss you put on today– the words coming out of your mouth not quite registering in his brain. “As I was saying, good job! The whole team, but you especially. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you really shined in this game. I’m really prou–”

A single peck is pressed to your glossy, sticky lips, cutting you off in the middle of the sentence yet again. Sunwoo surprises himself with the gesture– he was always too shy to initiate something with you, too hesitant to even touch you sometimes– but the euphoria is still playing with his senses, clouding his brain. He doesn’t think of consequences.

He can’t control himself anymore. It’s been weeks since you two kissed for the first time– exactly 4 and a half weeks since you taught him how to do so– and since that afternoon, he found himself thinking about it every single day, every single minute, all. The. Time. You two haven’t spoken about it since, making the poor boy a little disappointed, but he respected your decision. He knew that you didn’t particularly reciprocate his feelings, but he still expected your dynamic to shift. At least a little bit. 

And although he should’ve been glad nothing changed and your friendship didn’t crumble because of a simple kiss, he found himself desiring to kiss you every time he saw your face. 

You peer at him with eyes wide open, mouth a little agape. Sunwoo doesn’t really know how to read your reaction– you didn’t look particularly happy, but you also didn’t push him away– and so in the moment of panic, he begins to backtrack, his arms untangling from your sides.

“I- I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundary, or if I–”

You’re not fans of letting each other finish their sentences today, it seems. Before Sunwoo gets a chance to put a bigger distance between the two of you, he watches as you get on your tippy-toes and press a tender kiss on his lips– more firmer than the one he dared to give you, a little bit longer, yet still sweetly short. There’s something soft and gentle in your gaze when you pull away and press another peck onto his face– the tip of his nose this time– and Sunwoo almost physically feels his knees turning into jello, his own celebratory firework show erupting in the pits of his stomach.

“So, as I was saying,” you hum, hugging the boy around his neck, “you did well. You looked good out there,” you peep, the sparks in your eyes making Sunwoo’s skin burn with their contact.

That day, you teach him that to be loved is to have someone sharing your achievements with. To be loved is to be adored, to be loved is to have someone watching you and cheering you on, to have someone to run to with good news.

Kim Sunwoo’s football team won the match, but the boy thinks that perhaps, that day, he won something even greater.

to. my first lover

August 2000

The admission papers arrive at his house the morning he’s supposed to sleep over at your house. Your parents decided to take a trip to your aunt’s place for two days, so you invite the boy into the comfort of your home for the weekend– as far as Sunwoo’s mother is concerned, he’s sleeping over at Juyeon’s. He doesn’t have the boy covering him, but he’s also sure his mother won’t try to check if he’s telling her the truth. He’s not banned from having a girlfriend– he just doesn’t want his mum to get any wrong ideas.

He finds the envelope in the mailbox when he comes home from school, and something in his stomach drops when he sees the american stamp on the top right corner of the white paper. He debates on opening it, but every time he hypes himself up enough to tear the top of the envelope off, a little anxious voice on his inside tells him to wait. 

Although reluctant to admit it to himself, Sunwoo is a little scared to see the result of his university application. Before he leaves for your house, he puts the envelope into the front pocket of his backpack and tries to forget about it. It works a bit better when he sees your face, hears your laugh– when he spends time with you and you two play the new board game you got from your cousin. Still, the weight of the envelope keeps bugging him in his mind no matter how hard he tries forgetting about it, and you finally notice (or finally bring it up after hours of ignoring his weird mood) when the two of you lay together in your bed in the evening, both facing the ceiling.

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“Hm?” Sunwoo hums, lost in thought. “Oh, yeah,” he nods, “don’t worry.”

You don’t seem convinced. Shuffling a little in your sheets, you turn towards him and move your body closer to his, your arm suddenly draping over his middle. A tender kiss is placed on his temple, almost making him crumble under the gentle care, and your voice earns a concerned kind of timbre when you speak to him. “You can tell me,” you hum, “boyfriends and girlfriends are supposed to tell each other things.”

Boyfriends and girlfriends. Sunwoo feels himself soften under the possessive title. It has been close to 4 months of you dating– starting with the winning match in April, progressing slowly through the summer break– but the fact that you’re his partner is still a little unbelievable to him. Sometimes, when he hears you call him your boyfriend, he still gets a little bashful. He still feels like he’s been told the greatest news of his life. 

Maybe it’s the nature of this sentiment that has him slowly unraveling to you. And maybe, it’s because he’d tell you anyways– you’d be the first to know. He was just waiting for the right time to bring it up.

“The reply to my university application came in the mail this morning…” he trails off, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

You plop up on your elbow, watching the boy from above. Eyes big, you peer into his face. “And?” you ask, an expecting gaze glazing his features.

“I… I don’t know,” he shrugs, “I was too scared to open it alone.”

“O-Oh,” you nod, furrowing your brows at him, “well, it’s okay to be scared. I believe in you, but even if it doesn’t go the way you wanted it to, I’m still proud of you for trying,” you say, a gentle tone of voice cooing at him, like the nature of the way you play with his hair, wanting to make the boy relax from his anxieties.

“I have the letter here with me,” he says, swallowing, “in my bag.”

“Do you want to open it together?” you ask, watching as the boy nods.

He’s getting off the bed in no time, wearing just sweatpants and a baggy shirt to sleep in, grabbing his bag from the corner of your room and unzipping the small compartment at the front. His fingers take the envelope out, legs walking him over back to your bed, your figure now sitting against the headboard. Sunwoo finds himself mirroring your position as his fingers turn the little white thing in his hold with much stumbling, preparing himself for whatever answer awaits him inside.

Glancing at you, seeing you looking at him with an encouraging expression on your face, Sunwoo takes a big breath in and out to calm his nerves before he tears the top open and takes out the expensive-feeling paper. Not stopping his actions anymore, knowing that if he takes another moment to himself, he won’t be able to read the letter, he unravels the note and lets his eyes skim over the words.

Before he even has a chance to register the sentences written down in the letter, before he can even let his mind accept the result he’s given– ‘we are pleased to announce that you were admitted to the athlete scholarship program…’– he feels a pair of arms wrapping around his shoulders, jolting him awake from his thoughts.

“You made it! Oh my god, you made it!” you cheer, excitement taking over your whole body as you shake the boy in your hold from side to side. The reality still isn’t quite settling in for him, so he just lets you do whatever you please– which includes all of the following: screaming incoherent words into his ear when you hug him closer to your chest, planting a kiss to his cheek and throwing your hands up into the air in a winning gesture. 

“You made it, Sunwoo,” you repeat, this time a little more collected.

Sunwoo finally allows himself to put the letter away and look into your eyes. “I made it,” he sighs, a soft smile playing with his features. 

“You did!” you nod, grinning back.

It’s strange. The first step towards Sunwoo’s dream is now complete. He got admitted to the university of his dreams– the one that’s good for athletes, the one that is supposed to shoot him towards stardom. He has the opportunity to take classes there and train with some of the best aspiring players in the whole world. He has the opportunity to move out of the country, live at dorms in Boston, and most importantly, he has everyone’s support. 

There’s nothing more a boy his age could want more. He has everything. His whole life ahead of him, only the brightest future waiting for him at the end– only if he keeps trying hard and improving. He’s happy. Don’t get him wrong– he really is. Somehow, though, it all feels a bit scary.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you excited?” you ask, a pout taking over your once excited features. The amount of worries you have over Sunwoo gets bigger and bigger the older the two of you are. There are only so many things that can go wrong when you are a teenager, but now that you’re adulting, the list keeps getting longer.

“I am,” he nods, forcing a smile onto his lips.

“You don’t seem excited,” you argue.

“I am! I really am,” he says, trying to battle with himself.

“What is it?” 

“What is what?” 

“Come on, Sunwoo,” you sigh, “I can tell when something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide it from me, because I’ll know anyway. What is it?” you insist, staring the boy down with an examining look.

The boy sighs, shrugging to himself. “Well,” he starts, “the school is in America.”

“And?” you start, furrowing your eyebrows. “We knew that when you applied. Why is it such a problem now?” you ask, genuinely not grasping the whole situation.

Sunwoo chews on his cheek for a little while, plays with his fingers in his lap. A part of him is telling him that he both looks and seems foolish– because you’re right. It was his dream, he is excited, and this is good news. But still, there’s something he didn’t really think of when applying. Well, he did. He just thinks that the fact that him being accepted wasn’t really a realistic idea, no matter how hard he wished and prayed for it, so he didn’t have the need to think about it so seriously back then. Now it’s here, all real, and it’s a struggle he didn’t really grasp that he was going to have to go through.

“Well,” he starts again, still avoiding your eyes, “that means I have to move. And we won’t see each other for a while.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence following his confession– one in which he contemplates all possible reactions you might give him, some with truly catastrophic endings– but after what seems like eternities, he hears your soft, gentle voice. “Is that what’s making you so worried?” you ask.

“Kind of,” he nods, feeling his cheeks redden. You handle him with so much care– sometimes, he doesn’t know how to react.

“Awh,” you coo, taking his hand into yours, preventing him from picking at the skin of his cuticles until they bleed– an action he always does and you keep scolding him for. “Sunwoo, we knew about this when you applied. I am okay with you going away. Sure, it will suck, but it’s only for a little time, and I can come visit you there and you’ll show me around and stuff…”

Sunwoo presses a tight-lipped, hesitant smile to his lips. He feels reassured.

“And we’ll call, and it’s going to be fine, because this is good. This is good news, Sunwoo, and you’re gonna do great, and you’re gonna be a star, and I’ll be so, so proud of you,” you hum, voice tender and caring, doing your best at consoling the boy.

“I’m already so proud of you now, y’know?” you hum, squeezing his hand. “Everything will be alright, so don’t you worry.”

Sunwoo’s arms reach out to envelop you into a hug. He once again recognises how easily you fit into his arms, how perfectly you shape into his skin, and when he burrows his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent, he feels your lips reach into his hair, planting a soft kiss into it. Your words did more to the boy than only consult him– they gave him hope, they gave him joy, they made him feel like perhaps, this is not such a terrifying occurrence. And it really isn’t– it’s quite possibly the best thing that he’s ever achieved, and the circumstances of him leaving don’t seem as horrifying to him now. 

As long as he knows that you have his back, he thinks he can do anything. And what’s 3 years abroad against the 4 years he’s known you?

When you pull away, you press your lips against his, the contact making his muscles finally relax and his mind let go of all the worries. There’s suddenly nothing in the world that could make him falter, nothing that could make him worry or stress or fret or change his mind, because he has your support, and you’re here with him, promising him that you’ll always be right by his side, wherever he is.

Your mouth molds against his, the familiar motion of your lips against his still surprising him sometimes, still making him curious even after those months. He’s been dating you for some while, but he still likes to explore what makes you crumble under him, what makes you hum into the kiss, what makes you tug him closer to you– it’s a fun game to him, trying to figure you out completely. 

He still has some time, but it’s like he is trying to engrave those moments into his memory before he no longer can experience them first-hand as easily.

He goes out to explore again– his tongue gently inviting itself into your mouth with a swipe of your lower lip, relishing in the way your composure falters a little bit, letting him be in charge. You were always the more experienced one out of you two, so Sunwoo often shied away from being the one dominating intimate situations– afraid he’s not good enough, too inexperienced, too immature for you– but in the rare moments he does take the lead, your reactions give him a new source of confidence. 

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, nose pressing against your cheek as he angles you so he has more access to your lips. Something about his ministrations makes you forget to breathe, breaking away from him in a search for much needed oxygen, but Sunwoo acts like he’s been starved of you, latching his lips to the trail from your mouth towards your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses to your soft skin. He faintly remembers the time you gave him a lovebite that one time you came over to his house to work on homework together, sucking and biting at his neck (and although he enjoyed seeing the possessive bruise on his skin whenever he saw himself in the mirror, he wore the strings of his hoodies tightly tied to his neck, shielding him from being teased by everyone– but mostly Eric). He tries to mirror your motions, recreating the action to the best of his abilities.

He hears you grunt, making him fear that he’s doing it wrong– a momentarily panic settling in his chest screaming at him that he hurt you– but the worries are quickly dismissed as you move impossibly closer to the boy, straddling his lap and threading your fingers through his hair, keeping him close. 

Humming under his touch, Sunwoo gets a kick from hearing the sounds coming out of your mouth. It’s like a reward– it’s like the praise he goes after his whole life, like validation of his actions being satisfactory for you. The pressure of your body against his lap makes him feel hot all over, sweaty hands holding you by your sides. Every slightest shift of your figure against his makes him shudder, composure faltering when you move in a way that has his breathing particularly quicken, a bundle of nerves forming in his stomach from the newly found hypersensitivity. There’s only so much fabric shielding the two of you from each other, and just the thought of it is slowly driving the boy crazy.

Pulling away from your neck, admiring the artwork he managed to portray on your skin, he feels you pulling him up to meet your lips again, heated, firm kisses shared in the silence of the room. He feels your hands resting on his abdomen, feeling him up for a moment before you sneak them under the hem of his shirt, dragging your nails against his skin. 

Sunwoo hears a sound escape his throat at the contact, making him instantly feel foolish– until he feels you smile against his lips, following your ministrations by mirroring his previous actions and kissing down his neck, finding all the spots that make him the most reactive– like the place under his ear, the juncture of his shoulder. You revisit all the places you’ve tested before and perfected your aim to make him efficiently crumble under you. Sunwoo finds himself losing the initial control he had over the situation, instead letting you take over and lead him, much like you’ve done in most areas of his life. He likes to be your follower. He likes to see where you want him, where you need him, he likes to comply. It’s more comfortable for him this way. It makes him swell with pride when he makes you happy.

Another shift of your hips against him has Sunwoo digging his fingers to your side, whole body feeling like it’s electrified under your touch. Placing a soft peck to the spot you’ve had your attention on, you mumble into his skin. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Sunwoo swallows, noticing you leaning your forehead against his tenderly, eyes meeting. 

“Are you sure?”

He nods. He’s never been more sure about anything in his life– he enjoys your company, he loves your touch, the way you make his every sense heighten, his heart beat quicker. Still, he feels a bit nervous at the prospected events. “I just– I’ve never done this before,” Sunwoo whispers the obvious, watching as you carefully observe him.

“Sweetheart,” you tenderly call, placing a soft peck to his lips. “That’s okay. Me neither, but we could… we could try and see where this leads us, if you’d like?”

The sweet pet name alone makes the boy let go of all his worries, of the stress and nerves he’s been holding on to for the past few weeks. You hold him like he’s going to break, and Sunwoo’s never felt so loved before. You reassure him that it’s going to be okay. You are there to remind him that life isn’t so hard, as long as you’re by his side.

“Okay,” he nods, smiling at you. 

“Okay,” you repeat, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him again– it may as well be for the thousandth time. Truth is, while he tried to keep up at first, Sunwoo lost count a long time ago.

Everything there is to know about love, Kim Sunwoo learned from you. You showed him the childlike playfulness during your dates. You taught him how to kiss, only to take advantage of his newly found skills and keep them all for yourself. You showed him what it is to share joys, dreams, but also worries together. You were his first crush, date, relationship– and now, his first lover.

In the comfort of your childhood bedroom, holding you closer than ever, Sunwoo dreams of eternity with you. He doesn’t realize what a foolish thought it might be. Somehow, he’s got a feeling that no matter what it is, you two will figure it out. You always do.

to. my first love

September 2000

Muscles sore and whole body heaving in pain, Sunwoo trails inside the small bungalow the university gave him as student accommodation, dropping his duffel bag to the floor. His face is pulled into a small frown as he enters the house and his roommate can’t help but notice. “Everything alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sunwoo hums, nodding at the question. He has 3 assigned roommates– all male, all around his age. Sunwoo’s english isn’t bad, but it also isn’t that great either. He knew that this was going to be one of the main concerns of him moving out abroad, but he figured that the more you encounter the language, the more comfortable you get with it. Due to this, though, the two American boys he rooms with– their names are Josh and Sam– aren’t as close with him. Sunwoo doesn’t really blame them. It’s not like he tried to get close with them anyway. He talks much more with Mark, the one year older boy that’s also Korean, but has been living in the States for years now. The language barrier is nearly nonexistent there, and so he feels much more comfortable.

Not comfortable enough to vent to him about his problems, though. It’s good to share a laugh with Mark when they eat breakfast together in the kitchen, but he won’t go on and talk his ear off about his homesickness, for example. Sunwoo wouldn’t talk to him about the weird, unsettling feeling in his gut whenever he takes the bus or walks down the street, not recognising every face he encounters like he did back home, in his small town. He won’t tell Mark Lee about how much he misses Korea– he’s sure the boy has his own things to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Mark talks about personal stuff with him either. After four days of living here, he can’t say their relationship got to the level of going deep with their personal lives.

And so, Sunwoo walks up the stairs in silence, not giving Mark more information about his mood. Each step up hurts, since the training is twice as demanding as it used to be at home, making his muscles sore and his back hurt terribly from the stone hard mattress in the bed of his new home. He is willing to endure it, but he also has the terrific need to complain about it to anyone that would be willing to listen.

He should start writing a diary, he thinks as he stares up on the ceiling, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It sounds good enough to channel his feelings out into while also not being a bother to anyone else. Besides, he doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s having a hard time here in Boston. This was all his decision, his dream, and sometimes, things are going to get difficult. And that’s okay. Sunwoo just… feels like he lacks the support system he once had back home in Korea. Like someone took it from between his fingertips, forcefully kept it away from him, locked somewhere miles away. Maybe the person who did that to him was himself all along…

Which is why he doesn’t deserve to whine about the fact that he feels terribly lonely. He did this to himself. All him.

If he had a diary, he’d write about the terrible mattress first, he thinks. Then, the weird weather around here– it’s always hot, but not humid. It doesn’t rain as much. He kind of misses the rain. 

If he had a diary, he’d write about how he misses his old coach. The high school coach that always made sure the game was fun, yet productive. He misses his teammates as well. Their team never did big things, but he felt like they were some sort of a family. They knew each other well on the field. They had chemistry. They had fun.

He’d write about how he misses his annoying little sister. How he wishes she would appear in the doorway of his room and talked to him about the stickers she still collects, or dragged him to make another friendship bracelet together. How he feels bad for leaving her all alone back home, even though he was never the one to share his brotherly love for her so outwardly growing up. He feels a sort of appreciation for her that he didn’t quite understand when they were little. They are right when they say your sibling is your first best friend after all. 

He’d write about the second best friend he’s ever made, Eric. He’d write about how he longs for his presence, his encouraging words. His funny remarks, the pranks he’d pull on him. How he always appreciated him being just across the street, how he enjoyed growing up with him by his side.

He’d write about how much he misses you– perhaps the most out of everyone. There aren’t many words he could use to describe how much he wishes for your presence, and so he thinks the pages filled with sentences directed to you would be rather sparse, and it makes him kind of sad to think about. In his mind, you deserve novels written about you. You deserve love letters and poems and essays filled with every little detail of your existence. Maybe if Sunwoo loved you less, he would be able to talk about it more.

When his eyes go out of focus staring at the ceiling, Sunwoo decides to call you. It’s been 4 days since he arrived and he hasn’t spoken to you since you waved him off to the airport. His mother drove him and you couldn’t go to send him off at the gate, but Sunwoo almost thinks he prefers the fact that you only said goodbye to him in front of his house. It would be that much harder if he saw your face the last thing before boarding the plane. 

For the last four days, he’s been slowly settling in, taking in the new country and the new environment. He’d say he was just too busy to call, but that would be a lie.

He was just scared to hear your voice. Terribly.

What if you changed your mind? What if you no longer want to stay with him? What if it’s too hard to handle? And Sunwoo knows it’s hard– hell, it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever done– but all he wishes is for you to keep handling it well. To keep his heart in your hands gently, like you always have, sending him your energy.

He figures that if there’s one thing that can help his growing homesickness, it is to hear your voice. 

Sitting up from his bed and walking over to the bag he carried with him through the airport and kept with him on the plane, he scrambles through the item to find the piece of paper you forced into his hand on the driveway of his house. 

“We changed our landline yesterday, so call me on this number when you get there,” you said, pressing a kiss towards his cheek before you let him get into his mother’s car. Sunwoo promised to call back then– he hopes you don’t mind the delay. Maybe he could blame the timezones…

Hand thrusting into the front pocket of the bag, Sunwoo feels around and tries to fish out the little piece of paper. He’s 100% certain he put it there after he got into the car with his mum, making sure it’s safe and sound. He would hate to lose it– it was some sort of safety net for him. Something to fall back to, something to keep him above the water.

Panic settles in his chest when he doesn’t feel the soft piece of paper anywhere. The boy unzips all other compartments of the bag, turning it around, shaking out everything that’s inside. The phone number to your new landline has to be there somewhere in there. It needs to be.

When he doesn’t find it in his bag, he opens his closet. He throws everything out to the ground– his clothing, his shoes, the notebooks he bought for university– all in the search of the stupid, little, yet so important piece of paper. He searches through all his other bags. All pockets of his jeans, every centimeter of his folded clothing. All drawers of his desk, the whole floor, hell, he even crouches to check under his bed, blowing the dust bunnies out of reach, desperately hoping he could wish the paper into existence. He searches his bed. All possible parts where the landline number could be– some more unreasonable than others. Sunwoo feels like he is losing his mind.

The paper is nowhere in his room. It’s like it vanished. Was it really there at all? Did he dream that moment up?

Running down the stairs towards the landline, he takes the phone off the wall and punches in the numbers to your old landline, the pattern so familiar in his fingertips he couldn’t tell you the number if you asked, but he could recreate it with punching in the buttons in on any other phone in the world. He clenches his fist together, breathing more heavily as he listens in, praying for the universe to stop playing tricks on him and make you magically answer on the other side.

When the phone makes a dismissive sound, signaling that the number he called no longer exists, Sunwoo shuts the phone against the wall and takes it again, putting in your old number once more, like a summoning ritual. Maybe he put the numbers in wrong the first time… Maybe he made a mistake somewhere along the way…

When he gets the same response, he tries again. And again. And again. 

He can’t believe it. Tension settles into his shoulders, making him twirl the cord of the landline in between his fingers as a way to calm himself down, listening in to the dull noise on the other side telling him there’s nothing that can be done, nothing more that he can do. He doesn’t have the number, and somehow, although it sounds foolish, it feels like he lost you alongside it too. 

“Everything alright, man? You look–” Mark enters the room, peering at the boy with curious, worried eyes. It’s only now that Sunwoo realizes he is breathing heavily, fingers clammy on the cord, heart begging to run out of his chest to get all across the ocean to you. It’s only now that he realizes his cheeks are wet with tears, the solidification of his inner turmoil taking a physical form and appearing on his face, making him feel pathetic in front of the older boy.

Sunwoo once again puts the phone back to its original place, but this time, he doesn’t take it back and tries the useless old phone number again. Simply turning away from his roommate, he accepts his fate as he quickly puts on his shoes and slams the door shut after him, going out for a run.

Is this his punishment for waiting too long? Did the paper vanish out of his possession because he was deemed unworthy of hearing your voice? Should he have tried to look for the number earlier? Would this have prevented it?

It’s hard to run when your nose is stuffed and your breathing hitches with silenced sobs, he learns. Sunwoo doesn’t get as far as he would have liked, crumbling on a bench somewhere next to a playground, picking at the dry skin of his lips until they bleed and the irony taste on his tongue snaps him back into reality.

What was once his dream is starting to feel more like a nightmare. When he calls Eric two days after to ask him to get him your new landline number, he gets the news that you abruptly moved out to New York. 

September 2007

“If you really think about it, Y/N,” Sunwoo hums, making you shift your attention towards his serious-looking face, “we never really broke up in the first place.”

The boy is holding a bottle of cider in his hand, one of the four you got on your way to your tonight’s destination. Sunwoo rang the bell to your house a few minutes before 10 PM, and although you weren’t expecting to see him that day and you weren’t even looking as presentable as you’d like, you agreed to take a walk with him. Somehow, the two of you found yourselves climbing over the fence of your old high school, sneaking into the football field, figures settling on one of the benches of the tribune.

“Oh yeah,” you hum, lightness evident in your tone, “you just never called. What’s up with that, by the way?” you ask, snickering when you watch the male avert his gaze in a bashful manner, as if he was embarrassed to tell you his reasoning.

You take a sip of the apple cider, enjoying the sweet, fruity taste on your tongue, watching as the male contemplates his next response for a bit, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I lost your new landline number,” he peeps, voice barely louder than a whisper.

His answer doesn’t register immediately in your brain. The words take a moment to string themselves together into a sentence, taking another few seconds before you understand the meaning of his confession. A soft laugh drags out of your throat, disbelief coating your very essence. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nods, scratching the back of his neck before looking back at you, eyes full of guilt and shame, “I… I lost the number you gave me, and when I called Eric to try to make him get me your new number, he told me you moved to New York, and I guess… I guess I took it as a sign…?” he says, shrugging.

“A sign of what?” you ask, genuinely surprised to hear his answer.

All this time, you thought he didn’t call because he didn’t want to. You thought he didn’t call because he was too busy, too tired to deal with anything else other than his career at the moment. He was trying his hardest and training every day, so you understood that he wouldn’t have time for you every day. When he didn’t call for so long, even after you moved to the States as well– you hoped he’d somehow try searching for your number even then, because in your mind, everything was possible– one day, you just… stopped waiting for him to call. You stopped hoping you would hear his voice on the other side of the line.

And you accepted it. He realized long distance relationships were too difficult to maintain, especially in that time and age, and he had too many of his own worries to take care of before focusing his attention somewhere else. You didn’t resent him, no. You longed for him, you missed him, but you never once hated him for the decision he made. You wished him well, all this time. 

“A sign that… that maybe we weren’t meant to be,” he hums, shrugging. “It sounds stupid, really, but…” he trails off, cutting himself off in the middle of the sentence.

Something about his confession makes you feel a bit lighter. Your shoulders feel like there’s no longer anything weighing them down. It’s not like you waited for an explanation all those years and when you finally got one, something in you shifted into a more comfortable position.

“For me, back then, you were the right person, wrong time. And I didn’t want to let you go, I really didn’t, it’s just… everything was already so hard and the world seemed to put so many obstacles in my way of contacting you, that I thought it was the universe telling me to drop it and let you go. So you could… so you could find someone else, I guess…” he finishes explaining. He averts his gaze from you, pointing it towards the empty field, as if scared to see your reaction to his blabbering. He takes another few sips of his cider, snickering. “It wasn’t fair of me to want you to wait for me either.”

So you could find someone else… You think back to all the times you went on dates after you concluded that your relationship with Sunwoo was over. You try to remember their faces, their mannerisms in such detail that you could only make up one of your previous lovers– the one sitting next to you right now– and you chuckle at your foolishness. Remembering how you kept comparing every new person in your life to the one that stole your heart first, remembering how you thought about him late at night, wondering where he is right now and how he’s doing. You used to look through the sports parts of newspapers, looking for his name somewhere, looking for his team name, but never seeing a glance of how he was doing. You wore the stupid friendship bracelet he gave you in your junior year around in New York, having people point it out and ask about it, all until it broke off by itself  one day and you reluctantly said goodbye to the sentiment. 

You dated around after losing contact with Sunwoo. You don’t really think you found someone else, though. 

“I wanted to wait for you, though,” you say, shuffling closer to the male on the bench, voice sincere. “It was my decision.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “life had other plans for us two.”

His sentence makes you think. A few days ago, it would make you sad. Embarrassed, even. Life had other plans for you two and they didn’t align with what you two have calculated during the summer break after your senior year. Sunwoo didn’t become a star. His football career never took off. He finished his degree and came back home, bitter and heartbroken. 

Your plans ended just as fast as you came up with them. Not going to university after high school, you were left with nothing to do. When the opportunity to take an internship for a news company in New York came to you so suddenly, you took it without thinking, trying to find your place in the big world ahead of you. You had no plan, but you think that maybe, some part of you wanted to get away from your hometown all along. You wanted to do big things, make everyone proud. Being a news anchor wasn’t even something you dreamed of when you were little, so you guess you weren't supposed to really feel that let down, but the defeat still stings.

Or, at least, it used to. You find that the failure doesn’t hurt as much anymore. 

Looking at the male next to you, you think you know the reason why. “It’s okay,” you say, shrugging, “we figured it out anyways, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Sunwoo sighs, looking at you with a soft smile playing with his lips. “I guess we did.”

The sound of cicadas hits your ears when you two fall into a comfortable silence. Healing old wounds was surely one of the items on your check list when you came back home, but you didn’t expect to get over things so quickly. You don’t think you would have been able to get over everything alone, though– and this makes you twice as grateful to still have Sunwoo by your side. A sense of nostalgia takes over you at the fact, but this time, it hits you with more fondness than longing for the old times.

“Remember how young we were? It’s like I still see you chasing the ball around the field when I focus hard enough,” you say, pointing ahead of you.

Sunwoo laughs, shaking his head at your antics. “Yeah. I almost see you leading the cheer practice in the back there,” he points, “in your cute cheer uniform, with the ridiculous pom poms in your hands–”

“Hey, don’t call them ridiculous,” you gasp, “they were my favorite part of the whole routine!”

“Oh, I could tell,” he laughs, poking fun at you. 

“Well, you must have liked the pom poms enough to stare at me during practice all the time,” you shrug, teasing the male back. The fact that Sunwoo had a crush on you long before you reciprocated the feelings wasn’t something you two explicitly talked about before, but you always deemed as clear as day. Or, at least, it was to everyone back then.

“I did not–” he gasps, making you gently shove him with your elbow.

“Come on, everybody used to say you had a crush on me back then,” you hum, “you were pretty obvious with it too.”

“You knew?” he looks at you, eyes big and surprised. Gears clearly running in his head, he tries to piece the information together, running through the memories now so distant, but still so clear.

“Girls always know,” you point out, shrugging. You take another sip of your cider, licking your lips after and speaking up again, tone of voice almost confidential. “I just acted like I didn’t. But then I realized I liked you back, so I was trying everything in my power to make you confess to me first. Which… took you long enough, young man,” you giggle, seeing the male shake his head at you in disapproval.

“You could’ve confessed first, if you were so confident,” he mutters, obviously a little gutted by the revelation.

“That would be below my level,” you nod, pressing your lips together into a straight line, “besides, it was fun watching you act all cute and clueless.”

“Don’t call me cute and clueless–”

“That’s what you were, though! Like the time when you got super drunk on your birthday and begged me not to leave–”

“I didn’t even like you back then!”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I was in denial,” he furrows his brows theatrically, putting the empty glass bottle to the grass, “but I see that you had a lot of fun watching me suffer.”

“Fine, pretty boy,” you say, catching a glimpse of the boy momentarily shying away, presumably at the endearing nickname, his cheeks tinting pink even in the faint moonlight. “Would it make you feel better if I confessed first this time?”

“Huh?” the boy asks, lips parted, eyes a big, honest pool of honey.

Cute and clueless, you think.

The story comes full circle when you realize that this football field is perhaps what started it all. This is where you ran up to the new addition to the team, saying that your favorite number was on the back of his jersey. As the leader of the cheerleading team, you took it as your job to make every newbie feel welcomed– no matter if they were a fellow cheerleader or a football player. You didn’t expect for the boy to never stop wearing the number– although it was your favorite, it didn’t seem to be so important back then. (One day, you learned that Sunwoo kept the number on his jersey even after moving abroad. You read it in one of the sports magazines you foolishly flipped through in every kiosk you encountered and almost teared up in the busy store after.) 

This field is where you watched him play football every week. It’s where you both practiced, sending each other funny faces after the coach was mean to either of you for not being focused on your training. 

This is where Sunwoo found his passion– where he found his dream. This is the place that shifted the next couple of years of your life towards all sorts of directions. This is where he kissed you after winning a match, a gleeful confession slipping past his lips. This is where your relationship started, and metaphorically, also ended. The field that kept you apart is now a thousand miles away, but the one that brought you together is now right in front of you.

You guess it’s only right to use it for new beginnings.

“I think… I think I’m still in love with you, Sunwoo,” you start slowly, playing with your fingers in your lap, “well, I don’t know if my feelings for you ever ended… they could’ve, I mean, we were apart for so long… I just… all I know is that I don’t want us to be apart anymore, and I–”

Your words die on your tongue when the boy cuts you off with a kiss, the taste of apple cider mixing on your lips. The way he kisses you didn’t really change even after so many years, still swaying you with the familiarity of his loving. Still, even though you know the way he angles your jaw, the way he presses against you, the way he takes his sweet time, truly showing you how much he enjoys the act, you never grow tired of it. Something in you reacts the same way as when you were young. There’s still excitement, there’s still tender softness in your heart every time you kiss him.

His lips break apart from yours, a playful tint in his words when he speaks to you again. “Don’t try to take credit for it now,” he says, “because the last time I checked, we never really broke up in the first place, so you could say we were dating all along, all because I confessed back in–”

“God, you’re unbelievable,” you grunt.

“But you love me,” the boy says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is.

“Always have,” you say, pressing a quick peck to his plush lips, “always will.”

The starlight glazes your cheekbones when you rest your forehead against his, as if to send him a telepathic message that is worth more than a thousand words. It’s hard to find the words to explain the mixture of your emotions right now, but when your memory washes up the encouraging monologue Sunwoo offered to you when you first arrived, you finally agree with his sentiment. Perhaps, one word could summarize it all– you feel truly content. 

They say you never forget about your first love. At 25 and still counting, you guess you could say that’s true.